What was and what will be
I ask my beloved:
"Do you remember, two years ago you were ninety kilograms?"
"And you dreamed and dreamed of losing weight. Funny, you wanted to lose at least twenty kilos back then, and I, on the contrary, wanted you to gain those twenty kilos." I place a tray of food on the coffee table in front of my beauty. Chicken wings, pizza, soda, and sweets.
"Yeah, and who won is already clear," she strokes her voluminous belly. "You were too good at convincing."
And almost every evening brought me to the peak several times."I can't help myself—I adore fat women. I just knew you'd like being like this too if you just listened to yourself. Plus twenty kilos, and you'll feel the truth."
"And you started fattening me up," she smiles slyly.
"Well, actually, I started even before that. And of course, I wasn't going to let you lose weight, no matter how much you resisted. But somewhere around one hundred ten, you finally appreciated the advantages of the new lifestyle, and since then, you've become much happier."
"It was also helped by the approving whistles from your chubby-chaser friends. And websites on the internet where we found kind advisors..."
I finish arranging all the goodies and allow myself once again to properly appreciate my treasure. Luxurious, full-figured, an elastic bra supporting juicy tits, a large, soft belly resting on her lap, and thighs the size of two full-sized pillows.
"Come on, stop staring, better feed me quickly," she demands.
I obey and bring the plate of wings closer to her. Dipping pieces of chicken in sauce, she quickly polishes them off. I don't have to wait long, and now it's the pizza's turn. A slice in each hand, she takes bites from each in turn, oil mixed with sauce dripping onto her chins. It doesn't matter—we both know her looking like this turns me on. She continues chewing the pizza, I start stroking her tits, she moans and keeps eating.
"No wonder I got fat," she says, "all you need is to feed me pizza and grope my tits, and I'm already feeling good."
"Besides pizza, there's something else," I hinted.
"That's right, because I'm getting a bit hungry."
I bring the next dish to her lips—a small cheesecake with strawberries.
"Small?" Her tone says: are you even in your right mind?
"Don't worry, the big one is waiting in the bedroom," I explain.
She starts on the cheesecake with just her hands, no fork, which turns me on even more, and I stroke her soft, plump belly.
"That's it, appreciate your handiwork. I don't have a belly, it's all fat, folds upon folds." My flesh rises like a spear, and meanwhile, the cheesecake disappears. Hastily, I offer her the last plate—a ten-layer cake, whole, of course. Layers of chocolate, dough, pudding, whipped cream, truffles, frosting, and more. She loves this.
"Oh god, I can already feel myself stretching. More often like this..." she moans with pleasure and eats, her ears practically cracking. As if she hadn't eaten anything since morning. All smeared in cream, though of course, ninety-nine percent of the cake went strictly to its intended destination.
I'm ready. More than ready.
She tosses the empty plate aside and struggles to her feet, her ample flesh wobbling. She pulls down her panties, glancing at me over her shoulder with the look of an experienced temptress, and waddles towards the bedroom, pulling off her tank top on the way. I watch, mesmerized, as her massive thighs, heavy hemispheres of lard, swing back and forth with each step.
I snap out of it and run after her. She's already in bed, bra discarded, completely naked.
"Ready to fuck a fat girl?"
A second, and my clothes fall in a heap on the floor. I jump into bed, ready to please her.
"Not so fast," she pushes me in the chest with her palm.
I grab the large cheesecake from the nightstand and start feeding it to her, she chews, and I enter where I should. She moans with her mouth full, consuming the cheesecake faster and faster, I speed up too, and now she's at the peak, and the cheesecake is gone somewhere.
"Your turn," she flips me onto my back, pinning me to the bed with all her weight. "But keep feeding me."
I can't reach the nightstand from this position, she pushes the bowl of cookies over herself. And so I alternately stuff one cookie after another into her mouth, with my free hand caressing her tits and belly, driving her to frenzy, as every evening, strictly on schedule—at least seven times a week. If the pauses between cookies become too long—she also rides me up and down slower than usual, oh yes, a familiar approach, that's exactly how I trained her when I started fattening her up. Now she's perfectly capable of doing it all herself, and in the bedroom, everything is as she desires. My fate is to feed her and completely submit. I send another cookie into her mouth, and she, working her jaws, starts bouncing more actively on my risen flesh.
That's it, I can't take it anymore. I explode like a rocket.
She rolls off me, heated and sweaty. We lie like that for a while, she drifts into sleep, digesting everything she ate. And I, having caught my breath, wake her with a kiss about an hour later:
"It's already midnight, baby, ready to eat some more?"