Breathing was a challenge, to say the least. On my back, watching my belly bob up and down, I have to assume at least half the buffet is stuffed inside my gullet. We had just finished off the ice cream bar. I could see the funnel dripping delicious drops of chocolate and vanilla swirl. Jake twirled the long tube connected at my mouth, teasing me with more. A sinister grin crept onto his face. He enjoyed this as much as I did, I knew that for a fact. "Ready to pop, pig?" Jake asked me, more of a courtesy than anything, since he was going to pop me no matter what I said. But before he does, let me explain myself. I was a skinny little thing. Arms and legs so thin you'd think I was made of toothpicks. My stomach was flatter than flat, going in so far as to show off my immaculate ribs and hip bones. Gone were the days of baby fat. My cheeks only got rosy and plump after going a few rounds with Sergio, a lover of mine that shares in my BDSM explorations. My ass was flat, paid no attention to unless grasped firmly by Will, another lover of mine who's always starving to eat me out. Did I want to be this skinny? I had lovers left and right, fistfuls of vitamins to keep me healthy, and my clothes always fit. Why would I want anything else? And yet... Being so small, I never had much of an appetite. A small salad here, half a sandwich there, and I was content. But recently, there's been something inside me, murmuring crazy things, making my stomach turn. Want some chocolate cake? Maybe don't go so light on the dressing this time. Steak and ribs, steak and ribs! Some facet of my psyche has now flipped a switch, turning from Polite Weight Watcher to Sarlax the Ravenous, Consumer of All. And you know what? Sarlax was making some good points. Why not indulge? I was basically a woman made of papier-mâché, 100 pounds soaking wet, a strong breeze or an intense cough could fly me away. What harm could a few extra pounds do to little ol' me? I searched online for someone who could help me satiate these cravings. I knew all the best sites to go on to fulfill whatever need had overcome me. Found Sergio on BDSMfreaks. He sure knows how to punish the little hot-headed, submissive girl inside me. Will on SaladTossersAnonymous, he understands an asshole's needs. Fiona on tokeANDpoke: great weed, great sex. Fred on eatmealivedaddy, that one was odd but hey, free sushi. And so on, and so on goes the list. No matter how many guys and gals I went through, I always got what I wanted. Finding someone to feed me, fill me, make me bigger was no challenge. I had 100 comments and 65 messages the moment I typed "hi" on the forums. Internet users everywhere jumped at the chance to ruin a skinny girl, but I'm not letting just anyone plump me up. Auditions were simple: we go on a date, talk about ourselves, encourage me to shove at least 17 french fries into my mouth at once, we're good to go. That was Tom. We hit up a few drive-thru burger joints to get my body used to excess calories. One burger down, my stomach was churning something fierce. My stomach was distended, bloated from the grease. Unbuttoning my size 0 jeans, I knew this journey was going to be a struggle. Tom wasn't willing to wait for results, so we had to part ways. After that, every date ended the same way. I'd try George and his chicken place, I'd leave dazed and bloated. Dave's bakery, crumbs everywhere and bad gas. Zachary tried to get me to eat a giant, 100% organic, non-GMO, vegan friendly burrito, but I had to pass after the third bite. I was still small, my stomach couldn't handle the massive amounts of food I was desperately shoving into my mouth hole. I wanted to play fast and loose, but my body disapproved to say the least. By the second week of my failed escapades, I was barely busting out of my short-shorts. My tops were still all loosey-goosey. My itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka dot bikini fit just as well as the day I fucking bought it. I needed to be fed so I could gain. I needed a proper feeder. That's where Jake comes in. I met him on the forums of FeedMeAFantasy. He has a lot of experience with gaining weight, and much like all my other kinks, I work well with an expert. "You're the smallest I've ever worked with, I must admit." His voice was business, to the point, but we both knew that was only a formality to get to the juicy stuff. Jake wanted me just as fat as I did, and he knew how to get me there. "All it'll take is time and patience," he assured me. "You've got the hunger, I can tell. I've got quite the appetite myself. Just for..." He bit his lip, grinning slightly. "Well, I just love fat. I work well with it, like a sculptor to marble. If you're in, I'm in. You seem like a woman hellbent on getting what she wants, am I right?" Fuck. Yes. And boy, did I ever get it. Jake knew what to do from the very beginning. He read me like a book, a submissive girl with a helluva bite, and I needed to be taken care of in just the right way. One minute I'd be pampered like a queen, delicate little cakes placed on my tongue for me to consume at my leisure. The next, strapped down to a chair, chugging down thick gainer shakes and fatty broths, not being able to plead for mercy. I took meds to increase my appetite, decrease my metabolism. Jake made me wear clothes too big so I could see the results later. "Goal-setting" he called it. I blimped up quick. My face, once pale and sunken, now had fat propagating precariously in my cheeks and under my chin. Gone were the days of seeing my ribs, they now hid under an increasingly growing layer of fat. My belly developed innumerable stretchmarks, accomodating for this new, bouncy flesh that tried so desperately to escape their denim prisons whenever Jake took me on one too many trips to the ice cream shop. As I walked, I could feel my big belly launch up with one step and come jiggling down with the other. Everything was tight, yet surprisingly free and jiggly. I was beginning to become pear-shaped, my hips and ass collecting a fair amount of my gain. My breasts grew the most and the quickest, from barely the size of half a lemon to a decently sized grapefruit. Yeah I know, fruit-to-tit comparisons, riveting. But you have no idea how it feels. They have so much more bounce now, so much jiggle and perkiness. I never used to wear a bra, and even now I refuse (well also Jake said not to, but hey). I now find myself aimlessly fondling myself in public, playing with these stress balls I now claim as tits. So soft, so squishy. I could probably get myself off just by twisting my nipples, gripping my soft flesh just the right way. I just keep growing. Every night I sit up in bed, watching as my belly comes closer and closer to touching my fatty thighs. I'm hungry constantly, snacking whenever I can. Sometimes I have to excuse myself at work just so I can go binge a bag of chips real quick or bloat myself with a liter of cola, get that stomach stretching! So now, let's get back to the matter at hand. Jake knows a guy who knows a guy who owns a little buffet restaurant outside of town. We're able to secure a private room for just the two of us. Driving there, Jake tells me I'm in for the most intense stuffing of my life. I was nearing double my starting weight, and Jake was aiming to surpass that. With the seatbelt cutting into my fat belly, he reaches over and gives it a firm slap. It takes a moment for my entire midsection to stop jiggling, and Jake seems pretty pleased with himself. "By this time next year, I'm gonna need a bigger car to haul you around piggy." His grin was so wide, his lips wet with drool, imagining how gluttoned and porked up I'll become. My stomach growled in excitement. "You ready to have this whole buffet all to yourself?" I nodded eagerly, my heart racing, breathing deeper, hardly able to contain how fucking ready I was to be his stuffed pig. And now I'm here, with Jake in a private buffet room, attached to a hose which is attached to an ice cream machine, pumping quarts of sweetened cream right down my starving throat. It settles down inside me alongside heaping piles of greasy fried chicken, carbo-loaded side dishes, and seventeen different types of cheap dessert cakes that only a desperate fatty like myself is willing to cram down her gullet in order to get another thousand calories into her system, letting it sift and swirl inside her stomach, churning out plump patches of fat all around her body. The skinny girl is gone. Forever on my lips to stay forever on my hips.