Feedism + fat fetish erotica. 3 years ago, dark blonde Peter and bright blonde Lacey were in the same social circle at university. Both had crushes on each other, but neither ever found out. Back then, Peter was skinny and a little nerdy, and Lacey was thicc - not quite overweight but with soft hourglass curves from the freshman 15. Since then, Peter has become leanly muscled. Lacey dated a guy for 2 years, during which time she gained relationship weight, becoming a little chunky. Her boyfriend dumped her for getting fat, and in spite of him she gave into hedonism completely. She is now voluptuously obese, and loves food and sex. She'd prefer to be slimmer, but doesn't mind being fat. She's also discovered a very kinky side to herself - she loves to be pampered and worshipped. They meet for the first time at a nightclub where Peter has just finished his shift.

Chapter 3: The Belly Confession

Her fingers tightened over his knuckles, pressing his hand impossibly deeper into the yielding warmth of her belly. The flesh parted like warm dough for his fingers, engulfing them almost to the second knuckle. The sheer presence of her, this vast, soft heat radiating against his skin, was intoxicating. Her low chuckle vibrated through her core and into his palm.

"Oh, you noticed?" she echoed, her voice thick with amusement and something else – a challenge laced with invitation. Her green eyes glinted in the dim light. "Course you fuckin' did, muscle man." She shifted her hips deliberately, a slow, heavy roll that made the immense curve of her stomach sway and the sofa springs groan in protest. The movement sent ripples through the soft flesh beneath his hand. "Bet you noticed a lot."

Peter kept his gaze locked with hers, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle just above the elastic band of her knickers. The skin there was impossibly smooth, feverishly warm. "Hard not to," he said, his own voice rougher than usual. The admission felt like stepping off a ledge. "Especially…" He paused, letting his gaze drift downwards, taking in the magnificent expanse of bare skin. "...after the kebab van spectacle."

Lacey threw her head back and laughed, a full-throated sound that shook her entire body. Her breasts, overflowing the strained black lace cups of her bra, jiggled heavily. "Spectacle! Fuck me, Pete, you always were observant." She pushed herself up slightly, a grunt escaping her as she leveraged her weight. "Right. Thirsty. Kitchen."

She maneuvered herself off the sofa with surprising grace for someone so massively built and immensely full. The floorboards creaked softly under her bare feet. Peter watched the hypnotic sway of her immense backside, barely contained by the simple black knickers, the heavy dimpled thighs brushing together, the vast, pale belly leading her like a ship's prow. She waddled the short distance to the small kitchenette adjoining the living room, her breathing already slightly audible from the exertion.

He heard the clink of glasses, the tap running. "Want one?" she called back.

"Water's fine," he replied, his eyes fixed on her silhouette in the doorway. The low-cut top was gone, leaving her upper body bare except for the struggling bra. The dim light caught the sweat beading at the small of her back, the deep creases where her sides met the incredible swell of her hips. She was a landscape of soft, abundant flesh.

She returned, carrying two glasses. The effort of bending slightly to set his glass on the low table before him made her puff softly. She lowered herself back onto the sofa beside him with a heavy sigh, the cushion compressing dramatically. Her belly immediately settled back into its vast, rounded prominence on her lap. She took a long gulp of water, then placed her glass next to his. A small, soft burp escaped her. "'Scuse. That lamb's still settling."

She leaned back, resting her head against the cushions, one hand instinctively returning to the taut dome of her stomach, rubbing in slow, circular motions. The other hand reached for the remote, clicking the small TV on. A game show blared for a moment before she muted it. The sudden silence felt thick, charged. The neon sign outside cast shifting blue and red patterns across her skin, highlighting the curve of her belly, the shadowed valley between her breasts.

"So," she said, turning her head to look at him, her expression softening from its earlier teasing challenge. "Been, what? Three years? Since uni? You look... different. Good different." Her gaze swept over his shoulders, down his chest. "Got yourself sorted. Proper job?"

"Bouncer," he said simply. "At The Roxy. Pays the bills." He mirrored her position, leaning back, but his focus was entirely on her. On the way her fingers sank into the plushness of her stomach. On the faint sheen on her collarbone. "You look... happy."

She snorted, but it was a warm sound. "Happy? Yeah. Happier than I was with Dave the Twat, that's for fucking sure." She patted her belly firmly. "This is the 'Fuck Dave' body. My masterpiece." Her smile turned mischievous again. "Though I see you appreciate the finer details."

Peter felt a flush creep up his neck. He reached for his water glass just to have something to do. "It suits you," he said, taking a sip. The water felt cool against his suddenly dry throat. "Confidence."

"Confidence?" She chuckled, a low rumble. "Mate, it's mostly just gluttony and laziness. And honestly? Loving every fucking minute of it." She shifted again, trying to get more comfortable, her thighs sticking slightly to the leather sofa. "God, I'm still so full. Feels like I swallowed a bowling ball." She traced the curve of her belly with a fingertip. "But y'know... I could probably manage something sweet." Her eyes darted past him towards the kitchen. "Made a cake earlier. Chocolate fudge. Bit of a disaster zone in the fridge, but..."

Peter followed her gaze. "You baked?"

"Tried to," she admitted with a self-deprecating grin. "More like assembled. Bought the cake, slathered it in icing, dumped sweets on top. My kind of baking." She pushed herself up again, another soft grunt accompanying the movement. "Fancy a slice? Might help settle everything." She patted her belly meaningfully.

Before he could answer, she was heaving herself off the sofa again and lumbering towards the fridge. Peter watched, mesmerized, as she bent over. The view was breathtaking: the vast, pale expanse of her back, the deep dimples above her hips, the way her knickers stretched impossibly tight over the monumental swell of her backside. The fridge light illuminated her for a moment as she rummaged inside, the soft flesh of her arms jiggling. She emerged triumphantly with a large plate covered in cling film. Underneath, Peter could see a mountain of dark, glossy chocolate icing studded with colourful sweets, threatening to slide off the sides of the cake beneath.

"See?" she announced, setting the plate heavily on the coffee table with a clatter. She peeled back the cling film, revealing the full, chaotic glory of it. The cake itself was slightly lopsided, the thick layer of icing slumping at one end, a small avalanche of sweets having already tumbled onto the plate. The rich, sweet scent of chocolate and sugar filled the air, mingling with the lingering ghost of garlic and kebab meat. "Told you. Disaster. But a tasty one." She grabbed two forks from the kitchen counter and handed one to Peter. "Dig in?"

She didn't wait. Plopping back down beside him, the sofa groaned again. She immediately speared a huge chunk of cake, heavy with icing and sweets. She shoved it into her mouth, her eyes closing momentarily as the intense sweetness hit. A low moan vibrated in her throat, muffled by the mouthful. "Ohhh, fuck yeah," she mumbled, chewing with relish. Chocolate smeared her lips.

Peter watched, captivated, as she took another enormous bite. The sugary icing clung to her chin. Her cheeks bulged. Her breathing was already heavier, amplified by the sheer mass of food she'd consumed and the effort of moving her own weight. He picked up his fork and took a smaller, more deliberate piece. It was intensely sweet, almost cloying, the icing thick and fudgy.

Lacey swallowed, the movement visible all the way down her throat. She took a quick gulp of water, then immediately went back for more cake. "God, I'm a bloody animal," she chuckled, thickly, around another mouthful. She was eating with the same unrestrained gusto she'd shown at the kebab van. "No self-control. Zero." She gestured vaguely at her body with her fork, a few sprinkles flying off. "Proof's right here, mate."

She leaned forward slightly to spear a particularly icing-laden piece, and the movement caused the straining cups of her bra to gape. Peter caught a glimpse of the soft, heavy curve of her breast pressing against the lace. She didn't seem to notice, or care. "Dave hated this," she said suddenly, her voice losing some of its playful edge. She stared at the cake, not at Peter. "Me eating like this. Especially after... well, after I started packing it on proper." She took another huge bite, almost defiantly. "Said it was disgusting. Said I was letting myself go." She swallowed hard, a hint of something raw flashing in her eyes before she masked it with another bite. "Twat."

Peter put his fork down. He watched her, the chocolate smeared near her mouth, the intense concentration as she devoured the sweet, the way her belly rose and fell with each breath, visibly fuller than before. The sheer vulnerability beneath the bravado was potent. "His loss," Peter said, the words coming out quieter than intended, but firm.

Lacey paused mid-chew. She looked at him, really looked at him, her green eyes searching his face. Chocolate clung to her lower lip. Slowly, deliberately, she swallowed. A slow, genuine smile spread across her face, warmer than the teasing ones before. "Yeah," she breathed. "His fucking loss." She patted her stomach again, a soft thump. "And my massive gain."

She held his gaze. The challenge was gone, replaced by something more open, more intense. Her free hand, greasy from the cake fork, slid across the sofa cushion and landed lightly on his thigh. Her thumb rubbed a small circle through the fabric of his jeans.

Her other hand, still holding the fork, hovered near her mouth. A bead of chocolate icing trembled on the tines. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly brought the fork to her lips and sucked the icing off, her tongue darting out to catch every trace. The movement was deliberate, sensual, loaded. She lowered the fork. "Still hungry, Pete?" she murmured, her voice husky. Her gaze flickered down his body, then back to his eyes. "Or is it just me?"

Peter felt the heat radiating from her hand on his leg, saw the invitation blazing in her eyes, smelled the heady mix of chocolate, sweat, and her own warm, female scent. Her vast, soft body beside him was a silent, overwhelming testament to indulgence. He leaned in slightly, his eyes dropping to her mouth, still glistening faintly with chocolate. "Starving," he breathed.

The word hung between them like static charge. Lacey’s eyes darkened, the playful glint sharpening into something predatory. A slow, knowing smile spread across her chocolate-smeared lips. "Starving, eh?" she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky rasp. "For what, exactly?"

Her hand on his thigh slid higher, the pressure deliberate. She didn’t wait for an answer. With a soft grunt of effort, she leveraged her immense weight, turning her upper body towards him. The vast, warm curve of her belly pressed firmly against his side, a soft, yielding wall of flesh. The scent of sweet chocolate, warm skin, and the lingering greasy tang of the kebab enveloped him.

"You know what I reckon?" she whispered, leaning in. Her breath, warm and sweet, brushed his cheek. Her free hand came up, greasy finger tracing the line of his jaw. "Reckon you weren't just lookin' at the kebabs back there." Her finger paused near his lips. "Reckon you were lookin' at the girl shovellin' 'em in. The big girl."

Peter’s gaze flickered from her intense green eyes down to her mouth, then lower, to the magnificent swell of cleavage threatening to spill from the straining black lace bra. Her proximity was overwhelming. Heat radiated from her like a furnace. "Hard to miss," he managed, his own voice thick. "You make quite an impression."

"Good," she breathed, her lips now perilously close to his. "Cos I saw you watchin'. Saw how your eyes went wide when I ordered that extra donor meat." A low chuckle vibrated through her, making the flesh pressed against him jiggle softly. "Bet you liked seein’ this big belly get even bigger." She shifted, emphasizing the taut, rounded prominence distending her lap. "Bet you like it now."

Her thumb brushed his bottom lip. The touch was electric. "This what you're starvin’ for, muscle man?" She tilted her head, her blonde hair falling against his shoulder. "All this softness? All this... fat?"

The crude word, spoken with such defiant ownership in her husky voice, sent a jolt straight through him. His control snapped. He caught her wrist, the one tracing his jaw, his grip firm but not rough. "Yeah," he rasped, the single syllable loaded with years of suppressed desire. His other hand found the incredible curve of her hip, fingers sinking deep into the soft, doughy flesh overflowing the tight waistband of her jeans. "All of it."

Lacey’s smile turned triumphant, utterly feral. "Prove it." She closed the infinitesimal gap.

Her lips met his with surprising force, warm, soft, and tasting intensely of chocolate and salt. It wasn't a tentative kiss; it was a claiming. Her mouth moved hungrily against his, her tongue seeking entry almost immediately. Peter met her hunger with his own, his hand sliding from her hip around to the immense swell of her lower back, pulling her vastness even closer. Her belly compressed heavily against his abdomen.

She moaned into his mouth, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated against his lips. Her arms, soft and heavy, encircled his neck, pulling him down. The sheer mass of her was incredible, a soft, enveloping heat that pinned him against the back of the sofa. He felt the powerful muscles beneath his touch, but they were utterly submerged beneath deep layers of yielding fat. His hand roamed upwards from her back, fingers tracing the deep valley beside her spine before sliding around to the soft, heavy shelf of her flank, dimpled and warm.

Breaking the kiss only for a gasping breath, Lacey nuzzled his neck, her lips brushing his ear. "Knew it," she panted, her voice thick with lust. "Knew you were into this." She bit his earlobe gently. "Into me. This big, greedy body." She shifted her hips deliberately, a slow, grinding roll that made her vast stomach undulate against him, the sheer volume pushing him deeper into the cushions. Her thigh, thick and heavy, pressed between his legs. "Feel how much of me there is, Pete? All yours to grab."

She kissed him again, fiercely, her tongue exploring his mouth with a greed that mirrored her appetite for the cake. One of her hands slid down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, fingers tracing the defined muscles there before boldly cupping the firm bulge straining against his jeans. He groaned into her mouth, his own hands exploring the incredible geography of her body – the soft swell of her upper arm, the vast, warm convexity of her belly, the impossible softness where her hip met the monumental curve of her thigh.

Her lips trailed wet kisses along his jawline back towards his mouth. "Tell me," she demanded against his lips, her breath hot and quick. "Tell me you like it. Like how big I am. How soft." She pulled back slightly, just enough to look him directly in the eyes, her green gaze burning. Her chest heaved, making her ample breasts sway heavily within their precarious lace confines. "Tell me you want all this fat."

Peter didn't hesitate. His gaze locked onto hers, dark with raw need. "I want it," he growled, the words rough and immediate. "Every fucking soft inch." His hands moved decisively, abandoning her hip and flank, sliding upwards over the vast, warm landscape of her torso. The black lace bra strained, the cups overflowing, soft flesh spilling generously over the edges. His palms found the immense, heavy swell of her breasts, the sheer size and weight a shock even after all the watching.

He cupped them fully, fingers sinking deep into the plush, yielding flesh. They filled his hands impossibly, warm and heavy as dough, spilling between his fingers. He squeezed gently, feeling the incredible softness, the sheer abundance. "Fuck, Lacey," he breathed, voice thick with awe and desire. "These tits... Christ, they're huge. Unreal." He squeezed again, more firmly, relishing the way the flesh moulded to his grip, the deep cleavage deepening impossibly. "Been starin' all night. Couldn't fucking help it. Watching them move, bounce, spill out of that top... drove me mad."

Lacey gasped, a sharp intake of breath that made her massive chest rise and fall dramatically against his hands. Her green eyes fluttered shut for a second, a low moan escaping her lips as his thumbs found her nipples, hard beads straining against the lace. She arched her back instinctively, pushing her incredible breasts more firmly into his possessive grip, the movement making her vast stomach surge against his own. "Yeah?" she panted, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of triumph and arousal. "Like what you see, muscle man? Like my big, fat tits?" Her own hands gripped his shoulders, blunt nails digging in.

"Love 'em," Peter rasped, his thumbs rubbing rough circles over the lace-covered peaks, feeling the hard nubs beneath. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sweat-dampened slope of her upper breast, inhaling the heady scent of her skin mingled with chocolate and the lingering greasy kebab aroma. "So fucking big. So soft." He squeezed again, harder, kneading the immense mounds, feeling the sheer weight as they threatened to spill completely from his grasp. "Biggest, softest tits I've ever seen. Couldn't take my eyes off them." He lowered his head, nuzzling the overflowing flesh where it met the lace, his tongue tracing the straining edge of the cup, tasting salt and sugar. "Wanted to touch. Like this. All night."

Lacey whimpered, her head falling back, exposing the soft curve of her neck and the slight double chin. Her body shuddered against his, a wave of pleasure radiating from where his hands and mouth worshipped her breasts. "Oh god, Pete... yes," she moaned, her breathing becoming ragged, laboured by both arousal and the sheer mass of her own body. Her thick thighs pressed hard against his legs. "Touch 'em. Grab 'em. They're yours... all this... all of me... is yours." She guided one of his hands roughly, pushing it deeper into the overflowing cleavage, forcing his fingers to sink impossibly deeper into the warm, pillowy flesh spilling from the straining bra. "Show me how much you love 'em. Show me how much you wanted this fat."

His fingers dug deeper, sinking into that incredible, yielding weight, the warm flesh spilling over his knuckles like rising dough. Lacey gasped, a sharp, breathy sound that ended in a satisfied moan, her head lolling back against the sofa cushion. "Fuckin' hell, Pete... harder," she demanded, her voice thick, throaty, her green eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on him. "Show me you mean it." She arched her back again, forcing even more of her massive breasts into his grip, the lace edges cutting into soft flesh. Sweat glistened in the dim light tracing the deep valley between them, the curve spilling over her straining bra.

He obeyed, kneading the immense mounds, feeling their unbelievable softness, their sheer, overwhelming abundance. Her nipples were hard pebbles beneath the lace, responding to every rough circle of his thumbs. The scent of her, warm skin mingling with chocolate and the persistent greasy tang of the kebab, filled his nostrils. "God, Lacey," he growled, the words rough against the damp slope of her breast, his lips brushing heated skin. "These tits... unreal. So fucking big. So soft." He squeezed harder, relishing the way they moulded to his hands, the weight threatening to escape his grasp. "Saw 'em bouncing in that tiny top outside the kebab van... nearly drove me mad."

She chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest and into his palms. "Yeah? Just my tits?" Her hand slid down from his shoulder, blunt nails scraping lightly over his chest, down his abdomen. Her eyes held a dangerous, knowing glint. "Saw you watchin' all of me shove that kebab down my greedy throat." Her free hand landed heavily on the vast swell of her own belly, patting the taut, rounded dome that stretched her jeans. "Watched this belly get damn near bustin'." She shifted her hips, a slow, deliberate roll that made the solid curve of her stomach undulate against his hip. "Bet you loved seein' it stretch even tighter."

Peter's gaze travelled down the magnificent landscape of her body – the soft arms, the immense belly resting like a warm pillow on her lap, the wide flare of her hips barely contained by denim. His hand, almost of its own volition, slid down from the incredible weight of her breast, skimming the soft swell of her side, tracing the deep crease where her hip met her thigh. His fingers brushed the tight waistband of her jeans, feeling the soft flesh bulging above it. The sheer size of her, the intoxicating softness everywhere he touched, was overwhelming. "Loved every second," he admitted hoarsely, his hand finally settling possessively on the incredible curve of her hip. "Watching you... enjoying yourself. Seeing how much you wanted it. Needed it."

Lacey watched his hand, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "Just the belly? Just the tits?" she taunted softly, her voice dropping another octave, husky with promise. Her hips rolled again under his touch, a slow, heavy grind. Her other hand, still resting on her belly, pushed it outwards slightly, making the stretched denim groan. "Or..." She paused, her green eyes locking onto his, burning with invitation. "Was there somethin' else? Somethin'... bigger?" Her gaze flickered down, past the vast expanse of her stomach, then back up to meet his. Her smile turned wicked. "Somethin' you been really dyin' to get your hands on? All night?"

The unspoken challenge hung thick in the air, charged with the scent of chocolate and sweat and raw, undeniable desire. Peter’s grip tightened instinctively on the soft abundance spilling under his hand at her hip. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Yeah," he rasped, the word thick with years of suppressed hunger finally unleashed. His other hand abandoned her breast, sliding firmly down the immense curve of her back, over the soft dimples above her hips, finally landing with deliberate, claiming pressure on the monumental swell of her backside. His fingers splayed wide, sinking deep into the soft, yielding flesh barely contained by the tight black knickers and denim. "This fucking ass, Lacey." He squeezed hard, feeling the incredible softness, the sheer, breathtaking volume beneath the fabric. "Jesus Christ. It’s massive. Unreal." Another possessive squeeze, his fingers digging into the plush warmth. "Been watchin’ it all goddamn night. Watchin’ it sway when you walked to the van. Watchin’ it jiggle when you laughed. Watchin’ it fill out those jeans like they were painted on."

He leaned back slightly, just enough to meet her burning gaze. His voice was low, rough, stripped bare. "Wanted to grab it. Wanted to feel the weight. Wanted to bury my fucking face in it." His hand moved again, a slow, possessive slide over the immense curve, tracing the lower swell where it met her thick, flabby thigh. "Wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. Fuck, it’s softer." He squeezed again, a groan escaping him. "So fucking big... so fucking perfect. All night, Lace. Couldn’t think straight."

Lacey’s breath hitched. A triumphant, utterly feral light blazed in her eyes. She didn’t look shocked; she looked validated. "Oh, now we're talkin', muscle man," she purred, her voice dripping with raw satisfaction. She pushed her hips back deliberately into his hand, forcing his fingers impossibly deeper into the soft, dimpled flesh. "That's what I wanted to hear." Her hand shot out, grabbing the back of his neck with surprising strength, pulling his face down to hers. "Prove it," she demanded against his lips, her breath hot and urgent. Her vast belly pressed him back into the cushions. "Show me how much you want all this fat."