The neon sign flickered above the buffet, casting a warm glo..

The neon sign flickered above the buffet, casting a warm glow over the parking lot as we pulled in. I’d been waiting for this moment all day, watching you drive, your thick belly pressing against the wheel, your heavy frame settling deeper into the seat with every mile. I knew you were hungry—I could hear your stomach grumbling even over the roar of the engine—but I wanted more than just a simple meal for you. I wanted to see you let go, to feed without restraint, to gorge yourself like the greedy hog I knew you could be.

Inside, I made sure your plate was never empty. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes swimming in butter, mac and cheese so thick and creamy it clung to the spoon—every bite only making you heavier, lazier, needier. “That’s it, baby,” I whispered, rubbing your belly under the table as you groaned between mouthfuls. “Eat like you’ve never eaten before. Show me how much you can handle.” Your gut swelled round and tight, pressing hard against your waistband until you finally had to give in—undoing the button, unzipping your jeans with a relieved grunt. The sight of you, stuffed and helpless, your belly rising and falling with every labored breath, made my thighs clench.

By the time you’d cleaned every plate, you were too full to move. You sat there, dazed, panting, your stomach bulging against the bottom of your stretched-too-tight t-shirt. “Come on, piggy,” I teased, helping you waddle out the door, your belly jiggling with every step. The cool night air hit us, but you were too stuffed to even shiver—all you could do was clutch your overfed gut and groan. Getting back in the rig was a struggle. You tried to hoist yourself up, but you were too heavy, too bloated to manage it alone. I smirked, planting my hands on your soft, round backside and giving you a firm push. “Up you go, fat boy.”

Once inside, I didn’t waste a second. My hands roamed over your stuffed belly, feeling how tight and full you were, how soft and heavy you’d become for me. “That’s my good, greedy boy,” I purred, lips brushing against your ear. “You ate so well for me. Now it’s time for your reward.”

Should I continue this story?