Part of a wg story I found in my drafts:
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"If you'll let me, I'll make sure you never stop feeling like this," you whisper, suddenly tender, kneeling on the couch next to me, halfway to straddling.
"Like what?" I ask, voice rough with want as I look down. I've never been able to eat myself this big on my own. I've never even seen myself this big. My cheeks burn as I carefully feel the heavy sides of my new gut.
"On fire," you whisper, watching me explore what you've done to me. "Every nerve lit up.
"You're great, and this is..."
My head falls back in pleasure against the back of the couch, hands pressed to either side of the belly that doesn't feel like mine. Heavy and full. So, so big. "..this is incredible. But if we keep doing this, I'm going to..."
I bite my lip. The thought is hot. Too hot. Way way too hot, too dangerous. I can't let myself get swept away in it. "This was supposed to be a one-time thing," I protest half-heartedly.
"I know." You nod, sweetly massaging a roll, and I gasp, face crumpling in ecstasy. "And it can be... if you want it to."
"No." The word comes out to my dismay, but I can't keep it in. This can't be the only time we do this. The thought of it slipping through my fingers makes my voice urgent. "No, please. Just... a little more."
"Okay," you coo, kissing down my cheek, my slightly soft jaw. "But you know that if you keep seeing me, you're going to get fat, right?" Your breath is so hot on my ear, and you nip at my earlobe. "You're going to get very... very fat."
My head spins. My belly throbs. I can't breathe. "...yes."
"Are you ready for that?"
I swallow, and decide to answer honestly. "I don't think so."
"But I don't care." The desperate need in my rough whisper alarms even me.
You lean forward and kiss my nose. We're so close, I can feel the heat of your body radiating into mine. "Thank you for being honest," you whisper, and your hand moves excruciatingly slowly from gently rubbing a roll, around to settle on the straining front of my belly, and you place your palm flat, slowly beginning to rub circles. "You don't have to worry. I'm taking care of you now. I'll make you nice and fat, and if you get embarrassed, I'll make you feel good. Okay?”
“Okay.” I gasp, arching up what little I can into your hand.
“And if you get nervous - about how fast you’re changing, or any of it - I’ll just push a nice treat past those lips and you’ll remember you’re my docile little fat pet. Won’t you?”
“Yes.”
"We'll get you a nice heavy belly," you promise, sliding the rest of the way onto my lap, sharing it with the gut you've already started to put on me, and drag over the bag of chocolates. "Don't you worry."
