We chatted several times over BiggerCity and BeefyFrat. I was in my late 40's and Pete (not his real name) in his late 50's and was obviously in tune with my fantasies. I wanted little choice over how fat he'd make me — and he was clever enough to pick up on the sweet spots in my psyche — my vulnerabilities. He quickly learned what would trigger me into deep submission to my desire to over-indulge. He knew how to make me into a total unrestrained pig…and to do that with sublime sophistication.
A San Francisco socialite, he was obviously well off and loved to use his connections and wealth to satisfy his need to see someone like me balloon to surprising dimensions. He loved fat in every way one could imagine. Grow it, jiggle it, knead it, rub it, watch it pour out of clothes made unbearably tight in a large feeling. We were definitely in tune.
Connections? A friend of his owned one of San Francisco's high end Italian Restaurants. He knew the chef well. As an avid foodie, the chef would call him to try out new menu items, and create a one-off delectable in his many visits. Pete was delighted to hear that my favorite cuisine was Italian. I felt him leer at me when I told him I gained 2 lbs/day on the last cruise I took — without even trying. His malicious intent was effectively projected and I found it deliciously erotic.
"Tell me what you'd consider to be a fun feeding session." My description was to be seduced by pot (it makes me horny and ravenous), and then fed through the night nearly constantly, while being rewarded by being stimulated and milked. I loved to make out and kiss, I wanted to know that losing control over my appetites was a turn on to my feeder. I wanted him to use his imagination to derive ways to push me over the edge and get fat for his pleasure.
We set the date.
His preparation was meticulous.
I arrived, and Pete immediately took charge. He sat me down and insisted I smoke a whole joint. This was accompanied by an assorted bread, cracker, and cheese tray, and a rich Samuel Adams brew. After a consuming a couple of beers and the entire tray, the pot started to kick in. It was really powerful stuff. It had been years since I had imbibed, and was surprised to see that I had trouble keeping my balance as I walked. Pete delighted in this, for it gave him ever more power over me.
We arrived at the restaurant, and he guided me to our seats. I was a bit embarrassed because I was so intoxicated — but braced at the fact that he became more and more excited as I lost more and more control. Pete told me that he had asked the chef to prepare a rich pasta dish just for me, and to pick an appetizer and three main dishes from the menu. I was a bit dismayed, since I had eaten all of the large cheese tray… but the pot was in full force and so I quickly put that consideration aside.
I ordered the sampler appetizer (for 2), and Pete asked the waiter to tell the chef to start on his "special." The wine and the appetizer arrived. I managed to polish off most of the appetizer (75%) in about 15 minutes when the main course arrived. It was a devastating, cheesy casserole of Fusilli Bucati with a perfect tomato herbed sauce. As an Italian foodie, I was in heaven.
After I had finished off the appetizer platter and was ½ way through the chef's special, Pete ordered my first choice item on the menu. It arrived as I scraped the last of the special from my dish. The waiter looked on in astonishment, which was to me slightly embarrassing — but I was so intoxicated, I didn't care. I dug into the second main course with gusto — veal masala with a side of creamy spaghetti. With this, Pete became visibly excited, almost trembling with delight as I stuffed myself. For me, his reaction was a HUGE turn-on. I saw a wet spot emerge on his crotch.
Half way through the veal masala, Pete ordered my second choice on the menu. With the last morsel of veal swallowed, my Chicken Cacciatore arrived. It was sumptuous and I was still hungry, though felt some discomfort as my gut was fairly well stretched. With each bite, Pete looked on with intense satisfaction and encouragement, telling me he had a special treat for me at home if I could finish everything he had ordered. His excitement doubled my aroused state and I managed to finish off this plate as well.
Half way through the Chicken Cacciatore, he ordered the third plate, and was absolutely delighted at the waiter's amazement that I was not finished. The waiter was a handsome, rather fit young man who was clearly gay, athletic, masculine and mystified at our scene.
The final dish of Spaghetti Bolognese with large meatballs arrived. I was straining now, and Pete stepped up his encouragement. I managed to down all three meatballs, and about half of the pasta before I surrendered. Pete told me how proud he was and we got up to leave. Again, he had to help me to the car, because I was so loaded.
We returned to his house and he laid me down on the couch to rest. I think I napped for 2 hours. Pete woke me up and offered me a white Russian cocktail. This is when I brought out the 2nd joint. He was pretty damned insistent that I complete it as well.
There's an awesome diner chain in San Francisco, called "Max's" They serve a 15" New York cheesecake that is 4" thick. Rich and Delicious!
When that was complete, he brought out a whole Max's cheesecake. I'm sure my eyes bugged out! He ordered me to bed and to strip. Next to the cheesecake on the serving cart was a large jug full of a white liquid. In the jug was a clear plastic tube.
He laid me down. I was nearly in a stupor, but growing very hungry again. I felt his fingers part my lips and I opened my mouth. With mouth opened, Pete fed me a spoonful of cheesecake and stroked me. I held his dick, which was rigid, as I got more and more turned on. He continued to feed me the cheesecake and stroke me. When my mouth was too dry to swallow more, he gave me the tube to suck on. As long as I sucked that tube, he sucked on my dick. He backed off as I got close, returning to another round of cheesecake. I had downed about three quarters of the fluid, and a full one quarter of the cheesecake, and could do no more. Pete rewarded me with a climax. I fell off to sleep.
I'm not sure how much later it happened, but I felt his finger on my mouth again. I was barely awake — and didn't open my eyes — but did open my mouth. In came a fresh helping of cheesecake, followed by a sip on the tube. This happened 3-4 times that night and each time Pete stroked me as a reward.
When I awoke the next morning nearly half of the cheesecake had been consumed. In all, I had downed a gallon and one half of the half & half and cream mixture. I was hugely bloated. It was Saturday, and I left with great gratitude and a new date to get together. Pete promised he had more inventive ways to fatten me up. When I weighed myself the following day, I was up by five pounds. My appetites were so activated that I had gained 10 full pounds in my belly when we got together the next weekend.