It started accidentally, really. Not at all planned. You took a cooking class, which of course involved a lot of tasting along the way and a shared dinner at the end of each session. It was French food, with lots of butter and cream. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d gained a few pounds until your partner playfully pinched your waistline.
“Looks like you’ve put on a few,” they observed, giving your padded ass a pat.
“Oh really? Look at your belly.”
You do, and notice the little rounded swell beneath your shirt. “I didn’t realize…I’m sure I can lose this,” you stammer.
“Why would you do that?” they ask. “It’s sexy. Why not take the next class? I’d love it if you gained a few more pounds, if you’re ok with that.”
So you do, and you do, all that rich food filling out your curves. You have to admit that they look as good as your partner thinks they do. They can’t keep their hands off of you as they compliment your bigger belly, thighs, and ass. You love how they massage and slap your belly with admiration. You love clothes shopping together, finding sexy clothes in increasingly bigger sizes.
You eventually take the entire series of classes, become a gourmet cook. Along the way, you continue to gain, the extra weight slowing you down in the kitchen even as your skills progress. Your partner encourages you every step of the way, praising your cooking and your heavier body. Inevitably, they grow a potbelly as well from all the good food. You didn’t realize how sexy you would find this, the sight of their belly sticking out of their shirt. Holding each other feels so good, your soft bodies pressing against each other.
“Look,” you say, “They’re offering a series of Italian cooking classes next.”
Your partner waddles over and gives your belly a shake, their own belly wobbling. “Looks like you should sign up.”