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Warning: This is an adult/fetish story about male weight gain/belly stuffing. Please don't read it if you're not of age or are bothered by the subject matter.

It wasn’t just a large pizza, of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough for Kelly to see me eat a 20” pizza by myself in one sitting. Of course it also had to be a deep dish pizza with a thick, dense, greasy crust. Of course it had to have an obscene layer of cheese on top. And of course it had to have every kind of meat piled high on top of it all.

She watched like a hawk through every single bite. As the greasy cheesy pizza took residence in my stomach and sat there like a lead weight, she watched me.

As I ate what felt like pounds of carbs and dairy and meat, she watched me.

As the time between bites stretched longer and my jaw got tired and I grew short of breath, she watched me.

As my poor stomach stretched to contain this gruesome meal and I became uncomfortably bloated and full, she watched me.

As I groaned softly and rubbed my distended gut and loosened my belt and unbuttoned my pants and leaned back with my shirt buttons straining, looking and feeling huge and fat and swollen and pregnant and glutted to my eyeballs, she watched me.

As I finally chewed and swallowed the last bite and slumped back for the last time, completely undone and defeated and feeling like I had just swallowed a stack of bowling balls, she watched me.

She watched me with a small feral grin, with a quick licking of her lips, with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks and a victorious gleam in her bright eyes. She watched me as I swelled, expanded, ballooned. She watched me with intense rapture, visibly growing aroused, her gaze raking my bloated form as her fingers soon would.

I belched hugely, unable to stifle it. She won and I knew her gloating was inevitable.

“Oh Brett baby, you look like you’re just about to pop,” she purred with great satisfaction.

I could not argue that. Such was the internal pressure that I was surprised my navel had not yet popped out. A few more meals like this and I was sure it would.

“Alright now, up on your feet,” she commanded.

I swore silently. She had been giving me less and less time to recover afterward. I think she just enjoyed watching me struggle.

With a truly disgraceful amount of effort, I moved my bulk to a standing position. I could not keep myself from arching my back to offset the incredible weight of my overstuffed gut. Talk about feeling pregnant, I was ready for maternity pants.

“I don’t think you’re going to be running this off,” she smirked, patting my protruding middle.

The memory of a conversation from months ago came flooding back:

“Not worried about a few larger meals?” she asked, patting my firm, flat stomach.

“Nah, I’ll just run them off,” I replied, tragically not giving a second thought to it.

“You sure about that?” she inquired. “I’m not holding back. If you’re going to let me feed you anything I want, you better be ready to eat.”

“Trust me, I know how to eat,” I chuckled. “I’m sure a few more calories here and there aren’t going to be that big a deal.”

That was before the first time I had been stuffed into a stupor only to have her bring out a cake and feed me three slices. That was before the first time I had the button on my slacks fly off in the middle of dinner. That was before the first time I had to lean forward to look over my recently formed pot belly to see the disturbingly high number on the scale. That was before the first Thanksgiving dinner for just the two of us that ended with me naked and comatose at the table, unable to see Kelly’s head as she gave me the most mind-blowing, toe-curling blowjob I’ve ever received.

To sum up - no, I would not be running this off. I could barely waddle, although I was loathe to admit that to her. To be perfectly honest, I had not been running anything off lately. My rapidly growing waistline could attest to this fact.

I slowly walked behind her as we went up to the bedroom, gently cradling my middle like a forty pound sack of sand. I’ve heard that there exist goofy little suits that men strap on to simulate what it feels like for a woman to be pregnant. I unfortunately now carried around my own, rather permanent, simulation belly.

“Come on now, we don’t have all day,” Kelly giggled as she waited at the doorway, swatting my substantial rear as I walked past her.

I stopped in the middle of the room so the next phase could begin. I tried not to roll my eyes as she slowly circled me, tapping her lower lip with one fingernail as if in deep thought.

“Hmm, baby, it looks like something’s different about you,” she mused with infuriating innocence.

Even now my impulse was to suck in my gut, but I was so thoroughly stuffed that my bulging belly refused to budge.

“Now where did this come from?” she asked rhetorically, patting my stomach. “This certainly wasn’t here when we got married a couple years ago. I guess someone has been letting themselves go a little bit, eh? Let’s see the damage.”

With that she began undoing the straining buttons on my shirt, slowly revealing my tautly swollen sphere of a belly. She slid it off and continued caressing my midsection, her fingers exploring every inch.

“And now what happened up here?” she asked as her attention moved upwards.

She was of course talking about my chest. My once proud pecs were now buried under a thick layer of flab that now gently sat atop the shelf of my gut. I was pretty naturally hairless and always liked that look, but as excess weight started accumulating in my chest I began to grow rather feminine looking breasts. Kelly wasted no time in starting to play with them, kneading the pads of fat and tweaking my nipples.

“Let’s get you out of those pants,” she said huskily, betraying her arousal.

Her hands slid down beneath my globular paunch and paused.

“Are your pants unbuttoned already?” she laughed in delight.

I wanted to retort that she had damn well seen me unbutton them, but I knew this was part of the game.

“Baby, we just bought you these!” she exclaimed in mock surprise. “Are you packing it on that quickly? Oh my, you are really blimping up, aren’t you? If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up getting really . . . fat."

She began to unzip my pants and paused again.

“Wow, your belly isn’t the only thing that’s swollen,” she remarked.

It was humiliating but true. Not only did my wife conspire against my waistline, my own body was betraying me in a very visceral fashion. It turned out that being stuffed to the rafters was a real kickstarter for my libido. That was probably part of the reason that I had been derailed so quickly and thoroughly. There was no hiding my very visible physical response to the experience of being overfed and fattened which of course only spurred Kelly on more. As vexing as it was, I experienced just as much pleasure from this as she did.

I groaned softly as she ran her fingers up and down the cloth-enclosed length of my member. She loved to tease me and really draw it out, getting me quite worked up before moving on to slide my pants down to my ankles.

I awkwardly stepped out of them with her help, unable to bend over myself. Clad in only a too-small pair of briefs (per her request of course), I truly felt like a hog fattened for market. Love handles spilled out over an elastic waistband that was stretched to the max. My enlarged rear was increasingly less covered by the available fabric as more excess calories turned my formerly tight runner’s rump into a disturbingly jiggly bubble butt.

With a mischievous smile she knelt down to tug my briefs down as well, chuckling to herself as they caught around my rather thick thighs. Again I stepped out of them with her help, but this time she didn’t stand back up right away. While I had difficulty looking over my domed middle, I could certainly feel her fingers as they stroked the inside of my thighs and her lips as they pressed against the underside of my belly.

I really didn’t need too much to rev up the engines at this point, standing at attention quite firmly already. Nevertheless she knew how to use fingers and tongue to push me right to the limit. All I could do was hold the swollen sphere of my gut and puff and moan as she teased me.

Finally she had had enough, standing up while still keeping me in a firm grip with one hand. She guided me backward until my legs bumped against the bed and then released me as she pushed me to a sitting position. I glanced down, my growing stomach was starting to take up a disturbing amount of my lap.

“Lay down and scoot back,” she commanded.

I did so, slowly, with a fair bit of grunting. Then I peered over the bloated dome of my gut as she sensuously slid out of her own clothes. She bit her lip as she gazed upon my prone form, my excitement evident and my satiated state even more so.

I had learned that the more I had been stuffed into a stupor and thusly struggled to maneuver myself during our intimate moments, the more it seemed to arouse and energize her. I had to admit, it was incredibly sexy to see her lose control to her baser desires and be truly dominating in bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I was developing a brand new definition of “bloated”. One large heavy meal after another put me in a perpetual state of utter repletion. There was no more sucking in my expanding stomach anymore, it bulged out constantly. I was increasing in pants size at a dangerous pace as Kelly made sure each meal ended with me puffing for breath and literally too full to stand.

Every morning I woke up feeling a bit fatter than the previous day. My reflection in the mirror certainly confirmed that as well, I was almost unrecognizable. I wore just boxer-briefs and an undershirt, neither were old but both were thoroughly outgrown. The shirt rode up quite a bit, almost to my navel, letting a good bit of my swollen gut hang out for all to see. It also clung very tightly around my chest, my fattened, jiggling pecs outlined quite clearly.

“Ready for breakfast?” Kelly asked from the doorway.

“I’m still full from last night,” I grunted.

It was true, she had fed me a bucket of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. Then an entire blueberry pie to completely finish me off before bed.

“Too bad, chubbo,” she giggled. “Got a nice big breakfast waiting to fill you right up. Pretty soon that shirt is going to look like a sports bra on you.”

I hitched it up over the swollen curve of my stomach. “Almost looking like it already.”

“Mmm, that’s what I’m talking about,” she leered. “You’re starting to seriously blimp out.”

I slapped the side of my paunch and watched it bounce. She wasn’t wrong. As I followed her downstairs for breakfast I was incredibly aware of each new pound. My center of gravity shifted as I became more front heavy, causing me to always lean back a little. My pecs (I was loathe to call them moobs, even if that was more accurate) jiggled with each footfall, as did most of my body at this point.

By the time I got to the kitchen I was extremely cognizant of my growth, yet felt a certain stirring down below in anticipation of being fattened up even more.

Kelly wasn’t messing around, making cinnamon rolls the size of my fist, along with all the other breakfast classics. I was puffing by the halfway mark, which caused her to look quite pleased indeed.

“Slowing down already?” she asked with a smirk.

I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs as I tried to catch my breath a bit. The weight of my overloaded stomach pulled it down, I rubbed the taut upper section of my gut to try and help the digestion process.

“Just a *brrp* little break,” I grunted.

“Good, wouldn’t want to think you stuffing yourself too full to move,” she taunted. “Maybe after breakfast we can go for a run together.”

She patted her flat, firm stomach, always relishing an opportunity to draw attention to the increasing discrepancy between our sizes. I felt like a bloated hippo, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine.

“Remember when we used to do all those 5Ks together?” she asked rhetorically as I loaded my plate up with more bacon and yet another gut-busting cinnamon roll. “I’m sure your remember all the times you bragged about finishing before me. How do you think that would work out now?”

I had a pretty good idea exactly how that would go, and it definitely wasn’t pretty. I was much more qualified for an eating contest than any sort of race now.

“I think I know what would happen,” Kelly continued. “I’d start off at a nice pace like normal and you’d be there waddling along, your fat gut sticking out like you’re pregnant, just watching this nice, tight ass disappear into the distance.”

She turned and showed her yoga pants-clad rear, and I had to admit it was quite nice as well. Many hours at the gym had sculpted into a rather drool-worthy ass, especially when she wore snug yoga pants like today.

“Is that what you think would happen?” she asked, leaning over me and patting my glutted stomach while giving me a very nice eyeful down her top.

I tried to summon some sort of answer, but all I could concentrate on was her full, hanging breasts and the way her fingers trailed down the front of my bulging middle and then down farther where they slid inside my underwear and grabbed me firmly.

“Tell you what, maybe I’ll do a little warmup in the bedroom before I go out for a run. But first . . . you need to finish your breakfast.”

I was packed full, but still three huge cinnamon rolls remained.

“Oof, too full,” I groaned, feeling myself twitch in her hand as she grinned widely.

“I’m sure you have a little room,” she insisted, one hand slowly pumping up and down while she grabbed a roll with her other hand.

I let her feed me by hand as she stimulated me, alternately panting and groaning as I rode the waves of pleasure and discomfort. Soon she was moaning along with me, becoming more and more aroused as my poor gut blew out further and further.

“Uck, ugh *brrrp* enough,” I finally gasped, on the verge of exploding in every possible way.

“You did a good job,” she chuckled, wiping frosting from my lip. “C’mon now, I’ll race you to the bedroom!”

“Ooof, can’t move,” I groaned. “Too . . . full. Too . . . fat.”

Kelly’s eyes flashed with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my, is my big strong husband so stuffed that he can’t even get up? Did someone eat so much that he just . . . can’t . . . move? Is that big, fat, swollen, bloated gut so heavy and full that you’re stuck there?”

I didn’t respond. How could I? Everything she said was disturbingly accurate. I had just eaten myself into temporary immobility, so disgustingly full and fat that I couldn’t stand.

She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed at me, obviously enjoying my predicament to the fullest.

“Okay, I’ll give you a chance to recover,” she said, still giggling a bit. “I’m going to go to the gym and run a couple errands. When you can move again, hehe, I want you to go up to the bedroom, take off all your clothes, and lay down on the bed. When I’m back, I’ll take a shower and join you. Sound good?”

I nodded, stifling a massive belch.

The thought of still being stuck in the chair when she returned was absolutely humiliating, so the moment I was capable of moving I got up and waddled to the bedroom.

Before I laid down, I glumly took stock of myself in the mirror. I looked like I had somehow gained another ten pounds in the last hour or two, all in my vastly bloated gut. Audibly moaning in discomfort as I slowly disrobed, I reflected on how I had arrived at this predicament.

Kelly’s initial revelation that she liked seeing a guy “well-fed” seemed virtually harmless. I certainly never starved myself so I didn’t see the issue. When she asked if I would be willing to eat everything she made for me, I never would have imagined it would involve me being stuffed to immobility or gaining weight so quickly that Kelly would be sewing buttons back on my pants on a weekly basis.

I laid down on the bed as instructed, feeling the weight of my overloaded middle pressing down on me. I gently rubbed the the taut surface of my spherical belly, giving in to the long, groaning belches that worked their way up.

I would have happily drifted off into a nice little nap, but I was interrupted by a stirring below. It seemed every time that I was weighted down by a heavy bloat, I would inevitably grow quite aroused.

I closed my eyes to sleep but all I saw was a mental image of Kelly bending over me earlier, giving me a nice eyeful down her top. Despite trying my hardest to clear my mind, that titillating image remained. Just as my will-power was almost completely sapped, I heard the door open and closed as Kelly returned home.

A few moments later she peeked in on me, glowing slightly from her workout and looking insanely hot.

“Mmm, good boy,” she purred. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Of course, as soon as I heard the shower start all I could think about was Kelly soaping up her tight, toned, perfect body from head to toes. My arousal grew as I began to imagine her stepping out of the shower, joining me in bed, exploring every inch of my body with her tongue and . . .

I froze. When had the shower stopped? My heart sinking, I craned my neck to see over the crest of my paunch.

“This. Is. So. Freaking. Hot.” Kelly pronounced from the doorway, standing there naked,

I had no words.

“Why did you stop?” she asked as she walked over to me.

She wrapped her hand around my fist and started moving it up and down again.

She leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Don’t stop, but don’t finish yet.”

Then she walked back out of the room. Moments later she returned, still unclothed but holding a worryingly familiar box.

“I drove by here after the gym and couldn’t resist stopping there,” she told me. “I know how much you love them when they’re fresh and warm.”

She opened the box and there they sat, a dozen light, airy, glazed donuts. I knew I was in trouble. Slowly she fed me one by one as I kept stroking, aware that even though the donuts were light in weight, they were packed full of fattening calories.

What room had been cleared in my stomach was quickly filled up again.

“Do you know how fattening these are?” she whispered again in my ear. “No wonder you’ve rounded out so much.”

Another donut. More chewing. More stroking.

“Where do you think this one will end up? Maybe those love handles? I do love that you’re starting to get wider as well.”

Another donut. A muffled moan. Still stroking.

“Do you know what I did at the gym? I ran six miles. For breakfast I had two eggs and some yogurt with granola. Did you know I’ve lost five pounds since we got married? Can you tell?”

She stood up and flexed for me. Her abs were more visible than ever, her legs more muscular, her breasts full and perky.

I started stroking faster.

“Not yet baby,” she urged. “Still six more to go.”

Another donut, I was stretching to my limit.

“What have you done since we got married? Well, you probably haven’t run six miles combined in the last year. Nope, you’ve gotten nice and comfy and let yourself go a little. You like to let your wife cook you a good meal and then you eat until you’re plumb full.”

Another donut.

“And that’s really started to take a toll on your figure, hasn’t it? First your abs disappeared under a nice little starter belly. Yup, just a little soft around the middle. The mark of a man well cared-for in the kitchen and the bedroom.”

I belched, panting, my arm growing tired.

“But you didn’t stop there, did you? You could have turned it around, lost the weight, and been nice and fit like me. Instead you didn’t renew your gym membership because you were hardly ever going and you bought a weight set for the basement. And I’ll give you credit, you’re still down there a couple times a week staying nice and strong and I appreciate that.”

Another donut. How many left?

“But I’m afraid that weight-lifting didn’t really help the main issue, did it? You were eating three big meals a day plus snacks. You were hitting up the vending machines at work and stopping for fast food a couple times a week. Everyone who knows you got to watch that tiny little tummy grow into a nice round pot belly.”

Another donut. About to pop. Huge belch.

“And then you just kept packing it on. You were outgrowing clothes so fast that people must have wondered if I was sticking a hose down your throat and pumping you full of lard. All our friends noticed. Cindy, Susan, Jamie . . . they’ve all said something to me. About how quickly you’ve gained. About how content you look. I give them little tidbits, nothing much. Just about how you unbutton your jeans after dinner. How you sometimes ask if I’m shrinking your clothes.”

Another donut.

“Cindy actually asked when you were due the other day. Hehehe, isn’t that hilarious? You were wearing these jeans that were really tight, barely buttoned up under your belly. And you had that polo on that probably fit 25 pounds ago, now it just shows off how far you stick out in front. She said it looked like you were pumped full of baby. Do you know what I told Cindy?”

She held up another donut.

“Last one.”

I groaned out loud in relief. Her hand wrapped around my fist again and began pumping faster.

“I told her that you were just pumped full of food. And that . . . almost there . . . and it would be a while . . . before . . . you . . . popped!”

Her last squeeze took me over the edge, my eyes crossing and back arching. Sometime later I became aware that she was cleaning me up and leaning over to wish me sweet dreams.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Another beer?” Joe asked.

“Ah . . . sure,” I replied, accepting the bottle.

It was my fourth in about two hours. I wasn’t quite buzzed but was feeling a little bloated, especially because we had also been snacking on chicken wing dip, chips with guacamole, and other assorted snacks.

Every couple weeks we’d get together with our group of friends and hang out. Since it was football season, us guys were sitting in Joe’s living room watching the game, drinking beer, and snacking away. The women seemed to bring a new dish to sample every time the food was running low, I wondered if Kelly was behind it.

A couple more hours passed, the late game started, and I was working on my 8th beer as it occurred to me that I had snacked my way into needing to loosen my belt. I got up to go to the bathroom but ran into Kelly in the hall.

“Almost ready for dinner?” she asked.

“What? Dinner? I, um, thought the snacks and stuff were it for food,” I replied, realizing that I had been set up.

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “Did you binge on snacks and beer and now you’re feeling bloated?”

She punctuated her point with a firm jab to my bulging middle.

“Um, no,” I lied, totally trapped.

“Good, because we made a ton of food,” she grinned. “Tell the guys that dinner is in 15 minutes sharp and to bring your appetites.”

In the bathroom I loosened my belt two notches, knowing I’d need the room. Unfortunately that was the last notch, so no more loosening would be possible. I made a note to buy a longer belt, but then caught myself. Kelly had really gotten into my head, I just assumed at this point that I’d gain more weight. Something had to be done.

After tonight, that is.

She definitely wasn’t lying about the food. The table was filled with spaghetti and meatballs, lemon garlic chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, dinner rolls, and more. Kelly happily filled my plate for me, making sure it was practically spilling off the edges. I just smiled and remarked how good everything looked.

I was able to keep up a bit of pretense during the first serving, feeling my belly swelling more. Then of course dishes were passed around again and somehow I ended up with some of everything. I took it slowly, thinking that Kelly would not press the issue in public and I would be done afterward.

“Hmm, there’s only a bit of spaghetti left. You’ll take it, right Brett?” said Cindy.

I was so surprised I almost choked on my last bite. Before I could respond, she was scooping a generous serving onto my plate.

“And only two meatballs, silly to let them go to waste,” she continued, adding them as well.

I stifled a belch and tucked back in.

“Only one more roll, who wants is?” Jamie asked.

“Brett will take care of it,” Kelly volunteered.

I wasn’t the only one doing “clean up”, however, as all the other guys had their plates re-filled again. I thought I could discern a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of each woman’s mouth as we were fed more and more.

I could barely stifle belches and groans as I ballooned further, my stomach stretching to contain an immense amount of food. The other guys were also starting to groan about feeling way too full.

Too proud to beg Kelly to stop, I finally finished every last scrap that she gave me.

“Did you have enough, dear?” Kelly asked with a glint in her eye.

I could have sworn I heard Cindy chuckle as I nodded and stifled a belch.

“Why don’t you guys go watch a bit more football and we’ll bring dessert down in a bit,” Jamie suggested.

With some difficulty we all tottered back to the living room where we all reclined with a sign, unbuckling our belts and gently rubbing our swollen middles.

A short while later Kelly and Jamie came in with plates of dessert, giggling at the sight of us sprawled out in our seats, midsections bulging with dinner. We all accepted the servings of peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream, half-heartedly protesting that we were out of room.

When Kelly gave me mine she leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“I’m going to ride that big fat belly tonight.”

Several hours later we were home and she was keeping her word. I was freshly stuffed with the leftover cobbler that we took home and she gyrating on top of me, straddling my hips and grasping my gut.

“Oh, yes, baby . . . you are getting so . . . so . . . fat!” she exclaimed.

For maybe the first time, I really saw the joy on Kelly’s face. I knew she had enjoyed feeding me and watching me gain, but I don’t think I ever appreciated how much it really made her happy. And really, if it made her happy, why was I afraid of it making me happy as well? I obviously enjoyed it on a very basic carnal level, so why was I reluctant to embrace something that made us both happy?

“Mmm, I am getting fat,” I replied. “Look how big I’ve gotten. I feel so huge.”

Kelly looked at me in surprise, but kept going with vigor.

“Tell me more,” she moaned, biting her lip.

“I’m so full,” I groaned. “My stomach feels like it’s going to explode. I feel like a huge, fat, bloated, beached whale.”

Kelly gasped in pleasure and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“I can’t believe how quickly I packed on all this weight,” I continued. “I’m getting so big. My gut sticks out so far that I can’t even see my feet anymore. I’m so fat that I’m starting to waddle.”

I felt Kelly tighten around me as she exploded in pure bliss, triggering my own release. Afterward she sank down to the bed, curling up next to me with her hand resting on the apex of my belly.

“That was amazing,” she breathed.

I nodded and held her close.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After that night we found our rhythm. I learned that Kelly enjoyed it when I scoffed at the idea that she would be able to keep fattening me up. Her favorite was when I’d tell her that I was going to start dieting and lose all the extra pounds, and then she’d make me eat my words . . . and a couple thousand calories.

“What’s that?” she asked one Saturday afternoon after I returned from the store with a large box and several bags.

“A treadmill and new exercise clothes,” I told her. “Remember? I said I was going to lose this extra weight.”

In truth, I was planning on using it regularly to stay healthy, but I knew my waistline would not be shrinking.

“Sure thing babe,” she smirked. “Whatever you say.”

After I put it together, I changed into my new clothes and got on. I purposefully bought my clothes on the snug side so every extra pound was very evident. I started slow but still felt an alarming amount of jiggling. Kelly watched, licking her lips with sensual hunger.

“Yup, I’m going to run off this weight in no time,” I bragged, trying to hide the fact that I was already a little short of breath. It was probably good that I didn’t wait any longer before buying this.

“Whatever you say, dear,” she replied.

I was kind of hoping that she wouldn’t stick around for the whole workout, but she made no indication that she was going to leave. I upped the speed and began a slow jog. Soon I was red-faced and puffing for breath, repeatedly pulling down my shirt in a vain effort to keep my entire gut covered. Kelly’s breathing quickened with mine, but for obviously different reasons.

Finally I had to admit that my stamina was nearly non-existent and pushed the button for the cool down mode. When it completed I stepped off of the treadmill with shaking legs.

“Yeah, no problem,” I said, trying to keep up my bravado.

A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Dinner will be ready after your shower.”

An hour and a half later I surveyed the devastation. A medium sized pan had held lasagna, but now only contained some smears of sauce and a few clumps of cheese.

Kelly stood behind my seat, leaning over to murmur in my ear.

“How do you feel?”

My cheeks puffed out as I fought to contain a massive belch, it finally escaped with a long, low moan.

Her hands slid down my chest and caressed the pronounced curve of my midsection, now bloated and engorged.

“I checked the treadmill while you were in the shower,” she said. “Do you know how many calories you burned?”

I was barely able to shake my head.

“94,” she informed me with barely concealed glee. “And do you know how many calories were in the lasagna you just ate?”

I didn’t respond, as I knew she didn’t need me to.

“1400 calories. So how do you think this weight loss thing is going to go?”

“I’ll lose it *brrrrp* in a year,” I managed to grunt.

She laughed smugly. “In a year, huh? Well, I predict that in a year your belly will be so big that you’ll be asking me to tie your shoes for you. But, if this is something you want to do, I’ll certainly support you. I have some workout clothes waiting for you upstairs on the bed. Why don’t you put them on and I’ll come join you in a minute.”

I got up with a disgraceful amount of effort and lumbered up to the bedroom, my heavily swollen gut swaying before me. I sighed and shook my head when I saw what Kelly had laid out on the bed for me to wear. She had taken a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and “tailored” them to look like some kind of throwback workout gear.

I reluctantly changed into the ridiculous outfit and then looked at myself in the mirror. The sweatpants had about 95% of the legs cut off so my thick, flabby thighs were fully revealed. The t-shirt had been cut so it just covered my chest, doing nothing to conceal the gigantic, protruding orb of my stomach.

“Not bad, huh?” Kelly chuckled.

I turned from the mirror to see her standing in the doorway, each hand holding a pie.

“Peach and blueberry,” she said, nodding to each respective pie. “I thought we should top you off, why don’t you lay down on the bed and get comfortable.”

I did as she suggested and she began feeding me the pies, switching between forkfuls of peach and blueberry. Despite being so full already, I found that I was able to keep up with the steady feeding. Things did get blurry for a while, all I remember was the elastic feeling as my stomach stretched more and more and the increasing weight pinning me to the bed.

“All done,” Kelly finally announced.

I grunted slightly as I regained some awareness. Awkwardly, I lifted my head slightly to see my tremendously bloated belly rising like a mountain, obscuring much of my view.

I was massive. I groaned softly as I let my head fall back.

“No time to rest now,” she teased. “Not with that huge calorie bomb in your gut. If you don’t get up and exercise some more you’re just going to keep getting fatter and fatter. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Just need . . . a minute,” I grunted.

“Oh my, are you too full to move?” she giggled. “Sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind? Remember, I did say I’d support you in losing weight. Surely there’s some sort of motivation I can offer.”

She ran her tongue slowly around her lips, giving me a very smoky look that left my mouth dry.

“Isn’t there something I can do?” she repeated, running the tip of her finger down between her pert breasts and across her flat abs.

“Wh-what did you have in mind?” I asked.

“Tell you what, just give me one sit-up and I will drain . . . you . . . completely.”

I knew the cutoff sweats were doing nothing to hide my strong physical reaction.

“Of course,” she continued. “Maybe you can’t do it. Maybe you’ve gotten so fat that you can’t even sit up anymore. Wow, how embarrassing would that be?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I can still . . . urk.”

That little sound corresponded with my attempt to rise. Kelly had distracted me enough so that I almost forgot about the monumental amount of food I had eaten. My first attempt to rise was a complete and utter failure. I felt my face heating as a grin spread across Kelly’s face.

Trying to convince myself that I failed because I hadn’t really put any effort into it, I made a second attempt. I gasped and grunted as I strained to rise, my heavily distended stomach remaining stubbornly in the way.

This can’t be happening, I thought.

Suddenly desperate to get to a sitting position by any means necessary, I twisted sideways to lever myself up. Kelly put a hand on my chest and pushed me back into a prone position with disturbing ease.

“No cheating,” she chided me. “Don’t tell me you’re already so fat that you’re stuck on your back like a turtle.”

I wasn’t going to admit it, but that was exactly how I felt. I made another half-hearted attempt at it, but whatever ab muscles were responsible for moving me up had been so stretched out and weakened by all the overfeeding that I barely even budged.

I couldn’t move.

“I’m not going to lie, that was pretty great,” Kelly said, sound rather breathless herself. “I will definitely reward your effort, but then you have to do a little something for me.”

She crawled onto the foot of the bed and slipped off my shorts and underwear. At first I thought my concern over how much I had gained would put a damper on my libido, but as usual she had me clawing at the sheets in no time. True to her word, she did not stop until I felt completely drained.

Moments later she was standing by the bed again, staring hungrily at me as she slowly disrobed. I just laid there in a haze of pleasure, more unable to move than ever.

I just watched as she climbed onto the bed next to my head and swung one leg over so she was straddling my face. Looking up, I saw strong thighs, firm abs, the undersides of perfect, perky breasts, and her smiling face.

“Hope you’re still a little hungry,” she purred as she lowered herself down.

Oh, I definitely was.