Chapter 2 - part 2: humiliating the weak fatboy

My wife positioned herself so that she was facing me head-on. Her smile had faded, she looked serious now. "Who is your mistress?"

"Why, you are, of course," I said.

"And who makes the rules?"

"You do, mistress." I began to grow a little anxious as to where this was going.

She rested her forearms on the table, fingers intertwined. She looked at them for several seconds. "Are you still able to masturbate, pig?"

I gaped at her for a moment. "Um, yes."

"You can still reach your penis, then? Around all this blubber? With those short, porky little arms?"

I nodded. " Um, it's become more difficult... Just barely. I didn't know-"

"Here's what I want," she said, cutting me off again. "I will continue fattening you until you can no longer masturbate without assistance. I want to be in total control of your sexual pleasure."

I was silent, but I could feel my face growing red. I could also feel my cock growing hard.

"I will challenge you for it," she said, and placed an elbow on the table, her forearm raised in front of me. "I will arm-wrestle you for it."

I swallowed hard, and hoped she didn't notice how nervous I was. I didn't notice her expression, all I could look at was her finely-toned, muscled arm. It looked thicker than I'd remembered it.

"Come on, piggy," she said, taunting, "surely a big, strong, bull like you can beat a little girl like me?"

With a frown, Ilifted my big, flabby arm up to the table. I knew how strong she was getting, but I hoped my sheer size and maybe some leverage from my additional weight would help me. Somewhere in my brain, from my ego, I wanted to be the strong Bull, not just the fat, soft, weak Cow.

"Excellent," she said, interlocking her hand with mine, and grinning from ear to ear. Her grip was so strong it actually caused me a small amount of pain. "On the count of three. One... two... three!"

I pushed forward with all my might, leaning into her as much as I could without raising my elbow from the table. Squinting and grunting, I applied all the strength and leverage I could muster. The flab hanging from my upper arm jiggled as I tried to get it to shift. When I glanced up at her, I saw her sitting there, looking almost bored. I grunted and scowled as I pushed harder against her.

"Is that the best you've got, fatty?" she asked. Her arm was steady, motionless. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting much, but this is still disappointing."

She smiled, and I could see her bicep flex and move a little as she started to exert her own strength. I could feel my arm shifting. She pushed it back, making my flab of jiggle. She did it slowly, gradually, beaming, until my arm was pressed down. She was clearly victorious.

She grinned at me and shrugged, folding her arms across her chest. She seemed completely comfortable at rest, while I was huffing heavily. My face was red and glistening with sweat.

I had no excuses to make, no grievances - she had bested me, fair and square. My cheeks glowed with exertion and embarrassment.

"Remember when we were at the gym lifting weights together?" she asked. I nodded, feeling too meek to speak. "The only exercise where you were stronger than I was was the squat. Do you remember? Well, I thought you might be interested to know that I have you beat at that now, too. Of course, you haven't been going to the gym as regularly as you should, so you're probably a little weaker than you were then, too."

"Probably," I said, quietly.

She stood, and motioned for me to do the same. I pushed my seat back from the table, which was always a bit of an awkward struggle, and leaned forward to heft myself up. The first time, I didn't make it, so my wife held her hands out. I took them, she braced herself, and helped pull me up.

"It's time for your reward," she said, in that commanding tone I knew so well.

"Reward? I don't understand - I lost the challenge..."

A gentle smile passed over her face. "Don't get dressed. Just go lie down on the bed. I'll be there in a few minutes." She gave me a peck on the cheek.