Chapter 5

Fuck! I'm such a klutz!

I was baking one Sunday afternoon (making some of Heather's favorite chocolate peanut butter chip cookies) and I dropped the stoneware jar of flour onto my right foot.  Somehow I managed to hobble out to the car and drive wrong-footed to the hospital.  Turns out I definitely broke a bone, so now I have to use crutches to get around.  Drat my luck!

The only good thing to come of this is Heather's sympathy.  She's been a true doll, making sure I take it easy at work and even coming over to my apartment most evenings to cook and clean a bit.  If anything, this only made her hotter.  Apparently she never really did much cooking or baking before, but is loving the experience of learning how.  A few times an experiment in the kitchen didn't turn out to be all that edible, but then we just ordered a pizza and split a six pack.  When my worst evenings involved a gorgeous little porker, silly TV shows, and pizza with beer, I knew I had nothing to complain about.

Well, ok, maybe I had one complaint.  Like I said before, my own calorie consumption was rising as I urged Heather to eat more and more.  Before it wasn't an issue, since I worked it all off with extra time on the treadmill.  With a busted up foot, unfortunately, that was no longer an option.  And since Heather was such a sweetheart with making me all this food, I didn't want to be a jerk and refuse it.

The end result, of course, was a daily struggle with my uniform pants.  It shamed me to no end, but I was reduced to laying flat on my back on the bed, sucking in as hard as I could to get that stupid button all the way over to the button-hole.  Once it finally slid in place, I gently exhaled to make sure it didn't come undone.  With a grunt I'd sit up, then glare at the soft little cushion of fat that swelled over my waistband.

My only consolation was that I was getting quite close to being able to start physical therapy.  In just a little while I'd be walking again, and able to drop the pounds through some good ol' fashioned hard-core sweating at the gym.  At least, that was the plan.

"Ready for dessert?" Heather asked with a bright smile.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch.  Heather had made stew for supper, and somehow I had eaten two enormous bowls of it.  Now my stomach was stuffed and pressing tight against the waistband of my shorts.  Every few minutes I had to tug down my t-shirt to make sure my bloated belly stayed covered.

"It's lemon meringue pie," she urged.

"You're such a bitch," I groaned.  "Fine, give me a piece and I'll shove it in my face while I sit here on my fat ass."

Heather giggled, and her eyes definitely lingered on my puffy midsection.  The slice she brought back was truly enormous, she really was a bitch.  I crammed down half of it before the waistband of my shorts were pinching so tightly it hurt.  I squirmed in my seat, wishing Heather would leave the room.  I tried stalling, moving the pie around on my plate.

"Go ahead," Heather said suddenly.  "You know you want to."

I looked up at her in confusion.

"Those shorts are looking awfully tight," she teased.  "You know you need to unbutton."

Those words, and the look she was giving me at that moment, caused an unexpected sexual thrill to course up my spine.  I kept my eyes locked on hers as my fingers dropped to my waist.  My cheeks flushed hot as I actually had to struggle to pop open the stubborn button.  I relaxed my stomach muscles, letting my little paunch sit out there for her to see.

Heather licked her lips slightly as she got up from her chair and took a seat next to me on the couch.  Tentatively she reached out, her fingertips grazing my belly where it poked out between the straining waistband and the riding up t-shirt.  I lifted up a forkful of pie to my lips and Heather laid her palm against my stomach, now rubbing gently in a circular motion.  I arched my back and leaned into her touch, not daring to say a word as I ate the rest of the dessert bite by delicious bite.  

When I cleaned my plate she took it from me and placed it on the coffee table.  Then she knelt on the ground in front of me, I spread my legs to make room.  With excruciating slowness, notch by notch, Heather gradually lowered the zipper on my shorts.  I was practically shaking from being so turned on, I was sure my panties were soaked clear through.  As her hands gently cupped the soft flesh that spilled out I groaned out loud.

"I have a confession," Heather said with a slight smile.  "Lately I've been feeding you up on purpose.  You seemed to get such a kick out of watching me get fat, I wondered what it would look like from the other side.  I have to admit . . . it's pretty fucking hot."

I looked at her, scarcely believing my ears.  I didn't even care that she was admitting culpability for my newly formed pudge, I was ecstatic that at the thought of her being turned on by me.  When she leaned forward and softly pressed her full lips to my protruding belly, I almost came right there and then.  Then she sat back on her heels and looked at me with a mischievous smile.

"Are you work slacks getting too tight?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm, very tight," I gasped, imagining all the wonderful things that we were about to do.

"Can you still fit in them?"

"Barely," I admitted.

"Hmm.  Well, when you can't even get them zipped up anymore, let me know.  I have a very special night planned out for us."

With that she rose to her feet.  I watched open-mouthed as she swayed out the door, her lusciously round rump moving side to side.  As soon as she closed the door behind her, I struggled onto my back and pulled my shorts and panties down to my knees.  My fingers dove between my thighs, working furiously as I soared to climax again and again.

Later that evening I sat at the kitchen table wearing only my panties.  I shoveled pie into my mouth straight from the pan, washing it down with whole milk.  If Heather wanted a girl too fat to zip up her pants, I was more than happy to give that to her.