Chapter 1 - new year, new rules

[Note, please see my previous story for my initial gaining journey. This is the sequel!
Also note, CHAPTERS 3-5 and 13-14 include some male-on-male action, so feel free to skip if that is not what you're interested in!]

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On December 31st, 2015, I had my last monthly weigh-in of that year. It had been my first year as a feedee, although I'd gotten a little fat by accident prior to that. Turned out my wife liked it, and just when I thought I ought to lose some poundage, she asked me if I would gain more for her - and a feeder/feedee relationship was born!

The rules last year were simple: She, as the feeder, was the boss. She told me what to eat, when to eat, how much to eat. Her dominance didn't end with food, though. She also picked out my clothes when she wanted to, and determined who our sexual playmates would be. She really took charge, and reveled in her authority. She decided that I would be weighed only once a month, too, which gave us both a sense of anticipation each time.

At my end-of-year weigh-in I just barely exceeded our goal of 400 lbs, coming in at 404. My feeder was thrilled with the result. I was happy, too, but I was kind of hoping that I was a little heavier. 410, at least. We celebrated my impressive gains, and enjoyed New Year's festivities. We spent some time that New Year's Day reflecting on the previous year, and not just the transformation I'd been through physically, but also the change in the dynamic of our relationship. I had clearly grown into the role of the submissive to her dominatrix. She had been transformed as well, from a relatively fit woman into a very fit, strong, weight-lifting, lean and muscular chick who firmly dominated her fat, butterball of a feedee. It certainly had been an incredible journey and a wonderful year.

My wife had already left the bed when I woke up on January 3rd. She'd left food out for me, and I grazed at the dining table, naked, for most of the morning. I heard the front door open and close, and within a minute she came into the dining area fresh from the gym. I could tell she hadn't showered by the matted mess of her hair. She'd cut it short before the holidays, and I kind of missed her long locks. My hair was longer than hers, a first in our relationship. But even though we'd been married for over a decade, we'd been through a lot of firsts in the last year.

I was sitting at the table, wolfing down half a tray of lasagna that I'd reheated. It was a pre-lunch snack, one of my usual five or six meals a day. I held the tray under my chin, resting one edge on the top of my chest. My belly was pressed into the table, a little bulge of fat spilling over the table's edge. I mumbled something through my full mouth to her.

"Sorry, I can't understand piggies who talk with their mouths full," she said, and smiled as she dropped her jacket on the back of a chair. She wore a loose tank top which bared her shoulders and arms, and a pair of skin-tight bicycle shorts. She looked hot!

"How was the gym?" I asked, mouth partially clear of food this time.

She stood in front of me, struck a bit of a pose, and flexed both her arms. In the past five or six months she'd really been going hard at the weights, and it showed. She had well developed biceps and triceps, and her shoulders had grown more thickly rounded and muscular. When she flexed you could see the definition in her muscles. She beamed at me.

"Pretty good, I see!"

She stepped toward me, and placed one hand on my shoulder, and the other on my upper arm. My arm was much larger than hers, but much softer, too, as evidenced when she squeezed my "bicep," causing squishy flesh to bulge out between her fingers.

"I see you've been... working out, too." She grinned her devilish grin. I just nodded in response, and continued to chew. She started to walk toward the kitchen, and spoke to me over her shoulder. "Tanya from work dropped off a pie yesterday, let me go get that for you."

"Don't worry about it," I said, my mouth half-full of lasagna. Little bits of food fell onto my chest as I spoke. "I'm pretty full already. I was going to take a break until lunch."

She returned from the kitchen, her chin down, glaring at me. She placed the pie on the table. "Eat this pie."

Shoveling the last bites of lasagna into my mouth, I nodded to her, and silently replied in my mind, Yes Mistress. I placed the empty lasagna tray on the table, and after taking a big swig of milk, I reached for the pie. She'd placed it too far away, I couldn't reach, so I leaned forward. My belly bulged further over the table. My moob was in the way, pushing my arm aside, and I struggled to reach the pie. I heard myself let out a little grunt of effort.

My feeder stood and watched, letting out a little giggle. "Is my little piggie too fat to reach? Let me help you."

She slid the pie into my greedy hand. I picked it up, leaned back in my seat and placed it on my chest, holding it with one hand and shoveling it into my mouth with a fork in the other.

"You better have that finished by the time I'm showered," she said, and walked out of the room.

Of course, about twenty minutes later, when she returned, I had finished the pie. I was lounging on the couch, letting my full belly rest while watching TV. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt now. She turned off the TV and sat next to me on the couch.

"New rules for the New Year," she commanded.

"What did you have in mind?"

"No more weigh-ins. We'll only do a weigh-in when I think you've met your goal, or I think you're fat enough that you've earned it."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's my new goal?" I was almost afraid to hear her response - but at the same time, I could guess what she was going to say.

"Five hundred pounds, of course!" She beamed at me.

Laying my hands on my big, full belly, I gently massaged the expanse of the flabby dome. I brought my hands up to my moobs, hefting their weight. I thought back to just a few years ago when none of this flesh was here. Five years previous, you could only pinch an inch of flab on me, and now I was huge by just about anyone's standards. In the last five months I had started to feel really heavy, really slow. Moving around was getting to be a real chore, and my movement was getting more limited. The thought of another hundred pounds frightened me a little.

"I don't know," I said, quietly, "I'm pretty huge already..."

She snuggled into my side, rubbing and kneading the flesh of my gut. "I know, and you are AMAZING, my big, sexy fatty. Wouldn't you like to see what it's like to be five... hundred... pounds, though?" She leaned in further to kiss my neck.

"It's just that getting up from the couch, walking very far, it's all so much harder now. I'm worried about how bad it'll be if I'm that big."

"Don't you worry about a thing, sweetie. I'll be here to look after you," she said, smiling sweetly at me. Her hand had wandered up to my nipple, and she played with it between her fingers and squeezed the surrounding flesh in her palm.

Her smile was contagious, but I still had my doubts. "Listen, how about we set the goal for 450. Then it's not so intimidating for me."

"Sure, okay," she said, and squeezed my tit flesh almost to the point of pain. "We'll make the target 450 and see how we both feel."

"Thanks babe," I said, and kissed her lips.

She slapped my belly playfully, stood, and started heading toward the hallway. She turned to face me just before disappearing down the hall and said, "You know, you'll be begging me to stuff you until you're much fatter than 450, right? I think I can make you even bigger than 500 before you want to stop." She giggled as she walked out of view.

I sat there, hands on my huge belly, with my wife's threat still ringing in my ears. As much as it intimidated me, I felt a hardening deep in among the softness of my thighs and fupa...