chapter 4

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-'paraconsensual or psychological'-
-'sexual dimorphism'-

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"...she&apo s;s gross." came the voice of the casting consultant on the talk show. Daniel's tongue flicked violently and she spasmed, and not at all uncomfortably, and another bite made its way involuntarily to her mouth.
"You can see her belly sticking out like so much fat goo in this shot. And is that seriously cellulite? In PUBLIC??" A twist. Another jolt of pleasure at her vertex from his tongue. The pleasure of the smooth, rich, sweet, fatty pudding in her mouth, naughtily sliding its way to her tummy: Another jolt of pleasure. And also one... at the words of the cheeping gossipers.
He'd been doing this to her for months now, acclimatizing her, openly brainwashing her as Pavlov did his puppies, forcing her, already stuffed full, onto the couch. Placing a bowl of some decadent, ethnic, favorite childhood sweetness in her delicately soft hands. Lifting her skirt up her thick naked thighs with that sweet, sexy, boyish grin on his chiseled jaw. And then turning on one of the omnipresent talkshows showcasing her recent "puppy fat", "happy fat", or (more often) "disgusting lard" she had been steadily putting on--that he had been steadily putting on her--these three months they've now been wed. It was only May... that she'd been all in white... thin... and now... She shudders again, muscles--layered oh just so recently in soft, thin deposits of edge-blurring pillow--spasming in toward her center at his kisses and lips and tongue, even as her hindbrain continued to listen, almost involuntarily to the thinly-veiled barbs... and the arousal-inducing insults.
"She's GROWN past fat, she's obese." Oh, her cheeks were burning as hot as her loins now. Every word, crafted to make her wetter, closer. To make her want to be even fatter.
"She's not obese! She's just... settling down." Laughter
"Shirley, don't lie. She's fat and you know it. Hell, she's so fat now, I seriously doubt ANYONE she's dated would sleep with her anymore." More, now derisive, laughter, along with sheepishness and schadenfreude and pure catty glee. But she didn't notice even subconsciously now, as the wave of orgasm finally arrived, sapped her mind, her will, the mouthful of creamy custard leaking from her full lips, over her soft chin, and down the layer of fat her husband had lovingly, knowingly, intentionally deposited below it: "The cutest second chin anyone's ever had," the tabloids almost mockingly reported of the former singer-turned-model-turned-housewife.
His cock was firmly inside her, she was in his rock-hard arms, the fat of her own arms bulging sweetly around his neck as he came inside her, bringing her over the edge again, or still, as the almost unnoticed voice of Shirley finally retorted "one of them does," to much laughter and guffaws, as a recent beach shot, revealing the 5'2 Tabitha Healy, nee Sarta, light brown skin glowing, new fat rolls falling out around bra, chubby bottom cheeks bulging tightly and grumpily from their bikini confines, all contrasted against her 6'5 hubbie, kissing her in a way that would make anyone think 'get a room' even if they'd never have the guts (or will) to say it allowed, as he most conspicuously kneaded the focus of the shot with one hand: her soft, tanned, obviously newly fat tummy rolls, bulging around his fingers, the smile on his face like that of a child at an amusement park, a smile that had even once won him an award. Jake Healy, Sex God, Olympian turned pro-athlete, activist, philanthropist, and heir to the fortune of, not one, but two of the richest families on the southeastern seaboard.
Her own discomfort and general grumpiness had only just been subverted for that shot. He had made her go out in public, to Venice beach of all places, taunting her, teasing in her ear all the while with the fat she had grown for him, whispering of what the tabloids would say, their gossip, their ignorance of her true naughtiness, as she grew redder and redder and wetter and wetter, curling more and more against him in horny self-consciousness. He had pulled her into a private beach club just moments after that shot had been taken and made passionate love to her within seconds of reaching their private suite, never taking his eyes off hers, nor his hand from her bared belly fat that made her so self-conscious, so smitten, and so hot.
He had then, of course, stuffed her silly.


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story of an immortal superhero or goddess or alien trapped on an island on a lifeless world. Her powers, other than immortality, tied to her weight, the energy she has stored. Though she survives without nutrition, she can't regain her powers without it, and she was starved (or just almost empty) before being stranded here.

She sleeps for millions of years in trances, composing plots of sweet revenge. Suddenly, green emerges on the lifeless ocean. It is not lifeless anymore. she realizes that when they dropped her here, they inadvertently seeded the planet with life. She continues to wait, for a timeless time, for her food to grow. she would have her revenge...

(possibly tie to superpower stories, as a villain against a girl whose weight acts like Samson's hair for superpowers)


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story of a couple, in the near future perhaps, for whom the weight gain story classics of today are actually elaborate (sometimes multi week or month) fully immersive interactive games similar to the Holo-deck in star trek except in their head. An average couple have such a kink, and regularly play out scenarios from many different stories, sometimes both of them, sometimes just her and he watches and/or participates in other ways, even stimulating her vicariously and unseen at certain kinky moments, or showing up in her room at The Spa for some naughty sleepy sex between her midnight snack and breakfast, being gone when she awakens in the morning so as not to affect the story (but still watching/participating/stimulating(possibly directly to her neurochemicals)).


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