Chapter 1 - part 1: what do you mean i gained weight?

BACKGROUND: I've chronicled my gaining journey in two previous stories posted here on FF (My Gaining Story: Reversal of Roles
http://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id= 8023
and My Gaining Story Vol.2: After 400 Lbs
http://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id=49 967 ).

After being fattened up to 500 lbs, my wife/feeder and I mutually decided to take a break from our active gaining lifestyle. The events detailed here occurred 6-8 months after we'd made that agreement.

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"Com e on," I said, gasping for breath. I was tugging at the elastic waistband of my pants with both hands, struggling to pull it up over my flesh. I'd already started to break a sweat with all the effort. I'd been struggling for a full minute at this point.

"Having trouble?"

It was my wife who had appeared in the bedroom doorway. She leaned against the frame, arms folded across her chest. She looked very sexy. The tank top she wore showed off how muscular her arms and shoulders had become. Her tight little bicycle shorts fit like a second skin. She smirked at me, clearly enjoying seeing me struggle.

"These pants... They fit fine when I wore them in the Winter. Now I can hardly - uhn! - pull them up over my belly!"

"Maybe they shrunk in the wash?" she said, but the tone of her voice and her sly grin betrayed the sarcasm she intended.

"Very funny," I muttered. I tentatively placed a hand on each side of my expansive gut, as if I could judge any growth in its size by touch. "I just thought, you know, after I had the flu back in April I would be smaller, if anything."

My wife strode toward me. "Uh huh." She reached out and placed her hands on my stomach, lightly tracing circles on the skin with her palms. She started to pull my T-shirt up, revealing more of the expanse of my flesh. "How much was it that you weighed after you were sick for that week?"

"My weight fell back below 500 pounds then." After a week of having a fever and little appetite, I had lost something like 15 pounds. "But I think I gained some of that back."

"Oh, I believe it." She jiggled the fat of my belly. "It looks to me like you've grown a little more plump than that, even." She slapped my belly, sending waves through the flab. "Strip down. I think we need to weigh you."

I did as she asked, pulling off my shirt and pants with some difficulty. She already had the scale set up by the time I'd waddled into the bathroom. She gestured at the scale with a flourish, a big grin on her face. I stepped onto it, unable, of course, to see the numbers.

"Five-hundred, thirty-four pounds," said the scale.

"That can't be right," I said, frowning.

I stepped off the scale, allowing it to reset. I stepped back on.

"Five-hundred, thirty-four pounds," it repeated.

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. My wife placed her hands on her hips and smiled at me.

"How can that be right?" I asked. "That's a 25 pound gain in just a few months. I'm not even trying to gain anymore!"

My wife snickered, and covered her mouth with her hands.

My eyes narrowed to a squint. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

Still grinning, she approached me, pressing her body into my belly. "What, me?" she said. "I don't know what my little piggy is talking about. But I have to admit, I've noticed you looking a little more... cuddly than usual." It was difficult for me to remain suspicious of her when she was fondling my belly, and palming one of my moobs. "Come on, your breakfast is waiting for you." With a playful slap on my bare gut, she quickly left the room.

With a sigh, I followed slowly behind, my slow, waddling gait unable to keep up with her. By the time I made my way to the breakfast table, I saw the stacks of pancakes waiting at my place at the table. Along with the food (which also included sausages, hashed brown potatoes and toast), there was a litre-sized glass of chocolate milk. I could hear my wife mixing her drink in the blender in the kitchen. My stomach was already growling, so I lowered myself down onto my bench seat, still naked. I inched the seat forward, getting as close to the table as my stomach would allow, until my belly was pressed into it, bulging over the edge a little. I tucked in to my meal, gobbling it quickly, as usual. I was quaffing my milk when my wife stepped out of the kitchen. She was drinking a smoothie, or something similar, from a glass.

"You look like you're having trouble reaching the table there, tubby," she said, and grinned widely as she sat next to me at the table.

I harrumphed in response. With my mouth still partially full, I said, "You're really enjoying the fact that I've gotten fatter, aren't you?"

"You know how much I love the idea of a bigger you," she purred, and placed a hand on my arm. "Remember, you're the one who wanted to stop gaining at five-hundred. If it was my decision, I'd still be tying you up and stuffing you with a funnel." She smiled wickedly at that. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it? Want to try it again, for old time's sake?"

My mouth full of potato, I chuckled. I washed it down with some more milk, while my wife massaged and fondled my arm. I pondered what she said for a minute or so. Then it clicked.

I looked directly at her. "Did you have anything to do with this gain?"

She smiled more broadly.

"You did, too!" Bits of food flew from my mouth.

She gave a little shrug, and a giggle. "Do you know how many pancakes you used to eat for a regular breakfast? Like, six, seven months ago?" she asked.

I gaped at her. "Um, no. Why?"

"You used to eat twelve to fourteen pancakes in one sitting. Do you know how many you just finished?"

I shook my head.

"Twenty." The smile never left her face. She giggled again.

"So you've been increasing my portions, is that it?"

She ignored my comment. "You've mentioned the changes in my physique lately. You appreciated how I've been growing, yes?" To illustrate what she meant, she flexed her bicep, showing off her thickening muscles.

I nodded in agreement, confused.

Before we go on, I should mention that, ever since a visit to Calgary some time ago, my fitness-conscious wife has become obsessed with the Strong-Woman competition, which she saw there. Since then she has been training more aggressively, in hopes of one day trying out. She had been trying to "bulk up," adding muscle mass to lift heavier weights for many months. She was doing well, too - the growth in her muscle mass was apparent in his back, shoulders and arms. Her thighs had noticeably thickened, too. She looked fantastically hot to me, I must admit. She was getting big enough now that people on the street would frequently take notice of her physique and ask her what kind of sport she played. But I had no idea why she was bringing up her muscle growth in the context of my weight gain?

"One of the supplements to my diet that allows me to build up these big, strong, lean muscles," she began flexing her arm impressively to make her point, "is this." She held up her empty glass. "I've been making weight-gain protein shakes to build up my muscles and add mass."

"Yes," I replied slowly, my brow furrowed in confusion, "and it's obviously working - you look great. So?"

"I've also been adding the weight gain powder to your drinks," she said, and nodded toward my empty glass. "And I've been adding it to your food as well, including all those pancakes you just gobbled up."

My confused expression transformed into one of surprise, with my mouth hanging open comically.

A wolfish grin appeared on her face, and she nodded at my unasked question. "Only, because you're not exercising and growing additional muscle mass, all those extra calories are turning into soft, beautiful, jiggly fat."

"You're telling me you've been secretly fattening me up?" I said, my voice at a much higher pitch than I'd intended.

Her mouth dropped into a frown of mock insult. "Me? Do that? No, never!" The frown slowly transitioned back into a sly grin, and she started to rub her palms over my gut. "I've only been preparing food for you... You're the one who has been gobbling it up... And then asking for more..." I sighed, although I was honestly getting a little bit aroused. "Besides," she continued, "look how wonderful it suits you. My big, sexy pig of a man. Mmm, I love how far away you have to sit from the table because of this gorgeous, growing belly! And look at these udders of yours," she squeezed one of my gigantic moobs in both her hands, "I'll bet they've almost J-cups by now. Can you even get your chest compression shirts over those things anymore?"

"Just barely," I replied, meekly. That made her giggle. "Listen, I just thought we'd agreed not to push my weight for awhile, and take this year off."

"Yes, we did agree," she said, moving her hands to my flabby shoulder and arm, continually caressing and kneading the flesh, "but I just think you would be so gorgeous at six hundred pounds... I can't resist the temptation."

I had to object, "But-"

"Mmmm, your arms have gotten big lately," she said, interrupting me. She was squeezing the flesh around my bicep, it oozed out between her fingers. "When we measured you last, how big were your upper arms?"

"Twenty-two inches," I said, sounding rather meek.

"And they're probably bigger around now," she said, and snickered. "You know, my waist is only twenty-eight inches. Gosh, you've got big arms! I'm so glad they finally started to grow - flex for me."

I knew it was futile to disobey her, so I flexed my arm. She squeezed it with both hands, moving around the upper portion of my limb, digging her fingers in at different spots.

"Are you flexing it? I can't feel anything." She laughed aloud at that. When I nodded, she only laughed harder.