Chapter 3 - evening

You let me rest on the way back. I lower the back of the car seat and lay there rubbing the dome of my overfull tummy. Once we get home you take the boxes filled with confections to the living room, sit on the couch, and tell me to strip. I start again the excruciating process of peeling off what little still covers my huge bulk. Luckily the clothes are stretched so taut that they actually bounce to the idea of getting away and help me some of the way. You watch my struggle with lust and appreciation shining in your eyes. When I’m done, you invite me to sit in front of you in the corner of the couch.

You reach around me and admiringly notice that you cannot reach all the way. “This must be the biggest I’ve seen you, babe. You’re huge!” You take one of the boxes and put it next to you. Then you guide me to lean on you, put my head on your shoulder and just relax, as you start slowly massaging my belly. The tender, circular motion of your fingers feels heavenly on my sore and stretched skin and muscles. Once in awhile you amuse yourself with jiggling or prodding my rolls. You take a hold from my lower belly and lift it, then let it slap to my lap. It bounces heavily and I grunt in discomfort. After a long time, when I’m in a blissful state of sensation and have lost all count of time, you open the box, choose a chocolate praline confection, and lift it to my mouth. Your massaging has helped create some room and I open my mouth reflexively. We linger on the sofa for what feels like an eternity of dreamlike, orgastic bliss. You relish on my fat, fat stomach, and let yourself be entranced with it, while I feel myself floating to the space of being the vessel for everything you want me to hold. Finally, you tell me to turn around.

I manage to wiggle myself around and kneel between your legs facing you. You unzip your pants and guide me to straddle you. My belly fills both our laps, and it makes moving my hips hard. My every movement is slow and heavy. You try to reach your arms around me but have to settle for taking hold of the fat rolls on my lower back. As I move, my belly sloshes and grinds against your chest. You’re mesmerized looking at the movement of my body and feeling its weight and soft rolling motions on you, against you and around you. You reach to your side and take hold of a box filled with creamy, sweet profiteroles, grab one and push it in my mouth. While I chew, you lean in and start to explore my flesh with your mouth. I close my eyes to enjoy the feeling.

I cannot help myself as I start to rotate my hips faster. I feel you coming close to climax and I begin to drift near the edge myself. You feel the change in me. You grab a fistful of my hair, put a profiterole in my mouth. “Keep going, sweetheart, you’re doing good,” you utter breathlessly, “but remember, I haven’t given you a permission to cum. Be a good girl and behave yourself.” My movements become faster, my belly jostling and undulating between us, as I feel you tense up before the final release. It is so hard to keep my composure but I manage, barely. As you orgasm I lean against you to let you feel the smothering weight of my body.

I stay on your lap for a long time while you wind down from your ecstasy. You stroke my back fondly and tell me what a good girl I am. The boxes are empty, so you take the cake and balance it between us on top of my stomach. You scoop a handful of cake and offer it to me. I gulp the mushed mix of cake, cream and strawberries from your hand and lick your fingers clean. Soon enough my face, chest and upper stomach are covered in cake crumbs and cream, and I delight in the messy hedonism of feeding while sitting still wet and dripping on your lap. I feel my skin pop and prickle, I’ve never stretched it so much in one go. I cannot help but feel amazed at how much I’ve been able to take in with your help and encouragement. It hurts, and I feel a bit nauseous, but the unadulterated beatitude of being totally, completely full surpasses it many times over.

You help me find my bearings and get up. You lead me to the bathroom, turn on the shower and start soaping my body. You take care to cover every inch of my skin with your warm, firm hands. You squeeze, scrub, poke and massage, rejoicing in every mound and fold. The soap makes my fat rolls slick and unctuous. The warmth, the endless stuffings, and the constant arousal makes me drowsy. You rinse the soap off, turn off the shower, and pat me dry with a soft towel. Then you take me by the hand and we head to the bedroom.

“Okay princess, let’s see how you’ve grown. Get on the scales and tell me, how much fatter you are now.” I step on the scale. I cannot believe my eyes when I see the result. “Well? What does it show?” You urge me. “Uhm. It’s 320 lbs. I’m eight pounds fatter now, “ I tell you, slightly embarrassed and aghast of the amount of food I’m able to contain. You positively beam at me with pride and approval, and it melts me all over again. Pleasing you and exceeding myself with your loving guidance makes me so happy. You take me in your arms, kiss me tenderly and whisper to my ear: “You’ve done well my love, you definitely deserve your price after today. Get in bed, I have something for you.”