Chapter 3 - the doctor's office

May felt fidgety. The chair at the doctor’s office wasn’t quite fitting right and she was not happy with how much it was squashing her sides. The more it felt like she was trapped, the more she wanted to move, and the more her skin rubbed irritatingly against the armrests and demanded release.

If she thought about it carefully – which she mostly preferred not to – she would have recognised that this was now a common occurrence. For the most part, she was content to ignore it so long as her work-from-home schedule enabled her to avoid having to move too much or get dressed in anything other than a bathrobe.

But as she shimmed for the fifth time in as many minutes, she had to admit that her belly, which rounded outwardly in a fashion that uncomfortably resembled pregnancy, was really becoming an issue. In the past few months, May’s food intake had skyrocketed, and, struggling under the literal weight of her appetite, her metabolism had finally broken. Perhaps shattered was more accurate.

When the nurse called her into the doctor’s office, and she carefully unwedged herself from the chair, the full extent of her body’s changes became apparent to anyone who was watching.

Even in the time since her thirty-first birthday last year, the shape of May’s body had reoriented itself dramatically from her lanky-but-hippy default. Her breasts, much to her chagrin, had grown modestly, still mostly fitting into her tighter B-Cup bras. If anything, the tightness she felt in that garment was mostly due to an increasing band size rather than a substantial growth of her breasts in and of themselves. Her back had a gradually evolving texture to it, as small rolls or creases formed whenever she moved or leaned in almost any direction. The mashing together of skin and lipidinous tissue had begun to create the impression of a soft washboard of fatty ridges, particularly underneath her bra straps and where the haunches of her lower back evolved into her ever-plusher ass.

Never her most prominent feature, despite her hips, May’s growth had reshaped this part of her body considerably. She now had two globular buttcheeks that protruded out proudly, expressing an almost unnatural pertness even as the bottom portion of each cheek curved into heavier and heavier thighs that were widening out in all directions. The familiar “thwoosh” of her thighs spreading out every time she sat was starting to feel more and more like molasses or syrup slowly spreading out over a surface from a heavy pour. Given the number of pancakes she ate, that was hardly an unfair metaphor, either. Her white, far too small “athletic’ shorts were not only being devoured by her ass, but her thighs -- despite a general lack of movement -- had also already eaten through the inner fabric completely and, if you could spread her legs, you could see the angry red skin that was chafing between them.

Perhaps one saving grace was her thick, cottage cheese-inspired cellulite-ridden thighs still tapered into comparably delicate ankles -- but the same could not be said for her belly.

Seemingly against the laws of human anatomy and physics alike, May was an absurdly belly-heavy gal now. Unending snacking and frequent binges had stretched and stretched her stomach into becoming not only her most impressive (and hard-working) internal organ but indeed had created an external spectacle that was impossible to miss. The curvature of her belly was exactly like that of a pregnant woman’s, and, while extremely firm, it still had a certain jiggle and movement to it that quickly made you realize that she was not with child. Its size had increased so much that it was starting to push the boundaries of what kind of pregnant she was -- a very healthy set of twins was probably the best guess for most at this point.

As May’s belly entered the office a second or two before the rest of her, her physician’s face gawked momentarily. Doctor Cristobel Yasis had not seen May for over a year since she’d put in her IUD, and the woman she’d known was a far cry from this bloated creature slinking into view.

Collecting herself, she smiled at May and they began the usual pleasantries and basic questions. May’s cushy insurance (the benefits of working for a decent employer) actually afforded her an annual physical, so, the appointment was to be wide-ranging -- stethoscope, blood tests, the whole works.

As they worked through the basic questions and tests, both Cristobel’s (bi-)curiosity and her profession required her to start to ask the hard questions.

“How’s your diet been lately?”

Cristobel’s eyes focused directly into May’s as she asked, careful not to stare at her client’s body that made the question moot.

“Oh, you know, it’s okay. I’m probably snacking a little too much, but I try to stay active.”

Memories of grunting while getting off the couch earlier swirled in her mind as she desperately tried to find a moment of actual, prolonged physical exertion in the past year. You could almost hear the tumbleweeds blowing through her mind as she failed to recount a single example. She began to sweat a little.

“OK. What kind of activities are you involved in?”

Cristobel had to hold back a bemused smile as her chubby client struggled to form a believable story about the “walks” and “yoga” she was doing. Somehow she doubted May was doing much of any of that.

“I know these are usually sensitive topics, May, but as your physician, please know that I’m not here to judge you.”

May’s expression grew a little direr.

“Can you please take off your clothes now so we can complete the physical?”

Abject horror now crossed the chubby brunette’s face as she froze in place.

“Are you sure that’s absolutely necessary?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I’d like to do a quick visual inspection for any skin irritations and do a quick breast exam.”

The next two minutes featured the laborious work of May removing her clothing, stripping down to her over-taxed bra and panties, her belly now bulging out in all its glory. Cristobel was shocked how much larger it looked without her simple tank top to cover it. Her constricting shorts, as well, removed the only constraint that was keeping her soft, squishy thighs from filling up even more space, their gelatinous structurelessness jiggling occasionally as she stumbled and adjusted herself.

Standing nearly naked now, the newfound immensity of May was fully on display.

Trying to hide the hunger in her eyes, Cristobel expertly inspected her patient’s modest breasts, noting the red marks and inflamed skin along the band of her bra. Thankfully, there was nothing to be concerned about there.

As she did a series of other small checks, looking at May’s skin for any concerning irritations or otherwise, she finally came to her belly. She knew she needed to feel it. The medical reasons for doing so faded into the back of her mind as she lightly poked and prodded prodigious hips and inched her way towards the main event. What started as professional, evaluatory touch slowly became increasingly hands-on and intimate. She pushed inwards from just above May’s belly button and felt the strange mixture of firmness and give that enabled this belly to maintain its gravid shape and dominate the figure of her patient so totally. Pushing inwards now more strongly, she could feel that, while the external layer of visceral fat helped keep the belly in its globular shape, the internal fat was almost like some kind of cream-filled egg. When you pressed in, or shook it, if you dared, you could see that this belly - despite appearances to the contrary - was simply big and fat.

As she began to heft the belly now, decorum slipping a little more, her face grew red as she spoke in as tight a doctor-ese as she could:

“May, I think we can both be honest with one another in noting that you’ve put on a significant amount of weight.”

She continued to squeeze as she spoke, entirely disassociated from the words she was saying as she continued her hands-y motions. May continued to stand as still as a soldier during a military inspection.

“Your belly has obviously grown considerably, and, what’s more, most of what’s here is what we call ‘visceral fat,’ meaning that it rests in this solid, bulky kind of way in the belly.”

Words were really failing her now as she tried desperately not to simply lose herself and take a big, greedy squeeze of the whole thing. In all of her career, she’d never felt so profoundly corrupted by seeing one of her patients and she struggled to maintain control in the face of this hypnotic appendage of her patient.

“It can be, uh, associated with cardiovascular disease and other health problems.”

She knew she had to cut her losses before something went really off the rails. As she slowly made to pull herself away, however, she took one last outlandishly large squeeze of the underside of the belly and closed her eyes so deeply that she had to blink herself back into the moment, trying desperately to make it look like she had been a moment of deep thought.

“I definitely…” She paused again, unintentionally, trying still to collect herself. If it weren’t for her dark skin, Cristobel’s face would have read like an open book on arousal. But she just barely managed to come back to her sentence:

“I definitely recommend you look at reducing your caloric intake. If you are a fan of soda or other highly processed or sugary foods, I recommend you cut them out altogether if you can.”

She was regaining her sanity now as she stepped back and considered her patient’s fullness once again:

From head to toe, May was covered in a thin sheen of dewey sweat, likely from the exertion of removing her clothes and the nervousness of getting a semi-perverted patdown from her doctor.

The words seemed to ring in May’s ears as she slowly put on her clothes, inching her shorts up her thighs that seemed to run away from clothing with something approaching consciousness. A shimmy or two shook her belly heartily and it had to have been divine intervention that kept her from simply bursting into flames in that very moment. Studiously avoiding her doctor’s eyes as she awkwardly stretched her shirt over her arms - which were only minimally more pudgy -- her red tank top came down smoothly over her bust, and then valiantly began the fool’s errand of making its way over as much of her belly as it could manage. Due to some cosmic cruelty, the shirt, which had mostly fit before (from a certain, denialist point of view), she could see in the mirror now still left a good six inches of exposed pale white flesh after the shirt’s hemline.

The appointment ended with forcibly polite goodbyes and -- she thought, but could barely remember -- a half-hearted promise to eat more healthfully to her doctor.

Belly swinging wantonly side-to-side as she left, May hurried out of the office without even bothering to book her next appointment. She was convinced that Doctor Yasis had lost her train of thought out of sheer disgust at her body, comments to the contrary merely an attempt at professional placation.

As soon as her wide, swaying ass left her office, Cristobel immediately closed the door and sat down on her small stool, struggling to catch her breath as all of the pent-up emotion in her body could finally surge forward explosively. She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, hand against her breast, desperately trying to ground herself after nearly sexually assaulted one of her patients.

Thoughts of consequences, however, quickly turned back to the memory of holding May’s belly in her hands - the feeling of that final squeeze visiting back upon her and sending a shiver down her spine. She looked at her computer and saw she had a rare reprieve of 10 minutes before her next appointment. Seemingly infected with her patient’s sensuous disregard for propriety and control, she locked the door and went to the cupboard for lubricants used in vaginal exams.

This isn’t strictly off-label, I guess, she thought as she squirted some in her hands and rubbed them together.

And before she plunged her fingers into herself, she briefly wondered how hard it was for May to masturbate with that big belly. Contemplating that thought meant she had time for two near-cataclysmic orgasms before her next client was ready.