Chapter 1 - May: Stuffing

“I threw in an extra slice of pie, on the house, since you’re eating for two now, hon,” said the cashier as she handed me the plastic bag nearly overflowing with styrofoam containers. “You and that cute husband of yours enjoy the food!”

I thanked her, patting my small belly for emphasis and flashing a smile while feeling a warm flush creep up my face. She thought I was pregnant! I knew I’d eaten a lot already at breakfast, and sure, I’d put on a few pounds, but I didn’t realize it was THAT visible.

I hurried home to tell Will, my husband of four months. I’d stayed slim for the wedding, weighing in around 115 for my vows, but after that my eating ramped up. A lot. I got hot remembering how Will whispered to me as the photographer was taking our wedding photos that this would be my before picture, and how he’d make sure I could never squeeze into that dress again. How he was going to make me unrecognizable by our fifth anniversary.

I set the bags on the kitchen counter and he came up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist while I told him about the diner incident. We’d been going there often for meals, and it was starting to show.

“Baby,” he said, “Someone already mistook you for pregnant, and it’s only been a couple months. We’re going to have to make sure to keep filling that little belly enough to keep the charade going. It won’t be a problem, will it? To stuff you so often that you keep growing at the pace a pregnant woman would?”

He ran his hands over my stomach, then circled his arms bigger, expanding his reach a few inches at a time until they were almost fully extended, as if he were circling a version of me who was nine months pregnant and about to pop.

“That’s our new goal,” he said. “And that’s just the beginning.” I was so hungry, and so wet just thinking about my belly filling all that empty space with soft, sexy, jiggling fat. I thought I couldn’t look more than three or four months now, so I’d have to ramp up the pace to get that big so quickly. Six months of eating enough to look like six added months of pregnancy. I shuddered, thinking of the shock people would feel when I just kept growing and growing after that. No baby, just a pure, luscious, mountain of fat before me.

I dove into the bag of food and started scarfing down the first thing I pulled out, a triple-decker BLT with fries. After that, a piece of chocolate pie. Then a burger — two patties slathered in barbecue sauce and topped with onion rings and jalapeños. Within half an hour, I was so full it was starting to hurt, and all that was left was Will’s salad and the second piece of pie.

“Go ahead, baby, take mine,” he said. I pouted and shook my head, hands resting on my already-stuffed gut.
“A salad barely has any calories… how do you expect me to grow this belly eating rabbit food?” I knew that wasn’t true — the salad was topped with fried chicken, cheese, and croutons. He told me he could fix that and opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of ranch and upending it over the salad.

“Let’s see. 150 calories a serving…this must be five servings, at least.” He stood behind me and ran his hands down my sides, spreading my legs slightly with his knee. “I’ll help you,” he told me, and moved his hands lightly over my body, circling me and reaching down the front of my shorts as I leaned into the counter.

I picked up the fork and started to eat as he started to stroke, fingers just barely rubbing my clit through my panties.

As I ate, he whispered into my ear. “You know I won’t be able to reach around you and touch you like this in a few months. This will be in the way,” he said, grabbing a small handful of my belly fat and shaking it for emphasis. “Come to think of it, you won’t be able to stand like that either, so close to the counter. You’ll have to step back and reach to get the food you want so badly. And I doubt you’ll want to stand like this at all, when you’re carrying around another few dozen pounds of fat. That’s something only skinny girls do, and you’re not going to be skinny much longer. By then this little belly will have grown enough you’ll want a comfy chair, and you’ll be too full and lazy to do any more standing than you have to. But don’t worry, I’ll do the work for my chubby wife. All you’ll have to do is sit and stuff yourself full while I wait on you hand and foot.”

He was stroking me faster as I shoveled in bite after bite, dressing dripping from the leaves until there was nothing left but an empty container.

I eyed the second piece of pie, still in the bag. “You want that too, don’t you? Just a couple bites, at least?” he asked. “Be a good girl and finish the food, and I’ll finish you.”

He stopped rubbing me until I reached for the pie, then slipped his fingers inside of me, moving slowly in and out. At some point he’d unbuttoned my shorts, and now they slid down to the floor. “You know you’re still too skinny if your shorts still slide off like that. Keep eating like you’re eating, and by the end of this we won’t be able to pull them up past your knees.”

At that, moaning, I shoved the remaining bites of pie in my mouth, creamy and rich, and felt my knees buckle as I orgasmed, leaning all my weight back on him. He took his fingers out of me, turned me around, and held the hand to my mouth so I could taste my own wetness, the flavor mixing with the whipped cream.

“Good girl,” he said, and held me. “Let’s get you weighed.”