Chapter 11 - October: Stuffing

*author’s note: this chapter has my favorite sentence of the whole story!! Also, I’m considering what level of kink I should take this to. So far it’s been fairly mild/mostly degradation based — if I want to add some really kinky things would that turn any of y’all readers off? Should I make that a separate story instead? Please comment to let me know…and enjoy!*

It was cold out, and none of my clothes fit.

I was glad I didn’t have to go into an office, because I could wear older things — even if they fit like crop tops, they looked okay on screen, despite my ever-fattening face. I’d ordered new bras (most of the ones in the store didn’t fit… ladies, it’s hard to find anything over an H cup out in the wild) so my tits didn’t overflow the cups, and it didn’t matter if my belly was covered. Still, it was time to go shopping for something more than the basic sweats and leggings I’d ordered off Amazon. Of course Will wanted to come. He would help, but clearly he would embarrass me too. I couldn’t wait.

We would get some basics — things to wear out to nice dinners, things to wear for work, and things to wear around friends. All of those could probably come from the maternity store or a plus-sized store. But I also wanted something a little more fun, just to show off.

I talked to Will about switching up my style. “I’ve loved all the moments in this gain when I’ve gotten to be a fat little slut. You know how much I love degradation, and that’s something I want to keep doing if you’re open to it. I like showing off my body, and we both know that we like doing it in public. So maybe I’ll buy some clothes that make that…easier. Things I never would’ve worn before. Things they don’t stock in the maternity store that would really show me off. Plus, Halloween is this month, and… I want to be paraded. Put on show. Degraded. I want everyone to know how fat I’ve gotten, and that you’re the one who did it.”

He agreed to do anything I wanted, and we set off for the mall. I was going to get some things that fit, and some things I could grow into. First stop — maternity store for more conservative things I could wear for the holidays and work. This time, we didn’t work with sales associates, but grabbed things ourselves for me to try on. I was by this point — very solidly — only looking in the plus-sized section. I got two pairs of leggings with a stretchy front panel, but I never wanted to wear pants anymore. Dresses were feminine, freeing, and had always been more my style. We picked out some sweater dresses and long-sleeved, flowy garments.

Then I asked Will to order me some food and wait in the food court, and I went to one of the goth stores I hadn’t been in since high school. The woman behind the counter was huge — easily around 400 pounds — and I asked her to help me find something sexy in a size or two over what I was now. “Sizing up?” she asked. “Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of time doing that… are you actually pregnant, or are you a gainer who’s growing in all the right places?” I was startled by how bold she was, but I admitted I was the latter of those two. “I always wished I’d gotten nice and round before I got a double belly, but my girlfriend loves this,” she said, shaking her upper roll as her lower one also jiggled beneath her skirt. She was so big and beautiful. I wondered if my belly would ever look like that, but hoped it would stay rounded as it was for as long as possible.

“What are you looking for? Something sexy to show off that body of yours? How fast are you gaining? We also have a lot of Halloween outfits toward the back of the store, if you want to check those out. We have a wide range of sizes — even I can still shop here, though you have to go online once you want more than a 4X,” she laughed.

I noticed she said “once you want more than a 4X,” not “for people who need more than a 4X.” She saw right through me.

“I want something that fits today, and I want to change into it to surprise my husband in the food court. Then yes, something for Halloween and a few things to wear around the house or out to bars,” I replied. We picked through the racks, finding some things that were outrageously sexy and others that were still hot but I could actually wear in public. I noticed her subtly collecting larger and larger garments as we went, maxing out at a 3X. She held out one outfit to me and told me to go into the dressing room and change, making sure to keep the tags if I wanted the clothes so I could buy them and wear them out of the store.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw a woman who was nothing like what I was used to. I knew I was fat by now, but in this outfit I looked truly, insanely obese, every overfed curve and bulge on display. I also looked incredibly hot. It was exactly what I wanted — she’d picked well. Fifty pounds ago, I never would’ve worn any of this. I kept up my appearance, loving the soft and flowy pastel maternity dresses. But that wasn’t what I wanted now. The fatter I was getting the more submissive I was getting. The more I wanted to show off; to let people know how I’d ruined my body. And this was the perfect outfit to wear for bingeing in the food court in front of a hundred people I’d never met. To make a complete pig of myself and eat more and more. And more. Enough that Will had to help me out of the chair. Enough that I was sweating and soaked through my panties and swelling against the waistband, leaning back and breathing hard.

It was a pleather miniskirt, pleated to emphasize my thighs, with a bold zipper down the front. Beneath that were fishnets, tight enough that my fat bulged through the holes. But the top was the most obscene. It fit, but there was about an inch of fat oozing between the waistband and the bottom of the crop. The sleeves were tight, and right across my tits it said “CALL ME A GOOD GIRL AND SEE WHAT I’LL DO.” Who would ever buy this? Me, apparently. I felt totally ashamed and totally turned on. It needed something more. I pulled my curled hair into low pigtails and applied a dark red lipstick I had in my purse.

When I handed over the tags to the saleslady, she already had the rest of my clothes bagged up. “I know it’s not professional, but I can’t wait to see how that outfit looks on you with another 20 pounds. Come back in a couple months for more and show it off? Also… I added a little something for free. You should wear it.” She handed me a leather choker, thin and high-quality. I hadn’t worn anything like this since high school. I fastened it around my neck, finding it surprisingly tight, and left the store after paying.

I sauntered into the food court, balancing in my heeled boots with my thighs scraping against each other at every step. I could feel my belly bouncing, contained in the skirt, prominently outlined against the material. I looked like an absolutely huge, knocked-up slut who didn’t know how to dress for my body. I didn’t look like someone who’d sit down at Will’s table across from him in his button down shirt and nice, dark jeans. He stared at me with wide eyes, taking it all in.

“Excuse me, I was waiting for my wife — the one who was about 140 pounds and always wore cute dresses? But apparently I’ll be joined for lunch by an escort who has no idea what size she wears.” I looked down at him, emphasizing my double chin and the choker tightening around my neck. He was hard as fuck, cock pressing against his jeans. I was sure there’d be a wet spot there after I started eating. I lowered myself into my chair and started on the feast in front of me.

Feast was the only word that could describe it, aside from maybe binge, or family dinner, or garbage dump. Two burgers from Five Guys. Two platters from Panda Express. A huge bowl of Cajun chicken and veggies. Twelve nuggets and fries from chick fil a. Thousands and thousands of calories — he’d outdone himself. He’d have to roll me out of here in a food coma, if he could even lift me out of the seat. I shoveled food into my mouth at an alarming rate, crossing my legs seductively so my thighs were on display. I stretched one boot across the table so it rested between his legs. I adjusted my tits so they overflowed my bra and the band didn’t dig into my growing belly. And then I fucking ate. And ate. And kept on eating.

At some point, Will stood up and walked around the table to sit next to me. I could feel my shirt riding up. He said “Good girl, eat all of it. Eat everything and I’ll show you what a good girl you are as soon as we get back to the car… if you can even walk back to the car. If you can even stand up. You’re such a slut for food, aren’t you? You can’t help yourself. You said you were slowing down? You’re just ramping up. You’re more than halfway to 300 pounds and you’re shoveling food into your face like you haven’t eaten in weeks. People are staring. You’re making an absolute mess of yourself, and you don’t even care. I can’t imagine how wet you must be under those cute little tights.”

He swiped a finger across my tits and came back covered in sauce. He wasn’t kidding. He raised his finger to my mouth and I sucked it as hard as I could, bringing it all the way to the back of my throat, almost gagging. I was going to make a spectacle, even if it got us kicked out of here.

Three-quarters of the way through the meal, wrappers strewn across the table and Will squeezing my cellulite-riddled thigh, I was getting too full. My skirt was pressing into me, tight against the roll of fat growing over it. I realized why the woman in the store had picked it out — the zipper. I kept eating with one hand as I pulled it down an inch or two with the other, giving myself some relief. I ate the nuggets. I ate the fries. Will rubbed my belly as I hiccuped and burped, totally in awe of my capacity and starting to look a little worried. As I swelled outward the zipper continued to push down on its own.

“Baby,” I hiccuped. “You didn’t get me any dessert. Who doesn’t get their wife any dessert? It’s like you’re trying to get me to lose weight. I’m not putting out until you get me ice cream,” I pouted. I could barely breathe; barely do anything but run my hands over my over-stuffed, now tremendously exposed gut. I rubbed soft circles, hoping to ease the pressure. Even I didn’t know if I could stomach ice cream. Pushed out as far as I was, my belly pressed against the table. I had no idea how long it had been doing that. It wasn’t when I started eating. I was slumped down, covered in sauce and grease, my lipstick smeared beyond recognition and my thighs spread wide. It was pain and bliss and pure, total pleasure. When Will stood up to get me ice cream — completely at my beck and call — I locked eyes with the woman from the store across the food court, picking up her own large meal after her shift. A large meal that was maybe half of what I ate. She walked up to our table and asked if she could sit. I groaned an affirmation, and she settled herself across from me, her ass overflowing the chair and her belly pooling in her lap.

Will must have seen her sit, because he brought back two enormous sundaes. Or maybe they’d both been for me. I don’t know. I didn’t know anything at that moment — just that I wanted the ice cream inside me, then I wanted him inside me. Then I wanted more and more inside me until I was fat enough to have to order all my clothes online.

“So,” Will said. “You’re the one who picked out this outfit for my wife? I assume you thought it would last longer than a day. The zipper was a good touch, though.” She laughed: “I knew she was gaining, but this is incredible. Probably the most I’ve ever seen anyone eat in real life, outside the internet. I’ve been watching through the window and had to come out as soon as I went on break. I only wish I could eat that much. How much did you weigh before? How long has this been going on? You’re going to blow up at this rate.”

I could barely keep eating, much less talk, one hand rubbing my belly, realizing it was even more exposed than it was before, my pale globe of a gut and stretch marks on display for everyone. Luckily it was a late lunch on a weekday — not too many people around. I hoped everyone who saw me would remember what a total pig I was, though. Will sensed my discomfort and spoke for me.

“She was around 130 when we got married; maybe 20 pounds heavier before that. She’s eaten herself to twice her marriage weight at this point — hoping to double the pre-diet weight by the end of the year. When we started, we had no idea how fast she’d grow, but the commitment is astonishing. I give her food and she eats it. She buys herself food and she eats it. She eats and eats. At the beginning, people thought she was pregnant because it was all belly. Now it’s spreading out, but the roundness has stayed. Obese and pregnant and getting fatter by the day.” He was actually bold enough to reach over and grab my belly, shaking it as I slowly ate my sundae. The zipper was almost all the way down now. I was becoming more belly than woman. Sucking down anything placed in front of me. Total food coma. Total bliss.

Apparently Will and the woman from the shop — I’d later learn her name was Ellie — kept talking. She’d been gaining for four years now, putting on the weight at a moderate (but still startlingly high for most people) amount of around 50 pounds a year, from her girlfriend’s feedings. She’d started out around a chubby 215 and was now pushing 430. I would gain that much weight in two years. Less. Maybe a lot less. But she seemed so big.

Some amount of time passed, I’m not sure how long. Ellie left to go back to work. I finished my ice cream. I struggled to sit up as much as I could and looked at the table. “Oh, good, she ate her sundae too. Gotta keep all the fat girls well fed.”

Will looked at me curiously. “No, babe. You ate both sundaes. Or I guess drank is a better word for the second one. You ate what you could then just tipped it up into your mouth. Did you really think you just had one?”

I glanced down at myself. My belly was bigger than it had ever been, spreading well over halfway across my lap. You could barely see the flaps of the skirt that had previously zipped up, albeit tightly. My gut had traces of ice cream and sauce across it from where my sticky fingers had rubbed. My vision was still almost blurry, but holy shit, I was enormous. Inches spreading over the table, legs as wide as they’d go. Looking down at my belly compressed my chin, and my tits surged obscenely out of my bra. I was a huge, sticky, fattened mess.

Somehow we made it to the car. It took a long time, even though Will pulled it around to right by the doors and hoisted me up off the bench I’d been waiting on. I looked down on myself in awe as I heard the bottom part of the skirt’s zipper snap when I plopped myself down heavily into the seat. I couldn’t care right now. I knew it wouldn’t last long anyway. I slept as we drove home, barely waking up as Will led me to the door and laid me out on the couch. “Please,” I told him. “Treat me like I want to be treated. Talk to me how I want you to…make me feel like I’m enormous…” He got exactly what I was saying as he pulled me to the edge of the couch and spread my legs.

He entered me slowly — even though I was fully lying down, my belly was still getting in the way with him on his knees on the floor in front of me. We both moaned. “My good girl,” he said. “My perfect little fatty. You’ve stuffed yourself beyond recognition. I took a picture of you once you sat down, but you can’t see it until you’re about to cum. And you embarrassed yourself so much today, and me, and everyone who watched you. Dressed up in your tight little whore outfit with lipstick smeared across your face like you’d been sucking cock. But you weren’t, were you? Just burgers, fries, bowls of food, enough ice cream for four people after enough food for six… no wonder that skit didn’t stay up. You look like you gained ten pounds, just today.” He thrust his body hard into me, my hard belly bouncing against his, shaking and pushing my tits up to my throat as it rebounded.

“Look at me,” he said. “How much of my body can you even see over that mountain of lard? You’re rounding out so well. Soon your belly will cover me up to my pecs at the rate you’re going, and it’ll spread across the couch too. How many inches around do you think you are? I think when you’re stuffed you may be as close to as big around as you are tall. I mean fuck, your arms are almost as big as your legs were before. And your thighs are getting enormous. Your ass is inflating so quickly you look taller sitting down. And those tits… bigger than any porn star, and all natural. But this… this is more than either of us ever could’ve asked for. Want to see?”

He kept one hand on my belly as he pulled out and reached toward the coffee table. Edging me was so mean. I needed him back inside me. I needed it more than anything. But then he showed me his phone. A picture of me, right there on the couch, sprawled out in my tight shirt and fishnets, no skirt in sight.

If I looked unrecognizable in the picture he’d shown me when I was eating at the counter a couple months ago, that was an understatement. I was a totally different person now. Unrecognizable beyond belief. Completely encased in fat — head to toe. My fingers looked huge, grasping at the top of my belly for relief. My tits hung to the side, even in a push-up bra. My neck was one big fold of fat, and my arms were dimpled with cellulite, barely able to hold themselves up out of exhaustion. My thighs were mountains of lard, touching down to the knees, even spread. Soft, pale, perfect fat.

But my belly — it was a thing on its own. Swollen like dough left too long to rise that starts expanding over the edge of the pan, drooping at the edges. It rose so far above my body — so completely round and enormous. I would look pregnant aside from the shadow of my deep bellybutton and the depression made by my hand resting on all the fat. Would I have to stay this stuffed? How long could I make it last? Round, round, rounder. Fatter. Bigger. Someday this would be the before photo.

Will entered me, placed my hands on my belly, and told me to cum looking at the picture of what I’d done to myself. I came again and again.