Chapter 6 - July: Weigh-in

I’d been eating like crazy — nonstop, the best I could do. That day at the diner, when the waitress told me I looked six months, had inspired me more than anything. I thought constantly about how embarrassed most women are about outgrowing their clothes, but I’d made a promise at my last weigh in. Only maternity clothes within the next 30 days. And I’d be damned if I didn’t keep that promise.

Since I worked from home, my clothes didn’t matter all that much. I had plenty of shirts that still covered me enough, even if there were inches of belly poking out the bottom. And my leggings and sweats fit, even if they looked painted on. To be clear, not my original size smalls, but the ones I’d ordered one or two sizes up when this whole experiment started. My thighs were absolutely ballooning lately, as were my tits. Sports bras were the only thing that fit anymore, and even those were getting tight. Every time I thought about that — them being called “sports bras” when the only sport I was doing was stuffing my face — I laughed a little. I never planned on stepping foot in a gym again.

As the month went on, even my biggest clothes were getting beyond tight. How could they not? I was eating constantly, and it showed. I was more than chubby by now — I was getting fat. The shake Will made me for the last weigh in became a twice-daily addition to my diet. When I started work in the morning, I filled my coffee mug with it. I added more after lunch, then more in the afternoon. I finished the blender every day before he got home, and he made me another to finish before bed. I could see my face filling out every time I was on a zoom call, gradually building chubby cheeks and a double chin. My neck was getting thicker, too.

I had, of course, read plenty of stories online about people being humiliated and called out for their gains, but my coworkers were all body-positive, and I knew they wouldn’t say anything unless they were worried about me. Though, to be fair, they hadn’t seen my body chest-down on our video calls. Humiliation was something for my husband only, and he balanced it perfectly with complements and caresses. That didn’t mean he didn’t tease.

Most of the way through the month, he came home to me splayed out on the couch, belly rising and falling with shallow breaths that were all I could manage. I’d outdone myself, and I felt like a beached whale, rubbing my hands over my body and trying to take bites every few minutes when I could manage.

“Babe,” he said, “can you see your lower belly right now at all?” I couldn’t. I could just see the top of the dome, sticking up beyond my tits which were, even at a D cup, so much smaller than the massive mound of fat below them. I asked why he was wondering.

“Go look in the mirror,” he said. Getting up was a struggle, to say the least. Leveraging my body was getting harder and harder with the rapid gain — a couple months ago, even after I’d gained a little weight, I could spring up from the couch, but now, when I was full (always) it was becoming difficult. I went to the bathroom, dazed from everything I’d consumed, and looked in the mirror. Immediately I knew why he’d asked. I don’t know why it took me so long to get stretch marks, but they were there. Running up the bottom of my insanely rounded belly, red and encroaching on my bellybutton. God, it was all working. I was gaining fast enough for my skin to be unable to keep up. Will came up behind me and I watched in the mirror as he traced the lines. The expression on his face was pure awe; pride that we’d come this far. The skin on my belly was so sensitive after my binge, even his light touch was enough to make me shudder. He moved his hand upward, over my tits and to my neck. I could see it sinking in to every inch of my body. He choked me lightly and bent me forward over the sink, entering me from behind. I was so wet we didn’t need any lube. He worked my clit with his other hand, moving faster and faster with a perfect touch until we came simultaneously, a massive shudder I could see in the mirror shaking all my fat. As cum dripped down my legs, he grabbed a handful of my swollen belly, and he said it was time to go shopping.

We walked into the mall hand in hand, and immediately he pulled me toward the maternity store. “It’s time to get some clothes that fit you,” he said. I knew I’d still fit into normal clothes, but the thrill of showing off — of wanting dresses that really gave me room to grow, was too intense. I looked at the mannequins there, round and supple like fertility goddesses, and realized I’d met another goal. As we wandered the store, Will picked out the types of dresses that would highlight my “bump.” Nothing loose or forgiving — only the tightest for me. A saleswoman asked if we needed any help.

“You look seven to eight months,” she said. “Oh, not even close,” Will replied. “We’re having twins, so we’ve got a long way to go! And my wife loves showing off her growing belly. Can you help us find some dresses that will really highlight the bump for our six month photo shoot?” The woman looked mildly surprised, but she led us to a selection of dresses that were gorgeous — stretchy, nice material designed for maternity shoots.

“Go with your standard size pre-pregnancy,” she said. “These all account for the stretch in the belly, and they’ll be great for you moving forward! They’ll grow to accommodate your baby and really highlight that bump! What were you before pregnancy? An L or an XL? We have plenty of options!”

A large. Or an extra large. Was the rest of my body getting fat enough she assumed that was what I needed? God. A large, even in maternity clothes. I felt my cheeks burning and myself getting wet.

“She was actually a size small before the pregnancy — the babies have been hungry!” Will said. “We might want to get some bigger sizes as well to grow into, especially if she continues to eat like this. You have no idea how many calories she packs in each day! We’ve got a lot of time left, and my wife is just adding on the pounds nonstop!” He rubbed my upper belly lovingly. Luckily it was full enough my fat barely shook. I’d have to stay this full constantly for him to keep up the charade.

We bought several dresses in large and XL, and I almost gasped when Will went down the racks, buying bigger and bigger. “You know you’re going to need them,” he said. “That belly certainly isn’t getting smaller, and it would be pretty embarrassing to come in here again months from now. Even if your belly is growing fastest, they’ll know you’re just pure, fat lard once you pass your due date… those thighs, that chin, your arms… they’re going to get huge. You’re going to look like a sexy, enormous woman pregnant with triplets, and then you’re going to get so fat you can’t fit into anything in this store. You’re going to grow and grow, until some day you can’t even pass for pregnant, you’ll be so fat your belly hangs to your thighs and you’ll look at an extra large the way you look at a small now. You’re addicted, babe. You’re eating more than anyone should even be able to. Those stretch marks? They’re just the start. I know you love it. I know you don’t want to stop. You’re my fat, sexy wife, and this is just the beginning. You’ll outgrow all of this. How long will that take? It’s up to you. But I’ll fuck you and feed you until it’s all you can do.”

At the moment, it did feel like all I could do. We paid quickly, and immediately I started waddling to the food court. I plopped my heavy body into a chair and asked Will to go get me a snack, looking at him in a way that made it clear a “snack” meant multiple meals. He didn’t disappoint, and, despite my previous fullness, I inhaled enough food for a family.

It wasn’t quite weigh in day, but Will had an idea… and we were already at the mall, so… there was a booth set up by the public health department, and he led me there, breathing hard with my hands pushed into the small of my back, sweating from the mountains of fast food indulgence and the exertion. They had a scale, right there, visible to everyone.

“Hi!” Will said. “Would it be okay to weigh my wife? She’s getting along in the pregnancy and we want to make sure she’s on track with the doctor’s predictions. We don’t have a scale at home, and she’s been gaining pretty quickly. She’s supposed to be at 180 by now, but I think we may have passed that mark by a couple pounds.”

A couple?? I was 170 almost a month ago, and I’d been eating enough to put three pregnant women to shame. Will passed me a chocolate bar with a look of absolute lust. I knew what he wanted me to do. I unwrapped it and began eating as I stepped onto the scale — an absolute pig who couldn’t keep her mouth empty for even a second, inhaling calories even while I was being weighed, stuffing my body to capacity every minute of the day. I wondered briefly where I’d be. 190? I felt the cool breeze of the air conditioning on my lower belly where my t-shirt rode up from my sweatpants. I felt the sleeves digging into my arms. I looked down at the scale and saw tits absolutely exploding from my bra. And I stepped on.

201– Thirty pounds in a month. Thirty pounds of pure, soft, incredible, embarrassing, sexy fat. I needed more.