Chapter 9 - September: Stuffing

*author’s note: this chapter is a pretty slow one. There is sex, but not a ton of gain. Skip to the next one (September: Weigh-In) if you’re looking for more action.*

The weight had been piling on rapidly, but my body was starting to plateau. And, while I loved every extra pound I’d added, things were becoming difficult. I’d missed a couple meetings, passed out from food comas. I’d stopped doing some of the things I loved since I was so exhausted from eating. One day, after a particularly huge stuffing, I asked Will if we could talk.

“I love this,” I said. “All of it. Every stuffing, every ounce of pure fat collecting on my body. But I need to slow down a little. I also love my job, and reading, and spending time outside, and actually enjoying great food instead of just shoveling it into my face nonstop. We’re already exceeding my goals, and I want to slow down a little. I still want to gain, and I want to get huge, but we have so much time in life… I think we should just go a little slower.”

I was covered in sweat, hiccuping, my lips rimmed with frosting from the industrial-sized tub I’d just consumed. Will took a moment to look at me with both admiration and concern.

“Baby, of course. You’re such a good little pig, but you’re so much more than that. You’re a great businesswoman, you’re creative, and you see the beauty in the world. I want us to keep all of that. Your weight isn’t the only thing that matters. If you want to slow down, let’s do it. Your commitment thusfar has been…wilder than either of us could imagine. You’re incredible, and you’re right. We can go slow.”

So that’s what we did… kind of. I still ate more than three women my height should. I still chugged shakes at least once a day. We still stuffed my body to its absolute capacity several times a week. I was — most certainly — not losing any weight. And I didn’t want to. I just wanted to be me… in addition to being a food-addicted, sex-obsessed, horny little plaything.

As September passed, the weight was still clearly packing on. Maybe a little slower, but there was no doubt I was gaining. One day mid-month, I came home from a food run to boxes laid out on the bed — my winter clothes from last year. It had been getting a little chilly in the mornings.

“I was going through our autumn clothes, putting some of mine up in the closet,” Will told me. “But I think some of yours may have gotten a little snug… maybe you’d like to try them on before I hang them up? See what still fits this growing body of yours? Maybe you can pick something passable and wear it to dinner tonight.” He was joking, he had to be. There was no way I could wear any of this out of the house. Maybe one of my stretchier old dresses would be able to cover me without being completely obscene, but it wasn’t likely. Most of these clothes were size medium. I started digging through a stack of dresses.

“Actually,” Will said, “I’d really like to see you in this. You know I’ve always loved how it hugged your curves.” He held up a beautiful, cashmere mini-dress with a high turtleneck. The light blue fabric was soft, and it has always highlighted my hips and bust, with just enough stretch to show off my subtle curves.

“I think it will look great on you now, babe,” he said. In fact… if it will fit over that cute little belly of yours, I think it’ll be the perfect choice for dinner tonight. We’re going to that steakhouse you love, and I want you to be comfortable for our meal. Meals.”

God, I was already wet and I hadn’t even started trying on the dress. I did love that steakhouse, and I did love a good public stuffing. I pulled it from his hands and started to put it on. I’d last worn this dress over a year ago, and that was… god knows how many pounds. At least it was stretchy.

I immediately encountered a problem. I hadn’t worn long sleeves in a while, and my upper arms felt like sausages in a too-tight casing. I knew I’d gained weight there — it was clear by the way they no longer naturally rested against my sides — but I didn’t think they would be so big they would barely fit into a dress. Then there was my neck. I felt the fabric pressed tightly against my throat, emphasizing my growing double chin. And my tits. It was a struggle even before I got it down to my bra. They’d grown tremendously, second only to my belly. But, despite the feeling of them popping out of my bra and my growing roll of back fat stretching the fabric to its limits, the dress went down. Now for the hard part.

“Baby, you look like you’re struggling,” Will said. “Are you having a little trouble? Getting dressed? You may have put on a little weight since last winter, but it can’t be too much, right?” Struggling was an understatement. I was out of breath already, my arms tired from the brief exertion, my legs shaking from hopping up and down, my belly and tits quivering from my labored breath. “Has my good girl been indulging a little too much? A couple extra desserts? Has she packed on a few pounds? Can she even go out in public in her old favorite dress?” Will was teasing me. “You will be going out in your old favorite dress, no matter how it fits, so let’s try to get you decent if we can.”

He turned me toward the full-length mirror on the closet door, standing behind me. “Does my baby need some help? Are you having a hard time? Let me try to make this easier for you…” I thought he was going to help me pull the dress down over my bulging gut, but his hand went to the turtleneck instead. He ran his hands through my hair and kissed the nape of my neck — then he pulled lightly on the back of the fabric with one hand and gripped my hair tighter with the other. I was confused until I realized how it felt.

I loved breath play — light choking — and my neck had gotten so fat now that a pull on the dress put pressure on the arteries there. Will was skilled. He wasn’t crushing my windpipe or anything — he was doing this safely. “I know you like this,” he said. And I’ll give you more… but not until you have the dress on as best you can. You can do that for me, can’t you?” He yanked on my hair, pulling my head back toward him and smiling seductively toward me in the mirror. My own face was flushed; my lips parted in desire. I started trying to roll the dress down again, pulling it out at all angles, trying to stretch the fabric as much as I could. I could hear the seams straining, and my arms were getting worn out from the exertion. Once I thought I had it stretched out enough, I started to pull downward again, sucking in, until — finally — it covered my belly and what it could of my ass. I let out my breath and watched as my gut surged forward, pushing the cashmere to its max. My bellybutton was completely visible, as were the side rolls under my bra and the overflow of my tits. My arms looked huge. My double chin was a pure roll of neck fat. My thighs, quivering now, were touching to the knees and covered in cellulite. Will released his hold on the neckline and I gasped from a combination of exertion, increased blood flow, and being so turned on.

He stepped back, admiring my hard work. “Oh, my greedy girl has certainly packed on a few pounds. Look at all those womanly curves. I knew this would look fantastic on you, but…wow. I remember you wearing this back at your heaviest, before you lost weight for the wedding. How big were you then? 145? 150? It drove me wild then, seeing the soft swell of curves. Now? It’s almost obscene.”

He was cradling me from behind, hands rubbing circular motions over my belly, and I felt his erection pressing into my back. He lifted my gut and shook it, shattering the illusion of a pure, round beach ball with waves of violent jiggles. “By Christmas,” he said, “this will be the tightest sweater you own. Not sweater dress — sweater. I’m sure that it will never come down over this tub of lard again, if it even fits over your fattening arms and neck. But maybe with some high-waisted pants it will cover enough belly to still be a shirt…” He yanked my hair again and told me to get on all fours. “For now, though, you’ve done all that hard work for nothing. Keep looking in the mirror. Watch how fat you’ve gotten as I fuck you.” He peeled the dress back up and pulled my panties down, still tight enough they pinned my knees together, and entered me from behind. We both watched in the mirror as my body shook with every thrust.

Once we’d finished and I’d rested on the ground for a while, Will pulled me to my feet and yanked the dress back down with some effort. “You look perfect. Put on some heels — we have a reservation.”

At the steakhouse, I sunk gratefully into a booth after the long waddle to the back of the restaurant. My feet were tight in my heels, the straps cutting into them as they swelled from my new weight. Despite the large, plush banquet seating, my belly surged toward the table, leaving only a few inches even as I reclined. I caught my breath, and Will ordered for both of us. “I’ll have a martini and a porterhouse with a side salad, medium rare. My beautiful wife will have whatever the sugariest drink your bar makes is — virgin since she’s pregnant — and the salmon with creamed spinach, plus a steak frites, same cook. And we’ll get the large ceasar salad, extra dressing, and two stuffed baked potatoes to share.” The waiter was tremendously professional and didn’t bat an eye at the order.

When the food came, we didn’t share. Will had a couple bites of his potato and the entree he’d ordered. I ate the rest. By the time I finished, my belly was touching the table, fully rounded and stretched to its limits. I really did look pregnant — like an obese, overfed woman well into her third trimester, starting to break a sweat just from eating. I cradled my gut beneath the table, an absolute mass of fat and gluttony, and tried to discretely pull down my dress to better cover my upper thighs. It was time to go, and Will had to help me up as I slid to the end of the booth with difficulty. Standing, I pressed my hands into my lower back, feeling them sink into the ever-increasing layer of fat there. We walked toward the doorway, my gait fully one of an enormously pregnant woman now, my dress barely covering my ass and slipping up with every step. Just before the door, Will bent to kiss the top of my belly — the doting “father” who cared for his engorged wife. A woman at a nearby table looked at me with both judgement and envy as I blushed.

In the car, I reclined my seat all the way and finally let my dress roll up over the swath of fat inching closer and closer to my knees. Even in the dim light of the parking lot I could see the stretch marks — some angry and red, others a softening pink — ringing my deepening bellybutton. I rested my chubby hands atop my belly and promptly fell asleep.