Chapter 10 - September: Weigh-In

*author’s note: a large part of this chapter is based on a true story… hope you enjoy it!*

I waddled down the hallway, groggy, sore, and hungover. The night before we’d gone all-out, feasting on a huge pan of baked spaghetti, a salad that filled our largest mixing bowl, and a full loaf of garlic bread, plus several bottles of wine split between the two of us. It was weigh-in day, and even though I’d slowed down a bit, I was still expecting 15-20 pounds added on the scale.

I didn’t even attempt the kitchen island and sunk straight onto the couch, feeling the cushions depress beneath my weight. Will brought me a coffee and my first shake of the day and told me breakfast would be ready shortly. I thought back on how I’d normally loved leftovers for breakfast on lazy weekend mornings, but now there were never any leftovers. No matter how much food we ordered or made, it would be packed into me by the end of the night. I put an old favorite Hitchcock movie on the TV and relaxed as I caffeinated and took in the first thousand of the day’s onslaught of calories, just chilling out until Will brought me my real breakfast and spread it across the coffee table — an omelette that stretched to the edges of the plate, what must’ve been a full package of bacon, and a pile of six slices of toast slathered in butter and jam. I knew from previous experience that he’d eat a piece or two of the toast and a couple slices of bacon — the rest was for me. I started with the omelette, resting the plate on my shelf of a belly. That was becoming the norm when I ate at home, and it was honestly very convenient. I alternated between that and the toast until I finished both. I noticed Will had shifted the bacon plate to further back on the table, and I struggled to leverage my body up to reach it, pressing against the cushion with one elbow and feeling my gut compressing between my thighs and my tits. I stretched out one fattening arm to pull the plate closer and noticed upon looking how much tighter my wedding ring and permanent bracelet had gotten. I grunted from the effort.

“Oh no,” Will said teasingly. “Is it getting hard for my baby to reach her own food? It’s just right there on the coffee table. Normally you could’ve just reached, maybe an inch or two of belly folding over your pajama shorts. Now it’s getting in the way, isn’t it? Maybe try spreading out those fat thighs to give it some more room. It’s not getting any smaller. Plus… there’s something I want to see.”

I did what he asked and spread my thighs further. Then I felt my gut between them, resting on the cool cushion of the sofa, softness meeting softness. I pulled the bacon closer, but I lingered there, loving the sensation of my fat against the fabric. This was how fat girls sat. How the obese women I’d see out at restaurants ate, belly hanging between their legs for more room. This was what he’d wanted to see, and it made me want more — so much more. Will got up and knelt beside me.

“Put that bacon plate on your fat table of a gut and eat. I want to get off on my good girl growing… so you just keep growing while I make myself cum from your gorgeous body.” He stroked himself and I could see the precum already glistening. I thought he was going to masturbate, but he positioned himself and slotted his cock between my fat thigh and my belly draping over it. Slowly, he started to thrust, one hand caressing my engorged stomach while the other lifted it to rub against the outside of my pajama shorts, eliciting a moan. I ate and ate while he steadily fucked my fat. I couldn’t see the hand taking care of me — it was too buried — but I saw the shaft of his cock each time he pulled back. Hard against soft, over and over. I closed my eyes, and I ate until there was nothing left and I felt warmth covering my thigh, smooth and liquid. I came, then I felt Will lift my gut and lick himself from me. He kissed me, and it was salty from the bacon and the cum.

A few hours later, we’d cleaned up, finished another movie, and eaten a couple of snacks. It was time for whatever he had planned. “I got you something new,” he said. “I want you to put it on, then we can go. It’s on the bed.” Slowly, I waddled my way to the bedroom, expecting some tight outfit to be waiting for me. I was right. It was a monokini from Tropic of C — expensive for how fast I would likely outgrow it — alongside a cute, lacy coverup in a size XL. He definitely wanted to show me off, but it had been getting colder out. The pool we normally visited throughout the summer was closed.

I got dressed with some effort. The swimsuit fit like a glove, emphasizing my swollen tits and growing ass while the middle section stretched over my burgeoning, rounded belly, holding it up. My love handles were on full display, and stretch marks were visible peeking out from the fabric in front. My back fat surged around the upper band. I looked huge, but would be sexy to basically any moderate chubby chaser, even if I were bigger than their normal preferences. The suit truly highlighted my assets, and I couldn’t help but admire myself. Pulling on the coverup was another story.

If the swimsuit fit like a glove, the coverup fit like a sausage casing. It wasn’t too hard to get on, but it emphasized every bulge, curve, and dimple. I could see my fat molding around the lace, poking out of each hole. Though sleeveless, it sunk into my upper arms, showing off how much they had grown, and the short, flared skirt still hugged my thighs. Will had told me to wear something over it, so I added one of my loosest maternity dresses and a sweater. The look would be a surprise once we got wherever we were going.

Thirty minutes later, we pulled up outside one of the nicest spa hotels in town. We’d been here once on an early “staycation,” and I remembered how gorgeous it had been. The indoor pool — where we must be going — was warm and beautiful, filled with pristine saltwater and surrounded by plush lounge chairs. We walked up to the check in desk, and Will stated our last name for the reservation. The front desk agent was beautiful and perky, slightly curvy like I had been before the wedding, her bust thoroughly filling out her uniform. “Yes, absolutely Mr. and Mrs. Hammond! The “babymoon” suite is ready for you, and we’ve ensured that all your requests are accounted for — a minifridge will be located in the cabinets, and a scale is in the bathroom. There’s a menu for room service located on the bureau, as well as your spa passes. You’ll be on the fourth floor with a balcony overlooking the city.” She raised her eyebrows a bit as she read the word “scale,” but didn’t seem flustered at all. It couldn’t have been that uncommon, especially since some people came here on health spa retreats. To be fair, with my belly proudly on display even under a loose maternity dress, I didn’t really look like one of those people. She handed over the keys and congratulated us, saying how much they appreciated being able to make guests comfortable for their babymoons before the big day.

I started walking toward the elevator, but Will had other plans, pulling me toward the grand staircase in the middle of the lobby. “I’ve secured us a great room — the least you can do is make your way up to it,” he whispered into my ear. He was carrying bags he’d clearly pre-packed and stashed in the trunk. I hadn’t climbed four flights of stairs in months, but I knew I had to do it. “Now… if you can get up the first flight before you get out of breath, you only have to drink one thing from the minibar. Two fights with no heavy breathing, it’s two. And so on. No matter what, you’re getting snacks.” I blushed as he discreetly grabbed my ass — far more than a handful at this point — and I started climbing up the stairs.

The first flight was fine — just like at home. I was used to this. Maybe a little flushed, but not struggling. By the end of the second I was, without a doubt, breathing hard. By the end of the third I was sweating, heaving myself up the stairs, starting to breathe raggedly and feeling every time my belly slapped against my thigh as I ascended a step. There was no way I could make it up without a break. I sunk into the chaise lounge on the landing, red-faced and exhausted, my legs having done more work than they had in months. I’d still been going on walks to keep my strength up, but just on flat terrain. My belly heaved with each breath I sucked in. Fuck, I was out of shape. Will passed me a candy bar from one of the bags and I devoured it quickly while resting. After a while, I heaved myself up, ready as I’d ever be to start again.

The fourth set of stairs took a while — pausing, leaning on the banister several times while I sucked in breath like I’d just run miles. When I finally got to the top, huffing, and we’d made it down the hall to our room, I noticed it was right next to the elevator. Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to do that again. In the room, I immediately collapsed on the bed, watching my belly rise and fall with each labored breath. Will fished around in the minibar and tossed me a couple bags of chips and a snickers. I inhaled them, throwing the wrappers on the floor and sucking greedily from a cold bottle of coke. A few hundred more calories. More weight. More to lug up and down steps. Will came over and kissed me deeply, stroking my sweating face. He set three mini-bottles with a shot of coconut rum each next to me. “For the bet. Pour them into your coke.” I struggled to sit up against the pillows and did what he said. “Now drink it, because you can’t drink at the pool. Pregnant and all that. I can’t believe how hard that was for you — or maybe I can. You’ve put on a few pounds since you last had to exert yourself like that. Carrying around all that lard can’t be easy… luckily now we can relax for the rest of the day. Take off your dress — we’re going to the pool in our suits.”

Will stripped down and pulled on his swim trunks and a t-shirt. He looked good as ever — not chiseled, but fairly in shape. Tan, tall, maybe a hint more softness than before from all the ordering out we’d been doing. I, on the other hand, looked like an absolute whale. He loved it. I loved it. I took another two drinks from the minibar and chugged them, maintaining eye contact.

“You’re going to have a fat, tipsy, stuffed wife at the pool. You’re going to wait on me hand and foot. You’re going to order me anything I want, and I’m going to stuff myself in front of all the health nuts down there, and you’re going to dote on me. You’re going to say loudly how it’s okay that I’ve gained so much weight so late in the pregnancy, and how I’ll be able to lose it again later, knowing that will never be true. And your hands will be on my belly constantly. I want those women to wish the had a husband like you, catering to their every whim. I want them to see how hot you are compared to me. And by the time we get back up to this room, I don’t want to be able to pull my coverup down over this—“ I shook my belly for emphasis — “and by the end of the year I want the $200 you spent on this swimsuit to be a total waste. Something I can never wear again. Okay? So let’s go, and you can order me a burger while I float around like the whale I am.”

I pulled him into a deep kiss while his hands explored my body. I wasn’t usually dominant like this, but he was mine, and I wanted him to show me off. He grabbed a handful of my thigh and pinched my upper arm. “Thankfully, we’re going to the pool, where all that fat can float, and I’m going to stuff you as round as I can. I don’t want those people to think I have a fat slob of a wife. I want you glowing. Radiant. We’ve been growing you for five months, and you already look close to nine. But you’re getting so fucking fat everywhere else too… there’s only so long we can keep playing you off as pregnant before this belly starts to sag. Before it drops down to your thighs, then your knees. Before one set of stairs feels like four. Before it feels impossible. So we’ll keep you stuffed. We’ll keep you round. And we’ll do it as long as possible — until you look ready to pop with triplets — and then we’ll keep going until you’re just fucking fat. How far will we have to go to have a hundred pounds of pure belly, everything else aside? Pure. Fucking. Fat.”

He lifted my gut, squeezing the bottom into two huge handfuls. “Tonight, we’re weighing you. And you’ll never, ever be that weight again.” I was so turned on. I wanted him inside me then and there. I almost came just from his words. But instead he led me out of the room and to the blessed elevator, my swimsuit slick from my juices and my fat bulging from every hole in my outfit.

I laid out on a lounge chair and he ordered me a burger and a virgin daiquiri. I loved it when he said virgin, with all the sex we’d been having lately. Then he called the waiter back and said actually two burgers. And fries. She’s been so hungry now that we’ve hit nine months.

I scarfed both down in record time, feeling the eyes of thin women looking at me with absolute disgust. Will rubbed and cradled my belly constantly, complementing me on how beautiful I was, assuring me that I didn’t have to worry, he would help me diet and lose weight after the pregnancy was over — for now I should indulge myself and eat whatever I wanted. I ordered chicken tenders, then a Greek salad. I ordered a milkshake. The stares got worse as the fabric across my belly stretched, distorting the pattern. My tits were almost obscene.

Finally, we got in the water. The feeling of my belly floating, taking all of the weight off me, was incredible. Maybe we should build a pool in the yard. Maybe we should get a new house with a pool and no stairs. Will’s slick skin against mine was mind-blowing as he stroked my exposed sides and pulled me around through the warm water, kissing me deeply. He squeezed the rolls on my back and sides and lifted me by my fattened ass. It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only an hour.

Finally, as it got dark, we got out and dried off. I didn’t bother with the coverup but wrapped myself in a fluffy towel that barely met at the edges. It was time to weigh me.

This time, there was no fanfare. Just a plush hotel bathroom, a scale, and us. Still in my swimsuit, tight as it was, I stepped on. Of course, I couldn’t come close to seeing the number, even trying to suck in and pull my gut up with my hands.

“I know we were slowing down, but my good little girl has certainly gotten bigger. Maybe we should cut down on the burgers? Or the fries? Or the candy bars? I did say I’d help you lose weight at the pool…” he was teasing me, and all I wanted to know was the number. How fast was I growing? How much more had I packed on?

He said it: “261.” Even cutting back, I’d gained over 20 pounds. Insatiable — growing, swelling, more and more. I picked up the phone and called room service.