Chapter 1 - Las Vegas 2024

Morning or midnight, at their home or in a hotel, he always got a little nervous before she arrived. Emma liked to make a little bit of a production, to make her arrival and his presentation a little surprise for them both. It kept things fresh and exciting, even after all this time.

Thinking back over the last twelve years — or, in other terms, the last three hundred pounds — Pedro was amazed that he still felt this way. She did too, she made that damn obvious. Her texts all day had been giddy and flirty and loving and possessive all at once. It had made the flight to Vegas difficult, and, not for the first time, he was grateful that the hang of his gut concealed his raging-hard-on.

Her orders to him were clear: he should be eating when she walked in the room. And he was. She’d ordered from a few of his favorite places, with an eye on aphrodisiacs — she was nothing if not a fan of tradition. He feasted on asparagus in cream sauce, oysters, ripe berries baked into a crust wrapping brie like a little present, quails, chocolate cake, chocolate croissants, chocolate ice cream and chocolate truffles and more besides. He was plucking apart some fried chicken wings – not a traditional aphrodisiac, but Pedro loved them – when she entered.

Pedro looked up, feeling almost guilty. *Oops! you caught me!* Yet she was the one who had arranged this whole scene, exactly to her liking.

Emma swung her wide hips entering the room, her frothiest club outfit showing off her chubby thighs and the tempting little roll under her shoulder blades in the back. She and her bestie Ingrid met up for drinks while Pedro prepared himself. He wondered if Ingrid would show up too, but Emma appeared to be alone. “Hello there, fat boy.” She bit her lip, grinning, looking at him with an expression that suggested that biting him was on her mind. “How’s dinner going?”

“Absolutely delicious, Mistress, you picked a great spread.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and reached for more. While he gulped down a smashed red potato, baked with gruyere, bacon, and minced chives mingling on top, she slunk across the room. Her eyes glimmered in the low light and her cheeks were flushed pink. Goddamn, he thought, he was lucky.

Emma threw her arms around his neck and kissed his ear. “You look incredible, piggy. This shirt is awfully tight on you.” She ran her finger tips over the placket where straining buttons cling on with all their might. With a firm kiss on the cheek, she declared, “I’m so lucky, honey.”

He belched, covering his mouth with his fist, then winced. “Aw, getting full?” she asked, equally sweet and menacing. “You always look so desperate when you’re getting full.”

“I’m not too full,” he protested, then winced again. “I just need a little belly rub.” Pedro gave her his best pleading eyes.

“Hmm, I suppose I can help with that,” she said thoughtfully, looking over the wreckage of his meal. She held a frosted black and white cookie up, and teased, “Can you finish one last cookie before I give you your massage?

He arched his back and craned his neck trying to reach it. His bottom rose an inch or two off his seat, before his extra heavy gut made him crash down. Emma only giggled, saying, “SAw,c ome on, you can do it! Here, pig, pig, pig!”

Pedro braced himself on the table and rose up again, and this time she brought it to his lips. He gulped it in one mouthful, chewing frenziedly. He finished and erupted in a huge belch, which made her giggle and coo sweet nothings in his ear.

Emma kissed his cheeks and gave him a look full of suppressed glee. “By the way, piggy, would you mind if Ingrid swung by? She loved your latest photos in the group chat, and asked if she could see you in person again.”

This evening just kept getting better. He was far too polite to brag about it or discuss it outside of their kinky friends, but having an adventurous and bisexual wife definitely had its advantages. He was especially grateful they’d found a group of like-minded friends to share this aspect of their lives with. “Sure! I haven’t seen her in a bit.” He did not add how hot the contrast between Emma and Ingrid was. While Emma had an overblown English rose type of beauty, Ingrid owed her height to her Swedish mother, and her complexion to her Dominican father.

Pedro wasn’t sure where her attitude came from, but it was hers and hers alone.

“Great,” said Emma, pulling out her phone. “I'll text her and let her know our room.” She sent off the text then looked over at Pedro, who looked back pleadingly.

“Belly rub?” he asked, playfully forlorn.

“Belly rub,” she agreed, and bounced onto the bed. “Lie back, piggy.” Grunting and wobbling, he waddled over to the bed and obediently sprawled out.

“My belt is too tight,” he said, wincing.

“That was silly of you to start stuffing with it still on,” she laughed, sliding the offending accessory out of the belt loops and undoing his fly. She grabbed the Palmer’s lotion – tailor made for stretch marks – from the bedside table and generously coated her strong yet dainty hands with it. He groaned as soon as her fingers dug into his strained guts and the pressure began to ease.

Several quiet minutes ticked by, Pedro only belching or passing gas as Emma relieved his belly’s tension and Emma only chuckling softly in response.


Pedro was getting sleepy from Emma’s TLC, when someone knocked at the door. “Ooh!” Emma sang, and hopped off the prone fatty to answer.

Ingrid sauntered into the room. She looked fucking incredible, and as Pedro knew, the contrast between his wife and her friend made his pulse race. Ingrid was a yoga teacher and personal trainer, while Emma was definitely a fan of sedentary pursuits. Lean and tall against short and plump, simply exquisite.

Ingrid gave Pedro a long appraising look. “I heard there’s a piggy here who likes to get pegged,” she said with a smirk. Emma’s eyes sparkled and a matching grin spread on her face.

Pedro sighed. He was in for it tonight, and he couldn’t wait.