Chapter 3 - fattening for all

The further lack of exercise, combined with Marcus's feeding techniques, added 100 pounds to Peter's frame in just eight months. And I was up about 30 pounds. Marcus admitted to gaining "about 10" but I suspected it was closer to 25, especially when he bought a new butler's suit. He bought it in a too-large size, and it was baggy on him, but I knew it would not be baggy for long.

The months gathered on all of our waistlines.

At 400 pounds, Peter's body was a fabulous fat-lover's fantasy ride, not that I had all that much time or energy for lovemaking with the pressures of my new job as company CEO. Peter's cheeks puffed out like softballs, dimpling his first of three chins. His moobs were enormous, supported by his swelling soft stomach.

Marcus could no longer find anything comfortable for Peter to wear other than huge tent-like sweatpants and XXXL tshirts which rode up on top of his growing gut. Much of the time, Peter was naked or appeared so, his belly and sagging waistline often obscuring his underwear when he sat - and even when he stood up which he did only to go to the bathroom and to bed. Sitting, his belly stuck out and sat upon his thick soft thighs.

And speaking of moobs, Marcus was developing them as well. Marcus now would often parade around the house without a shirt, showing off his B-cup man-breasts as well as his growing potbelly. I knew this aroused Peter - even if I could not see the evidence due to his burgeoning belly.

And me, well, I was growing rapidly. My boobs were EE sized, and my belly was a sensuously soft ball of flab. I slapped my potbelly up and down on Peter's bigger belly on the rare occasions when I had time and energy to do so. I was often too busy with work, but I knew Peter was now getting much of his sexual satisfaction from Marcus's attentions. Besides, for me, just sitting in the recliner and being served sensuous meals by Marcus was enough. For the moment, that is.

I loved to sit and eat while watching Marcus weigh and measure Peter. It was the definite highlight of my day. Peter's belly expanded and sagged far down over his crotch. His thighs creased at the top. His knees became deeply dimpled, and his ass looked like two big moons with a wide shelf of fat above them on his back. His entire body was traversed by a network of stretch marks and great fields of cellulite. I was in seventh heaven having the man I love more than double in size.

And so was Marcus who spent more and more time massaging Peter while feeding him - and also eating quite a bit more all the time himself. He was growing more and more gorgeous with every bite, and I would glimpse at him when he wasn't looking, imagining plowing my chubby hands into his soft gut.

One day, Marcus guided me into my chair, so he and Peter could talk with me about something. My birthday was five months away, and the boys decided that they were going to give me a 500-pound husband. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself, and the boys wasted no time getting started. Marcus immediately ordered Peter not to get out of his chair except to get into a powered extra-heavy-duty (and extra-wide seated) wheelchair he had purchased.

"Eat, that is all you have to do, my darlingly obese Peter," he would say. "Eat."

Marcus gave Peter the sleeping pills only at night now, so Peter could stay awake and eat all day long. He ate constantly and with both hands, cramming food into his mouth as fast as he could. Whenever he paused or tried to rest, Marcus was ready, pushing another deliciously indulgent bite into Peter's mouth.

Peter would start eating at 6 a.m. and not stop until almost midnight. After a while, even this wasn't enough for Marcus who began waking Peter at 3 a.m. every night just to give him an additional feeding. Soon, Peter was in such a habit of eating like this that he would awaken at 2:45 a.m. and holler for Marcus to bring him something to eat.

Meanwhile, from my side of the bed, I watched as a now-certifiably-fat Marcus, dressed only in too-tight boxers, would stuff my husband mercilessly before allowing him to go back to sleep. I often pretended to be asleep, imagining all kinds of wonderful sex for the three of us.

Three bites for Peter, one for Marcus. If Marcus saw I was awake, he would try to get me to match Peter bite for bite! Oh, how many times I wanted just to reach over and pull Marcus and all that delicious food into the bed! I imagined us as in some perverse sexual foursome - Marcus, Peter, me and mmmmm all that tasty food - all those eclairs and cream.

Whenever Peter insisted that he was too full, Marcus would remind him of his promised goal, poking his growing fat rolls, patting him to make him burp, then feeding him every last scrap of calorie-laden goodies. If Peter didn't have room for all that food, he took a deep breath and tried to expand himself to accommodate the endless stuffings.