Chapter 4 - ch 3 getting tubbier in the tub

Weeks or maybe even months later, Circe takes me from the bed to her bath, a short daily journey down the hallway. What little exercise I now get is walking from bed to kitchen, from kitchen to bed, from bed to bath and back again. I have not gone outside since I arrived at the cottage door.

The tub is huge and round, much bigger than I need even though I know I have grown some and probably couldn't fit comfortably in most bathtubs. I crawl in slowly, weighted down so much that all my movements are a little awkward and clumsy..

"There's always room in the tub for Circe's beautiful pig," she says. "I'll join you in bathing today because someday you will fill my entire tub and then I won't be able to." Her robe falls from her shoulders, revealing a smooth athletic body, so tempting, so loving, so full of life.

Circe enters the warm water slowly, and I grunt in pleasure, feeling her smooth hard muscles pushing against my fat rolls so soft and blubber-filled. My belly has grown into a massive ball of flab. I try to remember some still quiet thought in my brain, something that says to me that I did not want this, that I did not want to become a big fat pig.

As if reading my mind, Circe says, "I will seduce you into even more fatness. Just relax and enjoy it. Don't worry so much. You are what I want you to be."

I recall all the feedings I have had over the last several weeks, or has it been months already? I forget how long I've been here. Have the seasons changed outside? Has it been years already? I snort in confusion.

"You worry too much. I have prepared the table for you again, so don't worry." Circe thrusts her soft hand between my legs, grabs me and whispers, "I will tempt you with my wine and food and loving."

I forget my old self for a minute and reply, in short grunting phrases, "You . . . grunt . . . are so sexy . . . moan . . . I cannot . . . resist." I smile and try to say that I don't want to get any fatter, but only a squeal comes out.

Even though I wish to remain this size, she will not permit it. Her wish for me is stronger than my desires. She wished for me to be fat, and I am now quite fat. I see Circe has a bottle of wine and a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies on the ledge by the tub, and now she brings one cookie to my mouth. I cannot fight her temptations of sweet dessert food, nor the temptations of her hard luscious body beside me so warm and slick in the soapy water.

I try to speak, to offer some resistance, some words like, "No, don't, please don't," but she pops a cookie into my mouth. It is warm and so soft, the chocolate chips practically melt in my mouth, and I swallow. And she is ready with another cookie.

"Yes, open up, dear," she says, "and I will feed you my cookies until you have an orgasm of oral pleasures."

Now, I try another tactic, to keep my mouth shut, to steel myself against her charms, to not allow another cookie in. But fighting her desires is not possible. Soon, my mouth is wide open, taking in more and more and more cookies, even as I am sure she must see in my eyes the horror at what I am becoming. The word I am forbidden to speak is "No."

Soon, the platter of cookies is balanced on my pink belly which is sticking out of the water. My hands are possessed by Circe's desires, stuffing me full. And her hands are exploring my flab beneath the water, caressing my thighs, pulling at my flabby soft pubis.

These pleasures place me in a trance of sorts. My mind travels back across the weeks, all the times here in the tub which seemed so big when I first arrived, all the times at her table in my huge chair which I seem to fill a little more with each passing day.

Has it been weeks already? What is the season now? I cannot recall how long I have been here now. Days and nights and endless time filled with culinary and erotic ecstasies have washed over me like waves washing over the sand dunes.

All that time in Circe's tub, at her table and in her huge warm bed, being catered and spoiled by her - with excesses of pleasure beyond belief.

Her strong thin fingers reach up between my soft flabby thighs and grab hold of me there, the one part of me which seems not to have softened.

"You're getting so big all over," she coos as she pulls on me with one hand and stuffs cookies into my mouth with the other. The tub seems to shrink around me. I try to speak but only a squeal of joy comes forth. "Squeeeal!"

I groan and fall into a state of sleepiness, like a coma of pleasures, eating and feeling her touch. Occasionally, she raises the wine bottle to my lips, and I drink in big quick swallows. Finally, after what may have been hours for all I know, she pleasures me as I finish the last crumbs of the cookies, licking the platter even, chewing and swallowing.

The orgasmic release is so amazingly erotic, and I grunt in approval as she starts to wash me, scrubbing my flesh until it seems to pinken beneath her soft brush and soft soapy hands.

"It's time for dinner again," she says as she helps me out of the tub and rubs me with a huge soft sweet-smelling towel. "I have cooked some of your favorites again. You know I absolutely love to cook, but until you came, I had no one to cook for, no one to spoil with my delicious recipes." I recall with both pleasure and horror all the pasta I have eaten - stuffed manicotti, vegetable rotini, spaghetti of all lengths and thicknesses, covered with meat and cheese sauces.

I sit in my bath chair as she dries my massive body, rubbing between each fat roll, into each crevice gently with her towel and hands, giving me a nice rubdown as my belly starts to growl uncontrollably.

"Good," she says. "You're so hungry all the time now. It turns me on to watch you at my table eating. Just close your eyes, and imagine all my fattening food filling you as you become my prize piggy. "

She giggles in a way that almost doesn't sound wicked. I try not to shut my eyes, but they close involuntarily. "Relax, my dear chub," I hear her say and although I know she is close and rubbing me, her voice sounds far away now.

Into my mind comes the image of myself at the table, me in a huge porcine body filling the big chair completely. I have a huge snout and hooves, so I can no longer feed myself. Circe feeds me from her secret recipes - the best lasagna I've ever tasted from a pan, as well as eggplant parmesan, and I am unable to stop eating. The vision horrifies me, and I try to pry my eyes open with my now-fat stubby fingers. But I can't stop this daydream - this nightmare, really -- from playing out in my mind's eye. I open my mouth to scream but a squeal of pleasure comes out instead.

"Squeeeeeeeeeaaaaal!"

I try to yell again, but I only hear my squeals of joy. I try to open my eyes, to tell Circe to stop fattening me. Haven't I gotten fat enough already? But the vision of her turning me into a pig overpowers me and continues to play out in my mind's eye, stifling any dissent.

In this vision, I suddenly look content, as if sitting at her table and outgrowing my huge chair is not so bad, that it's actually quite pleasant. I squeal again and settle back as she continues to rub my soft belly. I feel her nuzzle up against my face, her cheekbones against my chubby cheeks.

I feel her hot breath in my pink ear as she whispers, "That's just the way I always envisioned our life, me making a skinny boy like you into a big fat hog."

And I realize this is now my vision as well. Horrifying as it may seem.