Chapter 3 - part 6 - the first fifty pounds

My wife wasted no time in jumping into her role as official feeder. She'd obviously already had a strategy and step-by-step plan in mind, and I started to wonder how much of my weight gain up to that point was a result of her influence? If she was sneaky about it before, she certainly wasn't anymore!

There was basically only one rule: I had to eat what she told me to. But beyond that, she had a more elaborate plan. Over the course of our relationship, as she lost weight and learned how to be healthier, she learned a lot about nutrition. While our fantasies often revolved around weight gain through gorging on sweets, high-fat foods, and a loss of control, that wasn't really practical. She wanted me to get fat, not become diabetic or require a triple-bypass!

The "diet" she prepared for me included lots of healthy stuff. I had more fruits & veg now that I'd become a feedee than I ever ate on my own. She increased the sheer quantity of food I was consuming, while trying not to load it up with too much transfats or sugars. My meals started to get larger and larger, and even before January 1st rolled around, I found that I felt stuffed all the time - every waking hour of the day! She started shopping at CostCo and was buying food in bulk. Before the end of January she had me purchase a chest freezer, because the one in our kitchen just wasn't big enough. While the meals were pretty healthy, the portions started to quickly grow as she began testing my capacity. Every meal left me completely stuffed, and she would egg me on to have a little more. Every meal seemed to end in my undoing the button and zipper on my pants and feeling the need to lie down on the couch.

It worked - my stomach was getting stretched out. Where I used to feel full after two plates of pasta, and she would have to force me to have a third, now I was hungry for a fourth! As my stomach stretched more and more, she would compliment my progress and rub my stuffed, aching tummy after meals.

The very next day after we agreed to this arrangement I was greeted to a breakfast easily three times larger than what I normally would have had. And day by day, week by week, the portions were growing. Every time my wife was testing (and pushing) my limits.

"How was your breakfast?" she would ask.

"It was delicious, thank you."

"That's great. Are you still hungry?"

"No, I'm absolutely stuffed! I can't believe I finished it all!"

"There are three pancakes left, wouldn't you like them?"

"Oh no, I mean it, I am totally full."

Her eyes narrow and she grins at me as she drops the pancakes on my plate. "Eat them," she commands, and proceeds to load them up with real, fresh, whipped cream and maple syrup (we are Canadian, after all).

I manage to force the remaining food into my mouth, and swallow it, making my tummy feel like it is going to burst.

And this seems to happen with every meal.

While my wife (and I, to a lesser extent) are generally health-conscious, it doesn't mean I don't like some of the not-so-good-for-you stuff. My weaknesses are pizza, ice cream and potato chips. While it's pretty tough to do "healthy" potato chips, we always get ice cream made with the best ingredients we can find. It's not low-fat, but low-chemicals. And pizza is sort of healthy, right? I get lots of veggies on it, sometimes the crust is whole wheat. And extra cheese can't be THAT bad, right? I used to eat, at most, 5 or 6 slices of an extra large pizza from our favorite local pizzeria. Now she's got me up to eating the whole pizza in one sitting. She won't eat any of it, says it's fattening. When we order a pizza for me, she makes a salad for herself.

It didn't take very long in January before my clothes started to get a little too tight on me. I wasn't weighing myself regularly, but I could notice that I was growing a little fatter. While my wife likes me to wear clothes that are a little too small, I needed to go out and get some new clothes for work. Just dress shirts and pants, that sort of thing. That was fine.

But within a month or so, the new clothes were getting tight again! I was shocked it was happening so fast, but my wife was delighted. The next time we went to the store we got clothes a little larger than necessary, "More room to grow," as she told me. Initially they were a little loose on me, which led one co-worker to remark, "Hey, have you lost weight?" To which I honestly replied, "No, just got larger clothes."

While my wife wants me to get a lot fatter, she also wants me to stay healthy, so she forces me to stay active - not to her crazy level, but still active. Every day we walk together, my cute, fit wife and her flabby husband. I can practically read people's minds when they see us; "What is SHE doing with HIM?" About once a week I join her at the pool. She races through laps while I lag behind. I might do a few laps, then just doggy-paddle around, or just float. One of the nice perks of getting fatter is that floating gets easier. The rest of the time that she is at the pool, the gym, or wherever, I am content to be lazy. Sometimes I will watch her run on her treadmill and eat a bag of chips, just for fun.

Near the end of March, after only three months of stuffing, that second set of new clothes was getting really tight. I had my annual physical with my doctor, and was officially weighed. My jaw almost dropped when he told me I was 254 pounds! That was a gain of about 50 pounds in only three months. My doctor gave me the obligatory warnings about the health risks around obesity, and told me my BMI classified me as "obese" (I have to be honest, I got a little turned on when he said that). I didn't tell him I was getting fatter on purpose of course. My blood pressure and blood sample results were all fine, however, and we talked briefly on how to stay healthy, while I avoided the discussion of dropping weight.

While both of us were a little shocked by the number, it quickly made sense. At 200 lbs I had rolls of fat, but those had grown into a nice, round, soft gut that you could hold and shake with both hands. It was heavy enough that it hung over my belt. Stretch marks were evidence of its fast expansion over the last several weeks. My formerly-firm pectoral muscles had taken more than their fair share of the weight, too. They made me self-conscious once my dress shirts started becoming tight again, the taught fabric highlighting the round globes that my wife liked to call my "moobs." My face had hardly changed at all, it still looked like a thin(ish) guy's face, with only the hint of the start of a double chin. My limbs weren't much bigger either, aside from a little additional flabbiness around my inner thighs. Sadly, much to my wife's chagrin, my butt had also not received much of the weight. That became a goal of hers. "We need to keep working on this - I want to see a big, ***," she would say, usually with a spanking as I walked by.

The first fifty pounds proved that I/we could do it, and that we both enjoyed it. After over a decade together, out physical relationship had been rejuvenated, and being allowed to live out our fantasies became an exciting new adventure! But if I could gain 50 lbs in just a few months, the goal of 300 lbs didn't seem all that challenging. It now seemed inevitable! And if anything, it made my wife focus more on her efforts to fatten her husband.

Who knew what the coming months (and pounds) would bring?