Chapter 5 - part 9 - the feeder takes charge

PART 9 - The Feeder Takes Charge

It took months to mentally adapt to the concept that I was a fat man. You could argue (and some did) that I was well on my way for some time, but it wasn't until my wife and I made the conscious effort for me to become a feedee and actively gain weight that I really started to feel honestly fat. Now, with my weight increasing every week, practically every day , I was starting to get sort of accustomed to being The Fat Guy.

Still, when I came home from work one afternoon and found my wife in our bedroom with a pile of clothes on the bed - my clothes - I was a little surprised.
"What are you doing, babe?" I asked.
"I'm getting rid of all the clothes that are too small, making space in your closet," she said.
I picked up a shirt from a rock concert I'd been to in high school, and held it up against my body. It was clearly too small, I would be lucky to pull it down over my moobs now! Still, it had sentimental value.
"You can't get rid of this!"
"Why not?" she asked, still rifling through the closet. "It's not like you can fit into it."
"What if I lose weight someday?" I asked, sounding somewhat sheepish.
She laughed at me. "That's never going to happen, you big fatty!"

That's when it hit me.
I would never fit that shirt again.
I was a fat man, and I was going to get fatter - not thinner. I was always going to be a fat man from this point on. There was no going back.

After bidding adieu to three quarters of my closet contents (she kept some items, the ones only recently outgrown, because she liked to see me in clothes that were clearly too small), she proceeded to stuff me silly at dinner, perhaps more than usual. I think she was making a point.

Weekends were the best for being a fat guy in our house. The week was so busy for us both that Friday night was often our first chance to really spend time together. After a night out at a restaurant, or a stuffing at home, we would spend some quality time together on Friday nights, and drift off to sleep together, naked.
My wife typically woke before me, and usually by the time I rose, it was time to start the stuffing all over again.

On one particular morning we both woke to the alarm clock. We had an engagement to attend for lunch, so we both had to get up and get dressed pretty quickly. After turning off the alarm, I sat on the side of the bed, naked as usual, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
"You look so sexy sitting there," my wife whispered to me, and scuttled in behind me.
She wrapped her arms around me, and grasped my moobs in her hands. She squeezed them gently, kneeding them and hefting them, and purring into my ear.
"Wow, these are getting BIG," she exclaimed. "I wonder if they're as big as mine?"
She came around beside me and squeezed her sexy, round breast up against my drooping moob. I laughed. "I don't know," she said, sounding serious, "they're pretty close."
We both got up, and she skipped over to her closet. Before I even opened a drawer, she threw one of her bras at me.
"What?"
"Try it on," she said, grinning.
I snorted, and tossed the garment onto the bed. She walked over, her gorgeous, full tits jiggling as she moved, picked up the bra and brought it back to me. She pushed one of the cups up against my moobs, strecthing the cup over it, until my flesh bulged around it.
"See?" she exclaimed, "if it were a bit bigger we could put it on you. You're at least a double-D."
I brushed her away, and started to pull clothes out of my dresser. She began to put the bra on herself, doing up the clips, then turning it around the proper way.
As she turned and started to walk out of the room she said, "You know, I'll bet your back would feel better if we got you a nice big bra for those fat boobs of yours."
She didn't see how that my face had flushed at this remark.

Sometime later, after another of my morning breakfast stuffings, I left the kitchen and returned to the bedroom to get dressed. My wife had laid out the clothes she wanted me to wear on the bed. Scanning over them quickly, I was relieved to see a brand new pair of pants, and a fairly new shirt. Both should fit just fine. It was typical for her to choose clothes for me that I would practically be bursting out of - sure, they looked sexy, but they were not the most comfortable.

I sat down to pull on the underwear, and - wait a minute, what was THAT? No, it couldn't be, could it? Was that a... jogging bra?

My wife came into the room just then, and saw me holding the athletic garment with a confused look on my face.
"Try it on," she commanded.
"Really?"
She nodded in that way that told me she meant it.
It took me a little bit of struggling, but eventually I got the extra, extra large jogging bra on. Once it was over my chest, she came over to adjust it herself. Once she was satisfied with how it fit, she patted the sides of my meaty moobs, and smiled. I walked over to the mirror to see for myself.

My cheeks had turned crimson. The bra held up my flabby moobs and pressed them together slightly, causing them to look more like women's breasts than when they normally just drooped down on top of my belly. It certainly made my chest look far more girlish. I could feel my cheeks growing hotter. I caught a glimpse of my wife in the mirror, her face wore a wide grinning. She bit down on her lower lip.
"I feel stupid," I said, and turned to face her.
"I think it looks cute," she said.
"Do I have to wear this?"
Still grinning, her only response was the nod of her head.

So I spent the rest of the day wearing a sports bra, hidden beneath my shirt. Luckily we didn't go out much, and the only time I was out in public with it on was when we went for our usual walk. It's not like anyone could see it, but I did feel self-conscious that it made my boobs more prominently visible under my shirt. The positive aspect of wearing it was that it did support them pretty well, and they moved and jiggled around a lot less, which was nice.
"You're not going to ask me to wear this all the time are you?" I asked, after my dinner time stuffing.
"Of course not," she replied. "Besides, in a couple of weeks you won't fit into it any longer. Here's your dessert, eat up."