Halloween Ritual

Chapter 1 - The Only Chapter

“What is this, our tenth year?”

It took me a few seconds to answer my wife as my mouth was stuffed full of bite-sized Mr. Goodbars. “Yeah, ten years sounds about right honey.”

“Hmm,” she leered, “looks like someone has just about polished off an entire bag of Halloween candy” and gave my big belly a playful slap, sending it wobbling and rippling like crazy. “You’re just insatiable aren’t you Fat Boy, but don’t worry, I’ve got a bag of bite-size Snickers you can start on until our guests arrive.”

Just then our doorbell rung and she ran to the door to greet another batch of young trick or treaters … “don’t give ‘em all the good stuff I like,” I mumbled, mouth again full of chocolate and peanut goodness. “Don’t worry, I bought plenty extra for my blubbery hubby!”

I loved it when she said stuff like that! We met back in college when I was but a slightly chubby 160 pound sophomore and she a little 98 pound sprite of a junior who’d already established her reputation campus-wide as a chubby chaser. I was 195 pounds by the time she graduated and we planned to wed after my graduation the next year, provided I met her condition of eating myself to 225 pounds by then (though 250 was more of her preference).

By the Fall of my senior year I’d only reached 202 pounds and that’s when our annual Halloween ritual began. She’d moved into an off-campus apartment and invited three other couples who were college friends to come over at 10 with any leftover Halloween candy they might have on hand, with the plan being to see how many calories her fat fiancé could consume!

Our friends loved the idea as they’d teased me incessantly over the years about how f**king fat I’d become and anytime we got together nagged me to “eat more for Mabel (my fiancé and now wife of nine years).”

That first Halloween set the standard for the annual ritual to follow with Mabel ordering me to wear a too tight shirt from my 160 pound days with lots of belly peaking out and ordering everyone not to clean up the candy wrappers that surrounded me on the couch, “so Two-Ton Timmy” (me) can see what a gluttonous pig he is!”

Anyone who dared take more than a couple of pieces of candy for themselves got an icy stare from Mabel and a stinging rebuke, “leave those for Tubby — he needs to pork up 225 before our honeymoon!” Our male friends would guffaw with laughter while our female friends politely stifled giggles over Mabel’s inflated plans for me, but the girls’ politeness abated when my appetite began to flag after about an hour of endless candy consumption.

As she saw my enthusiasm wane, Mabel snapped her fingers and one girl kneeled before me and the other two sat on either side of me, proffering candy to my lips and goading me to consume even more. “You can do it Fatty!” “Make Mabel proud of her Big Boy!” “This big belly can handle so much more!” “Keep going Tubby!” They were merciless, but I had fun and it was a definite turn on having three feeders and a wife who admitted later that she creamed her panties watching her friends stuff me so full.

By the end of my ordeal all three of them were grabbing handfuls of my belly fat and applying vigorous belly rubs and slaps as Mabel continued to look on approvingly and their boyfriends appeared to be getting hard-ons as their girlfriends said how much fun it was to play with all my extra belly fat!

So now, here we are ten years later and Mabel’s once merely chubby boyfriend is now a 440-pound behemoth of a husband. And the couples who joined us for our inaugural “Halloween Stuffing of the Pig” are now all happily married themselves and Mabel, as petite as ever, has become an inspiration and mentor to the wives, who over the years have learned her secrets for fattening up a man to obscene proportions!

Of course, I’m still the fattest of ‘em all, mainly because I had a head start … or at least I think I’m still in the lead. “Massive Mikey,” the last I saw him at a Labor Day cookout, seemed to be catching up fast, proudly telling me he’d just crested 380 pounds and that he (or rather his wife) had me in their sights!

We’ll find out soon enough, of course, as Mabel has my 750-pound capacity bariatric scale all set up in the living room ready to weigh the four “Hefty Hubbies” as the wives collectively now collectively refer to us.

Suddenly there’s an urgent ringing of our doorbell, meaning it’s 10 pm and time to commence our annual ritual of gluttony. Totally bare bellied, taking up almost all of a brand new extra-sturdy loveseat, and surrounded by almost two full bags worth of candy wrappers, it’s just too damn much effort to heave myself to my feet, so Mabel hustles to the door to welcome our old friends!

She lets out a shriek and exclaims “you boys are f**king blimps!” And I see for myself as Massive Mikey, Bob the Blob, and Jumbo Jimmy waddle through what suddenly seems a very narrow opening, Mabel admiringly pats each on their massive protuberances and exclaims to the delight of their wives, “you boys may finally have caught up to the old Lard Lad here!”

Mikey, lips smeared with chocolate, admits “yeah Mabes, all of us made a pact after the Labor Day cookout, where Two Ton Timmy here smoked all of us, to out-eat him between then and Halloween!”

“Take your shirt off Mikey and show ‘em,” his wife Donna says with pride, “he’s packed on almost forty pounds in less than two months!” Mabel arched her eyebrows at the news, then pointed to Bob, who declares “32 pounds”, and then Jim who says “got all you fatties beat … 44 pounds!”

“OK you Hungry Hippos, you know the drill,” Mabel orders like a Marine drill sergeant, “line up at the scale and let’s see if you can beat my Timmy here — just look at that magnificent mountain of lard, fill in’ up our new loveseat, and already two bags of candy in — he’s gonna be hard for even you Tubsters to beat!”

Deciding to accept the challenge belly on, I rise from the loveseat, candy wrappers scattering before me, and the other wives gasp as they see how far down my belly apron reaches toward my knee caps, with maybe only an inch or two of clearance. “Don’t anyone declare victory just yet — Mabel is still the Feedress Queen!”

Beaming with wifely pride, she kisses me and wobbles my apron, just to show off her culinary handiwork to our friends. “Oh, thank you baby — I’m so proud of my piggie, the undisputed Feedee King — you just can’t stop eating, can you?”

“I do it for you Honey.”