Chapter 1

Sarah and Mark lived a quiet, unremarkable life in a small town, where nothing much ever changed—except for one thing: Mark was getting bigger, and he didn’t seem to notice.

It had started with Sarah’s love of cooking. She adored making extravagant meals for Mark, always thinking of new ways to pamper him. He was always appreciative, of course, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a new dish. “You really spoil me, Sarah,” he’d say, settling into his favorite chair, his appetite insatiable. Mark was always hungry, it seemed, no matter how much he ate. And Sarah, eager to please, was happy to feed him—more and more.

As the months went on, Sarah's meals grew larger, and so did Mark. His shirts started to stretch across his chest, his pants tightened around his waist, but Mark never seemed to notice. He’d adjust his pants once in a while, but only out of habit, never giving it much thought. His belly, soft and round, had become a prominent feature, but he didn’t seem to care—or even realize—how much it had grown. Instead, he’d rub it absentmindedly, a little scratch here and there, as he settled into the couch after yet another meal.

Sarah, for her part, was delighted. She loved how Mark would lazily lounge around, his belly spilling over his waistband as he flipped through TV channels, his hand resting on his stomach. The more he grew, the more she doted on him. She’d bring him snacks throughout the day—cookies, chips, fruit—and refilled his drink every time it ran low.

“You’re looking good, honey,” she’d say, watching him with a soft smile as he plopped down onto the sofa with a loud sigh, his belly jiggling slightly. But Mark just grinned back, completely oblivious.

“Thanks, Sarah! Just tired from all the work around here,” he’d say, a little chuckle escaping his lips. He rubbed his belly, stretching it out a bit, then relaxed back into the cushions. “You know, I really don’t know how you make me this comfortable. You spoil me.”

Sarah would smile at the comment, not correcting him. She loved taking care of him, and seeing him happy in his obliviousness made her feel even more needed. She’d grab the remote and hand it to him, adjusting his pillow, and sometimes, just for fun, she’d rub his stomach gently as he settled in. He always seemed to appreciate it, even if he didn’t quite understand why he enjoyed it so much.

His clothes became tighter, but he never seemed to notice. He’d walk into the room and try to suck in his stomach, but it never worked, and the fabric would stretch uncomfortably around his waist. Instead of acknowledging it, Mark would shrug, unconcerned, and sit down with a grunt, always looking forward to Sarah’s next meal.

“Hey, Mark,” Sarah would ask one evening as she brought him a plate of lasagna, “don’t you think you might need a bigger shirt?”

Mark glanced down at his shirt, tugging at the collar. “Nah, I’m fine, babe,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I’m just getting comfortable.” He grabbed his fork and dug into his meal without a second thought, the extra portion only adding to the growing roundness of his belly.

As the weeks passed, Mark’s physical changes became more pronounced—his once trim figure now bloated, his movements slower, and his energy waning. But to him, everything was just fine. He’d give his belly a playful rub after every meal, looking satisfied as he burped and stretched out on the couch. His lack of awareness was almost charming, a testament to his laid-back attitude.

Sarah, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier. Every rub of his belly, every satisfied grunt after a meal, made her feel loved and appreciated in ways that words couldn’t describe. She loved the soft, contented look on his face, his eyes half-closed as he relaxed, completely at ease in his expanding body. To her, it wasn’t a problem; it was a sign that she was succeeding in making him feel cared for.

“Mark, you’re so handsome,” she’d say, even when his belly hung heavily over his waistband, and he’d give her a confused look, not understanding what she meant but enjoying the compliment nonetheless.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he’d say absentmindedly, scratching his belly as he stretched out. “I just feel a little stuffed, that’s all.”

She would just smile and kiss his cheek. Mark had no idea that his once lean frame was becoming rounder, softer, more sedentary. He was too wrapped up in the pleasure of being well-fed and content to notice. And Sarah, ever the doting wife, took care of everything—keeping him fed, making sure he was comfortable, even if it meant indulging his increasing laziness.

One evening, after dinner, Sarah leaned in to give him a kiss, her hand gently resting on his bloated stomach. Mark looked down at her and then at his belly, scratching it with a bemused expression.

“Sarah, I think I’m getting bigger,” he said, finally noticing the way his belly stretched out over his waistband, though his voice didn’t hold any real concern—just a simple observation.

Sarah looked up at him with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling. “I think you’re perfect, Mark,” she whispered, kissing his cheek again. And Mark, completely unaware of the changes in his body, smiled back at her, satisfied with the life they’d built.

He rubbed his belly contentedly, oblivious to the way his pants were now painfully tight, the fabric barely holding together. He didn’t care—he had everything he needed right in front of him: a loving wife, a full stomach, and a life of comfort and indulgence.

And Sarah, well, she’d continue to dote on him, her heart swelling with love, her hands always ready to rub his belly as she cared for him—forever happy, forever content, in her perfect little world where Mark never once thought about the scale, the clothes, or the slow expansion of his waistline.