One-off Short Stories

Chapter 1 - Story 1: Mommy’s Growing Boy

I lean forward ever so slightly, making sure I push my chest together to maximize cleavage and stick out my rear like I'm a pin-up model. I take a heaping spoonful of saucy spaghetti from a pot in my other hand, going slowly to emphasize the large amount I'm putting on your plate on the dining room table. You're sitting reclined in the dining room chair next to me, watching my every move. I put the serving spoon back in the pot, and you reach over and grab my rear. It's more than a handful, even with your large, strong hands. You give me a rough playful shake which causes me to stand upright, the fat makes quaking on my thick hips and thighs.

"Oh my," I say, enjoying the attention after what I'm in the middle of doing to you. When you let go, I put the pot down before turning towards you.

I stare, taking in the sight before me. You look absolutely stuffed Your t-shirts have grown smaller by the meal these past few months I've been feeding you well, but after 2 large plates of spaghetti and a few bread sticks tonight, your belly has inflated into a proper potbelly, stretching out the lower half of your old shirt, the hem barely meeting your waistband that you have already lowered underneath your belly in anticipation for this meal.

I'm not very tall, but for theatrics I still lean forward slightly again, my cleavage no longer a side profile but facing you. I reach forward with both hands, gently rubbing your stuffed paunch. You roll your head back in contentment, but still longingly staring at me from the bottom of your eyes. Your belly sure is firm, but we're not near your limit. There's still some squish, and not just the layer of fat I've been adding on to you. You have room for more food. I can feel it.

Over these last few months, you made sure to continue wearing the original sized clothes for these meals so we can visually measure your progress (as per my request). I prefer to see your body on display with the fitted clothing. You bought larger clothes for work and day to day use once the buttons weren't closing and comments about your professionalism at work were brought up, so we agreed these old clothes will be your house clothes. Your current work shirts and slacks are starting to get a bit fitted again, which is more obvious when you come home after eating lunch and snacks, your belt struggling, your dress shirt buttons straining more than they did in the morning on a less filled stomach. I believe I've packed a solid 30 pounds on you since you've given in, and it shows.

I've been trying new recipes, or revisiting some favorites like we're doing tonight per your request. In return, I requested this particular blue-grey shirt on you. It's a lovely soft material, and feels so much nicer as your belly fills out beneath it. The chest and sleeves are a bit more fitted as you've put on weight, but your body structure has definitely favored storing fat in your midsection the most. Your gain has been somewhat reminiscent of a pregnant woman: a little all over but your belly steals the show as it increases in circumference. I'd guess you were 4 months pregnant if that were the case.

I rub a few circles on both sides of your belly, gently pressing down in a few places, giving you a small shake just for the sake of watching you shake. I slowly lift the hem of your shirt and let your belly flop out forward to see its true size without clothing restriction. It jiggles so much more, proving you have even more room than I gauged a few seconds ago. I pull the hem of your shirt down with much effort, making sure it meets your waistband once again.

"Sit up. Eat," I say in a low commanding voice. You reach for my chest but I playfully slap your hands away. "No treats; not until you've been a good boy and finished mommy's cooking. You're my growing boy and you'll need your strength for later."

You sit up and lean forward while making full eye contact, mouth slightly open, very turned on. You look down at your plate, just as large as the first two but a more daunting task with a full stomach. You start to eat, twirling your pasta, making eating into a euphoric experience. I walk into the kitchen to get you another large glass of Coke. I wait until you've reached the halfway mark before rewarding you with a small break and some belly rubs. You lean back, legs spread slightly, your size ever so slightly fuller. I hand you your glass and rest my hand on you as you drink, feeling you swell beneath my hand, both liquid and the carbonation inflating you more. You finish the glass and give a massive sigh, reaching around the sides of your belly. I give small presses, still not as full as I'd like you to be, so I give your balloon of a belly a small shake to mix up the bubbles some. You groan and wince with the added pressure, a few small burps providing no real relief, your shirt hem ever so slightly higher to expose more underbelly.

"Hmm, yes. You're almost there," I say. "Once you're done with this plate, you can have these." I shake my chest to tease. You smile, sigh, brace yourself, and sit back forward. I kneel on the floor next to you, eye level with my project, my hands constantly feeling to gauge. You groan every few sloppy bites but you do finish. You lean back, belly heaving with each labored short breath. Your shirt hem is now exposing nearly 2 inches of your lower belly. Still kneeling, I rub that happy little exposed section, feeling your progress, feeling how firm and full you've become.

"You've been a very good boy," I say. "This is what mommy likes to see. I worked hard on that meal and you showed me how much you appreciated it. You're packed full, no room for dessert even. I can hear your breathing is shallowing, proving you're very full of my cooking. You show me how much you appreciate me every time you leave no room for doubt in your belly. And you've grown ALL belly. As I grow you bigger, I'll have more and more food and love to fill you with."

I peel your skintight shirt up, exposing a taught drum, no room for jiggle beyond your layer of fat. "Mmmm. You've really grown for mommy. I suspect this shirt won't be able to cover your girth soon enough. You're letting yourself go and there's nothing you want more than to do it. You've let go of society and gave into your primal desires, to be well fed and taken care of like royalty. Now, let's see. I'll need you to start on top tonight so I can feel the gravity of what I've created here. I'd like to admire my handwork. Then, you will be compensated fully. Hmmm, yes, mommy likes that idea. Let's get you to the bedroom...."