Potential - part two

Chapter 1 - potential - part two

Sylvia and I immediately started in on a strict regimen of overeating and inertia. Our apartment was teeming with snacks, our refrigerator and pantry packed with mass quantities of food at all times. Between getting take out, grocery delivery and hopping in my car and running out to the store, there was a constant stream of consumables coming into the house, and Sylvia was polishing it all off just as fast as I could bring it to her.

Most of her days were divided between the bed and the sofa; I saw to it that she moved as little as possible as I waited on her hand and foot. I’d always been decent in the kitchen, but my chef skills were rapidly improving as I learned to make all of the most tempting and fattening dishes that I knew my baby would love.

The extra pounds came piling on Sylvia’s body slowly at first, but before too long she was blowing up like a balloon. Seeming to expand by the minute right before my very eyes, she grew fatter and fatter, getting bigger than either one of us could ever have imagined. Her belly was gargantuan, taking over her entire body, and her butt had grown so plump and round, bouncing up and down when she walked, bumping into things and knocking them over. Her hips were getting so wide that she struggled to push herself through doorways, and her massive undulating breasts had filled out to the size of overripe watermelons.

Finding clothes large enough to cover her ever-expanding body was a challenge to say the least. Not long after our journey began, nearly every article of clothing Sylvia owned was quickly rendered to rags by her rapidly bulging curves and rolls. I tried to keep up with her, buying super-sized clothing online wherever I could find it, but almost any shirt, bra, pair of pants, panties or muumuu would get at most one or two wears before it was too small.

“Honestly,” she said to me one morning from our bed, her mouth full of pancake and sausage I’d just cooked for her, “I feel more comfortable just being naked.”

“Do you really?” I asked.

“Really,” she said as she quickly gulped down her food, a small burp escaping from her gullet. “I’m perfectly happy just laying here naked, stuffing my face, feeling myself getting bigger and bigger for you.”

Hearing those words coming out of her mouth in between bites of food was getting me excited. I quickly retreated to the kitchen to retrieve the pound of bacon and dozen-egg omelette I’d just fried up for her; I couldn’t wait to bring it back to her and watch her inhale all of it.

“As long as I have at least one outfit to wear when we go out to the farmer’s market on Sundays, I’ll be totally fine.” I heard her calling to me from the bedroom down the hall.

“Of course,” I shouted back while piling a service tray up with the rest of her greasy and fattening breakfast. “We have to continue our weekly tradition.”

It had indeed become a weekly tradition for us that every Sunday Sylvia and I go to the fairgrounds and attend our local farmer’s market. The market in our town was like any food-lovers wet-dream. In addition to all the wonderful fresh fruits and vegetables, there was also a vast abundance of freshly baked goods like cakes, pies and pastries. There were vendors of every sort of cuisine from around the world: French, Italian, Indian, Mexican — and of course we had to sample them all.

Sylvia was particularly enamored with the butcher at the market. He was an old man named Nestor whose face would light up every time he saw us coming. He doted on Sylvia as if she were one of his own daughters or granddaughters, and of course he loved the fact that we’d drop major coin on meats whenever we’d come to see him. Steaks, hams, pork loins, racks of ribs and sausage links by the yard; we’d load up the van and haul it all back home and Sylvia would chow down like there was no tomorrow.

One time we’d asked Nestor to get us two fifty-foot lengths of sausage links, one spicy and one sweet, and I’ll damned if he didn’t pull through for us. We showed up at his shop and he had it all there for us, about 100 pounds of meat fully cooked and ready to eat. When we got back home Sylvia double-fisted those sausages, alternating between the sweet and the spicy with each bite. It took her a few hours, but she managed to stuff it all down inside of her. She looked like a giant swollen tick that was ready to pop!

We loved going to that market; we both looked forward to it all week long. That was Sylvia’s one day to leave the house — until one day the inevitable happened.

“Ugh, it’s no use!” Sylvia scowled as she lay in the bed. “I’m too heavy, I just can’t move.”

We’d been trying all morning to get her up out of bed, but to no avail. She had indeed grown so large that she was immovable. No amount of pushing or pulling was going to get her up; she was just a solid fat blob bound to her bed.

“You’ll have to go without me,” she said, still panting heavily from the effort we’d exerted in trying to mobilize her.

“Go alone?” I said. “Are you sure? It’s our tradition.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just hurry back; you know you can’t leave me for too long before I start getting hungry and I need you to feed me.”

“Of course,” I replied.


I made way to the market on my own that day. It was strange being there without Sylvia, but I did my best to get all of the things I knew she would love. Making the rounds to all the vendor stations I picked up 4 large pizzas, 7 foot-long hoagies, a tub of pork fried rice, 2 big bags full of burgers and fries, and a gigantic tray full of hot tamales. Stopping by the bakery then, I grabbed two apple pies, a blueberry pie, a strawberry cheesecake and 2 pounds of cannoli.

Next I stopped by and saw Nestor the butcher. He was surprised to see me all alone, but still cheerfully fulfilled my order and even threw in a few extra pork chops for free for the lovely Miss Sylvia. All told I brought home about 20 pounds of meat that day.

Lastly I went through the fresh produce section to grab some ingredients for some dishes I was going to try making that week. As I made my way through the narrow aisles, I accidentally backed into a cart full of melons and knocked them over, sending them crashing to the ground.

“Nice going, fatso!” I heard someone shout from across the crowded room. There was a low rumble of nervous laughter for a moment before everyone just went back to their business as usual. As I helped the floor clerk pick up the melons, I took a look at myself and realized that I had indeed become quite a fatso myself. I had been so focused on Sylvia’s weight gain that I hadn’t even really noticed my own gains. I guess that’s what happens when you live with a woman whose sole purpose in life is to eat twenty four hours a day and get as fat as possible, and you are completely surrounded by food all the time.


I rushed home as quickly as I could to my ravenous girlfriend and got right to work preparing and serving her an ongoing repast for the rest of the day. Sylvia chowed down like a world-class pig until she was so big and bloated she could barely breathe, and then we made love all night like two gigantic seacows in heat.

As hard as it might be for some to believe, Sylvia and I still maintained an amazing love life. We couldn’t keep our hands off of one another. When we weren’t cooking or eating, we were all over each other. That’s not to say that sex between two massively obese people isn’t without it’s challenges. There was a lot of trial and error, finding the positions and the means of properly supporting ourselves in order to carry on — but we were both highly motivated and we always found a way to make it happen.

Sylvia always was an animal in bed, especially when she was good and stuffed. It was like the more she ate the hornier she got. So many evenings, after packing away enough food to feed a gang of hungry teamsters, she’d be laying back in bed with her tongue hanging out, drooling all over herself as she gasped for air, rubbing her belly while loud belches erupted from her gullet; she’d get that look in her eye, and I knew just what she wanted.

“Oh, baby!” she’d moan sensuously. “You stuffed me so good -- *BURP* — look how big and fat you’re making me get.” She’d begin drumming playfully on the top of her belly, causing it to ripple in waves like a giant mass of gelatin, the gallons of partially digested food sloshing around inside of her like a stormy sea. “Why don’t you come over here and give me a nice belly rub — I know you want to.”

Nothing got me more excited than touching her overstuffed belly. Her skin would get so taut and smooth, stretched to the max over her packed stomach and thick layers of fat. The moment I’d lay my hands on her I could feel myself get as hard as a rock, even though now I could barely even see the tip of my erection over the edge of my own fatness.

We’d start kissing and caressing each other until she begged me to turn her over and let her have it. Again, I couldn’t see very well where I was going over all of the rolls of billowing fatness between the two of us, but I could always feel it when I was right in there. She was so warm and soft, it felt like I was diving into pool of melted marshmallow fluff. It was so amazing, and it was all I could do to keep myself from climaxing after just a few strokes.

After we’d both get off, I would collapse on top of her bulk, both of us covered in sweat and gasping for air. We’d hold each other as we lay, whispering sweet nothings to one another, and making plans for our next feast. It was a good life, and we were both very happy. It felt as if it would go on this way forever. That is — until one day when everything changed.