chapter 1

I despise long drives, or for that matter any drive longer than five minutes. My hips spill over the side of my seat and the seat belt pushes into my body, its time for a seat belt extender. Even with the steering wheel elevated I only have a few inches before my stomach or moobs will be rubbing against the wheel. Today I had a meeting at the bank. I was dressed business casual and wearing a sport jacket. Over the last year it has become a necessity.

I got home Friday just after four PM. Weekends were the time to relax, reflect and bond. The daily routine was almost automated. My feeder, Dayna, lived with me. She worked nearby and, since I worked from home, always came home for lunch. We spoke throughout the day via webcams.

I pulled into the garage and got out of my car. As I stood up, I felt the weight of my stomach drop. As I stood erect to walk, I felt the mounds on my chest stress against the sports bra that I was wearing. I walked into the house slowly and dropped by laptop on the sofa. Without thinking I undid my belt and sat in my recliner. Using the toe-end of my right shoe, I forced my left shoe off. I followed by doing the same action to my other shoe. The though of bending over to slip of my shoes with my hand did not sound appealing. I sat in my recliner and reflected in the silence. As my stomach growled, I started thinking about Dayna. Where is she?

I labored to sit forward. My pants kept my stomach from draping in front of me. Like a large pillow, my stomach pushed out in front of me. I forced myself to stand up and walked slowly into the bedroom which was also on the first floor. I took off my jacket and hung it up. I undid my pants and let them fall to the floor. Carefully, so as not to fall, I stepped out of them and left them on the floor. I undid the buttons on my size 4X shirt and threw it in the hamper. I rolled the size “DD” sports bra from under my manbreasts, over my head and threw it into the hamper. The air was cold on my sweated body which sent a shiver of pleasure through me. As I stood shocked at my size and body in front of the mirror in my boxers, I became erect. Reaching my erection with my hands was difficult. I smiled because it was Friday. Dayna had bought me some very large biker pants, the kinds that stretch.

As I did every Friday, I got a shower after work and wrapped those biker pants around lower body. Since it was a little cool in the house and Dayna was not here, I put on some sweat pants. I sat in the strong wooden chair in our room and slowly stepped into the pants. As I sat there with my moobs resting on my stomach I started to reflect on how I got to this stage. As I thought of the actions I would rub my nipples and my eyes would roll back.

It started about a year ago. Both Dayna and I were lustfully interested in me gaining a significant amount of weight. While Dayna preferred that I gain weight in my stomach I had hoped to gain weight all over, and especially in my breast area. We were long time friends and had lustful times already. But this was new to us. We had talked about our desires, turn ons, turn offs, etc… And since I had a large house to myself we decided that it would be best if she moved in, if anything to determine if we could cohabitate peacefully. After some discussion and research, we had set our plan in motion. Using a breast expansion pump, lotion and herbs with phytoestrogens, we decided at each new breast size reached I would gain a specific amount of weight. After a size “B”, 10 pounds; after size “C”, 20 more pounds; after size “D”, an additional 30 pounds, etc… And since I worked at home writing contacts, I had the time to dedicate to the process.

Each day I would awaken, have breakfast and shower, then use the breast expansion pumps for 20 minutes. At lunch I would do the same. Then aging after dinner. The suction cups left visible red rings. Determined, it took two weeks before the first visible signs of sustained growth were noted. After each pumping session I would rub a significant amount of lotion over my skin to help with the stretching process. Each day Dayna would call to chit chat. She did not put much faith in the process, but believed that she was humoring me. After the second week, Dayna came over for dinner and a romantic evening. As I took my shirt off in the dim light, she came at me deliberately fast staring at my chest.

“Wow”, she said.

Dayna stood behind me and cupped my breasts with her hands. “No fucking way”, she said.

Feeling the cupping of her hands I said with a smile, “Yes, way.”

To me, having seen my body every day, it had not been noticeable. I was already considered obese, had not noticeable ribcage, and a 50-inch waist. All Dayna could do was smile. She kissed me and said, “We’ll be fitting you for a bra in not time, and much fatter pants” as she grabbed a mound of fat over my stomach.

After two more weeks of repeated pumping, phytoestrogens and lotion Dayna decided that it was time for a proper measurement. Friday after work I stood in my living room. Dayna took various measurements with a tape measure…on my ribcage across my nipples and on my upper chest. She wrote each number down. We sat at the dining room table as she referenced a bra-size calculator online.

“Numbers don’t like,” she said, “Officially a “B”-cup.” We both smiled and stood up.

Dayna grabbed my hand and said, “Strip to your boxers and let’s get to the scale.”

I was a bit scared at the idea of gaining a lot of weight. But the fear subsided as Dayna held my hand. I felt that it would be OK.

I stood on the scale wearing nothing but my boxers. Dayna blurted out, “Two-hundred and fifty-five pounds. Yeah, we’ll have to take care of that.” She lovingly smacked my belly and walked me out of the bedroom.

“How do we start?” I inquired. “I mean, we always talked about things like donuts, but how do we really start this?”

Dayna said, “Obviously eating, and I will get you to 265 pounds. You better keep pumping.”

“I promise” I said.

“Tomorrow morning, we start fattening you up. I need to get some things together.” Dayna said as she took me by the hand to our bed. Both excited at the prospect of my transformation, she made me lay on my bad as she straddled my erection. With no fear of the future, I felt her slide down on me.

Late Saturday morning Dayna was up and about the house. I had not bothered her. I had already completed my morning pumping of the breast mass. I was watching videos on line with headphones. Dayna came out of our room and walked into the kitchen. She looked at me at the table, smiled and said, “Ready or not, here it comes.”
I sat at the table with a bit of trepidation. From the pantry Dayna retrieved a of loaf of Italian bread and some olive oil. “You start on this. You have to trust me. Promise you’ll eat everything I give you, even if it hurts a little.”

“OK, I promise.”

Dayna kissed me gently and walked into to kitchen. Moving from shelf to shelf and in the fridge, she said, “I’m going to put you on a high carb diet. And, I want to stretch your stomach a bit. We’ll definitely increase your calorie intake. You’ll have that next ten pounds of fat in no time.”

Without an idea of what she put in the oven, she came and sat next to me. “Turn facing me.” She said.

As I did, with my hands folded across my lap, she tore the Italian bread into strips, dipped it in the oil and put it to my mouth. “You have an entire loaf to eat. Afterwards you can take a nap, maybe.” She said.

I sat quietly, chewed and swallowed each bit. I could feel my stomach feeling full. On occasion, she would smile. This was a new process, and this feeding was a courting session of sorts. The timer on oven went off. Dayna went to the oven and returned with a steaming pan of lasagna. Smiling, and with wide eyes, she returned.

“Let it cool.” She said.

Dayna took a piece of bread and put it to my mouth. As I chewed I caught her staring at my nipples.

“I’m hot.” I said as I started to remove my shirt.

“Wait,” Dayna said. “Some ground rules here. You should ask.”

I smiled and replied, “May I remove my shirt?”

“Say please.” She said.

“Please.” I replied.

She agreed and I removed my shirt. With the edge of her index finger she rubbed against the curvature of my right breast. She them palmed my partially expanded belly.

When the lasagna cooled she started forking bites into my mouth. I was in physical pain as she started into the second half of the pan. She fed me slower and reminded me of my promise. I felt helpless, and I continued.

By the time it was done I was worn out. She walked me back to our bed and put a pillow behind me as I sat up.

“Relax, my dear friend. It will get easier, I promise.” She lay back on my right arm making sure not to lay across my stomach. As my stomach occasionally growled, she would palm it. What was more erotic is when she would put her hand under the fat roll draping from my stomach. I felt the insulin in my body making me tired, a byproduct of the massive number of calories and carbs I took in. I lay there tired and in physical distress.

Dayna said, “Take a nap. When you get up its time to pump again. Dinner will be later. Maybe it won’t be as bad.”

“May I ask, why are you making me so full so fast? It hurts.”

Dayna replied, “I need to stretch your stomach a bit. Trust me.”

I dozed off and woke up in time for my next breast expansion pumping.