# Kate and Me - by Anonymous/Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BBW/~BHM, Eating,~SWG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Jun 26, 2010)

_~BBW/~BHM, Eating, ~SWG_  To their surprise, a couple discovers that marriage can change you  for the bigger.

*KATE & ME *​*Part One by Anonymous
The rest by Big Beautiful Dreamer​*

*Part One​*
Katherine giggled as I poked my index finger into her soft little belly. She blushed, a little embarrassed by the way her newly formed tummy spilled over her pants. I smiled as I pinched the small roll of fat that was hanging over the waistband of her jeans. 

"Looks like someone's putting on a little weight." 

Katherine blushed even more. I pulled her a little closer in bed and started to gently massage her softening middle. She closed her eyes and let out a tiny sigh. My gentle touch on her cushion of tummy felt so comforting. Katherine looked up at me with her big blue eyes. 

"Does it bother you?" she asked. 

"Well, actually, Kath..."I said, my hand moving to her side, which had formed a small love handle, just perfect for me to massage. "I have a little confession to make." 

She turned toward me, her new modest belly gently pressing against my own muscular stomach. 

"I've always preferred girls who have a little more to them. I liked a girl who enjoys food, and isn't afraid to eat. Sometimes, when we're in bed, and I'm holding you close, I can't help but imagine what it would feel like to hold a softer, more  womanly woman in my arms."I moved my hand back to the front of her belly and began to massage and caress its new growth. I loved the way my hand sank a little into the soft golden flesh of my new wifes belly. It was so nice, and it felt so feminine. "I've been waiting for this..." I said, gently patting her tummy, "for a long time." 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, rolling over to her side. Ive been trying so hard to stay slim for you  you set a high standard yourself, you know.

"I didn't know what you'd think," I replied. "You know, it's not every day your husband tells you he wants you to be chubby." 

She smiled, still enjoying the novelty of hearing your husband. She sat up now, with a little grunt; as she did, her tummy formed a couple of little rolls. My grin widened at the sight of the pudge. Pleased, I reached over and gently pinched one. Katherine smiled too. 

"So, exactly how much have you gained, sweetheart?" Jim asked. 

"Almost 10 pounds in three months," Katherine replied, with a playful pout. "Must be all your excellent cooking." 

It was true. In the three months that Katherine and I had been married, I had routinely done the cooking, since I worked from home. Although the rich meals and calorie-laden desserts hadn't really altered my physique, they had taken their toll on Katherine's formerly slender figure. 

"Well," I reassured her, "All ten of them look delicious on you." I leaned over and planted a sweet little kiss on her soft tummy. 

"You know Jim," Katherine said hesitantly. "I have a little confession to make too." 

"What's that, darling?" I asked. 

"I've thought about what you'd look like with a little more weight on you, too. I think it'd be really great if you gained another twenty pounds or so. Just enough to lose that silly six pack and get a real tummy. A little something for me to hold on to." She grinned at me.

"Really?" I asked. I'd entertained the idea of getting a little bigger, but was always apprehensive. "I'd always thought you wanted me to stay slim." 

Katherine looked up into my eyes. "It's your decision, darling. But I think it'd be a lot of fun if we gained weight together. Just the thought of it made her smile. 

I pulled her close. "Watch each other's tummies become chubbier, growing softer in each other's embraces. Sounds like heaven." 

"When should we start?" Katherine asked. 

"As soon as possible, darling," I answered. "Although..." I said with a wink, "looks like you've gotten a little head start." 

"Ha, ha, very funny...." Katherine replied... "but we'll see who's laughing when your pants can't contain your pot belly anymore!" She giggled, and reached over and tickled my tummy. 

He smiled at her, and with that, I draped my arm around my wife's supple side, and laid my hand on her little tummy. I closed my eyes, and the two of us fell fast asleep in each others arms.

*Part Two​*
Neither one of us wanted to do anything actually unwise  wed both seen _Supersize Me _ but we were grinning like kids out of school the next morning. Katherine made pancakes, and this time she doubled the batch and even cooked up some bacon. We both ate heartily, afterward slogging dopily into the living room to watch cartoons and digest.

But even though we were unquestionably taking in more calories, it was going to take time to see any real results.

Were laying a foundation, I reassured Katherine. 

Youve still got a six pack, she said, tracing a finger down my belly, which was bulging with pizza at the moment.

Not quite, not anymore, I said, pinching one of her love handles. Maybe a five pack.

Two weeks after I had worked up the nerve to confess that I would like to see a little more on her, and shed worked up the nerve to confess that my hard-won abs didnt do much for her, shed added three pounds. Me? Id gained one. 

Its getting there, I promise, I said, drawing her to me. The resulting hug made me burp, which did coax a smile out of her. In truth, I could feel a difference, even if my jeans still fit. I still worked out my arms, chest, shoulders, back, and legs  but nothing at all for my abs, and to me, at least, they felt a little softer.

After another two weeks, when Katherine had added another pound, she was clearly unhappy. Shed started ten pounds up and had put on another four, while I had put on a whole pound. Thanks to lack of attention, my once-chiseled abs were losing definition rapidly, but I simply wasnt gaining. Katherine persuaded me to try to force the issue.

We started the day with a treble batch of pancakes. That is, three dozen of the golden hot beauties, lakes of syrup, and most of a package of bacon besides. Katherine put away a dozen, while I worked to outdo her two to one.

Two dozen pancakes, slathered in butter and syrup, along with eight strips of bacon and nearly a pint of apple juice, and I was stuffed to my eyebrows. Grunting with effort, I undid my jeans and watched the button and buttonhole spread out as if avoiding each other. My aching and gorged belly was firm as a drum, swollen and distended with the gargantuan breakfast. I hiccupped, wincing at the contraction, and sluggishly hauled myself up from the table. Logy and replete, I staggered heavily over to the recliner and sank into it. My stomach was stretched to capacity, heavy and taut. I thought that if I tried to swallow another bite I would burst.

Okay_hic_whats for lunch? _Hic_. 

Katherine sank onto the sofa, cradling her own bloated midsection. Lightly tanned, it protruded firm and gravid under a nightshirt that was beginning to tug at the sides of her softening tummy.

Oof. Give me time_hic_to recover. _Ohoooh_, she groaned, drowsily massaging her tautly bulging belly.

After half an hour or so, she padded into the kitchen, beginning preparations for a completely made from scratch lasagna. The only things storebought were the ricotta and noodles. She was making her own tomato sauce from our plants, which were brimming with huge, ripe tomatoes, and her little herb garden.

By the time she laid it out, along with garlic cheese bread and a big salad, I was, if not actively hungry, at least past the initial discomfort that breakfast had wrought. I was able to contemplate the table with something approaching the thrill of a challenge.

Lasagna is awfully filling.

Steadily, determinedly, I had tucked into four large, thick slabs of the meaty, spicy, cheesy, gooey stuff, savoring every bite, even as I could feel my stomach begin to protest. My filling belly pressed against my re-fastened jeans, threatening to undo the button on its own. I was beginning to become short of breath. Six pieces of garlic bread, quickly dispatched, and a couple of platefuls of salad  palate cleansers  and a tall glass of lemonade were also sloshing around in my steadily swelling stomach. 

Finally, when even the thought of another forkful was enough to make me queasy, I slouched back in my chair. I grunted with effort and finally managed to undo my jeans. The button and buttonhole sprang apart in relief. I looked down. They werent even close to meeting, and the ease it gave my swollen and stuffed belly was marvelous.

I think  Im gaining_hic!_on you._ Hic_. I closed my eyes and laid my hands on my aching stomach. I felt loaded down with a weeks worth of food, my belly stretched and warm. Drowsy and stupid as I was at the moment, there was an oddly comforting sensation to it, some primal awareness of repletion, satiety, plenty. It was reassuring. Sluggishly, half-unconscious, Katherine and I staggered into the bedroom, peeled off our clothes, sank onto the bed.

Kick_hic!_starting the metabolism. I only half stifled a belch, then another one. I could actually hear my overloaded stomach gurgling and churning with its digestive efforts. 

Just as I had outpaced her two-to-one at breakfast, the huge lunch I had put away was about twice Katherines intake. She was already fourteen pounds up on me  the aim was for me to catch up. Still, two large servings of lasagna, several slices of bread and a plate of salad had filled her tank. She massaged her tummy, swollen into a taut and tempting teardrop, straining the tensile pull of her belly button into a slit. 

A nap worked wonders on us. That evening, we headed to a buffet restaurant. They had no idea how much of a bargain our $11-a-person meal would be for us. 

Katherine wore what she called half-rise jeans and a loose sleeveless top. I was wearing my go-to jeans and a T shirt grabbed at random from the stack. 

We both started with plates heaped high from the salad bar, then attacked the hot food, with several irresistible, yeasty rolls. 

Slight drawback to the fact that we were in a restaurant instead of in our own kitchen. I was not free to undo my jeans. By the time I made my way to the dessert bar, I was doubtful that they would stay fastened  not that I would deliberately unbutton them in public, but my stuffed-to-bursting belly had other ideas. Nevertheless, I gamely made my way through not one but four servings of dessert. Katherine only had two.

Stunned, clocked, dazed with food, we listed into the house and made straight for bed. I, at least, was asleep before I was fully horizontal and slept like the dead for ten hours.

I was awakened by Katherine tugging at my hand. Come on  get on the scale. Jim! Come on! Barely awake, I obediently let myself get led into the bathroom and onto the scale.

Katherine squealed. There! Look!

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and stared at the readout. 184, it read. 

Hey! Thats two whole pounds in one day, I said, through a monster yawn.

Katherine elbowed me out of the way and stepped on. 148.

Hey, I stayed the same! She grinned and hugged me from behind. Come on, belly, she chanted, rubbing my stomach as if to invoke the gaining gods.

*Part Three*​
By the time we celebrated our six-month anniversary, much had changed. For starters, Katherine-my-lovely had gained a total of twenty-three pounds. Just enough to soften and pad her midsection, give her delectable bottom a tempting cushion, and ripen her breasts. I could see peeps of a second chin from time to time, and her hips could arouse me on sight.

Meanwhile, the foundation I had sworn to Katherine that I was laying had finally begun to pay off. She had been specific in liking my muscular torso, arms, and legs, so I duly continued to work out to keep them that way. As a consequence, though my pecs were softer, they were still pretty solid. Most of the  ta-da  twenty-eight pounds I had packed on were going to the belly. I now had a definite pot, a round protrusion that, when stuffed full, was taut and swollen like a basketball, and when empty, softened into a couple of spare tire folds and definite love handles. My face and chin were softening a bit, but most of my added intake was going right to my thickening waistline.

For the most part, unrelated, civilly behaved adults dont randomly call weight gain on other adults. I wasnt getting too much flak from the publishers whenever I went for an in-house meeting, or from our friends. To my face, anyway. I assumed they were mentioning it behind my back, but I didnt much care about that.

Women seem to be a trifle cattier. Katherine was getting well-meaning comments  seemingly innocent questions, like, Youre having dessert? from co-workers. No question that they were talking behind her back. 

But in our own world of the two of us, freed from societal obligations and restraints, we both were happier, lighter of heart, more relaxed, more the people we were meant to be. 

When we showed up at my parents house for our first married-couple Thanksgiving dinner, Mom and Dad were far too polite to say anything about Katherine to Katherine. I got a hesitant query in private from Mom  Yep, I know, Id said; married life and all  and a just-us-guys comment from Dad. 

Thanksgiving dinner being what it is, however, no one was likely to carry on any more than that about our bellies, so I figured I was getting off lightly. 

The scene: a twenty-five-pound turkey; a large mound of homemade apple-sage stuffing; cranberries; cranberry sauce; orange-nut bread; crescent rolls; broccoli casserole; sweet potato casserole; corn pudding; sugar snap peas; cucumber salad; iced tea and lemonade and beer and apple cider; dessert waiting offstage.

The cast: Mom, Dad, Katherine, me, my brother Rob, Robs steady Caitlin, and my sister Allison. 

Bring it on.

Accordingly, at two hours and eleven minutes, my mutual consent, we laid down our forks. Grunting and with effort got up from the now-besieged table. Waddled dazedly into the living room and sprawled. 

My stomach was stretched almost to bursting, every crack and crevice crammed with delicious food. Sloshing and grumbling, my gorged belly was swollen and tender and I had to admit to being achingly stuffed. I sank cautiously down onto the sofa, splayed out my legs, and gently laid a hand atop my roundly distended gut. It was heavy, warm, and unyielding, protruding gravidly. Katherine and I had made a point of going shopping for new jeans last weekend. My newly acquired twenty-eight pounds had, before dinner, sat comfortably within a 34 waist (previously 28, thankyouverymuch); Katherine, who when we wed had boasted size 8, had that morning donned a size 12. Our jeans had actually been a hair loose.

Before dinner.

Now, before I had sunk onto the sofa for hibernation, I had, with a fair bit of effort, tugged the jeans open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the waistband sprung, the fastenings inches apart. I was not entirely sure I could do them up again in my lifetime. I stifled the large belch that rumbled up, watching with interest as my bloated abdomen rippled below my hand.

Next to me, Katherine had assumed a similar posture, and her jeans were also unbuttoned, a glimpse within of peach-colored panty elastic pulled tight, straining across her swollen and taut tummy. Her now-softening belly cushion, stuffed to the brim, was a distended, almost translucent teardrop of stretched flesh, her belly button (I imagined) on the vertical. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed in satiation.

Rob still had his jeans buttoned, but after his first, undoubtedly painful, eructation, snorted in resignation and unbuttoned, surrendering macho pride to comfort. His normally unremarkable belly  undefined, a little soft -- was bloated and taut, a hairy soccer ball, stuffed like the rest of ours. Caitlin was tall and willowy, but shed also tucked away a hearty amount, and below her dress, I could see the floral cotton straining against a bulge. She rested her hands on her full tummy, eyes half closed, trying to pretend she hadnt overeaten.

Dad had let his belt out a good two notches and was sunk into his recliner, hand down the straining waistband of his trousers to ease the pressure. He belched.

Whups, he said sheepishly. Ate a lot, there.

There were murmurs of agreement. From the kitchen, splashes and clinking where Allison and Mom were doing the dishes. A scent of pie warming in the oven drifted out and unthinkingly I groaned.

Ohhh. _Hic!_ Pie 

Katherine prodded her swollen tummy. Too full  _hic!_  Oh, it smells good.

Maybe_hic_Ill take a nap first. _Mrrrp_. I met Katherines eye.

Silently we helped each other up and waddled like tranquilized bears toward the guestroom.

Door closed and locked, we shucked our clothing with relief and sank grunting into bed. Wordlessly we massaged each others gorged and distended tummies, coaxing up belches and assisting the digestive process. We drifted off, dozing, in that half-sleep where you think you are still awake but time flows past. 

Semiconscious, we turned, pressing our full bellies together, and I felt a surge of warmth and arousal from the contact. Katherine did too, a jolt of electric desire. We cradled and caressed, the pressure that should have been uncomfortable, and was, somehow sensual and tender at the same time, and gradually we were intimate, every movement slow and careful because we were so very stuffed, brimful and not wanting to spill. The sensation of stretched and fragile belly flesh under mild pressure and perspiring friction made the whole act seem sacred and surreal, and finally we parted, still suspended in unreality.

Katherine peeled herself off the bed for a quick shower. I followed her in. Im not sure we actually conserved any water by bathing together. And we smoothed ourselves back into presentability and rejoined the assembly, just in time for pie.


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