growinluvhandles
Well-Known Member
~BHM, Forcefeeding, Revenge, ~XWG - a jilted wife finds an appropriate revenge for her suave handsome husband.
I lie in a lumpy bed in a downtown hotel looking through sore teary eyes at the cheap paintings on the walls. My pillow is soaked with my tears and snot. My so-called "afternoon delight," Charlene, has just left to go home. I wish I could just accept that I had a one-time fling and let it go at that.
But I can't.
The real problem is my wife. She will be so mad at me.
I must tell my wife Sylvia. It is already dark outside, and I am supposed to have been home hours ago. She is so jealous. She will know what I have done. I am scared of what she will do to me, but I have to tell her.
The 10 months since we got married have not been easy for me, especially because my wife is so suspicious all the time. Sylvia's first marriage was to a philandering no-gooder, and as a result, she has always been determined not to let it happen again. And certainly I did not want this to happen either. It just did, and I feel horrible about it.
So she keeps a tight rein on me. She knows she has to. All day, at my work as a photographer, I encounter beautiful women – young sexy teens, prom queens, hot college students, even MILFs bringing in their toddlers for a photograph session.
I won't brag, but Sylvia's concern is that women are attracted to me – and they are. I have long known how easy it is for me to flirt, and I used that to my advantage to attract Sylvia when we first met.
And women find me charming as well as cute. I am a nice guy, after all. And it doesn't hurt that I am often compared to a young George Clooney – before he let himself go and get grey and wrinkly.
My longish soft brown hair, my lips, my muscular slender build, my firm baritone voice all seem to make some women warm up to me easily. Not to mention what Sylvia used to call my "bedroom eyes." Oh, she enjoyed those "bedroom eyes" when we first met. But no longer.
Sylvia keeps me on a short leash. Did I say that already? No, I said "tight rein on me". Same difference. It's funny there are so many metaphors for her kind of wifely behavior. She has every reason to expect fidelity from her spouse, but sometimes this life seems so constricting to me.
She wants me to save those eyes for her only, but I can't help how good I look any more than an ugly person can't help how hideous they are. I can't help that I naturally smile a lot and am friendly to strangers.
I know women lust after me. It's not something I welcome now that I am married, I assure you. And besides, this was just supposed to be one harmless drink at the neighborhood bar with my last appointment – a young hot thing named Charlene.
I get out of bed and pick up my clothing. I notice that my shirt has lipstick stains and smells like cigarette smoke and alcohol from the bar where one little drink turned into many, dulling my sense of right and wrong, making me want to take Charlene to bed. Oh, why did I even go into that bar instead of going home immediately!
Sylvia will not like this one bit. I pray that she will forgive me as I drive home. I consider just keeping driving and never going home. But I do want to make this marriage with Sylvia work. In spite of her controlling ways, I do love her.
I see her SUV in the garage as I park my car. I take a deep breath and enter the front door.
Sylvia is on the couch in the living room, lying on her face. She has apparently been crying, but quickly she gets up and moves toward me with such anger and passion, screaming and flailing her arms. I feel certain she is about to slap me or slug me in the stomach. I feed I deserve whatever she does to me.
Sylvia becomes like one of the Furies of ancient mythology, all madness and noise. I have never seen her so angry. She is screaming so loud I can barely think. She growls and the words pour out of her.
"Where were you?" she screams. "You smell like booze and sex! Who have you been screwing now, Anthony? Lipstick on your shirt! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it when you didn't come home on time."
Hell hath no fury like a scorned women, right?
"I love you," I say weakly. "This is the first time I have ever done anything like this."
She looks directly at me with an accusatory unblinking stare. Finally, tears fill her bloodshot eyes and an angry expression reddens face. She looks away in disgust.
"I promise it will never happen again," I say. "I will do anything, ANYTHING to make it up to you."
Sylvia collects herself as best she can. She stands and starts to leave. I grab onto her arm, and she gives me a look which could melt stone.
"Let go of me," she says coldly, and I obey.
In a few moments, she has slammed the front door behind her, and I hear the tires on her SVU squeal as she roars away down the road.
I feel like chasing after her, but suddenly I feel exhausted. I collapse on the couch and start to cry. I cry for what seems like hours, until I have no more tears. I thought I had seem my lovely wife for the last time.
But I was wrong. Soon, I heard the door open, and there she was. I was overjoyed to see my Sylvia again.
I start to speak, but she places her finger on my lips. "Shush! I need to say something."
I nod my head and stay silent.
"You have betrayed me, just like my other son-of-a-bitch husband did. You say that you love me. Do you mean it?"
I nod silently.
"Right now, I wonder if I still love you," Sylvia says. "I wonder if I ever loved you. Or if I was just infatuated with how handsome you are, your sexy smile and eyes, and your fit body. Maybe it was a mistake for me to marry such a seductive hot man as you."
I start to smile and wink at her, thinking all this a bit humorous, but I see Sylvia is in no mood for my charm or "bedroom eyes" or natural flirting ways. I stay silent, looking her right in the eye.
"Did you mean what you said when you said you would do ANYTHING it took to make it up to me?" she asks.
"Yes, yes," I reply, eagerly trying to convince her.
"You promise?" she says.
"Yes, of course." I agree
"Then, I am going to make it so other women do not find you so desirable," she anniounces
"What?" I say incredulously.
"You heard me. I am going to make you very, very fat, Anthony," she roclaims.
I am too stunned to even think. And even though I don't want to, I obey Sylvia when she tells me to go into the bedroom, take off my stinky pants and shirt and get into bed. I am scared of what is going to happen when I see her at the door with a look of grim determination on her face.
Before I know it, I am laying spread eagle on the bed, my head propped up by pillows. I am wearing only my underwear. Sylvia busies herself tying my hands and feet to the bedposts with four of my old neckties. I do not offer to struggle, and in fact, am somewhat of turned on by this.
After Sylvia finishes tying me up, she makes an announcement in solemn tones.
"Until I tell you otherwise, Anthony, you will only be allowed in our bedroom and bathroom. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," I answer quickly.
Sylvia quickly sets several items on the nightstand.
"I picked up a few things for you while I was out," she says with a bit of wicked tone in her voice. She breaks dozens of large donuts into mouth-size bites and places some on a plate and the rest into a bag. She sets up several cans of whipped cream and a carton of whole milk. I later learn that Sylvia mixed weight gain powder into the milk.
"Now, open your mouth," she orders.
I do, and she immediately stuffs a donut into it. As soon as I chew and swallow, she commands me to open my mouth again. This time, she fills it with whipped cream. I swallow. The next time, it is the weight gain formula and milk she pours between my lips.
She repeats this pattern over and over again. At one point, I try to tell her that I am too full, but as soon as I open my mouth to complain, Sylvia fills it with another fattening mouthful.
After about an hour, Sylvia stops stuffing me. I look over at the nightstand to see all the food is gone. I am relieved that this ordeal is over. I expect she will untie me, but she just stands up and leaves the room.
I feel like I am going to burst open. I have never been this full before. When I look down, I cannot see my feet because my belly is in the way, so swollen and round. I felt uncomfortable, but I am unable to move. I am worn out from being stuffed, and I fall asleep, hoping that will ease the pain.
I don't know how long I sleep, but when I awaken, Sylvia is right by my side, and she has brought more food with her. She orders me to open my mouth, and I obey her, feeling this is a small price to pay for what I have put her through. Even though I am still so full, I comply with her wishes. Every bite hurts, but I rationalize that my pain is small compared to the pain I have caused her.
I don't know how it is possible, but once again, I eat everything that Sylvia stuffs into my mouth.
As I swallow the last bite of donut, Sylvia unties me.
"I am going to be sleeping in the guest bedroom from now on," she announces and leaves.
I do not move for a long time after she has gone. I can't. My belly is so stuffed now that it hurts to move. Eventually, I fall asleep.
When I wake up, it is morning, and in the bright sunlight I feel optimistic about our marriage. I hope that Sylvia has changed her mind and no longer wants to make me fat and unattractive.
She comes to the doorway with news that proves she is more determined than ever.
"I have called your photo studio and arranged for you to take a leave of absence. I am going to devote your time off to making you fat – very fat. You have one hour to attend to your personal needs before I start feeding you again," she decrees.
With those words, she spins on her heels, her blonde hair flying about her, and leaves.
I struggle to get out of bed. I look for some clothes to put on but discover that Sylvia has emptied my closet and dresser while I was sleeping. All that is left is a drawer full of underwear.
Grabbing one, I slowly walk into the bathroom feeling totally disgusted with myself and more than a little disgusted with what lays ahead for me. I shower, shave and use the toilet. Just then, I want to weigh myself, and I look for the scales under the sink. I can't find them. I start to look again when I hear Sylvia calling for me to come back in the bedroom.
I barely have time to pull on my underwear before she orders me back into bed. As I crawl in, I notice that the elastic waistband is digging slightly into my belly.
"If you are a good boy and cooperate, I will not have to tie you to the bed," Sylvia says.
I nod silently in agreement.
"We are going to add something to your feedings, my dear," she says to me, handing me a drinking glass full of what appears to be water. "Chug it down," she commands me.
I raise the glass to my mouth, then realizing it contains gin, I hesitate for just a moment.
"Drink up," Sylvia says firmly, pushing my hand with the glass in it toward my lips.
She fills the glass a second time, and I drink it all up.
It must be the gin because soon after drinking it, I feel more relaxed, maybe a little "buzzed." I don't even get tense when Sylvia brings in a platter full of greasy hamburgers and a gallon of weight gain formula.
"If you drink booze just before eating, your system will only burn the calories in the alcohol," Sylvia tells me. "All these other calories will be stored as fat on your body."
These words don't even faze me since I am quite drunk by now. I open my mouth obediently, and she stuffs me full.
This feeding isn't as difficult as the feedings last night. Of course, I was stuffed when it was over, but I did not feel quite as uncomfortable as I did during the nighttime.
And so, this becomes my daily routine for a long time – many months, I have no idea how long.
I awaken each morning and go to the bathroom, shower, shave, use the toilet and return to bed. I drink a glass or two of gin, eat a high-calorie feeding which always includes the weight gain formula.
Then I nap for about an hour. Then, more gin, another feeding, another nap. Sylvia continues this regimen until I have had my seventh feeding of the day. Then, she lets me sleep through the night until the next morning when I get up and start all over again.
At first, I hate what Sylvia is doing to me. Everyday, I think that she will stop doing this, forgive me, and we will get on with our lives. But soon, I become accustomed to my routine. And eventually, I find that my new lifestyle agrees with me. I no longer have to do anything except lie around, drink eat and sleep. It seems a pleasant life in some ways.
I have never been a big drinker or anything, so at first I do not like drinking all that alcohol. Before long, I grow used to it and enjoy how it feels to be constantly drunk.
The feedings at first are unpleasant, but after a few weeks, they become enjoyable, even stimulating. Many times, especially after an exceptionally filling feeding, my hands drift below my bloated belly and I pleasure myself. Soon, I am doing so many times a day, almost anytime when I don't drift immediately to sleep after a feeding. It seems so erotic and luxuriant to be living like this, and my fattened body seems so sensitive when I rub my distended belly or fondle my new love handles.
After about the third week, I am unable to even squeeze into a pair of my underwear. I am always naked now, but never quite able to see my entire body. Early on, while I was asleep, Sylvia removed the full-length bedroom mirror and the vanity mirror in the bathroom. I can see that my belly is bulging out a lot, but in my drunken state, I don't really care. I watch as my well-defined pecs turn into mush and bloom into full-grown man-boobs. At this point, I am no longer concerned most of the time.
Extra fat settles on my hips, butt and thighs. One day, I notice that my thighs are starting to rub together when I walk. After several more months, I am surprised when my love handles bump into the sides of the bathroom doorway. In some ways, this disgusts me but it also strangely excites me and I pleasure myself right there and then. Almost every time I go to the bathroom now, the same thing happens. Whenever my flab brushes the doorway, that sensitive feeling signals a strange perverted desire to masturbate immediately.
I know I am getting fatter, but as time goes on, it is easy to put that out of my mind. I do notice that it is becoming harder to walk, and much more difficult to get out of bed each morning. Eventually, Sylvia has to help me get up and out of the bed. She is rough with me and impatient. She calls me names like "fatty" and "hog" and insults me. I know I should care about how big I am getting, and I do for a few minutes. My mind is clouded with alcohol, so any worries or concerns soon drift away.
I soon lose all track of time. I only know that it is another day when Sylvia tells me I should get up and clean myself up in the bathroom. I have no idea what day of the week it is or what month of the year even. I can see the seasons change outside the windows, but with my booze-soaked brain, it all seems very confusing.
I get up today. It seems like any other day, but it is not. Sylvia has not woken me up, and I am uncertain what time it is. Outside, it is cloudy and a little dark. I can't tell if it is early morning or dusk.
I assume it is morning because I am incredibly hungry like I am most mornings. I would say I'm starving, but looking down at my blubbery body, I know it would take a long time for me to literally starve.
Sylvia is not here to help me out of bed. I scream for her to come help me since I need to get to the bathroom soon. Maybe she overslept or she is out getting more food. I struggle to get up, straining myself and grunting as I heave myself upright and then stand up.
When I come out of the bathroom, Sylvia is still not here. I don't know what to do, and I start to panic. I call out for her again and again, but there is no reply.
I know she would be upset with me if I leave the bedroom. I am really hungry now, and I don't know what else to do. Maybe if I sneak out and get some food in the kitchen, I can get back into bed before Sylvia finds out. I open the bedroom door and squeeze my fat body through the doorway and into the living room. I get turned on by the sensations of my flab being pushed through the doorframe, and I reach for my love-stalk. Just a few minutes of pleasure, I think, stretching my fingers beneath my belly to reach my dick. Standing up, I realize I can no longer reach it because my belly is so huge and in the way.
I almost forgot what the living room looks like. When I pass the large mirror over the mantle, I see the reflection of my entire body for the first time since that fateful day when I cheated on Sylvia.
I nearly pass out from the shock, and I stumble toward the living room couch and hold onto it so I don't fall over. I look back at the mirror again with my mouth wide open in horror. I had no idea I have gotten so big. My entire body is covered by thick layers of fat, some of which make huge rolls and bulges. A belly apron of fat hangs from where I used to have a 32" waistline. This belly completely covers my dick. No wonder I couldn't reach it.
My love handles are more than any woman could possibly handle. Even with both hands, I can only grasp a small part of my right love handles. My man-boobs are big and round. They are so heavy, they sag down and rest on the top part of my belly. My hips are so wide, and my thighs are so thick, they rub together all the way down to my knees. I turn slightly to catch sight of only a part of my vast butt, massive and jiggling as I move even slightly.
I am so horrified at my reflection, I forget for a minute that about secretly eating and avoiding Sylvia's wrath. I waddle to the guest bedroom door, calling out for Sylvia, but she is nowhere to be found. I turn around and start toward the kitchen when I notice our missing scales on the living room floor near the kitchen.
I hesitate weighing myself, but after seeing how big I have become, I just have to know. I step on, hearing the creaking groan of the springs.
I cannot see the numbers unless I push my massive moobs to the side with one arm and my bulbous belly in the opposite direction with my other arm. I gasp at what I see.
299 pounds!
I could not believe it, so I stepped off the scales and then back on. The numbers sped by as the scales groaned. The dial came to an abrupt stop when it hit 299.
Then, I came to the horrible realization that the dial only went up to 299. It is likely that I weigh even more!
I step off the scales, and the springs make a sound almost of relief. More than 300 pounds! I'm huge!
Tears roll down my face as I walk into the kitchen, still looking for Sylvia. On the kitchen table is a half-empty bottle of gin, a glass, a $50 bill and a letter from Sylvia.
I am afraid of what the note says, and I start shaking nervously, my flab jiggling wildly as I do. Full of fear, I bawl out loud.
I stumble into and sit in a huge heavy bench next to the table, my love handles brushing the arms of the bench. I feel my dick harden at the sensation.
Even in this horribly scary moment, I am turned on by how fat I have become! How is that even possible?
To calm my nerves, I reach over and pour a glassful of gin from the bottle. In one big gulp, I chug it, then begin to read Sylvia's note:
I am stunned and disgusted. I feel sick to my stomach. The letter falls from my hands and drifts to the flour. I pour myself another drink. I don't know what to do next.
Then, the only possible thing to do comes to me.
I pick up the phone and order a pizza.
A Cheater's Tale
by Growinluvhandles
by Growinluvhandles
(Author's note: A cautionary tale for any man who may feel inclined to cheat on his wife or girlfriend.
Inspired by and adapted from an old Maxout story. Maxout gave me permission to post this. Enjoy.)
My head is pounding. My cellphone is buzzing again and I see the word "HOME" light up on it. I cannot answer it now. I had turned it off earlier, and when I turned it on a few minutes ago, I saw that there were many, many recent calls from home.Inspired by and adapted from an old Maxout story. Maxout gave me permission to post this. Enjoy.)
I lie in a lumpy bed in a downtown hotel looking through sore teary eyes at the cheap paintings on the walls. My pillow is soaked with my tears and snot. My so-called "afternoon delight," Charlene, has just left to go home. I wish I could just accept that I had a one-time fling and let it go at that.
But I can't.
The real problem is my wife. She will be so mad at me.
I must tell my wife Sylvia. It is already dark outside, and I am supposed to have been home hours ago. She is so jealous. She will know what I have done. I am scared of what she will do to me, but I have to tell her.
The 10 months since we got married have not been easy for me, especially because my wife is so suspicious all the time. Sylvia's first marriage was to a philandering no-gooder, and as a result, she has always been determined not to let it happen again. And certainly I did not want this to happen either. It just did, and I feel horrible about it.
So she keeps a tight rein on me. She knows she has to. All day, at my work as a photographer, I encounter beautiful women – young sexy teens, prom queens, hot college students, even MILFs bringing in their toddlers for a photograph session.
I won't brag, but Sylvia's concern is that women are attracted to me – and they are. I have long known how easy it is for me to flirt, and I used that to my advantage to attract Sylvia when we first met.
And women find me charming as well as cute. I am a nice guy, after all. And it doesn't hurt that I am often compared to a young George Clooney – before he let himself go and get grey and wrinkly.
My longish soft brown hair, my lips, my muscular slender build, my firm baritone voice all seem to make some women warm up to me easily. Not to mention what Sylvia used to call my "bedroom eyes." Oh, she enjoyed those "bedroom eyes" when we first met. But no longer.
Sylvia keeps me on a short leash. Did I say that already? No, I said "tight rein on me". Same difference. It's funny there are so many metaphors for her kind of wifely behavior. She has every reason to expect fidelity from her spouse, but sometimes this life seems so constricting to me.
She wants me to save those eyes for her only, but I can't help how good I look any more than an ugly person can't help how hideous they are. I can't help that I naturally smile a lot and am friendly to strangers.
I know women lust after me. It's not something I welcome now that I am married, I assure you. And besides, this was just supposed to be one harmless drink at the neighborhood bar with my last appointment – a young hot thing named Charlene.
I get out of bed and pick up my clothing. I notice that my shirt has lipstick stains and smells like cigarette smoke and alcohol from the bar where one little drink turned into many, dulling my sense of right and wrong, making me want to take Charlene to bed. Oh, why did I even go into that bar instead of going home immediately!
Sylvia will not like this one bit. I pray that she will forgive me as I drive home. I consider just keeping driving and never going home. But I do want to make this marriage with Sylvia work. In spite of her controlling ways, I do love her.
I see her SUV in the garage as I park my car. I take a deep breath and enter the front door.
Sylvia is on the couch in the living room, lying on her face. She has apparently been crying, but quickly she gets up and moves toward me with such anger and passion, screaming and flailing her arms. I feel certain she is about to slap me or slug me in the stomach. I feed I deserve whatever she does to me.
Sylvia becomes like one of the Furies of ancient mythology, all madness and noise. I have never seen her so angry. She is screaming so loud I can barely think. She growls and the words pour out of her.
"Where were you?" she screams. "You smell like booze and sex! Who have you been screwing now, Anthony? Lipstick on your shirt! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it when you didn't come home on time."
Hell hath no fury like a scorned women, right?
"I love you," I say weakly. "This is the first time I have ever done anything like this."
She looks directly at me with an accusatory unblinking stare. Finally, tears fill her bloodshot eyes and an angry expression reddens face. She looks away in disgust.
"I promise it will never happen again," I say. "I will do anything, ANYTHING to make it up to you."
Sylvia collects herself as best she can. She stands and starts to leave. I grab onto her arm, and she gives me a look which could melt stone.
"Let go of me," she says coldly, and I obey.
In a few moments, she has slammed the front door behind her, and I hear the tires on her SVU squeal as she roars away down the road.
I feel like chasing after her, but suddenly I feel exhausted. I collapse on the couch and start to cry. I cry for what seems like hours, until I have no more tears. I thought I had seem my lovely wife for the last time.
But I was wrong. Soon, I heard the door open, and there she was. I was overjoyed to see my Sylvia again.
I start to speak, but she places her finger on my lips. "Shush! I need to say something."
I nod my head and stay silent.
"You have betrayed me, just like my other son-of-a-bitch husband did. You say that you love me. Do you mean it?"
I nod silently.
"Right now, I wonder if I still love you," Sylvia says. "I wonder if I ever loved you. Or if I was just infatuated with how handsome you are, your sexy smile and eyes, and your fit body. Maybe it was a mistake for me to marry such a seductive hot man as you."
I start to smile and wink at her, thinking all this a bit humorous, but I see Sylvia is in no mood for my charm or "bedroom eyes" or natural flirting ways. I stay silent, looking her right in the eye.
"Did you mean what you said when you said you would do ANYTHING it took to make it up to me?" she asks.
"Yes, yes," I reply, eagerly trying to convince her.
"You promise?" she says.
"Yes, of course." I agree
"Then, I am going to make it so other women do not find you so desirable," she anniounces
"What?" I say incredulously.
"You heard me. I am going to make you very, very fat, Anthony," she roclaims.
I am too stunned to even think. And even though I don't want to, I obey Sylvia when she tells me to go into the bedroom, take off my stinky pants and shirt and get into bed. I am scared of what is going to happen when I see her at the door with a look of grim determination on her face.
Before I know it, I am laying spread eagle on the bed, my head propped up by pillows. I am wearing only my underwear. Sylvia busies herself tying my hands and feet to the bedposts with four of my old neckties. I do not offer to struggle, and in fact, am somewhat of turned on by this.
After Sylvia finishes tying me up, she makes an announcement in solemn tones.
"Until I tell you otherwise, Anthony, you will only be allowed in our bedroom and bathroom. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," I answer quickly.
Sylvia quickly sets several items on the nightstand.
"I picked up a few things for you while I was out," she says with a bit of wicked tone in her voice. She breaks dozens of large donuts into mouth-size bites and places some on a plate and the rest into a bag. She sets up several cans of whipped cream and a carton of whole milk. I later learn that Sylvia mixed weight gain powder into the milk.
"Now, open your mouth," she orders.
I do, and she immediately stuffs a donut into it. As soon as I chew and swallow, she commands me to open my mouth again. This time, she fills it with whipped cream. I swallow. The next time, it is the weight gain formula and milk she pours between my lips.
She repeats this pattern over and over again. At one point, I try to tell her that I am too full, but as soon as I open my mouth to complain, Sylvia fills it with another fattening mouthful.
After about an hour, Sylvia stops stuffing me. I look over at the nightstand to see all the food is gone. I am relieved that this ordeal is over. I expect she will untie me, but she just stands up and leaves the room.
I feel like I am going to burst open. I have never been this full before. When I look down, I cannot see my feet because my belly is in the way, so swollen and round. I felt uncomfortable, but I am unable to move. I am worn out from being stuffed, and I fall asleep, hoping that will ease the pain.
I don't know how long I sleep, but when I awaken, Sylvia is right by my side, and she has brought more food with her. She orders me to open my mouth, and I obey her, feeling this is a small price to pay for what I have put her through. Even though I am still so full, I comply with her wishes. Every bite hurts, but I rationalize that my pain is small compared to the pain I have caused her.
I don't know how it is possible, but once again, I eat everything that Sylvia stuffs into my mouth.
As I swallow the last bite of donut, Sylvia unties me.
"I am going to be sleeping in the guest bedroom from now on," she announces and leaves.
I do not move for a long time after she has gone. I can't. My belly is so stuffed now that it hurts to move. Eventually, I fall asleep.
When I wake up, it is morning, and in the bright sunlight I feel optimistic about our marriage. I hope that Sylvia has changed her mind and no longer wants to make me fat and unattractive.
She comes to the doorway with news that proves she is more determined than ever.
"I have called your photo studio and arranged for you to take a leave of absence. I am going to devote your time off to making you fat – very fat. You have one hour to attend to your personal needs before I start feeding you again," she decrees.
With those words, she spins on her heels, her blonde hair flying about her, and leaves.
I struggle to get out of bed. I look for some clothes to put on but discover that Sylvia has emptied my closet and dresser while I was sleeping. All that is left is a drawer full of underwear.
Grabbing one, I slowly walk into the bathroom feeling totally disgusted with myself and more than a little disgusted with what lays ahead for me. I shower, shave and use the toilet. Just then, I want to weigh myself, and I look for the scales under the sink. I can't find them. I start to look again when I hear Sylvia calling for me to come back in the bedroom.
I barely have time to pull on my underwear before she orders me back into bed. As I crawl in, I notice that the elastic waistband is digging slightly into my belly.
"If you are a good boy and cooperate, I will not have to tie you to the bed," Sylvia says.
I nod silently in agreement.
"We are going to add something to your feedings, my dear," she says to me, handing me a drinking glass full of what appears to be water. "Chug it down," she commands me.
I raise the glass to my mouth, then realizing it contains gin, I hesitate for just a moment.
"Drink up," Sylvia says firmly, pushing my hand with the glass in it toward my lips.
She fills the glass a second time, and I drink it all up.
It must be the gin because soon after drinking it, I feel more relaxed, maybe a little "buzzed." I don't even get tense when Sylvia brings in a platter full of greasy hamburgers and a gallon of weight gain formula.
"If you drink booze just before eating, your system will only burn the calories in the alcohol," Sylvia tells me. "All these other calories will be stored as fat on your body."
These words don't even faze me since I am quite drunk by now. I open my mouth obediently, and she stuffs me full.
This feeding isn't as difficult as the feedings last night. Of course, I was stuffed when it was over, but I did not feel quite as uncomfortable as I did during the nighttime.
And so, this becomes my daily routine for a long time – many months, I have no idea how long.
I awaken each morning and go to the bathroom, shower, shave, use the toilet and return to bed. I drink a glass or two of gin, eat a high-calorie feeding which always includes the weight gain formula.
Then I nap for about an hour. Then, more gin, another feeding, another nap. Sylvia continues this regimen until I have had my seventh feeding of the day. Then, she lets me sleep through the night until the next morning when I get up and start all over again.
At first, I hate what Sylvia is doing to me. Everyday, I think that she will stop doing this, forgive me, and we will get on with our lives. But soon, I become accustomed to my routine. And eventually, I find that my new lifestyle agrees with me. I no longer have to do anything except lie around, drink eat and sleep. It seems a pleasant life in some ways.
I have never been a big drinker or anything, so at first I do not like drinking all that alcohol. Before long, I grow used to it and enjoy how it feels to be constantly drunk.
The feedings at first are unpleasant, but after a few weeks, they become enjoyable, even stimulating. Many times, especially after an exceptionally filling feeding, my hands drift below my bloated belly and I pleasure myself. Soon, I am doing so many times a day, almost anytime when I don't drift immediately to sleep after a feeding. It seems so erotic and luxuriant to be living like this, and my fattened body seems so sensitive when I rub my distended belly or fondle my new love handles.
After about the third week, I am unable to even squeeze into a pair of my underwear. I am always naked now, but never quite able to see my entire body. Early on, while I was asleep, Sylvia removed the full-length bedroom mirror and the vanity mirror in the bathroom. I can see that my belly is bulging out a lot, but in my drunken state, I don't really care. I watch as my well-defined pecs turn into mush and bloom into full-grown man-boobs. At this point, I am no longer concerned most of the time.
Extra fat settles on my hips, butt and thighs. One day, I notice that my thighs are starting to rub together when I walk. After several more months, I am surprised when my love handles bump into the sides of the bathroom doorway. In some ways, this disgusts me but it also strangely excites me and I pleasure myself right there and then. Almost every time I go to the bathroom now, the same thing happens. Whenever my flab brushes the doorway, that sensitive feeling signals a strange perverted desire to masturbate immediately.
I know I am getting fatter, but as time goes on, it is easy to put that out of my mind. I do notice that it is becoming harder to walk, and much more difficult to get out of bed each morning. Eventually, Sylvia has to help me get up and out of the bed. She is rough with me and impatient. She calls me names like "fatty" and "hog" and insults me. I know I should care about how big I am getting, and I do for a few minutes. My mind is clouded with alcohol, so any worries or concerns soon drift away.
I soon lose all track of time. I only know that it is another day when Sylvia tells me I should get up and clean myself up in the bathroom. I have no idea what day of the week it is or what month of the year even. I can see the seasons change outside the windows, but with my booze-soaked brain, it all seems very confusing.
I get up today. It seems like any other day, but it is not. Sylvia has not woken me up, and I am uncertain what time it is. Outside, it is cloudy and a little dark. I can't tell if it is early morning or dusk.
I assume it is morning because I am incredibly hungry like I am most mornings. I would say I'm starving, but looking down at my blubbery body, I know it would take a long time for me to literally starve.
Sylvia is not here to help me out of bed. I scream for her to come help me since I need to get to the bathroom soon. Maybe she overslept or she is out getting more food. I struggle to get up, straining myself and grunting as I heave myself upright and then stand up.
When I come out of the bathroom, Sylvia is still not here. I don't know what to do, and I start to panic. I call out for her again and again, but there is no reply.
I know she would be upset with me if I leave the bedroom. I am really hungry now, and I don't know what else to do. Maybe if I sneak out and get some food in the kitchen, I can get back into bed before Sylvia finds out. I open the bedroom door and squeeze my fat body through the doorway and into the living room. I get turned on by the sensations of my flab being pushed through the doorframe, and I reach for my love-stalk. Just a few minutes of pleasure, I think, stretching my fingers beneath my belly to reach my dick. Standing up, I realize I can no longer reach it because my belly is so huge and in the way.
I almost forgot what the living room looks like. When I pass the large mirror over the mantle, I see the reflection of my entire body for the first time since that fateful day when I cheated on Sylvia.
I nearly pass out from the shock, and I stumble toward the living room couch and hold onto it so I don't fall over. I look back at the mirror again with my mouth wide open in horror. I had no idea I have gotten so big. My entire body is covered by thick layers of fat, some of which make huge rolls and bulges. A belly apron of fat hangs from where I used to have a 32" waistline. This belly completely covers my dick. No wonder I couldn't reach it.
My love handles are more than any woman could possibly handle. Even with both hands, I can only grasp a small part of my right love handles. My man-boobs are big and round. They are so heavy, they sag down and rest on the top part of my belly. My hips are so wide, and my thighs are so thick, they rub together all the way down to my knees. I turn slightly to catch sight of only a part of my vast butt, massive and jiggling as I move even slightly.
I am so horrified at my reflection, I forget for a minute that about secretly eating and avoiding Sylvia's wrath. I waddle to the guest bedroom door, calling out for Sylvia, but she is nowhere to be found. I turn around and start toward the kitchen when I notice our missing scales on the living room floor near the kitchen.
I hesitate weighing myself, but after seeing how big I have become, I just have to know. I step on, hearing the creaking groan of the springs.
I cannot see the numbers unless I push my massive moobs to the side with one arm and my bulbous belly in the opposite direction with my other arm. I gasp at what I see.
299 pounds!
I could not believe it, so I stepped off the scales and then back on. The numbers sped by as the scales groaned. The dial came to an abrupt stop when it hit 299.
Then, I came to the horrible realization that the dial only went up to 299. It is likely that I weigh even more!
I step off the scales, and the springs make a sound almost of relief. More than 300 pounds! I'm huge!
Tears roll down my face as I walk into the kitchen, still looking for Sylvia. On the kitchen table is a half-empty bottle of gin, a glass, a $50 bill and a letter from Sylvia.
I am afraid of what the note says, and I start shaking nervously, my flab jiggling wildly as I do. Full of fear, I bawl out loud.
I stumble into and sit in a huge heavy bench next to the table, my love handles brushing the arms of the bench. I feel my dick harden at the sensation.
Even in this horribly scary moment, I am turned on by how fat I have become! How is that even possible?
To calm my nerves, I reach over and pour a glassful of gin from the bottle. In one big gulp, I chug it, then begin to read Sylvia's note:
"Anthony,
"I was crushed when you admitted cheating on me and betraying me just like my first husband did. You knew this was going to hurt me, but you didn't stop to think about my feelings, did you?
"I told you the only reason I was going to make you fat was because then no other woman would want you, and you would never be able to cheat on me again. But now, after doing lots of research on fattening you up, I discover that there are lots of sick women out there that really adore fatties, so I knew that would not work. You would probably cheat on me with one of those chubby chasers anyway.
"So I had new reason to make you fat: I needed to find out if I truly love you, or if I just "had the hots" for your body and your handsome appearance.
"Well, now I know.
"I have left you, and I will not be coming back. Ever.
"I spent much of your savings on food, booze and weight gain mixtures. I then took all the remaining money to divorce you and move away where you will never find me. I am going to start a new life without you.
"There is no food left in the house now. I have fed it all to you. I left the phone number for a pizza delivery place and some money because I am sure that you are very hungry by now.
"This is the last bottle of gin left. I also left you the number to a liquor store that delivers.
"You are on your own. Good luck.
"Your ex-wife, Sylvia"
"I was crushed when you admitted cheating on me and betraying me just like my first husband did. You knew this was going to hurt me, but you didn't stop to think about my feelings, did you?
"I told you the only reason I was going to make you fat was because then no other woman would want you, and you would never be able to cheat on me again. But now, after doing lots of research on fattening you up, I discover that there are lots of sick women out there that really adore fatties, so I knew that would not work. You would probably cheat on me with one of those chubby chasers anyway.
"So I had new reason to make you fat: I needed to find out if I truly love you, or if I just "had the hots" for your body and your handsome appearance.
"Well, now I know.
"I have left you, and I will not be coming back. Ever.
"I spent much of your savings on food, booze and weight gain mixtures. I then took all the remaining money to divorce you and move away where you will never find me. I am going to start a new life without you.
"There is no food left in the house now. I have fed it all to you. I left the phone number for a pizza delivery place and some money because I am sure that you are very hungry by now.
"This is the last bottle of gin left. I also left you the number to a liquor store that delivers.
"You are on your own. Good luck.
"Your ex-wife, Sylvia"
I am stunned and disgusted. I feel sick to my stomach. The letter falls from my hands and drifts to the flour. I pour myself another drink. I don't know what to do next.
Then, the only possible thing to do comes to me.
I pick up the phone and order a pizza.
