Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
BHM, Eating, Romance, ~SWG - Coworkers can be full of nice surprises if you open them up
Quinn Johnson had always been on the solid side. About six feet tall, he wore his thick black hair shaggily cut, so it was always falling into his eyes a little. At 33, his face was boyish, green eyes bright, skin clear and fair.
His shoulders were broad, and until recently, his chest was firm and his belly flat. In the last few years, however, his metabolism must have slowed. Weight had crept up, as it tends to, and he had gradually gotten used to his pants being snug and his arms becoming a little soft. It wasnt until his favorite pants had gotten so worn out that he couldnt safely wear them in public, and he was reluctantly flipping through racks of trousers in the store, that he hesitated with his hand on a pair of 32-waist. He slowly drew out a pair of 34-waist trousers instead.
Not that he tried them on.
Instead, he got them home, removed the tags, and hung them in the closet. The next morning, getting dressed, he slid them on, frowning as they hesitated at being slid up his thighs. Out of habit, he tugged the waistband forward. He sucked in his gut and fastened the clasp. Still only half awake, he gave the actions no more thought until he was shrugging into his blazer. Wait a minute. These were the new pants. He remembered deliberately buying them a size larger. Rats. Well, no time to reflect on that now. He poured coffee into his travel mug, virtuously skipping breakfast. He headed out the door.
In the elevator Sallie Chandra greeted him more flirtatiously than usual. Look, Quinn, she finally said, getting to the point, theres a new girl in accounting I think you should get to know.
Quinn grimaced. Sallie. Not again.
Look, one last time, I swear.
Thereve been four last times.
Really, last time. Really.
Sallie .
Look, just come by my desk looking for a file or something sometime today. Have a look.
Quinn sighed. Sallie had the bit firmly between her teeth this time.
Occasionally she let it drop, but this was not one going to be of those times.
Fine, he said grudgingly.
About half past eleven, Quinn strolled over to accounting. Sallie, he said casually, have you got the Ashley file for October?
Nooo, she replied. I think Jason has it.
Quinn turned to go.
Oh! Quinn! Have you met Eileen?
The person at the desk next to Sallies looked up. Quinn smiled, making him look even more charming.
Quinn Johnson, he said.
Eileen Kerry, came the response, and a smile, from a woman with deep auburn hair cut in a thick bob, unmistakably Irish features in a heart-shaped face, and a firm chin.
Eileen chucked a dead-end job with Carlyle to come here, Sallie added. She started yesterday.
Ah, Quinn said solemnly. Then we must take you out for a drink and make you feel welcome.
Id like that, Eileen said, blushing.
Over drinks, Quinn and Eileen hit it off quickly. She was bright, quick on the uptake, wickedly funny, and seemed to like all the same movies that Quinn enjoyed. Sallie managed to get a phone call and have to dash off; drinks turned into a leisurely dinner. Quinn, wanting to make the evening last, took as many courses as he could hold, and after a huge salad, appetizers, an entrée that he dawdled over, dessert, and coffee, the waistband of his new trousers was straining mightily.
At some point, Quinn thought, he would have to stand. Please dont let the pants rip, he prayed, and carefully rose. Thank you.
Since Sallie has seen fit to desert us, he said lightly, may I take you home?
Thank you, Eileen said. That would be lovely.
Home turned out to be in the same apartment complex that Quinn inhabited.
Small world, they both said at once, laughing at themselves. She invited him in for a nightcap and he accepted. The sofa was deep and soft, however, and on sitting down Quinn inadvertently grunted as the clasp of his pants sank into his overstuffed belly.
All right? Eileen asked from the kitchen. Quinn caught his breath.
Mm, he replied. By the time she came back out, he had recovered.
It was after eleven before Quinn left. He found he had a new bounce in his step. He let himself in; in the bedroom, he peeled off his clothes, grunting with relief as he undid his belt and pants. Enough time had passed so that he wasnt achingly stuffed anymore, but he was irked that his new pants had become so snug so quickly.
All next week at work, he found himself coming up with excuses to stop by accounting. By Friday, he was comfortable enough to ask Eileen out for real. They went to a popular restaurant and over dinner gave each other their histories.
I had a starter marriage, he confessed. We got married the week after college graduation. It lasted three years the last year, we shared an apartment but we didnt really speak to each other. We were both too young, making a face at the triteness of it.
Eileen put her head to one side. It happens, she said. Do you want dessert?
Quinn considered. Did he want dessert? On the one hand, he was pretty stuffed. Surreptitiously he pressed a hand to his stomach.
Eileen sensed his hesitation. Ah, come on, she murmured. Theyre very good here.
Maybe I shouldnt, Quinn demurred.
Yeah, ya should, Eileen returned, and handed him the menu.
This time, they went to his apartment, and he felt only slight hesitation in leading her into his bedroom.
Here, she said, reaching for his belt. Let me help. It felt so good just to have his pants and underwear off. His stuffed belly swelled in relief, freed from constraint. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she poked teasingly at his rounded tummy as it emerged. Mmm, she murmured, stroking his distended midsection. Big boy.
Quinn had closed his eyes, but they flew open at that.
Once in bed, Eileen continued her attentions. She lightly traced his aching stomach, massaging it and making it feel better. She skipped her fingers across it and kissed her way south.
Slowly, savoring the intimacy, they joined themselves to each other, finding a rhythm naturally. There was something oddly enjoyable in making love on a full stomach no, on a stomach so overloaded that it sloshed and churned as Quinn moved, making Eileen giggle with its digestive noises. Time played tricks, slowing down, racing by, disappearing altogether, until finally they wound down.
Wow, Quinn murmured, tracing a hand gently along Eileens belly, which was firm yet slightly rounded. A belly like a heap of wheat, Quinn thought, dimly recalling the phrase from somewhere. The Bible, maybe? The effect he intended, however, was slightly spoiled by a huge belch.
Scuse me, he mumbled, turning red.
Eileen giggled.
Ate too much, Quinn said.
Eileen made a disparaging noise.
Youre very handsome, she purred. She snuggled closer, pressing her hand to his belly.
Quinn woke the next morning to sun streaming in the windows and enticing smells wafting toward his nose. Groggily, he sat up and forced his eyes open, discovering Eileen holding a loaded breakfast tray. She set it down and sat next to him on the bed, running a hand through his hair.
Morning, she murmured.
Wow. Quinn surveyed the tray. Wow. You put, um, a lot of work into this.
No trouble. Eileen beamed. I love to cook.
I love to eat, Quinn admitted. Especially with a cook as beautiful as you.
Wow, where had that come from?
After breakfast, Eileen suggested a trip to the mall. Quinn hated shopping, but anything seemed appealing when Eileen proposed it. Grunting with fullness, he rose, wincing as his belly sloshed. Still in his underpants, he padded to the bathroom to pee and shave.
Wiping foam off his face, he let his gaze drop to his belly. Ugh. It pushed outward, distorting what should have been a smooth line from hip to hip. The elastic folded over at the belly button, a hint of gut flopping over it. Hint? Ha. He made a face, then shuffled out to the bedroom to get dressed.
At the mall, Quinn attended Eileen patiently as she window-shopped, tried on shoes, pawed critically through racks of clothes. One of the stores, cleverly, had two storefronts but a connecting archway between the womens and mens sides, and Eileen and Quinn drifted toward the mens side, perhaps unconsciously. Eileen pulled out a pair of charcoal slacks and held them up.
Nice, she murmured.
Quinn appraised them.
Nice, he agreed.
Eileen peered at the size tag: 34.
Quinn started to take them out of her hand, then paused.
Mm. Im wearing 34s now, he admitted, and theyre a little snug in the waist.
Without a word, Eileen put them back and found a pair of 36s. Obediently, Quinn headed for the dressing room.
They feel pretty good, he admitted. Ruefully he slapped his perceptibly thickening waistline. Ought to just lose weight instead.
Eileen slid an arm around him and patted Quinns midriff with her fingertips. No I like big guys.
DING! Something clicked in Quinns mind. Whoa.
He drew a deep breath. Eileen giggled as the inhalation made his belly swell.
Im starving, he said lightly. Whens lunch?
Bypassing the food court, they went to a steakhouse with a buffet. Quinn piled his plate high. When Eileen had finished eating, she helped feed him. Quinn felt his belly begin to fill, and at the same time, felt his privates begin to stir. Eileen fetched him a second plateful. Steadily, enjoying himself, he piled it high again. The second pile of food went down fine, but he was beginning to feel awfully stuffed. He let Eileen fetch him another plateful, but he could feel himself slowing down. His stomach was running out of room, and his pants (not the brand-new 36s, unfortunately) were beginning to slice into his swelling gut. He coaxed up a smallish belch.
Dessert! Eileen announced brightly.
Unthinkingly, Quinn groaned. Was he full! Weakly he shook his head, but Eileen was already heading for the dessert section. Wincing, Quinn massaged his belly.
With a flourish, Eileen laid a plate in front of him containing an obscene amount of apple cobbler. With a wink, she sat down in the chair next to him and picked up a spoon. Open up, she coaxed. Here comes the choo-choo train.
Quinn opened up.
When the last trace of cobbler was gone, Eileen gracefully helped Quinn to his feet. Dazed, he wobbled to the car and sank into the passenger seat.
I think its naptime, Eileen suggested, gently massaging his bloated belly as she drove.
Back at her apartment, she teasingly helped undress him, then snuggled up next to him and gently massaged his tautly distended gut. Quinn surrendered, drifting, feeling soft hands on his aching tummy. He floated into sleep, waking an hour later feeling refreshed. So, it appeared, was Eileen, and they enjoyed a languid session of lovemaking.
Afterward, Eileen bounced out of bed and slipped on a thin robe, heading for the kitchen. Quinn followed her and leaned against the counter as she began preparing dinner. The smells were driving him wild, as was Eileens habit of tracing a finger along Quinns growing midsection every time she passed.
They sat down at her small table and Eileen heaped his plate with chicken, silken mashed potatoes, creamed corn, creamed peas, and hot rolls. How did she do it?
Quinn wasnt all that hungry after such a huge lunch, but the message in Eileens eyes was unmistakable. He happily cleared his plate, enjoying every delicious bite. He could feel his stomach filling. The waistband of his just-bought, 36-waist jeans, purchased after lunch at the mall, was starting to pinch, folding inward to slice into his softening waist.
At the same time, he could feel his privates stirring, sending a message as unmistakable as the one in Eileens eyes. Stuffing himself was making him feel positively orgasmic. Subconsciously, Quinn might have registered it, but conscious sensations were taking all of his attention at the moment.
After the second heaping plateful, Quinn paused for a gulp of lemonade and to take stock. He was stuffed to bursting, his stomach stretched and sore, his swelling belly thrusting out over the waistband of his pants. Newly formed love handles seemed to be lapping over the sides. He fumbled, beginning to sweat as he struggled with the button.
Silently, Eileen got up, came around, and helped undo that pesky button. Gently she eased the zipper down as well and massaged his aching stomach. Round and round her hands went. That felt unbelievably good. Suddenly Quinn had room for dessert, which was taken in the bedroom.
The next day, Eileen proposed tennis. They proved to be about evenly matched, and it felt good to exercise and work up a sweat outside the bedroom. Afterward, they went for a swim, Quinn dutifully doing laps before joining Eileen in a splash fight.
Dinner was lighter, and Quinn was grateful. He was confused by the mixed signals and wanted to sort them out. Finally, reluctantly, he went back to his apartment late that evening and fell into bed, waiting for the alarm, drifting to sleep.
As their relationship developed, they both, tacitly, managed to be amazingly discreet at work. Sallie seemed to think that the date setup hadnt worked and occasionally tried to set Quinn up with someone else, but Quinn would only smile like a cat and decline.
Weeks slid into months, and Quinn was steadily and unmistakably gaining weight. Occasionally someone at work would say something, but for the most part either politeness or obliviousness kept the comments to a minimum.
Quinns once-firm chest softened, spreading downward and outward like melting wax. His arms unmistakably softened, his thighs grew chunkier. His face, still boyish, began to inflate. His cheeks grew round and full, his chin softened and thickened, his features seemed a little smaller as his face became larger.
The most conspicuous change of all was in his belly. The flat waistline of which he had been rather proud was steadily thickening, his abdomen curving outward from sternum to privates. His belly divided itself into soft rolls, modest spare tires that gradually inflated. Love handles developed and became large enough to hang on to. His backside softened and broadened.
His clothing sizes relentlessly trended upward, Eileen helping him shop, steering him toward styles that would flatter and enhance his growing body.
As Thanksgiving approached, Quinn discovered that Eileen planned to go home for the weekend, as did he. Both thought it was too soon to invite the other into the family gathering yet but Eileen insisted on having a full Thanksgiving dinner for Quinn beforehand.
I love to cook, she insisted, and my mom does it all. This is my chance to generate leftovers.
So on the Saturday before, Quinn settled onto the sofa to chat, watch TV, and listen to Eileen rattling around the kitchen.
When she called him to the table, he was stunned. Eileen had cooked a turkey that was at least 12 pounds, fully stuffed, with enough side dishes to feed a family of four.
Dig in, Eileen insisted, her eyes glowing. I want my man full.
Oh boy, Quinn mumbled, and did as she asked. Turkey, stuffing, corn, peas, rolls, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberries, gravy, he piled his plate high and happily emptied it. He took a deep breath and a gulp of tea and went back for seconds.
Seconds became thirds, and Quinn began slowing down. He was wearing his loosest pants, but his increasingly full tummy was pushing relentlessly into the available space. His stomach, reaching capacity, ached and groaned; food was squashed into every inch of space. His belly sagged, pushing the waistband of his pants downward and his shirt taut across the expanding acreage of his gut.
He belched and massaged his swollen midsection, hoping to create a little more space. Eileen set a plate holding half a pumpkin pie in front of him and pulled her chair around next to his. With one hand she spooned silky pie down his gullet; with the other she massaged his throbbing belly, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down. His bulging stomach rushed into the newly created space. Quinn hiccupped sharply, wincing at the discomfort but also reveling in the orgasmic stirrings he was feeling.
At last, the meal seemed to have ended. Quinn grunted, stuffed as a nursing puppy, dazed with food, stupefied with gluttony. His gut, achingly distended, swelled into all of the space between waistband and crotch, ballooning outward, bulging into the space created when Eileen had unzipped his pants. His shirt, in self-defense, had slid upward, coming to rest well above what had once been his waistline.
The waistline in question, meanwhile, had vanished as he had packed steadily more food into his gut. The undone zipper had vanished below his hugely swollen tummy; on either side the button and buttonhole flapped open, separated by seeming miles of bloated belly.
He was too full to move. He was too full to breathe. He wasnt sure he was still alive.
Eileens gentle massage coaxed up an enormous belch. Whoo. He was alive, all right.
With enormous effort, and a lot of help from Eileen, Quinn struggled to his feet. That morning, Eileen had told him how sexy she thought he would look at 300 pounds. He wasnt there yet, but at the moment he felt as though he were carrying closer to 500. Oof. Eileen gently lowered him into a recliner and helped him put his feet up.
She perched on the arm of the chair and continued to massage that amazingly full gut. Tautly distended, his bloated belly gleamed hard as a rock in the lamplight.
Quinn lay back, sated, replete, half-asleep, his daze only occasionally interrupted with a hiccup.
Later, as the afternoon dimmed and the sun began to set, they lazily ambled to the bedroom.
As Time Goes By
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Quinn Johnson had always been on the solid side. About six feet tall, he wore his thick black hair shaggily cut, so it was always falling into his eyes a little. At 33, his face was boyish, green eyes bright, skin clear and fair.
His shoulders were broad, and until recently, his chest was firm and his belly flat. In the last few years, however, his metabolism must have slowed. Weight had crept up, as it tends to, and he had gradually gotten used to his pants being snug and his arms becoming a little soft. It wasnt until his favorite pants had gotten so worn out that he couldnt safely wear them in public, and he was reluctantly flipping through racks of trousers in the store, that he hesitated with his hand on a pair of 32-waist. He slowly drew out a pair of 34-waist trousers instead.
Not that he tried them on.
Instead, he got them home, removed the tags, and hung them in the closet. The next morning, getting dressed, he slid them on, frowning as they hesitated at being slid up his thighs. Out of habit, he tugged the waistband forward. He sucked in his gut and fastened the clasp. Still only half awake, he gave the actions no more thought until he was shrugging into his blazer. Wait a minute. These were the new pants. He remembered deliberately buying them a size larger. Rats. Well, no time to reflect on that now. He poured coffee into his travel mug, virtuously skipping breakfast. He headed out the door.
In the elevator Sallie Chandra greeted him more flirtatiously than usual. Look, Quinn, she finally said, getting to the point, theres a new girl in accounting I think you should get to know.
Quinn grimaced. Sallie. Not again.
Look, one last time, I swear.
Thereve been four last times.
Really, last time. Really.
Sallie .
Look, just come by my desk looking for a file or something sometime today. Have a look.
Quinn sighed. Sallie had the bit firmly between her teeth this time.
Occasionally she let it drop, but this was not one going to be of those times.
Fine, he said grudgingly.
About half past eleven, Quinn strolled over to accounting. Sallie, he said casually, have you got the Ashley file for October?
Nooo, she replied. I think Jason has it.
Quinn turned to go.
Oh! Quinn! Have you met Eileen?
The person at the desk next to Sallies looked up. Quinn smiled, making him look even more charming.
Quinn Johnson, he said.
Eileen Kerry, came the response, and a smile, from a woman with deep auburn hair cut in a thick bob, unmistakably Irish features in a heart-shaped face, and a firm chin.
Eileen chucked a dead-end job with Carlyle to come here, Sallie added. She started yesterday.
Ah, Quinn said solemnly. Then we must take you out for a drink and make you feel welcome.
Id like that, Eileen said, blushing.
Over drinks, Quinn and Eileen hit it off quickly. She was bright, quick on the uptake, wickedly funny, and seemed to like all the same movies that Quinn enjoyed. Sallie managed to get a phone call and have to dash off; drinks turned into a leisurely dinner. Quinn, wanting to make the evening last, took as many courses as he could hold, and after a huge salad, appetizers, an entrée that he dawdled over, dessert, and coffee, the waistband of his new trousers was straining mightily.
At some point, Quinn thought, he would have to stand. Please dont let the pants rip, he prayed, and carefully rose. Thank you.
Since Sallie has seen fit to desert us, he said lightly, may I take you home?
Thank you, Eileen said. That would be lovely.
Home turned out to be in the same apartment complex that Quinn inhabited.
Small world, they both said at once, laughing at themselves. She invited him in for a nightcap and he accepted. The sofa was deep and soft, however, and on sitting down Quinn inadvertently grunted as the clasp of his pants sank into his overstuffed belly.
All right? Eileen asked from the kitchen. Quinn caught his breath.
Mm, he replied. By the time she came back out, he had recovered.
It was after eleven before Quinn left. He found he had a new bounce in his step. He let himself in; in the bedroom, he peeled off his clothes, grunting with relief as he undid his belt and pants. Enough time had passed so that he wasnt achingly stuffed anymore, but he was irked that his new pants had become so snug so quickly.
All next week at work, he found himself coming up with excuses to stop by accounting. By Friday, he was comfortable enough to ask Eileen out for real. They went to a popular restaurant and over dinner gave each other their histories.
I had a starter marriage, he confessed. We got married the week after college graduation. It lasted three years the last year, we shared an apartment but we didnt really speak to each other. We were both too young, making a face at the triteness of it.
Eileen put her head to one side. It happens, she said. Do you want dessert?
Quinn considered. Did he want dessert? On the one hand, he was pretty stuffed. Surreptitiously he pressed a hand to his stomach.
Eileen sensed his hesitation. Ah, come on, she murmured. Theyre very good here.
Maybe I shouldnt, Quinn demurred.
Yeah, ya should, Eileen returned, and handed him the menu.
This time, they went to his apartment, and he felt only slight hesitation in leading her into his bedroom.
Here, she said, reaching for his belt. Let me help. It felt so good just to have his pants and underwear off. His stuffed belly swelled in relief, freed from constraint. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she poked teasingly at his rounded tummy as it emerged. Mmm, she murmured, stroking his distended midsection. Big boy.
Quinn had closed his eyes, but they flew open at that.
Once in bed, Eileen continued her attentions. She lightly traced his aching stomach, massaging it and making it feel better. She skipped her fingers across it and kissed her way south.
Slowly, savoring the intimacy, they joined themselves to each other, finding a rhythm naturally. There was something oddly enjoyable in making love on a full stomach no, on a stomach so overloaded that it sloshed and churned as Quinn moved, making Eileen giggle with its digestive noises. Time played tricks, slowing down, racing by, disappearing altogether, until finally they wound down.
Wow, Quinn murmured, tracing a hand gently along Eileens belly, which was firm yet slightly rounded. A belly like a heap of wheat, Quinn thought, dimly recalling the phrase from somewhere. The Bible, maybe? The effect he intended, however, was slightly spoiled by a huge belch.
Scuse me, he mumbled, turning red.
Eileen giggled.
Ate too much, Quinn said.
Eileen made a disparaging noise.
Youre very handsome, she purred. She snuggled closer, pressing her hand to his belly.
Quinn woke the next morning to sun streaming in the windows and enticing smells wafting toward his nose. Groggily, he sat up and forced his eyes open, discovering Eileen holding a loaded breakfast tray. She set it down and sat next to him on the bed, running a hand through his hair.
Morning, she murmured.
Wow. Quinn surveyed the tray. Wow. You put, um, a lot of work into this.
No trouble. Eileen beamed. I love to cook.
I love to eat, Quinn admitted. Especially with a cook as beautiful as you.
Wow, where had that come from?
After breakfast, Eileen suggested a trip to the mall. Quinn hated shopping, but anything seemed appealing when Eileen proposed it. Grunting with fullness, he rose, wincing as his belly sloshed. Still in his underpants, he padded to the bathroom to pee and shave.
Wiping foam off his face, he let his gaze drop to his belly. Ugh. It pushed outward, distorting what should have been a smooth line from hip to hip. The elastic folded over at the belly button, a hint of gut flopping over it. Hint? Ha. He made a face, then shuffled out to the bedroom to get dressed.
At the mall, Quinn attended Eileen patiently as she window-shopped, tried on shoes, pawed critically through racks of clothes. One of the stores, cleverly, had two storefronts but a connecting archway between the womens and mens sides, and Eileen and Quinn drifted toward the mens side, perhaps unconsciously. Eileen pulled out a pair of charcoal slacks and held them up.
Nice, she murmured.
Quinn appraised them.
Nice, he agreed.
Eileen peered at the size tag: 34.
Quinn started to take them out of her hand, then paused.
Mm. Im wearing 34s now, he admitted, and theyre a little snug in the waist.
Without a word, Eileen put them back and found a pair of 36s. Obediently, Quinn headed for the dressing room.
They feel pretty good, he admitted. Ruefully he slapped his perceptibly thickening waistline. Ought to just lose weight instead.
Eileen slid an arm around him and patted Quinns midriff with her fingertips. No I like big guys.
DING! Something clicked in Quinns mind. Whoa.
He drew a deep breath. Eileen giggled as the inhalation made his belly swell.
Im starving, he said lightly. Whens lunch?
Bypassing the food court, they went to a steakhouse with a buffet. Quinn piled his plate high. When Eileen had finished eating, she helped feed him. Quinn felt his belly begin to fill, and at the same time, felt his privates begin to stir. Eileen fetched him a second plateful. Steadily, enjoying himself, he piled it high again. The second pile of food went down fine, but he was beginning to feel awfully stuffed. He let Eileen fetch him another plateful, but he could feel himself slowing down. His stomach was running out of room, and his pants (not the brand-new 36s, unfortunately) were beginning to slice into his swelling gut. He coaxed up a smallish belch.
Dessert! Eileen announced brightly.
Unthinkingly, Quinn groaned. Was he full! Weakly he shook his head, but Eileen was already heading for the dessert section. Wincing, Quinn massaged his belly.
With a flourish, Eileen laid a plate in front of him containing an obscene amount of apple cobbler. With a wink, she sat down in the chair next to him and picked up a spoon. Open up, she coaxed. Here comes the choo-choo train.
Quinn opened up.
When the last trace of cobbler was gone, Eileen gracefully helped Quinn to his feet. Dazed, he wobbled to the car and sank into the passenger seat.
I think its naptime, Eileen suggested, gently massaging his bloated belly as she drove.
Back at her apartment, she teasingly helped undress him, then snuggled up next to him and gently massaged his tautly distended gut. Quinn surrendered, drifting, feeling soft hands on his aching tummy. He floated into sleep, waking an hour later feeling refreshed. So, it appeared, was Eileen, and they enjoyed a languid session of lovemaking.
Afterward, Eileen bounced out of bed and slipped on a thin robe, heading for the kitchen. Quinn followed her and leaned against the counter as she began preparing dinner. The smells were driving him wild, as was Eileens habit of tracing a finger along Quinns growing midsection every time she passed.
They sat down at her small table and Eileen heaped his plate with chicken, silken mashed potatoes, creamed corn, creamed peas, and hot rolls. How did she do it?
Quinn wasnt all that hungry after such a huge lunch, but the message in Eileens eyes was unmistakable. He happily cleared his plate, enjoying every delicious bite. He could feel his stomach filling. The waistband of his just-bought, 36-waist jeans, purchased after lunch at the mall, was starting to pinch, folding inward to slice into his softening waist.
At the same time, he could feel his privates stirring, sending a message as unmistakable as the one in Eileens eyes. Stuffing himself was making him feel positively orgasmic. Subconsciously, Quinn might have registered it, but conscious sensations were taking all of his attention at the moment.
After the second heaping plateful, Quinn paused for a gulp of lemonade and to take stock. He was stuffed to bursting, his stomach stretched and sore, his swelling belly thrusting out over the waistband of his pants. Newly formed love handles seemed to be lapping over the sides. He fumbled, beginning to sweat as he struggled with the button.
Silently, Eileen got up, came around, and helped undo that pesky button. Gently she eased the zipper down as well and massaged his aching stomach. Round and round her hands went. That felt unbelievably good. Suddenly Quinn had room for dessert, which was taken in the bedroom.
The next day, Eileen proposed tennis. They proved to be about evenly matched, and it felt good to exercise and work up a sweat outside the bedroom. Afterward, they went for a swim, Quinn dutifully doing laps before joining Eileen in a splash fight.
Dinner was lighter, and Quinn was grateful. He was confused by the mixed signals and wanted to sort them out. Finally, reluctantly, he went back to his apartment late that evening and fell into bed, waiting for the alarm, drifting to sleep.
As their relationship developed, they both, tacitly, managed to be amazingly discreet at work. Sallie seemed to think that the date setup hadnt worked and occasionally tried to set Quinn up with someone else, but Quinn would only smile like a cat and decline.
Weeks slid into months, and Quinn was steadily and unmistakably gaining weight. Occasionally someone at work would say something, but for the most part either politeness or obliviousness kept the comments to a minimum.
Quinns once-firm chest softened, spreading downward and outward like melting wax. His arms unmistakably softened, his thighs grew chunkier. His face, still boyish, began to inflate. His cheeks grew round and full, his chin softened and thickened, his features seemed a little smaller as his face became larger.
The most conspicuous change of all was in his belly. The flat waistline of which he had been rather proud was steadily thickening, his abdomen curving outward from sternum to privates. His belly divided itself into soft rolls, modest spare tires that gradually inflated. Love handles developed and became large enough to hang on to. His backside softened and broadened.
His clothing sizes relentlessly trended upward, Eileen helping him shop, steering him toward styles that would flatter and enhance his growing body.
As Thanksgiving approached, Quinn discovered that Eileen planned to go home for the weekend, as did he. Both thought it was too soon to invite the other into the family gathering yet but Eileen insisted on having a full Thanksgiving dinner for Quinn beforehand.
I love to cook, she insisted, and my mom does it all. This is my chance to generate leftovers.
So on the Saturday before, Quinn settled onto the sofa to chat, watch TV, and listen to Eileen rattling around the kitchen.
When she called him to the table, he was stunned. Eileen had cooked a turkey that was at least 12 pounds, fully stuffed, with enough side dishes to feed a family of four.
Dig in, Eileen insisted, her eyes glowing. I want my man full.
Oh boy, Quinn mumbled, and did as she asked. Turkey, stuffing, corn, peas, rolls, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberries, gravy, he piled his plate high and happily emptied it. He took a deep breath and a gulp of tea and went back for seconds.
Seconds became thirds, and Quinn began slowing down. He was wearing his loosest pants, but his increasingly full tummy was pushing relentlessly into the available space. His stomach, reaching capacity, ached and groaned; food was squashed into every inch of space. His belly sagged, pushing the waistband of his pants downward and his shirt taut across the expanding acreage of his gut.
He belched and massaged his swollen midsection, hoping to create a little more space. Eileen set a plate holding half a pumpkin pie in front of him and pulled her chair around next to his. With one hand she spooned silky pie down his gullet; with the other she massaged his throbbing belly, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down. His bulging stomach rushed into the newly created space. Quinn hiccupped sharply, wincing at the discomfort but also reveling in the orgasmic stirrings he was feeling.
At last, the meal seemed to have ended. Quinn grunted, stuffed as a nursing puppy, dazed with food, stupefied with gluttony. His gut, achingly distended, swelled into all of the space between waistband and crotch, ballooning outward, bulging into the space created when Eileen had unzipped his pants. His shirt, in self-defense, had slid upward, coming to rest well above what had once been his waistline.
The waistline in question, meanwhile, had vanished as he had packed steadily more food into his gut. The undone zipper had vanished below his hugely swollen tummy; on either side the button and buttonhole flapped open, separated by seeming miles of bloated belly.
He was too full to move. He was too full to breathe. He wasnt sure he was still alive.
Eileens gentle massage coaxed up an enormous belch. Whoo. He was alive, all right.
With enormous effort, and a lot of help from Eileen, Quinn struggled to his feet. That morning, Eileen had told him how sexy she thought he would look at 300 pounds. He wasnt there yet, but at the moment he felt as though he were carrying closer to 500. Oof. Eileen gently lowered him into a recliner and helped him put his feet up.
She perched on the arm of the chair and continued to massage that amazingly full gut. Tautly distended, his bloated belly gleamed hard as a rock in the lamplight.
Quinn lay back, sated, replete, half-asleep, his daze only occasionally interrupted with a hiccup.
Later, as the afternoon dimmed and the sun began to set, they lazily ambled to the bedroom.
