Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BBW/BHM, Stuffing, Romance. ~SWG - unique circumstances give new meaning to the concept of "two for one"
Colin Lonergan glanced at his girlfriend and raised an eyebrow. Catherine smiled broadly.
“Great -- we’re starved,” she said. “Just let us have a minute to go wash up.”
“Well, don’t take too long,” Catherine’s mom called after her. “Your dad’s just carving the turkey.”
The minute they were in the bathroom, Colin gave Catherine a look. “What the hey,” he said. “I thought we were having Christmas dinner with my parents.”
“Um … so did I?” Catherine made a face. “We can’t let my mom down, though. We’ll just have to … I don’t know … have two dinners.”
“Great,” Colin groaned. He’d never been a huge eater.
Catherine reached up on tiptoe and puckered up, and rather grudgingly Colin bent and kissed her. “Okay,” he mumbled dubiously.
Colin and Catherine both tried to put only modest amounts on their plates, but Catherine’s mom would not be deterred.
“Take more,” she ordered. “Wouldn’t keep a bird alive. Land sakes.” She spooned generous helpings of stuff onto both their plates. Colin half suspected that was why they’d been seated on either side of her.
Protestations were ignored, slowing down was chided, and no one had eaten even a little bite of the sweet potatoes, even though the dish was now mysteriously empty.
At last Catherine’s mom brought out apple pie and ice cream. Colin stepped on Catherine’s foot. Catherine smiled tightly and stepped right back.
Colin was already stupefyingly full. He had eaten a massive dinner and was gorged with turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes and half a dozen other dishes. His belly strained the waistband of his jeans, which had fit fine that morning. His consumption could have been measured in pounds of food. It would have been a huge meal even if it hadn’t been just Round One. He was sated and ready to hibernate. He tried to sigh, but was too full to breathe that deeply.
He picked up his spoon.
He was so achingly stuffed that even the cup of strong black coffee that followed the pie didn’t help his digestion much. His belly was swollen and tender, and he was afraid that when he stood up his jeans would burst. With difficulty, and not as subtly as he’d wanted, he let his belt out two notches.
Catherine had no belt to let out, but Colin could tell that she’d unsnapped her jeans. He could tell because her pink shirt, which had some spandex in it, was strained tightly against a cutely round ball of full tummy and had ridden up, exposing a belly button slit deep in a rosy mound of bloated midriff.
“Got to go, Mom,” Catherine was saying. “We have to visit Colin’s parents.” Somehow, Colin found himself standing, although it was painful to straighten up. The weight of his gorged gut was dragging him down.
Awkwardly, hugs were exchanged, and Catherine and Colin huffed out to the car.
Colin wanted nothing so much as a nap, but he had seen Catherine down a couple of glasses of wine, so he guessed he would be driving. He grunted a little as he slid behind the wheel, and puffing with effort, leaned over and slid the seat back a tad.
Catherine struggled the zipper of her jeans down and groaned aloud.
“Oh (hic!) … I am … stuffed,” she said, catching her breath. “I don’t want to eat again (hic!) … ow … for days.” She turned puppy eyes on Colin. “Do we have to go to your parents’ house?”
Colin let out the belch he’d been trying to stifle. “Yup. (Urrrp.) And they’ll … (urp) … be expecting us to eat. Oh…” he ended with a groan at a particularly painful hiccup, and reflexively patted his distended belly. Thunk.
“Wow,” Catherine said admiringly. She patted hers and got a similar thunk. “Tight as a coupe of bongo drums.” She patted both gently.
“Don’t know (brrrp) … how we’re … gonna eat another dinner.”
“Fraid we’re stuck, Cats,” Colin said. He made a rueful face. “This will be … a night … to remember!”
Catherine tried to laugh but only hiccupped.
Unfortunately, it took only half an hour to drive to Colin’s parents’ house. Colin idled at the curb for a few minutes, rubbing his aching belly. Catherine was half asleep.
“Okay (urrp) … Cats,” Colin said, gently poking her swollen tummy. “Showtime.”
Catherine and Colin had both been well schooled in manners and in not disappointing people, and they both pretended to be good and ready for the second Christmas dinner in one day. Colin’s stepfather was an amateur chef and all too good at it. He busied himself in the kitchen and carried out filled plates, restaurant-style. Colin raised an eyebrow. No chance to take only small amounts. Experimentally he tested the button of his jeans (iffy) and dug in.
They took as much time as they dared, dawdling over huge portions of corn pudding, lamb with caramelized onions, squash chiffon pie, and other dishes Colin couldn’t identify. Nor did he much care by now. His stomach ached fiercely and groaningly protested each mouthful. Under his shirt, the skin of his swollen midsection stretched painfully tight. Then somehow, around the time Colin’s stepfather cleared the empty plate and laid a heaping plateful of … was it thirds? … in front of him, Colin transcended fullness.
Numb from gorging, he realized dimly that he was enjoying the magnificent swell of his gut, the way it pushed over the straining waistband of his jeans. He’d never experienced anything like it, and it was awesome, in the way a huge mountain range was awesome. His engorgement actually, somehow, felt good, which was the weirdest sensation he’d ever had; moreover, it was arousing some slightly more familiar sensations. He cast a glance at Catherine on his left. She was squirming in her chair. Colin knew that look on her face. You could have sailed toy boats in her panties. She was resting a hand on her stupendously full tummy and manipulating her fork with the other, and she looked sublimely contented.
“Well, Mother, we all did some damage,” Colin’s stepfather said, patting his own full stomach with a smile.
“It was delicious, darling,” Colin’s mom said, and Colin and Catherine chimed in. The four lingered over coffee, then finally the younger couple made their getaway.
“How (hic!) … far (hic!) … oh … hotel,” Catherine panted. The jeans that were already undone would now have to defy the law of physics to be done up again.
“Not far,” Colin grunted, lowering himself cautiously into the driver’s seat.
“Hurry,” Catherine groaned. She was clutching her belly as though in labor. She looked pregnant. Thank heavens they’d checked in beforehand.
In a daze, they stumbled into the hotel room and made straight for the bed.
“Oh … ow … soooo fullllll,” Catherine moaned, cradling her tautly distended tummy. Stripped of jeans and underwear, crowned only by the shirt riding tightly upward, her belly was nearly spherical. Tentatively Colin poked it. Tight as a drum; there was no give. Catherine groaned and batted his hand away.
Colin had managed to get off his shoes and (somehow) his socks and tug his shirt over his head. His belt flapped open and his jeans were undone; he lay on his back, cradling his own bloated and gorged gut. It soared upward and outward, tautly distended, the opening of the jeans which had fit that morning now separated by a good couple of inches of swollen midriff. He estimated he had eaten eight thousand calories or more, fat-blasted, butter-larded, sugar-infused calories. His head was swimming and his belly was unbelievably tender. And his bad boy was rock hard as well.
Catherine traced a finger down Colin’s slope of swollen belly and discovered it.
In a daze, Colin groped awkwardly for her breasts. He was too full to move, everything ached and throbbed, and he’d never wanted Catherine more.
There were logistics to consider. After some discussion, they arrived at an agreed-upon docking maneuver.
It was spectacular. His full belly was pressed against her back, making him shiver and moan with the unexpected pleasure this brought. Meanwhile as she lay on her side she stroked her own distended stomach, poking and massaging its taut fullness. Their lovemaking was languid but powerful, jolted into a new level of enjoyment by the unfamiliar sensations, the ache and slosh of overloaded stomachs, the warmth and intimate heaviness, the press and squash and unfamiliar pulling and groaning.
Finally sated, in every way, they drifted to sleep.
“Okay, that was strange,” Catherine said in the car on the way back the next day.
“Got that right.” Colin glanced down. “At least no damage done. I hope. That was a barge-load of food.” He poked at his stomach, now (mostly) deflated. His jeans had been only a little snug that morning.
“I’ve never been so full in my life,” Catherine said languidly, stretching. She patted her tummy, which was once again its usual, only slightly padded, self.
“But after a while…” Colin said slowly.
“It felt … good …” Catherine finished, looking equally doubtful.
By silent mutual consent they tabled the odd topic.
A week later, though, Catherine called in a pizza order and was talked into the two-for-one special.
Colin looked doubtful.
“We’ll just eat however much we want,” Catherine said judiciously.
Right.
Somehow, Colin wanted more than his usual three slices. Five. Six. Eight? By the time he had undone his jeans, groaning with fullness, he’d polished off a whole pizza. Catherine had managed five slices: between two large one-topping pizzas, only three slices and a decorative jalapeno pepper remained.
Luckily the futon sofa unfolded.
Without a work, they went straight to their work. Silence melted into groans of pleasure as each massaged, cradled, and gently patted the other’s full and distended gut, both aching bellies firm and yet tender, hyper-responsive to the slightest touch. Catherine’s breasts seemed fuller as well, rounded and succulent, and he suckled, making her growl with pleasure. Together they slowly merged from foreplay into intimacy, coupling not once but several times, now languid, now fierce, now languid again, until they were exhausted. They fell asleep twined in each other’s arms, warm full tummy to warm full tummy.
The next morning, over coffee with cream, Catherine brought it up.
“This is just beyond strange, you know?”
“I know,” Colin said reasonably. “But it is what it is, right? I mean … obviously, something about being stuffed to bursting … I dunno, maybe it diverts the blood flow or something.” He trailed off lamely as Catherine erupted in giggles.
“Or something,” he said, blushing.
“But look,” Catherine said. She drummed on the table. “We can’t go around stuffing ourselves stupid whenever we want great sex.”
“Awesome sex,” Colin corrected.
“Awesome sex. Anyway. We’d both get, like, huge.”
“Like some early Woody Allen movie where people can tell whenever you’d had sex, right?” Colin said, making Catherine giggle again. “Help … I’m being chased by a giant … tummy.” He pantomimed a huge gut.
“So we won’t pig out too often,” Colin suggested. “And we’ll fill up on healthy foods, right? It doesn’t have to be pizza all the time, just large amounts.”
“And not often,” Catherine said firmly. “I don’t want to get … fat.” She laid a protective hand on her tummy.
Of course, sex that awesome cannot be avoided. Colin and Catherine quickly found that they wanted more of what they had experienced. They virtuously tried to make themselves full on foods that would leave less lasting damage, and their salad consumption shot up, as did their intake of fruits, high-fiber breads, and water. Those all helped, but the rules say that if one eats more, one tends to put on weight.
“Crap.” Catherine flopped down on the bed and lay down. She struggled with her jeans, working up a light sweat.
“Is it … you know …”
“No, it is not that time,” Catherine snapped. She got up, peeled off the offending jeans, and stepped onto the scale.
“Yikes, one-sixty,” she exclaimed. “No wonder! I’ve gained eight pounds.”
Colin embraced her from behind. “It’s … you know … kinda sexy,” he said, cradling her slightly thickened waist and sliding up to her lace bra.
“Well, Ms. Sexy needs new jeans,” Catherine pouted.
“Okay. Go,” Colin said. “Hey. Get me some too. Make ’em 34’s,” he called out as he stepped into the shower. His 32-waist jeans were awfully snug these days.
Showered and dried off, he eyed the scale, then stepped on. He scowled, stepped off, and then back on. His six-foot frame was up to 210. The last time he’d looked, which had been a while, he’d been right around 195. He’d prided himself on staying under 200. Apparently the awesome-sex prompt had blown him right past his benchmark. He looked himself over in the mirror. Exercise kept him in decent shape, but there was no denying the presence of a rounded belly below his ribcage. Shrugging, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants.
Catherine returned laden with bags. Colin had virtuously made a grilled salmon-salad lunch, although it was a big salad, and served with multigrain bread thickly spread with butter. They devoured every scrap. Catherine yawned.
“Oh … nap time (hic!) …”
Colin thought he might be becoming addicted to the awesome sex. But Catherine seemed to be beginning to enjoy the fullness for its own sake, filling herself up even when it was the wrong time of the month. Colin didn’t want to admit it, and rolled his eyes when Catherine fessed up, but he was enjoying it too. There was something oddly pleasurable about taking a deep breath and feeling his full belly swell even larger, feeling the strain against the waistband of his 34’s … 36’s … heading for 38’s?
There was a deep satisfaction in sinking down into his favorite chair and feeling the aching tenderness of a gorged and bloated gut, distended and heavy, warm and sated, of pressing gently against the ballooning abdomen and confirming there was no room at all. There was even something pleasurable in seeing his visibly thickening waistline in the mirror and poking at his growing love handles.
Catherine might have been more vain and less pleased, except her own thickening tummy, softening backside, and swelling breasts made her feel sexy. They made her look sexy. Colin lavished compliments on her and was quick to cop a feel, to nuzzle a breast or bottom in passing, to embrace her from behind, nuzzle her softening chin and let his hands cuddle her fuller tummy.
Catherine’s weight ticked slowly and steadily upward as the year marched onward, her five-six figure climbing from 160 -- the initial gain -- to nearly 200 pounds. As her figure became ever fuller, though, she seemed to get nothing but compliments. She dressed well and wore her hair in a flattering shag cut, and her apple cheeks, full chin, rounded, tempting breasts, sweet curve of padded waist, and high round bottom all seemed to catch the eye.
Colin’s weight went mostly to his face and belly, partly because his exercise regimen kept his pecs, arms, and legs relatively firm. But his once-sharp-featured face softened considerably. Pads of fat pouched under his eyes, and his cheeks became round and full, sliding toward a now-doubled chin. Catherine couldn’t get enough of the change; his once almost-dangerous good looks were now replaced with a friendly, relaxed appearance. She pinched his apple cheeks whenever she smooched him, which was often, and nuzzled his padded chins as he nuzzled hers. She would work her way south, burying her face and hands in his impressively round gut and slowly tracing a manicured finger along his steadily thickening waist. Full or empty, his belly was now measurably larger and she loved, when in bed, to press her hands on his mounded abdomen and slowly slide them apart, cuddling where the roundness fell away into exceptionally grabbable love handles.
But where Catherine got compliments, Colin got good-natured guy-style ribbing from the others in the accounting department he headed. He was the boss, so nobody said anything too harsh, but there were jokes and comments about how having a steady girlfriend was porking Colin up. Colin would just smile and say nothing. It was nobody’s business, after all. Besides, he found that visitors somehow gave him more respect and attention. He was listened to in meetings as if his increased gravity had also increased his gravitas. Besides, when it came to occasional joshing vs. awesome sex, well, no contest.
A YEAR LATER, when Christmas came round again, Catherine clocked in at a lushly rosy 210. The scale had caught Colin at 260 on the dot, exactly 50 pounds over his new fiancee. He winked at her as he started the car. She’d made sure to “accidentally” double-book the family Christmas dinners.
“Let’s … save room for dessert,” he whispered.
She licked his ear.
Double Booking
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Colin Lonergan glanced at his girlfriend and raised an eyebrow. Catherine smiled broadly.
“Great -- we’re starved,” she said. “Just let us have a minute to go wash up.”
“Well, don’t take too long,” Catherine’s mom called after her. “Your dad’s just carving the turkey.”
The minute they were in the bathroom, Colin gave Catherine a look. “What the hey,” he said. “I thought we were having Christmas dinner with my parents.”
“Um … so did I?” Catherine made a face. “We can’t let my mom down, though. We’ll just have to … I don’t know … have two dinners.”
“Great,” Colin groaned. He’d never been a huge eater.
Catherine reached up on tiptoe and puckered up, and rather grudgingly Colin bent and kissed her. “Okay,” he mumbled dubiously.
Colin and Catherine both tried to put only modest amounts on their plates, but Catherine’s mom would not be deterred.
“Take more,” she ordered. “Wouldn’t keep a bird alive. Land sakes.” She spooned generous helpings of stuff onto both their plates. Colin half suspected that was why they’d been seated on either side of her.
Protestations were ignored, slowing down was chided, and no one had eaten even a little bite of the sweet potatoes, even though the dish was now mysteriously empty.
At last Catherine’s mom brought out apple pie and ice cream. Colin stepped on Catherine’s foot. Catherine smiled tightly and stepped right back.
Colin was already stupefyingly full. He had eaten a massive dinner and was gorged with turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes and half a dozen other dishes. His belly strained the waistband of his jeans, which had fit fine that morning. His consumption could have been measured in pounds of food. It would have been a huge meal even if it hadn’t been just Round One. He was sated and ready to hibernate. He tried to sigh, but was too full to breathe that deeply.
He picked up his spoon.
He was so achingly stuffed that even the cup of strong black coffee that followed the pie didn’t help his digestion much. His belly was swollen and tender, and he was afraid that when he stood up his jeans would burst. With difficulty, and not as subtly as he’d wanted, he let his belt out two notches.
Catherine had no belt to let out, but Colin could tell that she’d unsnapped her jeans. He could tell because her pink shirt, which had some spandex in it, was strained tightly against a cutely round ball of full tummy and had ridden up, exposing a belly button slit deep in a rosy mound of bloated midriff.
“Got to go, Mom,” Catherine was saying. “We have to visit Colin’s parents.” Somehow, Colin found himself standing, although it was painful to straighten up. The weight of his gorged gut was dragging him down.
Awkwardly, hugs were exchanged, and Catherine and Colin huffed out to the car.
Colin wanted nothing so much as a nap, but he had seen Catherine down a couple of glasses of wine, so he guessed he would be driving. He grunted a little as he slid behind the wheel, and puffing with effort, leaned over and slid the seat back a tad.
Catherine struggled the zipper of her jeans down and groaned aloud.
“Oh (hic!) … I am … stuffed,” she said, catching her breath. “I don’t want to eat again (hic!) … ow … for days.” She turned puppy eyes on Colin. “Do we have to go to your parents’ house?”
Colin let out the belch he’d been trying to stifle. “Yup. (Urrrp.) And they’ll … (urp) … be expecting us to eat. Oh…” he ended with a groan at a particularly painful hiccup, and reflexively patted his distended belly. Thunk.
“Wow,” Catherine said admiringly. She patted hers and got a similar thunk. “Tight as a coupe of bongo drums.” She patted both gently.
“Don’t know (brrrp) … how we’re … gonna eat another dinner.”
“Fraid we’re stuck, Cats,” Colin said. He made a rueful face. “This will be … a night … to remember!”
Catherine tried to laugh but only hiccupped.
Unfortunately, it took only half an hour to drive to Colin’s parents’ house. Colin idled at the curb for a few minutes, rubbing his aching belly. Catherine was half asleep.
“Okay (urrp) … Cats,” Colin said, gently poking her swollen tummy. “Showtime.”
Catherine and Colin had both been well schooled in manners and in not disappointing people, and they both pretended to be good and ready for the second Christmas dinner in one day. Colin’s stepfather was an amateur chef and all too good at it. He busied himself in the kitchen and carried out filled plates, restaurant-style. Colin raised an eyebrow. No chance to take only small amounts. Experimentally he tested the button of his jeans (iffy) and dug in.
They took as much time as they dared, dawdling over huge portions of corn pudding, lamb with caramelized onions, squash chiffon pie, and other dishes Colin couldn’t identify. Nor did he much care by now. His stomach ached fiercely and groaningly protested each mouthful. Under his shirt, the skin of his swollen midsection stretched painfully tight. Then somehow, around the time Colin’s stepfather cleared the empty plate and laid a heaping plateful of … was it thirds? … in front of him, Colin transcended fullness.
Numb from gorging, he realized dimly that he was enjoying the magnificent swell of his gut, the way it pushed over the straining waistband of his jeans. He’d never experienced anything like it, and it was awesome, in the way a huge mountain range was awesome. His engorgement actually, somehow, felt good, which was the weirdest sensation he’d ever had; moreover, it was arousing some slightly more familiar sensations. He cast a glance at Catherine on his left. She was squirming in her chair. Colin knew that look on her face. You could have sailed toy boats in her panties. She was resting a hand on her stupendously full tummy and manipulating her fork with the other, and she looked sublimely contented.
“Well, Mother, we all did some damage,” Colin’s stepfather said, patting his own full stomach with a smile.
“It was delicious, darling,” Colin’s mom said, and Colin and Catherine chimed in. The four lingered over coffee, then finally the younger couple made their getaway.
“How (hic!) … far (hic!) … oh … hotel,” Catherine panted. The jeans that were already undone would now have to defy the law of physics to be done up again.
“Not far,” Colin grunted, lowering himself cautiously into the driver’s seat.
“Hurry,” Catherine groaned. She was clutching her belly as though in labor. She looked pregnant. Thank heavens they’d checked in beforehand.
In a daze, they stumbled into the hotel room and made straight for the bed.
“Oh … ow … soooo fullllll,” Catherine moaned, cradling her tautly distended tummy. Stripped of jeans and underwear, crowned only by the shirt riding tightly upward, her belly was nearly spherical. Tentatively Colin poked it. Tight as a drum; there was no give. Catherine groaned and batted his hand away.
Colin had managed to get off his shoes and (somehow) his socks and tug his shirt over his head. His belt flapped open and his jeans were undone; he lay on his back, cradling his own bloated and gorged gut. It soared upward and outward, tautly distended, the opening of the jeans which had fit that morning now separated by a good couple of inches of swollen midriff. He estimated he had eaten eight thousand calories or more, fat-blasted, butter-larded, sugar-infused calories. His head was swimming and his belly was unbelievably tender. And his bad boy was rock hard as well.
Catherine traced a finger down Colin’s slope of swollen belly and discovered it.
In a daze, Colin groped awkwardly for her breasts. He was too full to move, everything ached and throbbed, and he’d never wanted Catherine more.
There were logistics to consider. After some discussion, they arrived at an agreed-upon docking maneuver.
It was spectacular. His full belly was pressed against her back, making him shiver and moan with the unexpected pleasure this brought. Meanwhile as she lay on her side she stroked her own distended stomach, poking and massaging its taut fullness. Their lovemaking was languid but powerful, jolted into a new level of enjoyment by the unfamiliar sensations, the ache and slosh of overloaded stomachs, the warmth and intimate heaviness, the press and squash and unfamiliar pulling and groaning.
Finally sated, in every way, they drifted to sleep.
“Okay, that was strange,” Catherine said in the car on the way back the next day.
“Got that right.” Colin glanced down. “At least no damage done. I hope. That was a barge-load of food.” He poked at his stomach, now (mostly) deflated. His jeans had been only a little snug that morning.
“I’ve never been so full in my life,” Catherine said languidly, stretching. She patted her tummy, which was once again its usual, only slightly padded, self.
“But after a while…” Colin said slowly.
“It felt … good …” Catherine finished, looking equally doubtful.
By silent mutual consent they tabled the odd topic.
A week later, though, Catherine called in a pizza order and was talked into the two-for-one special.
Colin looked doubtful.
“We’ll just eat however much we want,” Catherine said judiciously.
Right.
Somehow, Colin wanted more than his usual three slices. Five. Six. Eight? By the time he had undone his jeans, groaning with fullness, he’d polished off a whole pizza. Catherine had managed five slices: between two large one-topping pizzas, only three slices and a decorative jalapeno pepper remained.
Luckily the futon sofa unfolded.
Without a work, they went straight to their work. Silence melted into groans of pleasure as each massaged, cradled, and gently patted the other’s full and distended gut, both aching bellies firm and yet tender, hyper-responsive to the slightest touch. Catherine’s breasts seemed fuller as well, rounded and succulent, and he suckled, making her growl with pleasure. Together they slowly merged from foreplay into intimacy, coupling not once but several times, now languid, now fierce, now languid again, until they were exhausted. They fell asleep twined in each other’s arms, warm full tummy to warm full tummy.
The next morning, over coffee with cream, Catherine brought it up.
“This is just beyond strange, you know?”
“I know,” Colin said reasonably. “But it is what it is, right? I mean … obviously, something about being stuffed to bursting … I dunno, maybe it diverts the blood flow or something.” He trailed off lamely as Catherine erupted in giggles.
“Or something,” he said, blushing.
“But look,” Catherine said. She drummed on the table. “We can’t go around stuffing ourselves stupid whenever we want great sex.”
“Awesome sex,” Colin corrected.
“Awesome sex. Anyway. We’d both get, like, huge.”
“Like some early Woody Allen movie where people can tell whenever you’d had sex, right?” Colin said, making Catherine giggle again. “Help … I’m being chased by a giant … tummy.” He pantomimed a huge gut.
“So we won’t pig out too often,” Colin suggested. “And we’ll fill up on healthy foods, right? It doesn’t have to be pizza all the time, just large amounts.”
“And not often,” Catherine said firmly. “I don’t want to get … fat.” She laid a protective hand on her tummy.
Of course, sex that awesome cannot be avoided. Colin and Catherine quickly found that they wanted more of what they had experienced. They virtuously tried to make themselves full on foods that would leave less lasting damage, and their salad consumption shot up, as did their intake of fruits, high-fiber breads, and water. Those all helped, but the rules say that if one eats more, one tends to put on weight.
“Crap.” Catherine flopped down on the bed and lay down. She struggled with her jeans, working up a light sweat.
“Is it … you know …”
“No, it is not that time,” Catherine snapped. She got up, peeled off the offending jeans, and stepped onto the scale.
“Yikes, one-sixty,” she exclaimed. “No wonder! I’ve gained eight pounds.”
Colin embraced her from behind. “It’s … you know … kinda sexy,” he said, cradling her slightly thickened waist and sliding up to her lace bra.
“Well, Ms. Sexy needs new jeans,” Catherine pouted.
“Okay. Go,” Colin said. “Hey. Get me some too. Make ’em 34’s,” he called out as he stepped into the shower. His 32-waist jeans were awfully snug these days.
Showered and dried off, he eyed the scale, then stepped on. He scowled, stepped off, and then back on. His six-foot frame was up to 210. The last time he’d looked, which had been a while, he’d been right around 195. He’d prided himself on staying under 200. Apparently the awesome-sex prompt had blown him right past his benchmark. He looked himself over in the mirror. Exercise kept him in decent shape, but there was no denying the presence of a rounded belly below his ribcage. Shrugging, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants.
Catherine returned laden with bags. Colin had virtuously made a grilled salmon-salad lunch, although it was a big salad, and served with multigrain bread thickly spread with butter. They devoured every scrap. Catherine yawned.
“Oh … nap time (hic!) …”
Colin thought he might be becoming addicted to the awesome sex. But Catherine seemed to be beginning to enjoy the fullness for its own sake, filling herself up even when it was the wrong time of the month. Colin didn’t want to admit it, and rolled his eyes when Catherine fessed up, but he was enjoying it too. There was something oddly pleasurable about taking a deep breath and feeling his full belly swell even larger, feeling the strain against the waistband of his 34’s … 36’s … heading for 38’s?
There was a deep satisfaction in sinking down into his favorite chair and feeling the aching tenderness of a gorged and bloated gut, distended and heavy, warm and sated, of pressing gently against the ballooning abdomen and confirming there was no room at all. There was even something pleasurable in seeing his visibly thickening waistline in the mirror and poking at his growing love handles.
Catherine might have been more vain and less pleased, except her own thickening tummy, softening backside, and swelling breasts made her feel sexy. They made her look sexy. Colin lavished compliments on her and was quick to cop a feel, to nuzzle a breast or bottom in passing, to embrace her from behind, nuzzle her softening chin and let his hands cuddle her fuller tummy.
Catherine’s weight ticked slowly and steadily upward as the year marched onward, her five-six figure climbing from 160 -- the initial gain -- to nearly 200 pounds. As her figure became ever fuller, though, she seemed to get nothing but compliments. She dressed well and wore her hair in a flattering shag cut, and her apple cheeks, full chin, rounded, tempting breasts, sweet curve of padded waist, and high round bottom all seemed to catch the eye.
Colin’s weight went mostly to his face and belly, partly because his exercise regimen kept his pecs, arms, and legs relatively firm. But his once-sharp-featured face softened considerably. Pads of fat pouched under his eyes, and his cheeks became round and full, sliding toward a now-doubled chin. Catherine couldn’t get enough of the change; his once almost-dangerous good looks were now replaced with a friendly, relaxed appearance. She pinched his apple cheeks whenever she smooched him, which was often, and nuzzled his padded chins as he nuzzled hers. She would work her way south, burying her face and hands in his impressively round gut and slowly tracing a manicured finger along his steadily thickening waist. Full or empty, his belly was now measurably larger and she loved, when in bed, to press her hands on his mounded abdomen and slowly slide them apart, cuddling where the roundness fell away into exceptionally grabbable love handles.
But where Catherine got compliments, Colin got good-natured guy-style ribbing from the others in the accounting department he headed. He was the boss, so nobody said anything too harsh, but there were jokes and comments about how having a steady girlfriend was porking Colin up. Colin would just smile and say nothing. It was nobody’s business, after all. Besides, he found that visitors somehow gave him more respect and attention. He was listened to in meetings as if his increased gravity had also increased his gravitas. Besides, when it came to occasional joshing vs. awesome sex, well, no contest.
A YEAR LATER, when Christmas came round again, Catherine clocked in at a lushly rosy 210. The scale had caught Colin at 260 on the dot, exactly 50 pounds over his new fiancee. He winked at her as he started the car. She’d made sure to “accidentally” double-book the family Christmas dinners.
“Let’s … save room for dessert,” he whispered.
She licked his ear.
