Love You Truly

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]

Alicia discovers her husband surfing stuffed-belly sites.... how will she respond?

Victor was so engrossed in the slide show on the computer screen that he didn’t hear Alicia come in. She didn’t sneak; he was just occupied. Unconsciously, one hand patted his knee and he rocked back and forth in the chair. The sight of this slightly built woman making her stomach balloon with pictures of drinking a whole bottle of Coke was making his privates stir and contract, and he was about to mess up his shorts.

Alicia stood, watching over his shoulder for a moment before she spoke. “What is that?” She didn’t sound censorious, just surprised.
Victor turned red. Quickly, he minimized the window. “Just pictures,” he said lamely. He turned around in his chair. Alicia didn’t look shocked, but she did look interested. She sat in the other chair. “What kind of pictures?” she asked. “They don’t look like regular porn.”
“It’s not porn exactly,” Victor explained, relaxing a little. “It’s a site where women show pictures of themselves stuffing themselves to make their bellies big. Sometimes they show pictures of their tummies with a tape measure … before and after shots.”
Alicia frowned. “You don’t like fat girls … do you?” She was 5 feet 4 and worked at maintaining a 120-pound hourglass figure.
“Not fat,” Victor said, struggling to find the right words. “But there’s something … arousing … about those bulging bellies.”

Alicia grew still. “Do you want me to … stuff myself?”
Victor didn’t want to spook her. “I don’t want you to get fat, though.”
“I’ll bet,” Alicia said, “those women go to the gym a lot to keep in shape. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be so trim and it wouldn’t be so noticeable when they stuffed themselves.”
“Good point.”
“So,” Alicia said. “Would you like me to?”
“To post, you mean?”
”No!” Alicia said quickly. “Just for you. No pictures.”
“Would you? Would you really?”
“Sure,” Alicia said. “I don’t mind giving it a try. How much do these women eat?”
“Well, it varies,” Victor said. “Sometimes a two-liter bottle of pop. Sometimes a cake. Sometimes a dozen doughnuts. Or takeout. Like that.”
“There’s a pizza in the freezer,” Alicia offered. “And a bottle of Diet Coke in the fridge.”
Victor stood and Alicia pressed a hand to her mouth, smothering her giggles. “Speaking of bulge,” she said, and Victor looked down. Oh.

Following Victor’s directions, Alicia closed the curtains and stripped to a sports bra and leggings. She sat up very straight on a dining-room chair and ceremoniously lifted her first slice. “Here’s to the tummy!”
“To the tummy,” Victor echoed. He was leaning against the counter, prepared to enjoy the show.
Alicia steadily and cheerfully downed three large slices of pizza and a tall tumbler of Diet Coke. She stopped and got to her feet, holding her stomach. She belched. “I don’t know about this,” she said a little thickly.
“Could you … pose a little?”
She did, glad of a break. Hands on hips, she pivoted from side to side, giving Victor profile and front views. He stroked her bulging belly, poking it, testing how much room she still had.

She sat down and gamely picked up another slice. She ate more slowly now, with more frequent gulps of pop. After every couple of bites, she massaged her growing midriff in a circular motion, relieving her discomfort and coaxing up a belch or two. Alicia was a small woman, and a whole pizza plus a whole bottle of pop was a lot for her tummy to hold. She posed some more, stalling for time. Her flat stomach now bulged tautly, heavy and sore. The mountain of food overloading it felt as though it was dragging her abdomen down, making it ponderously heavy. With every move, her stomach sloshed and grumbled.

She finished the last piece standing up, too full to sit down. A quarter of the bottle remained. She poured it into the tumbler. Puffing, stuffed to her eyeballs, she took as deep a breath as she could manage, hiccupped sharply, and chugged it down. The second she came up for air, a huge belch shook her bloated midsection. Carefully, she eased herself onto the sofa and leaned back, cradling her aching and tautly distended belly.
“Ooohhh,” she groaned. She didn’t feel very good. Her swollen tummy thumped and groaned like an overloaded washing machine. She had to relieve herself, but she was too full to move.
Solicitously, Victor helped her up and to the bathroom. She felt a little better after that and slowly, carefully maneuvering her newly swollen stomach, she posed for him a while before bailing out. Victor helped her to bed, where she carefully got onto her side and rubbed her rounded drum of a tummy until she managed to fall asleep.

The next day, in recovery, she ate little and worked out for three hours instead of two. On Monday morning, she stepped with trepidation onto the scale, relieved when it stopped at 120. “Any damage?” Victor called from the shower.
“No.”
”Can you do it again?”
“Ugh,” Alicia said involuntarily. Then, “How about only on Saturdays? Every other Saturday. You pick, and I’ll eat as much as I can hold. Only, don’t let me get fat.”
“A single two-pound gain and we’ll stop until you get back to normal,” Victor promised.
“Let the games begin!” Alicia said cheerfully.

And so the first and third Saturdays became very special days indeed for Victor and Alicia. Sometimes just a big jug of water, sometimes a pile of Mexican food, sometimes spaghetti, or bread and butter, or a cake, sometimes two bottles of pop. Alicia very seldom had to stop short of the finish line, and she came to enjoy posing.

Her record was two full bottles of pop plus half a pizza. That was a memorable night indeed. Every few minutes she stopped to pose, twisting this way and that, standing, reclining, kneeling, giving Victor different angles. Her trim waistline thickened with each chug chug chug of pop; toward the end, Victor could see it grow each time she drew breath.
The pizza dropped slice by slice down her throat. Her flat stomach curved, inflated, protruded a little more each time. The first bottle was empty, rolling across the floor. Victor was massaging Alicia’s bloated tummy, already hard as a rock. He knocked on it as if on a swollen door.
“Owooh,” she groaned. “Oh, (urrrrp) don’t.” He apologized and went back to massaging – and looking. Three slices were gone, the fourth in her hand, and a third of the second bottle of pop was gone. She was slowing down, he could tell.
“Don’t make yourself sick,” he warned.
“Urrrrp,” Alicia replied. “Urrrrrp. Urp.” Each time she tried to draw breath a noise erupted, either a hiccup or a belch. She was so stuffed she was puffing. She paused, then lifted the bottle again, chugging down as much as she could. She came up for air, gasping and hiccupping, and pressed a hand to her stomach, which now rested far out in front of her chest and hips, a tautly aching gut, sagging heavily. Her belly button was now an outie; the skin of her painfully distended abdomen stretched tight.
“Ohh,” she groaned, coaxing up a belch.

She eyed the pizza and turned a little green. “No (urrrp) more pizza (urrrp),” she puffed.
“Okay,” Victor agreed quickly.
“But,” she said thickly, “I will finish this.” She waved the second bottle, now two-thirds drained.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Alicia said reassuringly. “(Hic!) I can … (hic!) do it.” She slapped her bloated and aching belly, making a hollow thump. She raised the bottle. Victor held his breath.
Chug.
Chug.
Chug.
Alicia flung the empty bottle; Victor instinctively caught it. Triumphant, replete, achingly stuffed, Alicia flopped onto the sofa. “(Hic!) Give me … a minute … (hic!) I’ll pose,” she grunted. Her tone was triumphant. “I am (hic!) … the queen of … bellies.”
Victor sat down beside her and gently and steadily began massaging her magnificent tummy, round and gleaming. “I love you,” he said tenderly.
“Hic!”