A quick vignette here. A routine check up for a yuppie on the rise turns into much more.
The throaty roar of a powerful engine outside disturbs the peace of my workspace. Looking out of my clinic window I see a black Porsche Boxster race past and turn into the underground parking. It wasn’t the poverty spec either, the distinctive note of the 3.4 litre engine identified this as the top-of-the-range GTS. They started at around $80K and surely if you went for that, you threw in a few extras.
A couple of minutes later my monitor flashes, notifying me that you have checked in for your appointment. So, you’re doing well enough to get a spanking new Boxster GTS eh? Not bad, not bad at all Sir. I finish up with my current patient and send her on her way, then your file opens up for me as my nurse prepares you outside. The database shows the medical results from your last check up two years ago, compared to the blood test results of last week. Then as my nurse takes your current readings these pop in too. All results with a variance of more than 2% are flagged.
Height is the same, not surprisingly. Cholesterol higher, body fat % is up, weight flagged: increased. Again not a surprise as most of you desk bound yuppies tend to run to fat. The screen flashes again, a warning message. Increase in weight of 27%: from 158 lbs in 2013 to 201 lbs today. I remember you, a cute guy on the up, and wonder how the added fat has changed your body.
The door opens and my nurse shows you in. Wow. Oh boy. This is going to be hard. I breathe to control myself but you have already noticed my eyes drawn to your belly. How could they not? Filling your shirt to bursting point, you have undeniable love handles spilling out over your belt. In front these roll up to a big fat gut, your soft underbelly tugging the shirt down.
“Hi!” you say nervously.
“Hi, how are you?” I respond.
“OK, all well I guess. Gained weight, as your nurse pointed out!” you smile ruefully. I smirk inside. You’re conscious of your gain and embarrassed so you prefer to bring it up immediately.
“Yes you have” I concur, placing my hands on your belly.
Your eyes shoot open in shock, looking adorably vulnerable. Surely you knew I would touch you, but maybe you didn’t expect me to go straight for your overfed gut.
So what happened here?” I ask, my hands still thrumming your belly, before unnecessarily and cruelly adding “you weighed only 158 pounds last I saw you. Now you’re just past 200.”
“I.. yeah… um… I was around 190 a month ago but then Christmas at my sister - she didn’t stop feeding me… ” you tail off into silence as I fix you with my best stern-doctor-unimpressed-with-your-lame-excuses expression.
But I won’t let you off just yet. With another pat to the your gut I add “gaining 10 pounds over Christmas is a lot, you know, even if your sister stuffs you like a turkey. A pie-filled turkey. And what about the jump from 158 to 190?” You blush bright red and look down at your belly, you actually turn your toes inwards. So cute, I want to cuddle you right here. You clearly are not used to being in the spotlight, your professional success keeps you falsely insulated from reality.
“Work, I guess. I need to entertain clients a lot, you know. Work dinners, receptions, conferences… I don’t really have time to work out.“
“Sure. But do you need to take all those second helpings? Another plateful at the buffet? Do you try all the desserts? They’re so small they barely count right?” I can scarcely breathe as I imagine you greedily stuffing your face at all the events you just mentioned. You blush scarlet, you can’t believe I’m saying these things, but you know they are true. “No time to run” I hear you whisper hoarsely.
“Yes I can see that” I laugh with another light slap on your gut.
“OK then” I say. “Please remove your clothes to your underwear” and pretend to busy myself at the computer, while sneakily watching you undress. You blush again and start to unbutton your shirt, slowly revealing your gut, a pale flabby gorgeous orb. No doubt regretting all those times you indulged that led to you boasting such a prodigious belly. I shudder in my chair and cross my legs to control my orgasm. Too late. I feel my panties wet.
You undo your belt, trying not to let me notice that you have had to leave your trousers button undone, a gift to yourself with your Christmas largesse. When you bend over to pull your trousers off, your belly hangs down like a sack of dough. I don’t even try to stop myself this time and let the orgasms run free, gripping the desk top, fighting to keep my breathing under control.
“Please, sit down” I wave to the gurney. You heave yourself up, settle your plump buns on the gurney and wait. I steel myself to walk straight, trying to avert my eyes from your gut, which spreads out so invitingly, plump and unhindered over your lap, your navel deep and round, demanding to be licked and probed with my tongue.
With utmost self-control I go through the motions of the check up. Eyes, ears, neck. “You’re stressed. I can feel the tension in your neck and shoulders. Not good” I admonish.
“Yeah… work again. Try meeting my targets with my budget.”
“You need to de-stress regularly. Are you married? Kids?” I ask.
“Nope. Not even a girlfriend right now.”
“And yet you have no time to run right?” I say, pinching a hefty love handle. You gasp and squirm away, breathing heavily.
Then I move on to the fun parts. The knee reflex. I sit on a stool, my eyes level with your gut and tap your knee. When your knee jerks up I can see the flab ripple all the way up your thighs and up to your belly, which actually quivers like jelly.
“Lie down” I instruct, and proceed to poke and knead various parts of your anatomy.
“Any pain here?” rotating your ankle.“This OK?” for your knee.“Does this hurt?” poking your hips.Finally I get to your gut, which rises like a dome even lying on your back. I knead it and delve deep into your chub. Of course I take the opportunity to humiliate you. Matter of factly I say: “Just trying to make sure your organs are fine you know, kidneys, liver and other bits. But it was easier to find them two years ago, now I have to seek them under this blanket of fat you’ve grown.” You blush beet red and I twist the knife. “OK sit up please.”
On cue you unwisely try to sit straight up, then realize you can’t and have to use both arms to lift yourself.I stand behind you and can tell you’re holding your breath, waiting for the next attack. “You see?” I ask as I grab your love handles under false medical pretenses. “You can’t even sit up unaided, all your stomach muscles have turned to flab.” My hands rove round to caress your gut.
“All you guys here start off skinny and hopeful then eat your way to success and money, leaving health far behind. What do you tell your friends who haven’t blown up like you have? Do you wave your Porsche keys at them?”
“Yes!” you admit. “I’ve worked really hard to get where I am now, at only 32. Some of my colleagues at my level are 50!”
“Yes, but where you are now is sitting in a doctor’s clinic being told off for gaining so much weight and not looking after yourself. Do you have no self-control? When you’re stuffing your greedy face and emptying the cookie jar, don’t you think you should stop? As you order dessert, doesn’t your tight waistband tell you to cut back? Have you bust any pants lowering your fat ass into your precious Porsche” I tease, slapping your butt for good measure.
You breathe heavily, I can see from the mirror your eyes are shut. My hands feel something under your belly. “What’s this here? An erection? My my, you get turned on being scolded for letting yourself get so fat.”
You gasp. You can’t answer, by now you are so embarrassed that not only your face is flushed bright red, but also your neck and your hands.
“What do you propose we do about this?” I ask sternly.
“Urrghhhh” you mumble incoherently and look round wildly, no doubt looking for a towel or something, anything, to cover yourself with.
“I think I should take a look” I say. “Make sure all is in order.”You stare at me as I walk round in front of you and sit again on the stool. You make no protest as I reach for the elastic on your boxers, delving under your rolls of flab and tug down. Your cock jumps up, pleased to be released and bumps against your soft underbelly.I take it in my mouth and suck you for just a moment, caressing your fat gut, pinching your love handles, rubbing your plump thighs.
I stand up, cross the room and lock the door. I ask “do you notice anything different about me?” as I open my white lab coat, revel in the look of lust in your eyes. I reveal my curvy body packed into a tight dress. I turn left and right, poking out my ass then letting my belly hang out in front.
“You.. you..” you stammer.
“I eat too.” I said simply, pulling the dress off over my head and moving towards you.
“Oh yes you have” you breathe. “Your belly shakes when you walk, your thighs rub against each other… well, well, well, the doctor sits behind her desk, telling off fat boys but stuffing herself silly!”
"I run to you. You lose no time in caressing my soft fat belly, touching me then unclasping my bra, and pulling my fat tits into your face. You reach down to my panties and recoil in surprise. “They’re wet!” you exclaim.
“Yes.” I admit. “I’ve been coming at the sight of my formerly skinny patient who’s fattened himself up into the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.”
I use the stool to step up and lower myself onto you, straddling you so that your hard cock slips into my waiting hungry pussy. We fuck like we have just discovered sex, our fat bellies slapping up against each other, my tits slapping your face.
“Wow,” you gasp when we’re done. “Just wow. That was the most mind-blowing experience of my life. You realise I can’t just let you go now.”
We stand up and get dressed.
“Right Mr. you need to get some things straight.” You look at me, again the vulnerable look in your eyes.“I have no problem with you getting fatter, in fact you can tell I positively enjoy it. However you need to be more careful about what you eat. It’s fine to indulge in junk now and again, but you can’t do it every day. See me, I’ve gained almost 30 lbs in the last year but my health figures are much better.”
“So… I need to lose weight?” you ask crestfallen.
“Haha” I laugh, slapping your gut. “You gained 40 lbs in 2 years, 10 of which in 2 weeks! I think it’s fair to say we both know you’re not going to lose any weight. Not that I want to either” I added reflectively, patting my own gut.
“No, what you need is someone to make sure you eat so much that you keep getting fatter and sexier but ensures your health.”
“And that would be you?”
“Yes. We start right now, it’s lunch time so call the office and say you’re ill."
As we exit my office I tell my nurse “clear the afternoon please, I’m not feeling too well and need to rest.”
We walk towards the garage and you ask: “So what healthy lunch are we having?”
“Oh I never said today is healthy. You can splurge now and again, and today is Chinese buffet. I’m starving!”
“Yay!” you respond.
“See why you’ll never lose weight? You already can’t button your pants and you’re drooling at the thought of a good Chinese stuffing.”
“I..” you hesitate.
“Lucky for you Porky, you found a gal that likes that!”
I stop at my car and unlock the door.
“You drive a Porsche too?” you stare at me mouth agape.
“You thought you have the monopoly on making money and getting fat?” I laugh, and lower my soft sexy butt onto the leather seats of my 1980 930 turbo.
The check up
by Ssaylleb
The throaty roar of a powerful engine outside disturbs the peace of my workspace. Looking out of my clinic window I see a black Porsche Boxster race past and turn into the underground parking. It wasn’t the poverty spec either, the distinctive note of the 3.4 litre engine identified this as the top-of-the-range GTS. They started at around $80K and surely if you went for that, you threw in a few extras.
A couple of minutes later my monitor flashes, notifying me that you have checked in for your appointment. So, you’re doing well enough to get a spanking new Boxster GTS eh? Not bad, not bad at all Sir. I finish up with my current patient and send her on her way, then your file opens up for me as my nurse prepares you outside. The database shows the medical results from your last check up two years ago, compared to the blood test results of last week. Then as my nurse takes your current readings these pop in too. All results with a variance of more than 2% are flagged.
Height is the same, not surprisingly. Cholesterol higher, body fat % is up, weight flagged: increased. Again not a surprise as most of you desk bound yuppies tend to run to fat. The screen flashes again, a warning message. Increase in weight of 27%: from 158 lbs in 2013 to 201 lbs today. I remember you, a cute guy on the up, and wonder how the added fat has changed your body.
The door opens and my nurse shows you in. Wow. Oh boy. This is going to be hard. I breathe to control myself but you have already noticed my eyes drawn to your belly. How could they not? Filling your shirt to bursting point, you have undeniable love handles spilling out over your belt. In front these roll up to a big fat gut, your soft underbelly tugging the shirt down.
“Hi!” you say nervously.
“Hi, how are you?” I respond.
“OK, all well I guess. Gained weight, as your nurse pointed out!” you smile ruefully. I smirk inside. You’re conscious of your gain and embarrassed so you prefer to bring it up immediately.
“Yes you have” I concur, placing my hands on your belly.
Your eyes shoot open in shock, looking adorably vulnerable. Surely you knew I would touch you, but maybe you didn’t expect me to go straight for your overfed gut.
So what happened here?” I ask, my hands still thrumming your belly, before unnecessarily and cruelly adding “you weighed only 158 pounds last I saw you. Now you’re just past 200.”
“I.. yeah… um… I was around 190 a month ago but then Christmas at my sister - she didn’t stop feeding me… ” you tail off into silence as I fix you with my best stern-doctor-unimpressed-with-your-lame-excuses expression.
But I won’t let you off just yet. With another pat to the your gut I add “gaining 10 pounds over Christmas is a lot, you know, even if your sister stuffs you like a turkey. A pie-filled turkey. And what about the jump from 158 to 190?” You blush bright red and look down at your belly, you actually turn your toes inwards. So cute, I want to cuddle you right here. You clearly are not used to being in the spotlight, your professional success keeps you falsely insulated from reality.
“Work, I guess. I need to entertain clients a lot, you know. Work dinners, receptions, conferences… I don’t really have time to work out.“
“Sure. But do you need to take all those second helpings? Another plateful at the buffet? Do you try all the desserts? They’re so small they barely count right?” I can scarcely breathe as I imagine you greedily stuffing your face at all the events you just mentioned. You blush scarlet, you can’t believe I’m saying these things, but you know they are true. “No time to run” I hear you whisper hoarsely.
“Yes I can see that” I laugh with another light slap on your gut.
“OK then” I say. “Please remove your clothes to your underwear” and pretend to busy myself at the computer, while sneakily watching you undress. You blush again and start to unbutton your shirt, slowly revealing your gut, a pale flabby gorgeous orb. No doubt regretting all those times you indulged that led to you boasting such a prodigious belly. I shudder in my chair and cross my legs to control my orgasm. Too late. I feel my panties wet.
You undo your belt, trying not to let me notice that you have had to leave your trousers button undone, a gift to yourself with your Christmas largesse. When you bend over to pull your trousers off, your belly hangs down like a sack of dough. I don’t even try to stop myself this time and let the orgasms run free, gripping the desk top, fighting to keep my breathing under control.
“Please, sit down” I wave to the gurney. You heave yourself up, settle your plump buns on the gurney and wait. I steel myself to walk straight, trying to avert my eyes from your gut, which spreads out so invitingly, plump and unhindered over your lap, your navel deep and round, demanding to be licked and probed with my tongue.
With utmost self-control I go through the motions of the check up. Eyes, ears, neck. “You’re stressed. I can feel the tension in your neck and shoulders. Not good” I admonish.
“Yeah… work again. Try meeting my targets with my budget.”
“You need to de-stress regularly. Are you married? Kids?” I ask.
“Nope. Not even a girlfriend right now.”
“And yet you have no time to run right?” I say, pinching a hefty love handle. You gasp and squirm away, breathing heavily.
Then I move on to the fun parts. The knee reflex. I sit on a stool, my eyes level with your gut and tap your knee. When your knee jerks up I can see the flab ripple all the way up your thighs and up to your belly, which actually quivers like jelly.
“Lie down” I instruct, and proceed to poke and knead various parts of your anatomy.
“Any pain here?” rotating your ankle.“This OK?” for your knee.“Does this hurt?” poking your hips.Finally I get to your gut, which rises like a dome even lying on your back. I knead it and delve deep into your chub. Of course I take the opportunity to humiliate you. Matter of factly I say: “Just trying to make sure your organs are fine you know, kidneys, liver and other bits. But it was easier to find them two years ago, now I have to seek them under this blanket of fat you’ve grown.” You blush beet red and I twist the knife. “OK sit up please.”
On cue you unwisely try to sit straight up, then realize you can’t and have to use both arms to lift yourself.I stand behind you and can tell you’re holding your breath, waiting for the next attack. “You see?” I ask as I grab your love handles under false medical pretenses. “You can’t even sit up unaided, all your stomach muscles have turned to flab.” My hands rove round to caress your gut.
“All you guys here start off skinny and hopeful then eat your way to success and money, leaving health far behind. What do you tell your friends who haven’t blown up like you have? Do you wave your Porsche keys at them?”
“Yes!” you admit. “I’ve worked really hard to get where I am now, at only 32. Some of my colleagues at my level are 50!”
“Yes, but where you are now is sitting in a doctor’s clinic being told off for gaining so much weight and not looking after yourself. Do you have no self-control? When you’re stuffing your greedy face and emptying the cookie jar, don’t you think you should stop? As you order dessert, doesn’t your tight waistband tell you to cut back? Have you bust any pants lowering your fat ass into your precious Porsche” I tease, slapping your butt for good measure.
You breathe heavily, I can see from the mirror your eyes are shut. My hands feel something under your belly. “What’s this here? An erection? My my, you get turned on being scolded for letting yourself get so fat.”
You gasp. You can’t answer, by now you are so embarrassed that not only your face is flushed bright red, but also your neck and your hands.
“What do you propose we do about this?” I ask sternly.
“Urrghhhh” you mumble incoherently and look round wildly, no doubt looking for a towel or something, anything, to cover yourself with.
“I think I should take a look” I say. “Make sure all is in order.”You stare at me as I walk round in front of you and sit again on the stool. You make no protest as I reach for the elastic on your boxers, delving under your rolls of flab and tug down. Your cock jumps up, pleased to be released and bumps against your soft underbelly.I take it in my mouth and suck you for just a moment, caressing your fat gut, pinching your love handles, rubbing your plump thighs.
I stand up, cross the room and lock the door. I ask “do you notice anything different about me?” as I open my white lab coat, revel in the look of lust in your eyes. I reveal my curvy body packed into a tight dress. I turn left and right, poking out my ass then letting my belly hang out in front.
“You.. you..” you stammer.
“I eat too.” I said simply, pulling the dress off over my head and moving towards you.
“Oh yes you have” you breathe. “Your belly shakes when you walk, your thighs rub against each other… well, well, well, the doctor sits behind her desk, telling off fat boys but stuffing herself silly!”
"I run to you. You lose no time in caressing my soft fat belly, touching me then unclasping my bra, and pulling my fat tits into your face. You reach down to my panties and recoil in surprise. “They’re wet!” you exclaim.
“Yes.” I admit. “I’ve been coming at the sight of my formerly skinny patient who’s fattened himself up into the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.”
I use the stool to step up and lower myself onto you, straddling you so that your hard cock slips into my waiting hungry pussy. We fuck like we have just discovered sex, our fat bellies slapping up against each other, my tits slapping your face.
“Wow,” you gasp when we’re done. “Just wow. That was the most mind-blowing experience of my life. You realise I can’t just let you go now.”
We stand up and get dressed.
“Right Mr. you need to get some things straight.” You look at me, again the vulnerable look in your eyes.“I have no problem with you getting fatter, in fact you can tell I positively enjoy it. However you need to be more careful about what you eat. It’s fine to indulge in junk now and again, but you can’t do it every day. See me, I’ve gained almost 30 lbs in the last year but my health figures are much better.”
“So… I need to lose weight?” you ask crestfallen.
“Haha” I laugh, slapping your gut. “You gained 40 lbs in 2 years, 10 of which in 2 weeks! I think it’s fair to say we both know you’re not going to lose any weight. Not that I want to either” I added reflectively, patting my own gut.
“No, what you need is someone to make sure you eat so much that you keep getting fatter and sexier but ensures your health.”
“And that would be you?”
“Yes. We start right now, it’s lunch time so call the office and say you’re ill."
As we exit my office I tell my nurse “clear the afternoon please, I’m not feeling too well and need to rest.”
We walk towards the garage and you ask: “So what healthy lunch are we having?”
“Oh I never said today is healthy. You can splurge now and again, and today is Chinese buffet. I’m starving!”
“Yay!” you respond.
“See why you’ll never lose weight? You already can’t button your pants and you’re drooling at the thought of a good Chinese stuffing.”
“I..” you hesitate.
“Lucky for you Porky, you found a gal that likes that!”
I stop at my car and unlock the door.
“You drive a Porsche too?” you stare at me mouth agape.
“You thought you have the monopoly on making money and getting fat?” I laugh, and lower my soft sexy butt onto the leather seats of my 1980 930 turbo.
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