WG Story Drone
Well-Known Member
BBW, Dining, Game-Playing, WG: From the Weight Room Mail Bag, the story of one couple’s night of food plus weakening will power . . .
“Interesting outfit,” you snark as I walk by your chair.
"I’ve changed after work into an old oxford shirt of yours, tied under my breasts, and a blue sarong from the islands tied low around my hips."
“Why did you change?’
“My skirt was a little tight,” I respond, blushing a bit. You always tease me about my weight. I’m determined to diet, but not always successful. I try to keep moving, but you pull me over, the better to appraise my form. You frown and shake your head, running a finger across the top of my sarong, where a roll of skin rises up and threatens to spill over the top. You run your finger around my belly button, slowly slip it in and out, and move it around inside. Your eyes are on my chubby tummy. I try not to let it show how excited this makes me, I can only imagine what you’d think.
Suddenly you laugh and give my belly a little slap. “Someone’s getting a little plump,” you chastise. “You promised you were starting your diet today, naughty girl.”
“Do you still think I need to go on a diet?” I say, with what I hope sounds like innocence, acting as though I’ve forgotten what we talked about last night.
You sigh, and pull me down on your lap. Luckily, you work out and your thighs are strong. You give my tummy a little poke and tickle.
“How did your diet go today? Were you good or naughty?” you ask, jiggling my belly a little.
I can’t help but blush, but I turn to you with a stern face. “I had every intention of being good! I’ve filled the fridge with good, low calorie food and planned what I was going to eat all day.”
You raise an eyebrow inquisitively. “And how did that go?”
A little belly pat to remind me what’s there.
“You know perfectly well how it went today!” I protest. My frustration comes pouring out. “I wake up this morning, there you are, running your finger around my belly button, tracing the curve of it as I lay on my side, THEN caressing the side of it (and YES, it has sides now) and telling me how large it looks when I’m laying on my side.”
You laugh. “You did look fatter laying on your side. Actually, right now you look fat sitting up. Did you stay on your diet today?” Another little poke.
“You spent so much time making me aware of how fat I’m getting that you made me late for work. I got dressed in that skirt and sweater you like, and was set to grab a banana and head out the door. But noooo. You had to go and make pancakes and bacon.”
You look exasperated. “I like pancakes and bacon! YOU don’t have to eat them.”
“I couldn’t help it! You had my plate all ready for me and you poured the warm maple syrup right in front of me. And you FED me the bacon!”
“You need to get some self control,” you chastise, moving a finger underneath the spot where my sarong is tied, and running it along the underside of my belly (and YES, there is an underside). “You’re getting really fat! Have people said anything at work?”
I turn red and don’t answer. This is embarrassing. You laugh knowingly and tickle me underneath my round belly. You draw me closer and whisper in my ear, “Tell me the truth, Chubby,” patting my tummy.
“Not to my face. But some people think I’m pregnant.” My face is scarlet.
You loosen the knot on my sarong and look appraisingly at the curve of my round belly. You trace it with your fingers with one hand, while your other hand curves around my waist. I just know you are mentally measuring how much my belly is sticking out now.
“And why would they think that, Naughty Girl?” you say a bit crossly.
“You KNOW why. At the Christmas party last week, there you were, constantly patting my belly, standing behind me and rubbing your hands along the sides. You even gave it a little shake in front of my boss!”
“It’s the only way I know to keep you conscious of it so I can control your eating, my fat dumpling!” you protest. “You must have been embarrassed when you overhead them saying you look pregnant.” Another belly pat. “You must have been unable to eat the rest of the day.” Was that a snicker?
I shrug, and look away a little, blushing.
Big sigh. “Tell me you didn’t use chocolate to ease the embarrassment.” No answer. Long pause. “You respond to hearing you look visibly pregnant (gentle belly slap) by filling this belly with chocolate????”
“I couldn’t help it. It smelled soooo good!”
“Why were you smelling chocolate in the first place?” – bouncing me a little on your lap so my belly jiggles.
“Because you put a family sized Cadbury bar in my lunch, you jackass! It was within 12 inches of my nose! I stayed away from the leftover Christmas party chocolate all morning.”
“Oh yeah? How about in the afternoon?”
I look at him ruefully.
“How much?”
“I lost count.”
“Did you eat the lunch I packed you too?” Appalled.
“Well honey, you went to all that trouble! But Italian bread, and cheese and salami are not on my diet.”
“Well, I only gave you enough for 2 or 3 days. I’ll make you something healthier later in the week.”
I look at him ruefully.
“The whole thing?”
Small voice. “Yes.”
“So that’s why the skirt is so tight?”
“Yes. My tummy was so full I had to undo the button on the skirt. And when I opened it my tummy relaxed and felt uncomfortable jammed up against my desk drawer. I had to go over to the couch to lay back and use the laptop.”
“That’s when you emailed me that your tummy is now peeking above the keyboard of the laptop?”
“Yes. It was difficult to use the built in mouse.”
“You are getting FAT.” You pinch my full tummy and start rubbing it. Why does this excite me so?
“I’m going to start eating healthy now, honey. I’m turning over a new leaf. I have will power.”
“Unless you want to get fatter, you need to diet, my little fat girl.” You bounce me off your lap, retying my sarong. Is it my imagination, or did you tie it a little bit looser? A little bit lower on my hips, now underneath my belly? I can feel my belly bounce and sway a bit as I walk quickly into the kitchen.
Will Power
By tummypot4u
By tummypot4u
“Interesting outfit,” you snark as I walk by your chair.
"I’ve changed after work into an old oxford shirt of yours, tied under my breasts, and a blue sarong from the islands tied low around my hips."
“Why did you change?’
“My skirt was a little tight,” I respond, blushing a bit. You always tease me about my weight. I’m determined to diet, but not always successful. I try to keep moving, but you pull me over, the better to appraise my form. You frown and shake your head, running a finger across the top of my sarong, where a roll of skin rises up and threatens to spill over the top. You run your finger around my belly button, slowly slip it in and out, and move it around inside. Your eyes are on my chubby tummy. I try not to let it show how excited this makes me, I can only imagine what you’d think.
Suddenly you laugh and give my belly a little slap. “Someone’s getting a little plump,” you chastise. “You promised you were starting your diet today, naughty girl.”
“Do you still think I need to go on a diet?” I say, with what I hope sounds like innocence, acting as though I’ve forgotten what we talked about last night.
You sigh, and pull me down on your lap. Luckily, you work out and your thighs are strong. You give my tummy a little poke and tickle.
“How did your diet go today? Were you good or naughty?” you ask, jiggling my belly a little.
I can’t help but blush, but I turn to you with a stern face. “I had every intention of being good! I’ve filled the fridge with good, low calorie food and planned what I was going to eat all day.”
You raise an eyebrow inquisitively. “And how did that go?”
A little belly pat to remind me what’s there.
“You know perfectly well how it went today!” I protest. My frustration comes pouring out. “I wake up this morning, there you are, running your finger around my belly button, tracing the curve of it as I lay on my side, THEN caressing the side of it (and YES, it has sides now) and telling me how large it looks when I’m laying on my side.”
You laugh. “You did look fatter laying on your side. Actually, right now you look fat sitting up. Did you stay on your diet today?” Another little poke.
“You spent so much time making me aware of how fat I’m getting that you made me late for work. I got dressed in that skirt and sweater you like, and was set to grab a banana and head out the door. But noooo. You had to go and make pancakes and bacon.”
You look exasperated. “I like pancakes and bacon! YOU don’t have to eat them.”
“I couldn’t help it! You had my plate all ready for me and you poured the warm maple syrup right in front of me. And you FED me the bacon!”
“You need to get some self control,” you chastise, moving a finger underneath the spot where my sarong is tied, and running it along the underside of my belly (and YES, there is an underside). “You’re getting really fat! Have people said anything at work?”
I turn red and don’t answer. This is embarrassing. You laugh knowingly and tickle me underneath my round belly. You draw me closer and whisper in my ear, “Tell me the truth, Chubby,” patting my tummy.
“Not to my face. But some people think I’m pregnant.” My face is scarlet.
You loosen the knot on my sarong and look appraisingly at the curve of my round belly. You trace it with your fingers with one hand, while your other hand curves around my waist. I just know you are mentally measuring how much my belly is sticking out now.
“And why would they think that, Naughty Girl?” you say a bit crossly.
“You KNOW why. At the Christmas party last week, there you were, constantly patting my belly, standing behind me and rubbing your hands along the sides. You even gave it a little shake in front of my boss!”
“It’s the only way I know to keep you conscious of it so I can control your eating, my fat dumpling!” you protest. “You must have been embarrassed when you overhead them saying you look pregnant.” Another belly pat. “You must have been unable to eat the rest of the day.” Was that a snicker?
I shrug, and look away a little, blushing.
Big sigh. “Tell me you didn’t use chocolate to ease the embarrassment.” No answer. Long pause. “You respond to hearing you look visibly pregnant (gentle belly slap) by filling this belly with chocolate????”
“I couldn’t help it. It smelled soooo good!”
“Why were you smelling chocolate in the first place?” – bouncing me a little on your lap so my belly jiggles.
“Because you put a family sized Cadbury bar in my lunch, you jackass! It was within 12 inches of my nose! I stayed away from the leftover Christmas party chocolate all morning.”
“Oh yeah? How about in the afternoon?”
I look at him ruefully.
“How much?”
“I lost count.”
“Did you eat the lunch I packed you too?” Appalled.
“Well honey, you went to all that trouble! But Italian bread, and cheese and salami are not on my diet.”
“Well, I only gave you enough for 2 or 3 days. I’ll make you something healthier later in the week.”
I look at him ruefully.
“The whole thing?”
Small voice. “Yes.”
“So that’s why the skirt is so tight?”
“Yes. My tummy was so full I had to undo the button on the skirt. And when I opened it my tummy relaxed and felt uncomfortable jammed up against my desk drawer. I had to go over to the couch to lay back and use the laptop.”
“That’s when you emailed me that your tummy is now peeking above the keyboard of the laptop?”
“Yes. It was difficult to use the built in mouse.”
“You are getting FAT.” You pinch my full tummy and start rubbing it. Why does this excite me so?
“I’m going to start eating healthy now, honey. I’m turning over a new leaf. I have will power.”
“Unless you want to get fatter, you need to diet, my little fat girl.” You bounce me off your lap, retying my sarong. Is it my imagination, or did you tie it a little bit looser? A little bit lower on my hips, now underneath my belly? I can feel my belly bounce and sway a bit as I walk quickly into the kitchen.
