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By the end of the week I was pretty happily settled in. I knew my way around the kitchen, the cats liked me, Michael the quail trusted me, I had sufficient amounts of pot and beer, unlimited amounts of TV shows, nowhere to go, no responsibliities other than playing with animals, and all the food I could possibly want. This was the best gig ever.
Ok, so maybe I’d have to get a new pair of jeans or two soon, and my writing…well, let’s not talk about that. I had the rest of the summer to finish it, anyway. I could totally afford to take a week or two to relax and let my brain…rest, or something. I would probably write better if I gave myself a break from thinking about it, right? Exactly.
It was the start of the second week and I had just finished breakfast (cereal while waiting for food to arrive, then an upsized portion of scrambled eggs bacon and three waffles) and was sinking into the couch lighting up a nice post-breakfast bowl when the doorbell rang. Godammit. I grunted, hiding the paraphernalia and staggered over to answer it.
A man in a button-down shirt and jeans stood at the door. There was just enough black hair on his face and neck to give the appearance of a very neat beard, but not enough to hide a rather prominent double chin and round cheeks. What was even harder to ignore, however, was the way his round gut was straining the buttons on his shirt, as if he had gained weight recently but was refusing to get new clothes. Not to mention the way his jeans seemed to squeeze his hips….
He was kinda hot overall.
“You must be Jake” he said gruffly.
“Uhh..yeah, that’s me…and you are…?”
“I’m Daniel,” he replied, shaking my hand “Sandra’s partner…I assume she told you I was coming?”
“Uhhh…yeah, yes she did,” I said, suddenly remembering a late night phone call saying that she and her boyfriend had patched things up, and he would be coming to take some clothes.
“Good,” he said, brushing past me “Been enjoying your stay?”
“Um…yes, its been great, really…relaxing,” I followed him into the spare bedroom.
“Sandra been sending you food?”
“Um..yeahh. She has,”
“Thought so, she always had a thing for fatties like you,”
Wait, what? Did he just call me fat? He really was in denial. He had to be at least 15 lb heavier than me. Was he jealous? And why did that make me feel…funny?
“What do you mean?”
He was taking clothes out of the cupboard. Men’s shirts, shorts, tank tops.
“I’m saying you’re fat and that’s why you got the job,” he said, not looking up from the clothes.
“What?!” I was turning red.
He sighed. Looked up at me.
“Look. Sandra is…well she likes fat people. And she likes feeding them. As in…likes feeding them. She’s trying to feed you up. I can from just looking at you and all those plates in the kitchen. She’s probably feeding her girlfriend right now.”
“But…but how do you…know?” I was utterly confused, and also strangely aroused.
“I know because we’ve been together for a year, and she tried to do it to me, but luckily it didn’t work cos I caught her in time,”
My god, he really was in denial.
“Well…that’s…good to know,” I said, “I just hope you don’t…hate me or anything,”
“Hate you? Why would I hate you?” he threw his head back and laughed, a slightly forced laugh. “You’re just the cat sitter. Look, ok I’m not totally happy with this situation, but I think this break is good for both of us. And you don’t have to wait on me… go on and do whatever you need to do…”
“Ok, as long as we’re on the same page… and…uh…I was about to smoke a bowl….you want some?”
“Sure, I’ll just change into shorts and come out,”
I grabbed some nachos and a few beers and sat back down on the couch. Took a hit. What a bizarre morning. So Sandra was conspiring to make me fat—impossible. But he had clearly gained some from the relationship. Maybe he was bitter. But why did I…enjoy him calling me fat?
He emerged from the room in a t-shirt and the tightest pair of Bermuda shorts imaginable. The button was straining under the roundness of his gut. He smiled as I handed him the bowl and lighter, sat down and suddenly, with a loud ‘ping’ the button on the shorts popped off.
“Oh fuck,”
I started giggling uncontrollably.
“Sorry,” I gasped “I’m pretty high…I…but are you sure Sandra never fed you?”
After I said this I realized what an Idiot I sounded like. Crap. He was really gonna hate me now.
But instead he smiled and took a hit.
“Nope,” he said exhaling and giving his belly a rub, “I did this all to myself. Sandra was trying to feed me secretly, cooking all the time, giving me extra helpings, buying me food I didn’t want. But I’m not down with sneaky, non-consensual bullshit. So we had a chat, she told me about her weird little fetish, and I told her I’d go away and think about it. And this is me thinking about it.”
“What? So you…you’re gaining on purpose?” I took the bowl from him and lit it.
“Sure,” He cracked open a beer.
“And…and…you’re enjoying it?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?” He reached over and poked my belly, making me jump but also sending tingles all over my body. I blushed again.
“ummm….yeahh. Yeah I am.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“And how…how did you get…you know?”
“This mostly,” he laughed, tapping the bowl and taking another hit. “Been smoking so much since we separated. And drinking. And going to barbeques.” He burped and took another swig. “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Awesome,” The munchies were starting to set in. I opened the chips and started to eat them.
“Just…eating whatever you want…not caring .…”
“Yeah…yeah…that…” I suddenly realized I had been hogging the nachos and passed them to him.
We both laughed. The weed was making us less articulate, and hungrier. I was glad he had become less intense. We lapsed into a comfortable silence, crunching chips and gulping beer, belching occasionally. I packed another bowl and heated up some two frozen mac & cheese trays (I knew I could finish one of them, and I had a feeling he could too), got out a family sized bag of popcorn to eat while waiting for them. We polished all of them off in about an hour, then lunch delivery arrived and we ate that too, and a pizza, more beers and a pint of ice cream each. By then we were leaning back with our hands on our tight guts, taking labored breaths.
“Fuck,” groaned Dan “I haven’t eaten this much since…”
“UUURRRP..’scuse me,” I gurgled. My stomach felt like it was about to burst. My shirt had risen to my bellybutton and I had pushed the waistband of my boxers under the bulge, because even they were starting to feel tight.
“well, yesterday, come to think of it…geez....and I think I could say the same for you. We’re such a couple of pigs.”
He put his empty pint container onto the coffee table, which was a mess of empty food containers and bottles, picked up his beer, his other hand lazily rubbing his stuffed belly. His gut was impressive, with no waistband to hold it in it spilled out onto his lap, round and large as a bowling ball. A button on his shirt had slipped out of its hole and you could see his stomach poking through. His shirt was riding up as well, exposing a very delicious looking bulge.
“Enjoying the view?” he grinned. He drained the last of his beer and hiccupped, and one of the buttons on his shirt popped off. I bit my lip and turned away, blushing furiously. Oh boy. This wasn’t convenient at all. For one, I had no idea why I found this so compelling, and two, I was too full and stoned to do anything about it.
“Oh man…I really gotta *hic* remember to stop wearing tight clothes when I get the munchies,” he laughed, “I’m bursting out of *hic* everything…and it seems like you will soon”
I nodded, blushing furiously, and rubbing my own stomach.
“How did we eat so much?” I asked
“The…*hic* the real question is, ‘how did we not eat more?’ ”
“True,”
“Having said that…I think I overdid it…I could so use a belly rub right now,” He looked me straight in the eye.
I had never wanted to do anything more badly in my life
I started saying something, but burped loudly instead. We both giggled.
“Can I---I mean, I would…”
“*UUURRRP* Go ahead, chubby” he belched, slowly getting onto his feet and moving onto the sofa next to me. He pulled his shirt up, exposing his magnificently bloated and hairy gut in all its glory “I need it.”
Ok, so maybe I’d have to get a new pair of jeans or two soon, and my writing…well, let’s not talk about that. I had the rest of the summer to finish it, anyway. I could totally afford to take a week or two to relax and let my brain…rest, or something. I would probably write better if I gave myself a break from thinking about it, right? Exactly.
It was the start of the second week and I had just finished breakfast (cereal while waiting for food to arrive, then an upsized portion of scrambled eggs bacon and three waffles) and was sinking into the couch lighting up a nice post-breakfast bowl when the doorbell rang. Godammit. I grunted, hiding the paraphernalia and staggered over to answer it.
A man in a button-down shirt and jeans stood at the door. There was just enough black hair on his face and neck to give the appearance of a very neat beard, but not enough to hide a rather prominent double chin and round cheeks. What was even harder to ignore, however, was the way his round gut was straining the buttons on his shirt, as if he had gained weight recently but was refusing to get new clothes. Not to mention the way his jeans seemed to squeeze his hips….
He was kinda hot overall.
“You must be Jake” he said gruffly.
“Uhh..yeah, that’s me…and you are…?”
“I’m Daniel,” he replied, shaking my hand “Sandra’s partner…I assume she told you I was coming?”
“Uhhh…yeah, yes she did,” I said, suddenly remembering a late night phone call saying that she and her boyfriend had patched things up, and he would be coming to take some clothes.
“Good,” he said, brushing past me “Been enjoying your stay?”
“Um…yes, its been great, really…relaxing,” I followed him into the spare bedroom.
“Sandra been sending you food?”
“Um..yeahh. She has,”
“Thought so, she always had a thing for fatties like you,”
Wait, what? Did he just call me fat? He really was in denial. He had to be at least 15 lb heavier than me. Was he jealous? And why did that make me feel…funny?
“What do you mean?”
He was taking clothes out of the cupboard. Men’s shirts, shorts, tank tops.
“I’m saying you’re fat and that’s why you got the job,” he said, not looking up from the clothes.
“What?!” I was turning red.
He sighed. Looked up at me.
“Look. Sandra is…well she likes fat people. And she likes feeding them. As in…likes feeding them. She’s trying to feed you up. I can from just looking at you and all those plates in the kitchen. She’s probably feeding her girlfriend right now.”
“But…but how do you…know?” I was utterly confused, and also strangely aroused.
“I know because we’ve been together for a year, and she tried to do it to me, but luckily it didn’t work cos I caught her in time,”
My god, he really was in denial.
“Well…that’s…good to know,” I said, “I just hope you don’t…hate me or anything,”
“Hate you? Why would I hate you?” he threw his head back and laughed, a slightly forced laugh. “You’re just the cat sitter. Look, ok I’m not totally happy with this situation, but I think this break is good for both of us. And you don’t have to wait on me… go on and do whatever you need to do…”
“Ok, as long as we’re on the same page… and…uh…I was about to smoke a bowl….you want some?”
“Sure, I’ll just change into shorts and come out,”
I grabbed some nachos and a few beers and sat back down on the couch. Took a hit. What a bizarre morning. So Sandra was conspiring to make me fat—impossible. But he had clearly gained some from the relationship. Maybe he was bitter. But why did I…enjoy him calling me fat?
He emerged from the room in a t-shirt and the tightest pair of Bermuda shorts imaginable. The button was straining under the roundness of his gut. He smiled as I handed him the bowl and lighter, sat down and suddenly, with a loud ‘ping’ the button on the shorts popped off.
“Oh fuck,”
I started giggling uncontrollably.
“Sorry,” I gasped “I’m pretty high…I…but are you sure Sandra never fed you?”
After I said this I realized what an Idiot I sounded like. Crap. He was really gonna hate me now.
But instead he smiled and took a hit.
“Nope,” he said exhaling and giving his belly a rub, “I did this all to myself. Sandra was trying to feed me secretly, cooking all the time, giving me extra helpings, buying me food I didn’t want. But I’m not down with sneaky, non-consensual bullshit. So we had a chat, she told me about her weird little fetish, and I told her I’d go away and think about it. And this is me thinking about it.”
“What? So you…you’re gaining on purpose?” I took the bowl from him and lit it.
“Sure,” He cracked open a beer.
“And…and…you’re enjoying it?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?” He reached over and poked my belly, making me jump but also sending tingles all over my body. I blushed again.
“ummm….yeahh. Yeah I am.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“And how…how did you get…you know?”
“This mostly,” he laughed, tapping the bowl and taking another hit. “Been smoking so much since we separated. And drinking. And going to barbeques.” He burped and took another swig. “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Awesome,” The munchies were starting to set in. I opened the chips and started to eat them.
“Just…eating whatever you want…not caring .…”
“Yeah…yeah…that…” I suddenly realized I had been hogging the nachos and passed them to him.
We both laughed. The weed was making us less articulate, and hungrier. I was glad he had become less intense. We lapsed into a comfortable silence, crunching chips and gulping beer, belching occasionally. I packed another bowl and heated up some two frozen mac & cheese trays (I knew I could finish one of them, and I had a feeling he could too), got out a family sized bag of popcorn to eat while waiting for them. We polished all of them off in about an hour, then lunch delivery arrived and we ate that too, and a pizza, more beers and a pint of ice cream each. By then we were leaning back with our hands on our tight guts, taking labored breaths.
“Fuck,” groaned Dan “I haven’t eaten this much since…”
“UUURRRP..’scuse me,” I gurgled. My stomach felt like it was about to burst. My shirt had risen to my bellybutton and I had pushed the waistband of my boxers under the bulge, because even they were starting to feel tight.
“well, yesterday, come to think of it…geez....and I think I could say the same for you. We’re such a couple of pigs.”
He put his empty pint container onto the coffee table, which was a mess of empty food containers and bottles, picked up his beer, his other hand lazily rubbing his stuffed belly. His gut was impressive, with no waistband to hold it in it spilled out onto his lap, round and large as a bowling ball. A button on his shirt had slipped out of its hole and you could see his stomach poking through. His shirt was riding up as well, exposing a very delicious looking bulge.
“Enjoying the view?” he grinned. He drained the last of his beer and hiccupped, and one of the buttons on his shirt popped off. I bit my lip and turned away, blushing furiously. Oh boy. This wasn’t convenient at all. For one, I had no idea why I found this so compelling, and two, I was too full and stoned to do anything about it.
“Oh man…I really gotta *hic* remember to stop wearing tight clothes when I get the munchies,” he laughed, “I’m bursting out of *hic* everything…and it seems like you will soon”
I nodded, blushing furiously, and rubbing my own stomach.
“How did we eat so much?” I asked
“The…*hic* the real question is, ‘how did we not eat more?’ ”
“True,”
“Having said that…I think I overdid it…I could so use a belly rub right now,” He looked me straight in the eye.
I had never wanted to do anything more badly in my life
I started saying something, but burped loudly instead. We both giggled.
“Can I---I mean, I would…”
“*UUURRRP* Go ahead, chubby” he belched, slowly getting onto his feet and moving onto the sofa next to me. He pulled his shirt up, exposing his magnificently bloated and hairy gut in all its glory “I need it.”
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Oh, I had no idea you had posted a new chapter here... this is one fine story - and very arousing!