βWhat did we agree?β your boyfriend demands. β¨You look down at your soft bulging belly and at the impossible gap between button and loop.β¨βWhat did we agree?β he demands again. β¨Tears well. You rub your hand along the flabby curve of your waist, β That you would tease and humiliate me as much as you wanted if I didnβt lose weight by March.β β¨βThatβs right, fatty, and what day is it today?ββ¨βMarch first.ββ¨βAnd howβs your diet going?ββ¨βIβve gained ten more pounds,ββ¨βThatβs right Krispy Kreme, youβve gained TEN more pounds β on top of the 60 youβve put on since we moved in together a year ago.ββ¨You blush. Shame burns your ears, dries your throat. All you want to do is stuff your greedy belly and get yourself off. You love it when he humiliates you: God, if he only knew.β¨βIβm in charge now,β he continues, βyou do as I say or weβre through, do you understand?ββ¨βYes,β you reply shakily. He walks to the dresser and rummages in the bottom drawer, βHere, put this on.ββ¨βI c-canβt fit into that, thatβs from when we first met.β He holds out the t-shirt to you, βI KNOW itβs from when we first met, tubby, and you CAN fit into it β it just wonβt cover the extra 70 pounds of blubber youβve put on.β You feel your dick get harder and harder. β¨βPlease, Iβll start exercising, I promise.ββ¨βNope. Too late, porky, those days are gone. From now on youβll be humiliated and tempted with your favorite foods nonstop. Itβs totally up to you whether you lose weight or not. If you donβt develop some will power, youβll be absolutely huge by this time next year. Iβm tired of hearing about diet, diet, diet. Iβm not going to offer you a bit of help β other than to remind you how ***ing fat youβre getting. You need to learn restraint.ββ¨βButβ¦but, you know what a sweet tooth I have,ββ¨βOf course I do,β he says grabbing a roll of fat and giving it a shake, βsome weaknesses get harder and harder to hide. But I donβt care, Iβm going to load the house with all your favorites. The cupboards and fridge will be groaning with food. The size of your ass is now totally dependent on you . Any new bulge I see, any jiggle, will be grabbed, pinched, poked, slapped, and commented on. Any roll that sticks out further than it should will get the same treatment. Now wedge yourself into that t-shirt, fatty, weβre going to In and Out.ββ¨You stare out the car window trying to ignore how turned on you are. 207 pounds. Wow. I have gained a lot. Excitement creeps into your solar plexus.β¨βGood thing this truck has bench seats, eh fat boy? I donβt think weβll be able to get that wide back porch of yours into anything else.β You blush. He whips the truck into the lot and continues to tease,β¨βOk piggy, get out and jiggle your *** around to my side.ββ¨You do as your told. Your fat wobbles, wobbles wobbles as you walk around to his side. Each step jiggles your inner thighs, ripples your soft tummy. Youβre getting so turned on itβs hard to think. The too-small t-shirt rides up, the fabric of your shorts strains, your thighs rub. β¨βTurn around with your back to me,β he says. He takes a wide-tipped black marker and spells out loud what he writes on the small of your back, β2β0β7βLβBβS. There,β he laughs, accentuating the period after βlbs.β with a sharp tap. βNow everyone will know. Waddle in there, you fat chubby hog, and order four double burgers.β β¨Tiny sweat beads tickle your skin. Your boxer briefs are soaked. Trembling lightly, you turn and jiggle-walk your way to the entrance. You give a short sigh of relief: Thereβs no one in line and only a few customers seated. As you approach the counter, the cashierβs eyes widen slightly. He stifles a laugh. βUh, may I help you?β Your soft, jutting belly pushes against the counter.
βYes,uh, uhm, four double-doubles please.β
You hear a man on a cell phone get in line behind you.
βI know, so then he, he, heβ¦ - oh. my. god. Can I call you back?β
Your throat tightens. Then comes the weighted silence. He stares at the writing across your chunky love handles then clicks his camera phone and gleefully taps out a text β to god-knows-who β with a photo of the fat pig at In and Out attached. You redden with embarrassment. You finally get your order. Sweating, rock hard, flushed, you waddle back to the truck trying desperately to suck in your flabby belly.β¨Your boyfriend smiles as you settle into your seat, βWow, you look really fat in that outfit, you should have seen the looks you were getting.β The food warms your lap, the cardboard box tickles the edge of your belly. And your boyfriend slides closer. β¨βLetβs go home,β you beg. β¨He begins kissing your neck and playing with your soft pig rolls, βnot until you have a couple bites, come on, just a few bites,β he nips lightly at your ear, βyou can always start losing weight tomorrow. Why not celebrate a little?ββ¨For a split second you actually believe to you can resist the smell of seared meat, melted cheese, grilled onions. Your desire gives way. The first burger vanishes in two bites, another follows. Your boyfriend laughs and fondles a bloated love handle as you cram your face full: Burger, grunt; burger, moan; burger, BELCH. Grease drips onto your swelling gut. He gives your bloating pot a firm slap, βThatβs it you greedy pig,β he whispers, β stuff those burgers in there.ββ¨βOh god, this is so good,β you gasp, βIβm such a ***ing pig, I canβt help it.β β¨Ten minutes later you lay back and belch again loudly. Wadded wrappers lay at your feet, the empty, greasy box still on your lap. Your greedy hog belly swells before you in a straining arc. Your boyfriend kisses your mayo-smeared cheek and smiles, βI really admire your discipline, I canβt wait to watch those pounds just melt away.ββ¨He laughs, pulls the truck out of the lot and noses into traffic. Each road bump reminds you of what a greedy cow you are. You spread your thighs to make room for your packed gut; the truck hits a pot-hole; the seat of your shorts gives way. Youβre too stuffed to care. Another loud belch.β¨After a quick stop at the store, youβre home. You struggle out of the truck and waddle toward the house looking 11 months pregnant. Your boyfriend tickles your dimpled ass through the split in your shorts. β¨βGoodness, piggy, look at the size of that ass youβre growing.ββ¨All you can do is moan. You want him to leave; you need to come so badly and his teasing is only making it worse. You plump your wide bottom down on the couch and roll lazily to your side. He hums as he puts away the groceries - just like he said, itβs all your favorite junk. You hear the crinkle of cellophane tearing and plastic sliding on the counter. You moan and rub your tight belly. β¨βHere, have one, itβll settle your tummy,β he says, handing you a white-chocolate covered Oreo. β¨βOh god,β you say with labored breath, βYouβre evil.ββ¨He laughs again, β Iβm going to Jeremyβs to have a few beers, the rest of that package is open on the counter, make sure to put it away if you donβt want any.ββ¨You roll your eyes at him; he kisses the tip of your nose and leaves. As soon as you hear the sound of his truck fade, youβre on your feet, then at the counter. You yank your shorts down, lift up your belly, and grab your dick thatβs already dripping with precum. You stuff oreos three at a time.Your cheeks bulge, your gut tightens: sugar, mmmm; humiliation, ohhhh; the heavy tug of your bloating belly β you cum and cum and cum.Months pass and the humiliation continues. The pounds pile on in a feverish cycle: eat, gain, humiliation. Each one causing an increase in the next. Your belly now sticks out well past your man boobs, your love handles bulge obscenely, packed with fat (only making them prone to more pinching.) When you sit, your ballooning ass presses up, only half covered now by your pants, pushing your back fat into obvious rolls.
On some Thursday morning, you wake slowly, stirred by the smell of cinnamon rolls warming and bacon frying. You struggle into your tight robe and tie the cloth belt β the robe doesnβt close. Your exposed belly jiggles like soft pudding as you waddle towards the breakfast table. Your boyfriend smiles at the gapped robe, reaches out and waggles a thumb and fingerβs worth of the exposed fat. You sit to eat and your boyfriend wraps his arms around you from behind. He kisses your ear and grabs handfuls of your fat stomach, βGoodness sweetie, youβre getting so fat, look at all this pork.β He lifts and bunches your fattened hog belly with both hands and shakes it. He slowly tightens the cloth belt, squeezing your huge belly out even further. He nuzzles your neck and slowly slides a strong finger into your deep belly button. β¨βMmmmm, baby, stop,β you say, not wanting him to stop at all.β¨βGuess who I talked to this morning,β he asks and doesnβt wait for your reply, βLogan. Heβs agreed to help you lose some of this extra chub youβve put on.β He grabs a huge handful of the belted, pressed-out fat and tugs it for emphasis. You redden.
βYour ex-boyfriend, the fitness model, that Logan?β
βYes. Heβs also a trainer, porky. I told him you were turning into a big, lazy HOG and he wants to help, no charge.β
The next morning, Logan arrives, tall, toned, blonde, gorgeous. Youβre wearing too-tight track shorts that expose the top of your omnipresent plumberβs crack, sneakers and a muscle tank that fit 60 pounds ago. Youβre already rock hard - you know how fat you must look. He barely acknowledges you other than to give a raised-eyebrow glance at your much-fatter figure.
βWhere are we going to work this fat porker out?β he asks your boyfriend.
βI thought the office, Iβve got a stationary bike in there.β
βThat sounds fine, let me get my bag from the car.β
βWhat did we agree?β your boyfriend demands. You look down at your soft bulging belly and at the impossible gap between button and loop. βWhat did we agree?β he demands again. Tears well. You rub your hand along the flabby curve of your waist, β That you would tease and humiliate me as much as you wanted if I didnβt lose weight by March.β βThatβs right, fatty, and what day is it today?β βMarch first.β βAnd howβs your diet going?β βIβve gained ten more pounds,β βThatβs right Krispy Kreme, youβve gained TEN more pounds β on top of the 60 youβve put on since we moved in together a year ago.β You blush. Shame burns your ears, dries your throat. All you want to do is stuff your greedy belly and get yourself off. You love it when he humiliates you: God, if he only knew. βIβm in charge now,β he continues, βyou do as I say or weβre through, do you understand?β βYes,β you reply shakily. He walks to the dresser and rummages in the bottom drawer, βHere, put this on.β βI c-canβt fit into that, thatβs from when we first met.β He holds out the t-shirt to you, βI KNOW itβs from when we first met, tubby, and you CAN fit into it β it just wonβt cover the extra 70 pounds of blubber youβve put on.β You feel your dick get harder and harder. βPlease, Iβll start exercising, I promise.β βNope. Too late, porky, those days are gone. From now on youβll be humiliated and tempted with your favorite foods nonstop. Itβs totally up to you whether you lose weight or not. If you donβt develop some will power, youβll be absolutely huge by this time next year. Iβm tired of hearing about diet, diet, diet. Iβm not going to offer you a bit of help β other than to remind you how ***ing fat youβre getting. You need to learn restraint.β βButβ¦but, you know what a sweet tooth I have,β βOf course I do,β he says grabbing a roll of fat and giving it a shake, βsome weaknesses get harder and harder to hide. But I donβt care, Iβm going to load the house with all your favorites. The cupboards and fridge will be groaning with food. The size of your ass is now totally dependent on you . Any new bulge I see, any jiggle, will be grabbed, pinched, poked, slapped, and commented on. Any roll that sticks out further than it should will get the same treatment. Now wedge yourself into that t-shirt, fatty, weβre going to In and Out.β You stare out the car window trying to ignore how turned on you are. 207 pounds. Wow. I have gained a lot. Excitement creeps into your solar plexus. βGood thing this truck has bench seats, eh fat boy? I donβt think weβll be able to get that wide back porch of yours into anything else.β You blush. He whips the truck into the lot and continues to tease, βOk piggy, get out and jiggle your *** around to my side.β You do as your told. Your fat wobbles, wobbles wobbles as you walk around to his side. Each step jiggles your inner thighs, ripples your soft tummy. Youβre getting so turned on itβs hard to think. The too-small t-shirt rides up, the fabric of your shorts strains, your thighs rub. βTurn around with your back to me,β he says. He takes a wide-tipped black marker and spells out loud what he writes on the small of your back, β2β0β7βLβBβS. There,β he laughs, accentuating the period after βlbs.β with a sharp tap. βNow everyone will know. Waddle in there, you fat chubby hog, and order four double burgers.β Tiny sweat beads tickle your skin. Your boxer briefs are soaked. Trembling lightly, you turn and jiggle-walk your way to the entrance. You give a short sigh of relief: Thereβs no one in line and only a few customers seated. As you approach the counter, the cashierβs eyes widen slightly. He stifles a laugh. βUh, may I help you?β Your soft, jutting belly pushes against the counter.
βYes,uh, uhm, four double-doubles please.β
You hear a man on a cell phone get in line behind you.
βI know, so then he, he, heβ¦ - oh. my. god. Can I call you back?β
Your throat tightens. Then comes the weighted silence. He stares at the writing across your chunky love handles then clicks his camera phone and gleefully taps out a text β to god-knows-who β with a photo of the fat pig at In and Out attached. You redden with embarrassment. You finally get your order. Sweating, rock hard, flushed, you waddle back to the truck trying desperately to suck in your flabby belly. Your boyfriend smiles as you settle into your seat, βWow, you look really fat in that outfit, you should have seen the looks you were getting.β The food warms your lap, the cardboard box tickles the edge of your belly. And your boyfriend slides closer. βLetβs go home,β you beg. He begins kissing your neck and playing with your soft pig rolls, βnot until you have a couple bites, come on, just a few bites,β he nips lightly at your ear, βyou can always start losing weight tomorrow. Why not celebrate a little?β For a split second you actually believe to you can resist the smell of seared meat, melted cheese, grilled onions. Your desire gives way. The first burger vanishes in two bites, another follows. Your boyfriend laughs and fondles a bloated love handle as you cram your face full: Burger, grunt; burger, moan; burger, BELCH. Grease drips onto your swelling gut. He gives your bloating pot a firm slap, βThatβs it you greedy pig,β he whispers, β stuff those burgers in there.β βOh god, this is so good,β you gasp, βIβm such a ***ing pig, I canβt help it.β Ten minutes later you lay back and belch again loudly. Wadded wrappers lay at your feet, the empty, greasy box still on your lap. Your greedy hog belly swells before you in a straining arc. Your boyfriend kisses your mayo-smeared cheek and smiles, βI really admire your discipline, I canβt wait to watch those pounds just melt away.β He laughs, pulls the truck out of the lot and noses into traffic. Each road bump reminds you of what a greedy cow you are. You spread your thighs to make room for your packed gut; the truck hits a pot-hole; the seat of your shorts gives way. Youβre too stuffed to care. Another loud belch. After a quick stop at the store, youβre home. You struggle out of the truck and waddle toward the house looking 11 months pregnant. Your boyfriend tickles your dimpled ass through the split in your shorts. βGoodness, piggy, look at the size of that ass youβre growing.β All you can do is moan. You want him to leave; you need to come so badly and his teasing is only making it worse. You plump your wide bottom down on the couch and roll lazily to your side. He hums as he puts away the groceries - just like he said, itβs all your favorite junk. You hear the crinkle of cellophane tearing and plastic sliding on the counter. You moan and rub your tight belly. βHere, have one, itβll settle your tummy,β he says, handing you a white-chocolate covered Oreo. βOh god,β you say with labored breath, βYouβre evil.β He laughs again, β Iβm going to Jeremyβs to have a few beers, the rest of that package is open on the counter, make sure to put it away if you donβt want any.β You roll your eyes at him; he kisses the tip of your nose and leaves. As soon as you hear the sound of his truck fade, youβre on your feet, then at the counter. You yank your shorts down, lift up your belly, and grab your dick thatβs already dripping with precum. You stuff oreos three at a time.Your cheeks bulge, your gut tightens: sugar, mmmm; humiliation, ohhhh; the heavy tug of your bloating belly β you cum and cum and cum.Months pass and the humiliation continues. The pounds pile on in a feverish cycle: eat, gain, humiliation. Each one causing an increase in the next. Your belly now sticks out well past your man boobs, your love handles bulge obscenely, packed with fat (only making them prone to more pinching.) When you sit, your ballooning ass presses up, only half covered now by your pants, pushing your back fat into obvious rolls.
On some Thursday morning, you wake slowly, stirred by the smell of cinnamon rolls warming and bacon frying. You struggle into your tight robe and tie the cloth belt β the robe doesnβt close. Your exposed belly jiggles like soft pudding as you waddle towards the breakfast table. Your boyfriend smiles at the gapped robe, reaches out and waggles a thumb and fingerβs worth of the exposed fat. You sit to eat and your boyfriend wraps his arms around you from behind. He kisses your ear and grabs handfuls of your fat stomach, βGoodness sweetie, youβre getting so fat, look at all this pork.β He lifts and bunches your fattened hog belly with both hands and shakes it. He slowly tightens the cloth belt, squeezing your huge belly out even further. He nuzzles your neck and slowly slides a strong finger into your deep belly button. βMmmmm, baby, stop,β you say, not wanting him to stop at all. βGuess who I talked to this morning,β he asks and doesnβt wait for your reply, βLogan. Heβs agreed to help you lose some of this extra chub youβve put on.β He grabs a huge handful of the belted, pressed-out fat and tugs it for emphasis. You redden.
βYour ex-boyfriend, the fitness model, that Logan?β
βYes. Heβs also a trainer, porky. I told him you were turning into a big, lazy HOG and he wants to help, no charge.β
The next morning, Logan arrives, tall, toned, blonde, gorgeous. Youβre wearing too-tight track shorts that expose the top of your omnipresent plumberβs crack, sneakers and a muscle tank that fit 60 pounds ago. Youβre already rock hard - you know how fat you must look. He barely acknowledges you other than to give a raised-eyebrow glance at your much-fatter figure.
βWhere are we going to work this fat porker out?β he asks your boyfriend.
βI thought the office, Iβve got a stationary bike in there.β
βThat sounds fine, let me get my bag from the car.β
Logan rejoins you and your boyfriend in the office and sets his black equiptment bag on the floor. Methodically, he opens the bag and sets a ball gag, a scale and a large pair of body-fat calipers on the desk. He turns and levels his eyes at you. βYour boyfriend told me youβve eaten yourself into a huge fat pig. Heβs right.β He grabs a huge roll of belly fat and squeezes, βI canβt believe how youβve let yourself go,β He kneads your thick lower belly then works his way to your fat piggy love handles. βLook at these huge, flabby, blubber rolls. You were barely 130 pounds when I saw you last. Now look at you,β He grabs the ball-gag, β time to open your mouth , you greedy fat pig. Donβt be shy, you obviously canβt keep it closed.β He stuffs the ball-gag in your mouth and fixes it in place. βThis is so you wonβt be able to stuff your fat face while I work you out, chunky.β You moan, you look helplessly at your boyfriend through wide eyes, youβre so horny; you hope to god he hasnβt noticed how turned on you are. He smiles. Logan places the scale on the floor in front of you. βStep onto it, lard ass, letβs see just how fat youβve gotten in just under two years.β You step on, the scale creaks, the springs strain, you utter a quiet prayer: please donβt break. You try to look down but your belly blocks the view. βJesus,β Logan says, β285 pounds. My god, youβre an absolute PIG. I canβt believe he left me for you.β He turns to your boyfriend and laughs, βThatβs what you get for leaving me. You found yourself a little undercover fatty, I see. As soon as he got you, he started doing what he really loves, eating.β He meets Loganβs angry gaze confidently, βWhat can I say, I adore him. Sure, heβs put on a pound or twoββ βA pound or two,β shouts Logan, β a ***ing pound or two?!!β He grabs your fattened belly and kneads and slaps the rolls. β Look at all this ***ing fat, heβs more than twice the size he was when you met him!!β He moves around behind you and begins kneading your heavy belly and shaking it from behind so your boyfriend can see how big youβve gotten. You turn bright red. You attempt a muffled protest through the ball-gag. βTurn around!β he barks at you, then to your boyfriend, βLook at the size of his ass, heβs like three of me,β He slaps your wide, bulging ass then gathers as much of one fat cheek in his hand as he can hold, β Look at this all that ***ing lard,β He grabs the other cheek with her free hand, β you could feed ten people for a year with all this meat, youβd seriously rather sleep next to him every night?β Your boyfriend smiles calmly, βYes I would, and I thought we were here to exercise my fat, out-of-control pig of a boyfriend, not rehash old times.β Logan blows a strand of white blonde hair from his face, βYouβre right, and he CLEARLY needs the exercise,β he laughs a slightly defeated laugh then says to you, βok lard ass, up on the bike.β You struggle onto the narrow seat and wriggle your *** to get comfortable. The seat disappears from view. Your belly extends halfway to your knees and rests heavily on your fat piggy thighs. It wobbles slightly as you work your feet into the pedal loops. βThatβs it, fatty, now letβs see how out of shape you are,β Logan pushes a finger into your soft, yielding jelly pot, βWeβre trying for five minutes, but by the look of this gut, I doubt youβll make two.β He laughs. He runs her hand over his flat, toned abs and smirks, βI can go for 45 minutes full out and barely break a sweat.β He starts the timer. You begin to pedal and within seconds you begin to sweat and pant. The up and down pumping of your fat thighs cause your fattened hog belly to bounce and wobble violently. Your love handles jounce and jiggle and rebound, your back and arm fat quivers and shakes. Your thighs begin to burn, your face gets hot, it seems like youβve been pedaling uphill for an hour. Gasping for air, you stop pedaling, βOh god, how long was that?β you ask Jack. βAre you serious!? Thatβs it?β Between rapid breaths you huff and puff your answer, β Yesβ¦Iβ¦canβtβ¦my legsβ¦tired,β You remove the ball-gag to get more air. βThat was only one minute forty seconds you bloated cow. Jesus, youβre hopeless.β Logan says, looking at the timer and shaking his head. You step off the bike, panting heavily and collapse on the floor. Your round belly rises and falls as you lay exhausted on the floor. That had to be more than a minute-forty, you think. Your thoughts continue: God, Iβm such an overfed HOG. I hate exercise. I wonder if we have any cupcakes left. As Logan packs his bag he talks to your boyfriend, βHeβs way too fat and out of shape for me to do him any good, I was going to measure his body fat,β he says holding up the calipers on their way to his bag, βbut whatβs the point. Heβs been fattened like a prize heifer. He needs to start walking to get up his stamina, then we can move on to more strenuous stuff.β Bag in hand, he turns to leave, and to your boyfriend says βgood luck, I hope you can afford the food bills.β To you,β lay off the sweets tubby, you look like youβre about to pop.β He shakes his head and leaves. You lay on the floor panting softly, feeling very fat. You feel your boyfriendβs lips on the inside of your knees, soft kisses. His strong hands tug at your tight shorts. You moan and spread your legs. He props one of your legs on the exercise bike and removes your shorts. You gasp excitedly. He grabs your soft, ballooning belly with both hands and jiggles it playfully as he nuzzles your pubic hair with his nose. You bite your lip , he sucks gently and then more forcefully. You feel the eager tension: mmmmmm, more; more; more. As you clap you soft thighs to your boyfriends ears - oh that delicious tightening - you begin to giggle: a foot rest is about the only thing youβll be using an exercise bike for in the future.
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