Weight Room Title Bar

by TR


In chatting with a lot of feedees on-line, I found out that a lot of them are into some pretty strange stuff. I started trying to figure out what I would do if I ever got into a relationship with someone like that. This story is the result.

Chapter 1

A couple of years ago I started taking a creative writing class. The most attractive woman in the class, hands down, was Janice, a young woman in her mid-twenties. I couldn't help but admire her, even though she was a bit too slim and muscular (she looked like she worked out a lot) for my taste. I tried to start a conversation with her once when we both arrived early. She was civil, but remote, and evidently completely uninterested in me.

Then one night, after a class in which I'd read one of my stories aloud, she stopped me as I was walking to my car.

"Excuse me, but your writing style sounds kind of familiar to me, and I just wondered...have you ever posted any stories on the internet?"

"Uh, yes, I have, as a matter of fact. But they were under an alias, and the subject matter was... a lot different than the story I read in class today..."

"Right," she said, "but the style is similar...what's your alias?"

I hesitated in telling her, but figured if she did recognize my alias, it could only mean that she liked my work and shared my proclivities. If she didn't recognize it, she'd probably never come across the stories and connect me with them.

"My alias is 'TR'," I said, "Ring a bell?"

"Yes!" she said, excited, "I knew it! You write those great feeder stories, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, smiling, "Are you a feeder? You look pretty thin to be a feedee..."

"Oh, I'm neither! Well, not in practice anyway. The feedee thing is just a fantasy for me. I definitely _don't_ want to get fat."

"Yeah, I've corresponded with women like you. Actually, it's pretty much just a fantasy for me too...that's why I write so many stories. And anyway, I'd call you a feedee even if you don't do it for real. It's more an orientation than a practice."

"You mean you've never..._fed_ anybody?"

"I did a little bit once..."

We ended up going to a cafe and chatting for a while.

"What was your favorite story of mine?" I asked her.

"'Thin Discrimination'" she said, a bit shyly, "where those women were forced to gain weight...that was the most erotic story I've ever read. In fact, this is how kinky I am: Reading that story was the most erotic experience I ever had!"

"What! You mean it was better than sex with another person? Or are you a virgin..."

"Not by a long shot!" she said, laughing, "but I mean it, that story was better than making love!"

"Were you, uh, pleasuring yourself while you read it?"

She laughed again, blushing slightly, "Well, of course!"

It was fun chatting with her, but it still didn't look like it was going to turn into a relationship that would go anywhere. She was awfully thin by my standards and, even though she had a cute body that looked like it would carry extra weight well, she was adamant about staying thin.

Two nights later, after the next class, she asked me if I wanted to go to the cafe again.

"I have something I want to talk to you about," she said.

She seemed kind of nervous. We made small talk as we walked to the cafe, got our drinks and sat down. There was a pause.

"I wonder," she said finally, "if you might be interested in performing some...experiments. With me."

"What kind of experiments?" I asked, though I had some idea of the answer.

"Do you think you could force me to eat?"

"What, you want me to build a feeding machine, like the one in 'Thin Discrimination'?"

"Not that elaborate...I just wonder if there's a way you could do it."

"I thought you don't want to get fat."

"Oh, I don't! But we wouldn't do it that much...just enough to see if it's really possible...somehow that would make my fantasies more real."

"Well, of course it's _possible_..."

"Yeah, I know, but if we actually did it, I could _feel_ that it was possible..."

We talked about various ways of doing it...she was most interested in seeing if it could be done by the simplest of methods. I would get a rope and tie her up, and see if I could force food down with a funnel.

We tried it that weekend...it was a disaster. She really wanted to be forced, and she fought me hard (without yelling however). Though I was bigger and stronger, she was very fast and quite strong herself, and as we wrestled around, she hit her head against the wall.

"Ow!" she said, "Stop!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said crossly, "but this isn't working."

She rubbed her head for a while.

"You need to be stronger," she said, "that way you can overcome me more easily, without either of us getting hurt. Tomorrow you're joining a gym."

"What? But that will take a long time. Why can't you just let me tie you up?"

"No. I have to know that you could do it even if I didn't want you to."

It was crazy, but I started working out six days a week. She became my personal trainer. She worked me really hard. For her part, she _stopped_ working out, so as to be weaker and easier to overcome.

After a few months of this, I was in the best shape of my life. I was no Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I'd lost some of the flab around my belly, gained some nice muscle definition in my arms and chest and legs.

"Wow," said Janice one day, as I modeled the new me, "you've really got a good physique! You should never have let yourself get into such lousy shape."

"I guess I needed some incentive," I said with a grin.

"If you shaved off that mustached you might actually be attractive, with those blue eyes...and that nice hair..."

"It's getting pretty grey these days."

"It suits you."

"Anyway...don't you think we're ready?"

She'd diligently been getting out of shape by lounging around, watching television a lot. She'd quit riding her bike and got a car, and drove everywhere. She avoided stairs, sports, and anything strenuous.

"I guess so," she said, "let's try again tonight."

She came over to my place--since I live in a house some distance away from any other houses we didn't have to worry about making noises that might alarm the neighbors.

"Wow...you shaved off your mustache, " she said, "Nice."

"First we have to weigh you, " I said, "what's an experiment without data?"

"Make me, " she said, with a grin.

So I had to grab her and strip her down to her bra and panties. She struggled, but I was much stronger than her now and it was easy. I carried her in my arms and stood on the scale. Then I tied her up. I weighed myself (175 at this point, much less than I'd been months earlier) and subtracted my weight from the previous total.

"You weigh 126 pounds, " I told her, "what did you weigh before you quite working out?"

"About the same, " she said, panting hard, winded from our haven't been eating much, because I don't want to get fat. But I've lost muscle, so I must have gained some flab."

There was a little bit of pudginess about her waist and ribs that hadn't been there before, but you still would have had to call her thin. Just not _as_ thin. And she had a terrific, hourglass-shaped body that I was sure would fatten up really well.

"I'm really out of shape now, " she said, "I got winded just walking up the stairs from my car."

I'd tied her to a big easy chair I'd brought into the kitchen. Then I tried to put the funnel in her mouth. That proved impossible. Her jaw muscles were still strong, and I couldn't hold her head still and force her jaws open.

"I think I will need more apparatus, " I said.

"Okay, " she said, "get to work!"

I untied her and went down to my basement workshop. She sat on the couch and watched TV as I got a plank and cut a hole in it just the size and shape of her head.

I tied her up again, put her head in the hole in the plank and lashed the plank to the chair.

"Can you move your head now? I asked.

"No, not much, " she said.

Opening up her jaw was pretty hard....I found a small straw I could fit into a gap between her teeth and squirted some dish soap into her mouth.

When she opened her mouth to spit out the soap, I inserted the funnel.

I'd set things up so her head was inclined back slightly. I got a pitcher of water and started pouring it down the funnel (I'd decided to start with water to get the technique down, as it was less messy than more fattening things).

It didn't quite work...she was able to spit the water up around the funnel and out. I figured I could put the funnel further in, but wasn't sure how to do it without hurting her.

Now I was at an impasse. It occurred to me I could put some kind of gasket around the funnel and tape it up around her mouth, but what if she started gagging? She might choke to death before I could get all that stuff off of her.

Finally I plugged up her nose, so she had to breathe through her mouth. I showed her a quart of water.

"Okay, " I said, "now I'm going to tell you when I pour it in...I'm going to keep pouring until you swallow it. If you don't swallow, you will suffocate."

She tried to spit it out again, but I kept pouring and she gagged. I took the funnel out and let her cough up the water. Then I toweled her off and started over.

This time it worked...she dutifully swallowed a pint of water. I switched to weight-gain milkshake and poured in a pint. I felt her stomach. It was slightly distended, and harder than it had been. I massaged it for a bit until she belched, then poured in another pint of weight-gain milkshake. Her eyes grew really big an alarmed as I got to the end of the pint.

I removed the funnel and untied her.

"God, " she said, "I'm so stuffed!"

"Weigh yourself now, " I said, helping her up out of the chair.

Her stomach bulged visibly as she went to the scale.

"128, " she said.

"That figures, " I said, "Well, I think there's no doubt I could force you to gain weight."

"I guess not, " she said, "but it still kind of felt like I was cooperating. Especially since I know you wouldn't really let me suffocate. It would have been really unpleasant if I'd resisted, but I could have. Isn't there some way you could do it so it was _entirely_ against my will?"

"Well, we could rig up a tube like in 'Thin Discrimination'. But I think it would have to be inserted through the nose, the way they do it when they pump people's stomachs out, so there would be no danger of gagging. And I have no idea how to do that."

"We'll have to do some research, I guess, " she said.

A week later, after researching it, we tried inserting the tube. For the first run, we agreed that she would cooperate until I got the technique down. It wasn't easy, and somewhat painful for her, but I finally got the tube down her throat into her stomach.

I attached the other end of the tube to a two-liter plastic bag full of weight-gain milkshake that I suspended from a ladder. I figured I could control the pressure by the height of the bag.

Sure enough, the thick fluid flowed down the tube and into her stomach.

"It's working!" she said excitedly, "I feel my stomach filling up!"

"How does it feel?"


We both watched in fascination as her belly slowly expanded.

The bag stopped flowing when it was about half-full. Since I knew she could take two liters, I figured it was safe to raise the bag higher and increase the pressure. I did so and the fluid started flowing again.

"Ooh...I'm really getting full!"

I massaged her belly to help it expand.

Finally the bag was empty.

"Jesus, it really worked, " she breathed.

She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Are you all right?" I asked, after over 15 minutes had passed.

"Fine, fine, " she said, "I'll be out in a minute.

After a few more minutes, she came out.

"Oh, that was nice..."

"Did you purge in there?" I asked.

"No, silly, " she said, "I...'pleasured myself', as you put it. Let's do it again in two weeks. But then I want you to force me the whole way."

"Why wait so long?"

"I weighed 127 this morning, " she said, "And now I'm up to 128. I've got to lose some weight before we do any more experiments."

With that, she left.

I felt profoundly unsatisfied. I'd kind of hoped the relationship would progress into a more explicitly sexual one...somehow getting a woman all turned on so she could go masturbate in my bathroom was not what I was looking for.

And of course what I'd been secretly hoping for is that she would get into being force-fed so much that she'd want to do it all the time, and _would_ gain weight. That would be fun for me even if we didn't actually have sex. But here she wanted to wait two weeks!

However, I decided to bide my time.

The following Friday, when we got together in the gym (she was still coaching me to keep me strong), she said she had good news.

"I'm down to 126, " she said, "so we can do another experiment tomorrow!"

"Great, " I said, "I'll be ready."

This time we did it at her house. Somehow it made it more exciting to her to have a man do this to her at home. By agreement, I gagged her so she wouldn't make any noise.

I forced her into the chair. And tied her up.. When she was completely immobilized, I very carefully inserted the tube. This time I started the bag at the higher point. Her stomach filled up more quickly this time.

I massaged her belly again, this time with baby-oil (a tip I'd learned from a feedee on the internet), as the fluid flowed down. Then I moved my hand down and massaged her lower down. She was very wet and very ready. She looked alarmed when I touched her there, and made some faint noises of protest, but the noises almost immediately turned to noises of ecstasy. She started breathing quickly through her nose, as I continued to massage her. I undid her bra and gasped.

"Your breasts..." I said, as I began massaging her nipples "they're beautiful...so perky and nicely shaped...but they need to be bigger..."

She started coming and eventually had a fantastic orgasm, right as the feeding bag emptied.

I untied her.

"God, " she said, "that was fantastic. God, it was so wonderful..."

"I was afraid you'd be mad."

"Oh, because you violated me? Well, that's kind of the whole idea, isn't it? If you let a guy come into your house and tie you up, you've got to expect that kind of thing."

"That's kind of how I was thinking, but I wasn't sure you'd see it the same way. So you mean I could even..."

She smiled mischievously and jumped away from me.

"If you can catch me, " she said.

Of course I caught her, and took her right on the kitchen floor. She came again.

"You're really something, " she sighed happily.

On Wednesday, she weighed herself at the gym after I finished my workout.

"126!" she said happily, "we can experiment again tonight!"

"Sort of, " I said, "I've got a new experiment I want to try."


"I'll force-feed you, " I said, "but only if you gain weight. Whenever you set a new weight record, you get fed. And your highest weight was 128, so no more feeding until you get to 129."

"What! But I told you: I _don't_ want to get fat!"

"That's your prerogative. This has been kind of interesting for me, but I'm really not into force-feeding, except as a means of fattening up a woman. And if you don't want to gain weight, I'd rather not continue. I mean, I'd like to go on seeing you, but--"

"Yeah, but...well, anyway, how am I going to gain weight if you won't feed me?"

"Well, I'll feed you the regular way, if you want. You know, eating? Remember eating?"

She'd been eating almost nothing lately, to get her weight down between force-feeding sessions.

"But...no...I'm too afraid if I start gaining weight I won't be able to stop. If I started eating, and being force-fed and made love to and getting fat...God, it's too seductive!"

"Suit yourself."

She thought about it for a while.

"Well, there is _one_ way...but I don't think you'll like it."


"We could get married."


"Why do you think I don't want to get fat? It's hard to find a good husband if you're fat. But if _you_ were my husband, I'd be all set!"

She started getting excited about it, her eyes shining.

"You could fatten me up a _lot_!"

"How much?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to get _too_ fat...maybe fifty pounds or so?"

It was a crazy reason to get married. Still, she had such wonderful potential...ever since I'd gotten a good look at her terrific body I'd been obsessed with the idea of fattening her up to her optimal size.

"I'll...have to think about that..." I said.

"You'll think about it? Really?"

"Would I have to support you and take care of you and do all that traditional husband stuff?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course, you nitwit! That's why I want to get married. I want to be a writer. But I haven't been able to make much money at it, and I can't do it as much as I'd like since I'm constantly having to work at a shitty job to survive. But if I had a nice husband supporting me, I could write, I could eat, I could have incredible sex...it would be heaven! And _you've_ got plenty of money! You're perfect!"

"What ever happened to falling in love?"

"For me, this is love, believe me. Hell, it's better than love! You, I don't know about. I guess if you can't fall in love with me enough, you should forget it. But if you can, it would be _so_ cool."

A month later we were walking down the aisle. I still had my doubts, but I figured hell, people _had_ doubts when they got married. Would she keep her promise? Since we'd gotten engaged, we hadn't done any feeding at all ("I don't want to be a fat bride" she had told me).

I was worried on our honeymoon in Maui...she wouldn't eat much. One morning I asked her to weigh herself....she only weighed 124!

"I thought you were going to get fat, " I complained, "how are you going to get fat at this rate? You've got to start eating."

"Make me, " she said, smiling mischievously.

"Make you? How am I going to do that?"

"That's _your_ problem."

"But you promised--"

"I said you could fatten me up. I didn't say I'd cooperate."

Just then there was a knock at the door of our rented cottage. It was a delivery guy with a big box.

"What could that be?" I asked.

"Open it, " she said.

Of course, it was the plank, the rope, the tube, several packages of weight-gain formula, all the paraphernalia we'd put together, plus a few new things--handcuffs and chains.

"Oh, " I said, "I get it."

She ran out of the bedroom. I chased her around the house, and caught her easily (she was still out-of-shape) and tied her up while I got everything ready. Soon her belly was inflated like a balloon, and she was as horny as all get out. I started untying her to make love to her.

"Careful, " she said, "you wouldn't want me to escape."

She was a tough one to figure out....but I was starting to realize that the way to make her happy was to force her in the way she wanted to be forced but without her telling me. She gave me hints, and I had to figure out the rest.

I managed to attach the chain and handcuffs in such a way as to allow her to go between the bed and the bathroom.

"I'm going to _really_ fatten you up now, " I said, "and there's nothing you can do about it!"

She smiled rapturously.

I fed her again that evening and three times the next day. But I was starting to worry that taking the tube in and out was going to irritate her nose and throat. Already her voice was getting a bit hoarse. The third day when I put the tube in it seemed to cause her some pain. It was a shame to quit because her capacity had already increased--she could take three liters now, and when I fed her belly was distinctly bigger than ever before.

The other thing that was pretty ridiculous was that it was looking like we were going to spend our entire time on Maui in that one room. I understood that she wanted to be forced to gain weight, so she could get fat without feeling guilty, or something, but this was going too far. Sure, the sex was fantastic, but we couldn't have sex all the time!

So I went shopping. I came back to the bungalow late that afternoon with a huge load of groceries.

"I know that tube is hurting you, " I said, "so if you're good, and eat what I give you, I won't force-feed you. But if you're bad, it's the tube for you."

"Okay, " she said.

I cooked her up a big steak, potatoes, French Bread, veggies, and a big banana split for dessert.

"Jesus, " she said, "this tastes wonderful! I've haven't really eaten in days!"

She stuffed herself, but couldn't quite finish the banana split.

"You have an hour to get the rest down, " I said, "or it's back on the tube."

She managed. Her belly was nearly as round as it was after a tube-feeding.

About 9 that evening she had digested her dinner pretty well and I showed her the other thing I bought.

"It's an electronic pet-correction collar, " I said, putting it around her neck, "If I press this button..." I showed her my remote unit, "you'll be in excruciating pain. Do you want me to demonstrate?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"So we can leave this damn bungalow, " I said, "I'll keep the remote, so you can't escape."

"Oh, " she said, "I like it!"

So we managed to have a real vacation and be really kinky at the same time...we found her a lei that covered up her pet-correction collar and we went to the beach, went boating, dancing, and all the tourist stuff. Especially eating. (Her, not me...she gave me a hard time if I ate much at all, and I had to keep working out every day!) I ended up telling her that if she gained at least a third of a pound a day I'd keep her off the tube, and she ate like a pig. The feeding tube had increased her capacity so she could really eat quite a bit.

We befriended a couple, Bill and Ann, who were staying at the next bungalow over--they couldn't help noticing how much Janice was eating. Finally, at a restaurant, after Janice polished off most of the fried mozzarella appetizer, the steak and lobster entree , three Brandy Alexanders and started in dessert (the biggest, gooiest, pastry that had been on the dessert cart) Ann finally asked her how she managed to stay so slim.

"Oh, I don't have to any more, " said Janice, "I'm married now! And TR's a Catholic, he can't divorce me."

This was utter nonsense--Janice was putting them on. I played along.

"Come on, Janice, you said you were just splurging while we were on our honeymoon."

"Yes, but it's so fun!" she took another luscious bite of her dessert, "I mean, it was fun before, but my capacity has improved since I've been stuffing myself all week. Now I can eat and eat!"

She patted her round belly as it strained against the seams of her tight dress.

"But you're going to stop after we get home, aren't you?" I said, trying to act worried. Bill and Ann looked stunned.

"What for?"

"You're going to get fat if you keep eating like this!"

"So what? I don't care!"

"Well, go ahead you little pig!" I was standing up and shouting now. Everyone was looking at us. "Eat everything in the restaurant! See if I care!"

With that I stormed out.

She met me back at the bungalow, laughing.

"That was _so_ cool!" she said, "everybody was staring at me..."

"But did you finish dessert?"

"Of course, " she said, "look."

One of the seams of her dress had split, revealing a bit of swollen tummy-flesh.

I finished the job, and tore the dress completely off her.

Chapter 2

The honeymoon continued to be wonderful. I never had to use the correction collar...just the fact that I had the remote and could force her to eat was enough.

Though of course every three or four days she'd refuse to eat, saying she didn't feel like it, and I'd get all the apparatus, chain her up, and force feed her. And then we'd have delicious sex.

"135 pounds, " she announced on the final morning of our trip, "can you tell?"

She stood on the scale, completely naked (except for the correction collar). She was still nowhere near fat, but she'd definitely said goodbye to thin. There was no trace of boniness anywhere. Her breasts were still perky but had acquired a decided jiggly heft to them. Her buttocks had lost that hollow quality they'd had before, and also had gained a tendency to jiggle. Her legs, which had been slightly on the skinny side, had filled out, her hips were pleasantly padded, and her tummy, while still not in the pot-belly class, had become soft and round.

"I sure can. You're becoming a true voluptuary."

"What's that?"

"A person devoted to sensual pleasures."

"Oh...what a nice thing to be...is that where 'voluptuous' comes from?"

"Yes. Voluptuaries eat really well, since eating is big on the list of sensual pleasures. So they tend to be pretty fleshy."

"I don't know...I think I was always a voluptuary...I just fought it before." she walked over to me and put her arms around my neck, "but now I can really be myself, since I've got such a great husband...wait a minute--what's this?."

She looked down at my belly, and gave it a poke. It had grown some too while we'd been on vacation.

"Remember, " she said, "I'M the voluptuary in this family, not you! Get down and give me ten, soldier."

Obediently I got down and started doing pushups. To my surprise, she climbed on my back. I finished the pushups with great difficulty.

"What a fun exercise, " she said, as I collapsed, gasping for breath, "and just think how strong you'll be by the time I'm nice and fat!"

We flew back home. The next day, when I arrived home from work, I found her kind of listless and depressed.

"What's the matter?" I asked her.

"I could have escaped, " she said, angrily.

"What? You want me to keep you chained up all the time? You have to go out by yourself sometimes."

"Yeah, I know, but...I couldn't eat. I started feeling guilty about how fat I was getting, how I should just leave and go on a diet..."

"Do you want to?"

"Of course not, dummy! But it would be much nicer if it wasn't an option."

I could tell she didn't want to talk about it more than that...she wanted it to come from me.

"Well, I'll chain you up for now, " I said, "while I try to think of something.

"Oh, goody!" she said.

When I came home the next evening, I found her in the living room, snacking on bon-bons and watching television.

"How was your day? Miss me?"

"Yes, " she said, getting up to give me a kiss, "but I've been drowning my sorrows in food. Take a look."

We'd reserved a part of the kitchen for food trash, so I could monitor her intake. One twelve-inch pepperoni pizza, two pints of ice-cream, a can of whipped cream, a can of chocolate sauce, 8 bon-bons, a bag of oreos, twenty chicken nuggets and half a pound of french fries.

"Very good!" I said, patting her engorged belly, nicely highlighted by her tight t-shirt which had ridden up above it, "did I ever tell you you have a really cute belly button?"

"Not for days!" she said, "oh, and guess what...I wrote today!"


"Yeah! I went really well! It used to be much harder, because I was always dieting. It was hard not to think about food. But today, whenever I started thinking about food, I just ate some...it's wonderful for the concentration."

"I have a surprise for you, " I said, removing a package from my pocket.

Eagerly, she opened it up.

"But...this is just the pet-correction collar, " she said, "so what?"

"I had some improvements made, " I said, "Now there's a timer on it...if I don't reset the timer every 24 hours, it starts shocking you."

"Oh! Cool!" she said, as I put it on.

I showed her the remote.

"And of course, I can still 'correct' you any time I want. And now I have to punish you, for even thinking about escaping. To the feeding machine!"

"But I'm really full!"

I gave her a mild shock.

"Jesus!" she said, "okay..."

She went over to the feeding machine, where I managed to get a half-pint of weight-gain fluid into her, making love to her as I did so.

"Oh..." she said afterwards, "that was unbelievable..."

A fed her very well over the next few months and she gained weight quickly. One day I weighed her before feeding her a large dinner....she weighed 179 pounds.

"Okay, " she said, "let's eat!"

"But you've gained more than fifty pounds. I thought that's all you wanted to gain."

"Yeah, but I didn't realize how fun this would be...besides, I'm hardly even fat yet!"

"You aren't?" I asked, "Let's check...can you suck in your pot-belly?"

She tried. It receded a little bit, but was still undeniably a pot-belly.

"Hmmm. Can you touch your toes?"

"Yes!" she said, touching them quickly and easily.

"Can you cross your legs when you sit down?"

"Oh, yeah, I can do that!" she said. She sat down and proved it.

"Get down on all fours, " I said, "Does your belly touch the floor?"

"Oh come on!" she said. She got down on all fours. Her belly had at least ten inches to go."

"Okay, " I said, "I guess you're not _that_ fat."

She smiled happily and gave me a kiss.

"Now _feed_ me, already!" she said.

A few days before our third anniversary I was making Janice dinner when I heard her calling from me from the bathroom, where she'd been taking a shower.

I went to her and found her sitting on the floor of the shower.

"I fell, " she said sadly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine...but I can't get up. I'm too fat."

There was no question that she was now truly fat. At 280 pounds she'd lost the ability to cross her legs. At 320 pounds she'd lost the ability to touch her toes. At 400 pounds her belly touched the floor when she got down on all fours. Now, at 510 pounds, her breasts as well as her belly not only touched the floor but pooled out quite a ways.

I helped her up. It was quite an effort, and I don't think I could have done it if I hadn't kept up with the workouts.

"I'm going to have to stop gaining, " she said, "This is getting out of control."

"I know, " I said.

"I'm going to a weight-loss camp for a few months, " she told me a few days later.

"Uh...okay, " I said, "but isn't that pretty expensive?"

"Yes, " she said, "but Paula paid for it."

Paula was a friend of Janice's...a very attractive young woman who lived nearby.

"Paula? Why did she pay for it?"

"We made a deal. I kind of...sold your services."


"You have to fatten Paula up. She's a feedee--but she's never found the right feeder."

I was stunned.


"It's the only way, " said Janice, "the camp is _really_ expensive. But I'll get nice and slim, and you can fatten me up all over again!"


"Oh, there's my ride. Have fun!"


"Oh...if you and Paula want to...you know...fool around, you have my blessing. Just don't tell me about it, and be sure to knock it off when I get back!"

With that, she left. I just sat in the living room, in a kind of daze.

There was a knock on the door.

-- to be continued --