Weight Room Title Bar

by 1FA

Bill was a man elated. The day's mail had brought confirmation of his efforts and, he hoped, the answer to his dreams. Many nights had gone by "working late" at the office. "Paperwork and government regulations", he'd told his wife, Cheryl. In truth, he was exploiting the benefits of being the company's computer expert - unlimited Internet access. Through a diligent search he'd found it - a complete, certified course in "Medical Hypnotherapy and Eating Disorders". After months of night-long e-mail study, he'd finally completed the requirements and testing. In his hands he held the certificate of completion he'd been seeking. Though his course had emphasized "hypnotherapy of obesity", a minor chapter on "treatment of anorexia" had caught his eye. As a lifelong FA, and through a little on-line research, his interest was peaked and his study efforts looked ready to bear fruit.

"What's that, honey?", said Cheryl, as the long-sought diploma was quickly wadded into refuse. "Oh, just one of those scam giveaways", he replied, throwing the paper into the trash compactor. Bill looked at his wife. She'd shown so much promise when they were married - chubby cheeks with a youthful baby-fat look, a slightly rounded belly, slightly droopy but large bouncy breasts and a bottom that bordered on overly full. The effect was that of an exaggerated hourglass that drove Bill to distraction, but now, 5 years later, all was not well. Cheryl, always sensitive to peer pressure, had taken a secretarial job with a group of thin, catty, nearly anorexic coworkers. Bill recoiled in horror when he first met them in their tight miniskirts and blouses, with uplift brassieres clearly designed to maximize assets that weren't there. Most of them were single and clearly after the unhappily married CEO. Unfortunately, the girls were jealous of Cheryl's fully developed figure and chided her into a 30 pound weight loss. Where she once looked forward to meals, laughing and eating with her husband, Cheryl now simply sat quietly picking at her salad and looking wistfully at Bill's generous portions. "Join me", Bill would repeatedly urge her, but the reply was always the same: "I just couldn't - the girls would never let me forget it". Now that was all about to change.

Step one began with a night out. As usual, Cheryl resisted the attempt to get her to a nice restaurant, but she was willing to go to one of the local comedy clubs. "Diet cola", she ordered, meeting her cover charge. As she slowly sipped her drink, the acts passed - a pretty unimpressive mime, a crude local comedian, and a passably good parody singing act. Finally, amid much fanfare, the featured "professional" act of the evening was introduced - "The Magnificent Mentalist", a famous stage hypnotist and ( not coincidentally ) an on-line acquaintance from the hypnoschool who shared a common interest in women with Bill. The two had built a strong friendship from this start and "TMM" agreed to give Bill's plan a "jump start".

Calling for volunteers, the performer went through all the usual moves - a quiet accountant was suddenly ( and tonelessly ) belting out songs as Elvis, several people were busily swatting at insects that weren't there, and the macho dude in the tank top was a baby, gurgling and cooing. Finally, nodding almost imperceptibly to Bill, he called for one last volunteer. Bill quickly grabbed Cheryl's hand and before she could resist, shot it into the air. Before she could stammer her objections, Cheryl found herself being escorted onto the stage to the applause of the other patrons. Within a few minutes, her world was the hypnotist, his voice her only focus, as she felt herself slowly drifting, her body becoming more and more relaxed, her fears and concerns fading. Finally, the seemingly simple hypnotic suggestion was made : "You will wake up hungry". With a snap of his fingers, Cheryl found herself abruptly back upon the stage with the hot lights upon her. She remembered nothing but felt great. A strange gnawing sensation made itself known, and she soon found herself finishing a burger, double order of fries, and two drafts almost unconsciously. She noted the crowd looking at her and smiling. Nervously, she checked her purse and looked in the small mirror finding nothing out of the ordinary. She checked her sweater, skirt and hose and found nothing wrong. "Must be my fifteen minutes of fame", she thought, nibbling on a buffalo wing. Finally, it was time to leave. All the night's participants travelled backstage to be "unhypnotized", except Cheryl, who was quickly escorted to the car by Bill.

The next morning Cheryl awoke refreshed but feeling a little bloated. "Must be retaining water", she thought. Still, a vague hunger gradually grew and with some effort ( and Bill's encouragement ) a small stack of pancakes was soon gone. "Right on schedule", thought Bill.

On return home that evening, Cheryl was almost in tears. The few pounds gained had not escaped the attention of her coworkers who made the rest of the day miserable. Skipping lunch, she returned home with a renewed will to diet. Expectantly, Bill was waiting. Settling his wife gently onto the sofa, he spoke to her in gentle, soothing, somehow familiar sounding tones. Slowly, as she gazed into his loving eyes, Cheryl felt herself drifting and relaxing. Bill continued the work started the night before. He reinforced and amplified his colleague's work of the prior night and began to add a dose of self-confidence. "The more you eat, the better you feel. The better you feel, the better you look. ", he added to the appetite stimulation which he reemphasized. Almost without realizing it, Cheryl found herself awake and sitting at the dinner table with the sumptuous dinner Bill had delivered. Consuming a quantity that would have sent her running in terror to the spa only a day before, Cheryl sat back and softly patted her softly distended tummy, feeling still strangely unfulfilled. Finally, sensing his moment, Bill brought forth the baked Alaska that had been hiding in the fridge. Feeling even hungrier and stronger as she ate, Cheryl singlehandedly finished the party - sized confection. Guiding his now stuffed and somnolent wife up the stairs, Bill helped her remove her clothes and slowly climb into bed, noting with some satisfaction, a roundedness to his wife's stomach that he hadn't seen for years.

The cycle continued for several weeks, until eventually Cheryl felt well enough about herself that she was able to simply ignore her coworkers taunts and jibes. Her appetite grew to its former vigor and beyond. Months later, as she modelled her new size 16 work clothes for Bill ( having climbed through sizes 4 through 14 ) , Cheryl suddenly felt satisfied at last. Noting her generous cleavage, emphasized by a low v-neck and specially ordered "BBW" bra, her softly curved stomach blending into flaring hips and a full, rounded bottom , she slowly ran her hands along the soft silky fabric. She felt stronger, better, and sexier than she could have ever believed and it showed. The CEO, previously an undeclared FA, soon noticed the standout in the secretarial pool and promoted her to the director of secretarial personnel with a large pay raise - more than enough to keep up with her rapidly ( and literally ) growing wardrobe. At home, Cheryl became a sexual aggressor, much to Bill's delight. Burying his face in his wife's soft neckline, Bill congratulated her on the new promotion and began to work his way toward the paradise of her generous body. Returning his kiss but holding him at bay, she replied "I like the way you think, but let's eat first. I'm STARVED ".