Weight Room Title Bar

The Witness
by TR

August 1, 1990

Mark Henson called me up today. He wanted me to guard a witness in a Mafia case.

"Why me?" I asked,"I'm a private investigator, not a cop."

"We think there's a leak in the department," he said,"So I'm going outside the regular channels and hiring you to do it. Full fee, for at least a month."

"Well, if you put it that way...but what am I supposed to do with her?"

"I don't know," he said,"I don't even want to know. Just take her away somewhere. Don't tell anybody where you are. And call me right before the trial, in case it's rescheduled."

The witness, Sarah Fox, turns out to be a beautiful, slender, extremely bitchy woman about twenty-three years old. She treats me like hired help. Which I guess I am...but I'm no damn servant!

Now we're in a condo about sixty miles out of town. It's perfect--the kind of building where nobody knows anybody.

August 3, 1990

Not much to write about--we're just waiting. Sarah pretty much stays her room and reads and watches television. Occasionally she gets bored with that and comes out and complains for a while. Other than we don't have much to do with each other. Except at meals. She refuses to cook, so I'm doing it. I don't mind that much--there's not much else to do.

August 4, 1990

It's a drag being around such a moody person. Especially one who's moods only range from bitchy to sullen...

August 5, 1990

Today Sarah comes out of her room wearing a bikini. She heads for the balcony.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I'm just going to sunbathe on the balcony. No one will notice."

"No way. They are looking for you as hard as they can. They've got eyes everywhere. You stay put."

Anyway, she was furious, and we argued about it for a while. It was all I could do to keep from gaping at her though--I hadn't realized what a cute body she has. Way too skinny for me, of course--in fact she has almost a perfect fashion model body, except her hips are probably a bit too wide (not that she's overweight--it's just her bone structure). She would look fantastic with an extra thirty pounds--no, thirty would be nice but forty or fifty would be ideal. Anyway, she finally stomped back to her room.

August 8, 1990

Today at dinner, Sarah goes:

"This lasagna is really good!"

"Wow," I said,"I've never heard you say anything nice before."

"_You_ never say anything nice to _me_!"

"Well, that's because---" but I realized I didn't want an argument. I started over,"This has been pretty rough on both of us. I suppose I haven't felt very nice."

"Ah," she said.

And that was about all I could get out of her. But I guess I'll work on my cooking--it seems to cheer her up a little.

August 10,1990

Bingo...I really put a lot of effort into dinner tonight. Spare ribs, mashed potatoes and gravy, garlic bread, salad, and banana cream pie for dessert. Sarah ate really well, even having seconds on pie. She actually seemed to enjoy herself.

August 15, 1990

I've been really getting into this cooking thing. I've been making more and more elaborate meals, and Sarah eats them with visible pleasure. She still isn't what I'd call friendly, but increasingly complements my cooking. And her appetite is improving. Tonight, after polishing off four pieces of fried chicken, two large helpings of french fries, corn on the cob, a chocolate milkshake (she loves milkshakes) , a large helping of lasagna left over from the yesterday before and three helpings of strawberry shortcake, she leaned back in her chair with a sigh and actually smiled at me.

"That was wonderful!" she said.


But then she went straight back to her room.

August 23, 1990

Last night about two in the morning I heard a noise. I immediately got up, got my gun, and as quietly as possible crept out to check out the apartment. I realized the noise was coming from the kitchen. It was Sarah. It was dark, and I was so quiet she didn't see me. I could see her, though, by the light of the refrigerator--she was looking in it, trying to figure out what to have for a snack. She was wearing nothing but her panties and a short t-shirt, cut off at the midriff. She usually wears baggy clothes, so it was my first good look at her body since that day she'd tried to sunbathe. She's gaining weight! I was surprised. Her appetite has been excellent and continues to improve. We rarely have an leftovers any more, and when we do, they don't last long. She's got a small but undeniable pot-belly and love handles are forming at her hips. Her t-shirt was very tight, and her breasts looked significantly bigger.

She turned and caught me looking at her.

"Oh!" she said. I'd startled her.

"Sorry," I said, "I thought you might be a bad guy." I started to leave.

"Wait! Since you're up, could you heat this up for me? I've been trying to sleep but this pie keeps calling."

"Why don't you heat it yourself?"

"...I don't know how."

I was amazed. I showed her how to work the microwave. She put the entire half pie in, and started it up.

"That wasn't too hard!" she said, pleased with herself.

When the pie was ready she put about pint of ice cream on it and started eating greedily. I watched her for a moment before I went back to bed. It was incredibly erotic. It's funny, I'd wondered what she'd look like with another thirty or forty pounds--at this rate I may find out for sure.

So today I was really inspired, and cooked a five-course dinner. She ate raptuorously and in large quantities. It was an incredible turn-on, watching her eat, since now I know that each bite is adding to her nascent voluptuousness, filling out her thighs, breasts, hips, bottom--and that cute little pot-belly.

August 25, 1990

This morning I woke up and immediately started to plan what to feed Sarah today. But then I started feeling guilty. It's really kind of awful of me to fatten her up, just to satisfy my own salacious voyeurism. I mean, she's been eating voluntarily and everything, but it's awfully easy to tempt her into overeating, since it's about the only fun she can have. Also, if she gains any more weight it's really going to be distracting around here. I can't protect her very well if I'm busy lusting after her all the time...and it would be frustrating anyway. "Don't fuck the clientele," my old boss used to say,"it's unprofessional."

I got up and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. To my surprise, Sarah was already up.

"I've been reading your cookbooks," she said,"There are a couple of things that look really interesting. Do you think you could make them?"

I looked at what she'd circled. Tacquitos, New Mexican Spare Ribs, German chocolate cake, french fried sweet potatoes...calorie city.

"Uh, sure," I found myself saying, "my pleasure."

This evening after putting away a dozen spare ribs (she'd had taquitoes for lunch), plenty of buttered french bread, half a pound of french fried sweet potatoes, a large milkshake and a piece of chocolate cake, she reached across the table for seconds on cake and had to stop and undo a couple of buttons on her jeans before she could continue.

"Maybe we should cut down on the more fattening stuff," I suggested.

She made a face.

"What for?"

"Oh, you know, it's supposed to be healthier, to avoid all the fat and cholesterol," I said,"And actually this eggplant recipe I saw the other day--"

"I can't believe it. Is this Sam Black talking? The king of fattening cusine?"

"Well, I've been cooking like that because you like it so much, and it seems to cheer you up. But since we're going to be here another month" (we just found out today the trial's been postponed) "maybe we should try to eat healthier."

"Tell me the truth," she said,"you noticed I'm gaining weight, didn't you? You think I'm getting too fat."

"Well, I did notice you were gaining weight. And I don't really care if you get fat or not, but maybe it's irresponsible of me to tempt you like I've been. I mean, if it were up to me, I'd go on feeding you fattening stuff, since it seems to put you in a better mood and makes you easier to live with. But that's probably not what you really want to do."

She looked wistfully at the chocolate cake--she still hadn't had seconds.

"You really think I'm fat?"

"No, of course not--but you will be if we go on like this."

"Maybe you're right..." she said, then shrugged and started on the cake,"but I don't want this cake to go to waste. Why don't we start tomorrow?"

August 27, 1990

Two days of dieting made her as bitchy and sullen as ever. But she was in a good mood this morning.

"I've been thinking about this dieting thing," she said.


"I hate it. I want to go back to the fattening stuff."

"...but you'll get fat."

"I don't care. I __want__ to get fat."

"You _want_ to? Why?"

"Well, I didn't want to initially, but I started wishing that I _did_ want to."

"You wished you wanted to get fat."

"Yes. Because if I wanted to get fat, then I could eat all I want without feeling guilty. So as an experiment, I pretended I wanted to get fat...I fantasized about it, pigging out all day, weighing myself and watching the pounds add up, feeling my clothes get tight as I expanded, watching myself get curvier, then plump, and finally, fat...it was a surprisingly pleasant fantasy...and then I thought of something else."


"The bad guys. You know it's very likely they're going to get me. You may be able to guard me all right for now, and maybe even get me to the trial safely, but what about after the trial? These guys have long memories. I may not live very much longer. So why should I worry about my weight? I can just imagine myself the moment before the bullet hits, thinking, shit, I should have had dessert. Who cares if I have a thin corpse or a fat corpse? So please, please, start cooking the old way again. I'm starving, and I don't want to wait for lunch."

"But there's no food in the house except for diet stuff..."

"Go get some, silly, and come back and make me the most fattening brunch you can think of. I promise it will put me in a terrific mood."

So I did. She fulfilled her promise, too, and we had a very nice chat.

September 9, 1990

Sarah's driving me completely crazy--I can't get enough of watching her eat. She doesn't seem to mind. She gets so absorbed in gorging herself that she hardly notices me. And she often dresses in skimpy clothes--yesterday she wore shorts and a t-shirt that was too small, so it kept riding up over her hips and exposing a lovely strip of plump flesh. I sometimes feel I can see her expanding as I watch her put away plateload after plateload of fattening goodies. Sometimes she stuffs herself so full that her belly protrudes as if she were pregnant.

Today she really knocked me out. It was about three P.M., and I was just starting to make dinner (some of these dishes take a lot of time) when she called me from her bedroom.

"Sam?" she said,"Can you come in here for a minute? I need your help."

She was dresssed in nothing but her bra and panties and looking at herself in the mirror.

"Would you say I was fat?" she said,"Or just plump? Or what?"

"I wouldn't say you're fat," I said, "you're hardly even plump. I'd say you were...well-fed."

"I'm definitely well-fed," she said, smiling,"but look at these hips--aren't they getting a little out of control?"

Her love handles had indeed grown and curved around most delightfully to her rear-end, which of course had filled out as well.

"I don't know," I said,"it looks like you're putting it on in all the right places. How much have you gained?"

"I don't know..."

She got on her scale. I watched with great interest, since she hadn't discussed her weight with me before.

"One-forty-eight!" she said, "that's twenty-nine pounds I've gained since we've been here...six pounds since I decided to get fat."

"Right," I said,"well, I'd better get back to the kitchen--you circled some pretty tough recipes for me today."

"I'm sorry--make something else if it's too much work."

"Don't worry," I said,"I kind of like the challenge."

I escaped to the kitchen before lust overcame me and I did something really unprofessional.

September 12, 1990

I got Sarah a sun-lamp yesterday, as she complained she was getting pale as a grub.

She was wearing her skimpy little bikini, which looks really skimpy now that she's larger. She put on a little mask to protect her eyes, and partially reclined on the couch in the living room , under the lamp, with a box of chocolate truffles at her side. She ate them slowly and sensuously, with an occasional soft moan of pleasure. Since she had the mask on, I could gape freely at her, and did. The last good look I got at her body was only five days ago, but she's noticeably chubbier. What full, marvelously-shaped breasts! What lovely, curvey hips, which seemed to have grown even since yesterday!

I felt bad, gawking at her like that, and started to turn away. Then she said:

"Sam? I've put on another five pounds since the other day--can you tell?"

"Hmmm," I said, pretending I hadn't already looked,"yes, I can."

"Am I plump yet?"

"Probably. Can you suck in your belly? That's the test. If you can suck your belly in all the way, when you're standing up, you're not plump yet."

"Well, I'm sure I can't suck it in now," she chuckled, feeling it experimentally,"since I just had that big lunch an hour ago. And three truffles just now. But I'll have to try that tomorrow morning. I bet I can't."

By this point I couldn't control myself--while she was talking I unzipped my pants and started masturbating.

"I'm really starting to like this," she said, starting on another truffle,"I never knew overeating could be so much fun..."

This was too much for me--not wishing to spurt all over the living room, I rushed to the bathroom to finish the job.

Talk about unprofessional!

Then this morning she came out in her underwear, proudly patting her round little pot-belly, which remained protuberant however much she tried to suck it in.

September 17, 1990

Last night was very interesting--once more I heard a noise, about two o'clock. I thought it was probably Sarah, but didn't want to take any chances. I'd asked her to hum or whistle or something if she got up at odd times, so I'd know it was her, but I figured she'd forgotten. Sure enough, when I got to the kitchen, there was Sarah, bending over and exposing her widened rear as she foraged in the nether regions of the refrigerator. She finally found a couple of chocolate éclairs.

"I thought I told you to hum," I chastened her, turning on the light.

She turned around, startled. I realised then that she had no bra on. Her now ample breasts jiggled and swayed luciously. She laughed as I gaped at them in astonishment--they were the most beautiful breasts I'd ever seen. Then she covered them (quite inadequately) with an arm and took a bite of an éclair.

"Sorry," she said,"I forgot."

"I...I'm sorry to, I mean I didn't know--"

"I usually sleep with a bra on, but they're all getting too tight. Sorry to disconcert you. Oh--is that in my honor?" she pointed out the obvious hard-on I had underneath my boxer shorts,"how unprofessional."

I was stunned.

"...You've been reading my diary!" I said.

She laughed,"I wondered when you'd figure it out."

"But how did you do it? And why are you...why have you been..."

"I know it was awful of me, but at least I don't go around jacking off in front of innocent sun bathers."

"You've been cock-teasing me!" I said.

"Well, I was bored. I noticed a couple of weeks ago that your showers always lasted almost exactly eleven minutes. Plenty of time to go in your room, get the keys out of your pants pocket, open your little lockbox and read the latest journal entry."

I shook my head in amazement.

"I was curious about what made you tick," she said,"I found it odd we'd been here all this time and you hadn't hit on me. Men always hit on me. I mean, I guess I was being crabby on purpose, just so you wouldn't hit on me, but after a while I was so bored I wanted you to hit on me so I could have fun turning you down, and then a while after that I wondered whether I __would__ turn you down. Then I read that thing about how you wanted me to gain forty pounds. I thought that was completely crazy, and didn't consider it for a second. But then my appetite started really going to town, and your cooking was so good, I found myself eating a lot more than normal. I didn't care at first, since it was fun--then I started gaining weight. I didn't want to diet, but decided to cut back, only to find myself ravenously hungry at two in the morning. So I got up to get some pie, feeling guilty about it, thinking I should get you to start cooking diet food, and then you burst into the kitchen...seeing you suddenly in those boxer shorts, gawking at me with a lecherous expression on your face, especially when I started eating the pie, and feeling that wonderful food rush as I started eating, I figured, why diet? Maybe I __will__ gain forty pounds--this guy will certainly hit on me by then.

"Then you did that strange thing where you encouraged me to diet. I couldn't figure out what was going on till I got another look at your diary. I was afraid you decided you didn't like me plump after all. What a relief to find out you were just feeling guilty about using me for your own salacious ends. So then I thought about getting fat, just as I told you--that was all true. I was just mad enough at you to start cock-teasing you in earnest. That was fun--cock-teasing you one day and reading your reaction the next."

I walked towards her and started reaching for her.

"What are you doing?" she cried,"get away! I'm not fat enough for you yet."

"Don't be ridiculous! You've been reading how crazy I am for your body."

"But you said in your diary that forty or fifty pounds would be ideal. I've only gained thirty-seven. I'm sure we could have perfectly adequate sex at this point, but I rather like the idea of being an ideal. So you'll have to wait."

"That's just an ideal __static__ weight. Even sexier than that is a woman who's gaining weight. This has been the most erotic experience of my life."

"You like being cock-teased?"

"For a while...relax, I just want to try something...sit down," I took the chocolate éclair and started feeding it to her. She ate it greedily, and even licked the remaining chocolate off my fingers. While she was thus preoccupied, I kissed her on the neck, in that really erogenous place. She gasped. I kept kissing her, and carressed a poorly-guarded breast...the nipple was already erect.

We made love almost until dawn, then fell asleep.

"That was fantastic," she said this morning,"though I'm going to miss cock-teasing you."

"What did you expect me to do when you did that sun-bathing thing?"

"Well, I was hoping to get you to lose control, though I didn't expect you would handle things all by yourself."


"Oh, don't be...when I read what you wrote about it, it got me kind of excited myself. I was so anxious to get back to my room and turn on my vibrator that I almost forgot to put you diary away."

I laughed, and started to get up.

"Getting up already?"

"I have to go to the store. We're almost out of food, and you've got three pounds to gain."

"Only three?" she seemed disappointed.

"How much do you want to gain?"

"How much do you want me to gain?"

She sat up in bed, her marvelous, bouyant breasts jiggling pleasantly. Her soft tummy bulged modestly.

"Well, more than three pounds. You're not even fat yet."

She smiled radiantly,"Well, we'd better fix that, don't you think?"

September 23, 1990

I can't believe Sarah's appetite--it's improved even more! She thinks it's the sex. She's gained another six pounds, and is now quite plump, verging on fat.

"You wouldn't call me fat yet? " she asked, "but I'm up to a hundred and sixty-two! Forty-three pounds more than when you started fattening me up."

"But it's so well distributed on you...you don't look as heavy as most women would with that much weight."

"Well, darn. I guess I'll just have to keep pigging out."

"Yeah, terrible shame, hunh?"

She just smiled.

November 2, 1990

Sarah got up before me this morning. I found her in the kitchen, nibbling on some cookies as she searched for something else to eat.

"We're running out of food," she said crossly,"and would you get me some new panties? These are too tight."

"Sure," I said, looking at her carefully, admiring her fat tummy, which had grown to the point where it jiggled and swayed whenever she moved, and her breasts, which were approaching cantelope size,"and don't worry--I hid some doughnuts in my room, so if you get hungry before I get back--"

"Oh, goody!" she said, waddling out of the kitchen, her plump thighs rubbing against one another as she walked, her fat bottom undulating erotically.

"You're getting fat," I said when she returned, eating a doughnut.

"Oh course I am," she said, laughing,"I'm almost up to hundred and ninety! Or do you mean--I'm getting too fat for you?"

"God no," I said,"You get sexier every day."

"But should I quit gaining weight?"

"No, no. Besides, there's a new chocolate eclair recipe I want to try out on you."

While I was out shopping, I checked on the status of the trial--it was canceled! The evidence was so strong the accused plea bargined and were all going to jail.

When I told her the news, a bit sadly, she looked ecstatic.

"You mean I'm free to get out of here?"

"Well," I said,"you might not want to go back home. The bad guys are in jail, but their friends are still on the street."

"Hmmm. Well, I'll need a bodyguard, won't I?"

"The city won't pay for it anymore now the trials over."

"Oh, that's all right. I'll pay. But you have to cook, too."

"You mean you want to hire me? Can you afford it?"

"I forgot to tell you. I have a __lot__ of money. Now let's get out of here."

We stopped for lunch on the way back to her house, astonishing the waitress as Sarah ordered and put away two appetizers, a cheeseburger, fries, two cokes, three pieces of fried chicken and a piece of apple pie a la mode.

"I like your cooking better," she said.

We got to her house around twilight. She showed me around. It was a fantastic place, almost a mansion.

"I think I'm going to like this job," I said, pulling her towards me and kissing her. We made love right on the living room floor.

"That was wonderful," she said, sighing happily. I kissed her and gently carressed her nice fat belly.

"I hate to interrupt," she said, after a minute or so of this,"But shouldn't you get started on dinner?"