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Old 02-20-2007, 01:40 PM   #1
Join Date: Nov 2006
Posts: 13
Cossaboom has said some nice things
Default Monika and Me -by Cossaboom (Both, Eating, Padding, Feederism,Explicit Sex, Romance)

Both, Eating, Padding, Feederism, Explicit Sex, Romance - Two lovers reveal their deepest secret

Monika and Me
by Cossaboom

[Author's Note: here is Part 1 of a mutual weight gain story that incorprates several elements, including plain old wishful thinking. Loosely based on personal experience and a young woman who made an impression on me. Constructive criticisms welcomed.


"Wow, boyfriend, you’ve put on a little weight, haven’t you?"

She stood there, in the doorway, giggling in that girlish way of hers.

"What did you EAT while I was gone?" she stammered.

I think my face turned about ten shades of red then. I wanted to tear the pillows out of my shirt--all nine of them-- but I sat just there, paralyzed, like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights you always hear about. I was faking but she was thinking it was real. The buttons on my shirt felt as though they were about to pop off from the strain and I was nearly suffocating inside of that mass of padding.

All I kept thinking was that I was a goner.

Monika was the first one who’d ever found out my little secret. For some resson I'd outed myself. Maybe I wanted her to know.

I don't even know when it had started, to be honest. Maybe it was something as simple as a cartoon I had seen as a kid. Maybe it was a movie or a TV show. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I was just nuts.

Whatever it was, it had consumed me for as long as I could remember. And then one day, as simple as that, I stuffed my shirt with a pillow to see what I'd look like "fat." I don't know why I did it. One thing you have to understand about me before we go any further, okay, is that I have always thought I was a little on the weird side. And that, obviously, was pretty damn weird. But that's me. Sometimes, I just do stuff for the shock value of it.

It seems pretty obvious to say that I liked the "padding" thing, or at least that I was irrationally fascinated by it, and over time, strangely, it had become a pretty regular thing. Oh, I was secretive about it. Can you imagine what the gang at school would have thought? Or my family? No, I made sure that no one ever found out.

I think I did it because of a cartoon. I saw a cartoon way back when where somebody or something ate way too much and ended up really fat and round, and right there on the spot something just hit me and I thought it looked cool. Really, unbelievably cool. Or something like that. Maybe 'appealing' is a better word. Maybe even sexually so. Who knows?

But the older I got, the more the idea of a big protruding belly appealed to me. I'm not sure why. It was something about the roundness, the fullness and the curvature that I liked. Later, I'd find that I liked the same properties about big breasts, too, and that was definitely sexual, but that part of the story will have to wait a bit.

While I liked to pretend I had a big fat gut, I knew as sure as I knew my own name that the last thing I wanted was to be fat in 'real life'. At least not for more than a few minutes of self gratification. Could you imagine being called "Tub 'o Lard" or "Fatso" every day of your life? Not me. But I did often dream about having an immense stomach, one so ridiculously huge that it would make everyone laugh and giggle.

While my shirt was filled with padding, I'd fantasize that I'd eaten enough food to fill a banquet hall, or that my belly had grown grotesquely large from eating everything within reach while locked inside a grocery store for a night, only to be found by the shocked workers on the morning shift. I told you I was an odd one.

In truth, I did like to eat. I was never fat, but I had always had a sense of urgency while exercising, because I enjoyed good food, and it wasn't hard to picture my rounder, fatter self in nightmares. And man, did I ever have nightmares about that kind of stuff. About eating until my belly swelled huge and round, and exploded, like the overstuffed Mr. Creosote in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. Or being force fed by a maniacal villain who apparently had nothing better to do than put his genius to work incapacitating everyone by fattening them up.

You can see, I'm sure, that it was troubling--this obsession of mine. I felt like I was a freak for harboring such thoughts, such wildly preposterous fantasies. I wondered if was anywhere near normal.

But I stayed thin, and about the time that boys routinely discover girls, so, too, did I. The "fat padding" became lost in the haze of increasingly distant youth, late Friday nights with friends at Miki's, and distractions like track and football and the Chess Club.

That was when I was fifteen. When I met Monika Scott.

Monika and I went to the same high school. We lived practically next door to each other and had known each other, technically, since we were infants. But we ran in different circles, growing up, and it wasn't until we were freshman in high school that we became fast friends.

It was one of those relationships with no awkward moments, where you feel as comfortable with each other as a good broken-in pair of shoes. Where you can be thrilled by dumb little stuff, like talking about how no other word in the English language rhymes with 'orange'.

Within a year, we were "going steady", and by the time we graduated from Giles County High, I think we both knew it was as serious as it gets. We both enrolled at Tech in the Fall, and decided to live together off campus to share our expenses. Our families were OK with that. I think they were all thrilled that Monika and I had hit it off so well. I kindof think they had expected us to fight like siblings or short sheet each other's bedcovers, or put frogs in each other's bed or something, but no, she and I fell for each other hard. I wanted us to have a life together, and a family, and a dog and a cat and a little house in the suburbs with a picket fence around it. She wanted that, too.

Monika was the love of my life. The Yin to my Yang. She was the smartest girl I had ever met, playful, quirky, definitely a spitfire, and as caring and loving as it gets. We could laugh together, cry together, talk, argue, or just experience one of those beautiful silent moments that seem to be drenched in significance.

She was the girl I had lost my virginity to, and making love to her was a tapestry of sensual touches and caresses and textures and scents that played like a symphony of the emotions in B flat. She had a cascade of dirty-blond hair that smelled faintly of lilac, a roundish peasant-face, with a button-ish nose and bewitching eyes that really could melt lead. Her smile was gentle and wry and full of just enough mischief to be exciting without scaring the crap out of you. And right in the middle of her chin was a very faint dimple. It was another one of those little things about Monika that made her so incredibly sexy.

About those breasts. Monika was short, but very, very buxom. She was what you'd call an "early bloomer", if not for the fact that after she bloomed, she never stopped. At fifteen, she was the only girl in our class who was a D-cup. From there, well, let's just say that had she not been my best friend it would have been impossible to look her in the eye. The word "voluptuous" pretty much fit her to a "T".

When we'd first made love, I had instantaneously become a "breast man", no doubt about that. She, and they, were soft, and erotic, and wildly sexy. I daydreamed about Monika's breasts. I did. I swear it. I am such a perv. I really am. There were days, before we became intimate, that I'd steal furtive sideways glances at her heaving breasts, sheathed in her tight knit shirts, as the school bus bounced on the countless ruts in U.S. Highway 60 during the thirty-minute ride to and from school. This, only to rush home at fever pitch to masturbate behind closed doors thinking wonderfully dirty thoughts of her intensely sexy figure.

No, it wasn't hard to be attracted to Monika, on both a mental and physical level. Which was why, at the ripe old age of eighteen, I knew I had found the woman I would marry. We grew closer those first two years in college. It was nearly as though we had our own little world apart from life, which stopped at the front door. Our own home, our own routine, our own daily grind, and our own torrid love affair.

We had been dating for nearly five years, now, and at roughly twenty-and-a-half each, we knew we belonged together.


"Well?" she stared at me, giggling.

See, I had never told Monika about this little fantasy of mine. The weird one. The fatty fat one. She thought she knew everything about me, every vital statistic, every dark dirty secret, every skeleton--she even knew that I liked big boobs. But she didn't know this. Not until that day.

For one thing, those little fantasies had been rare occurrences over the preceding five years, most of my life having been spent with this girl of my dreams. Only rarely did the urge to be "fat" make its appearance, and typically it was accompanied by a fantasy that my Monika, my dear, darling, loving serving wench, showered me with kisses and fed me sinful treats until my belly grew to gigantic proportions and burst the buttons of my shirts. The dream experts would have a field day analyzing that one, I'm sure.

There were times I wished I had told her, that I wished I could tell her, that she might get a gleam in her eye and share my profoundly affecting fantasy of having an enormous belly.

But I couldn't risk losing her. Not Monika.

And so it went that my deviant little thoughts were kept hidden away, in their shady confines in a remote corner of my twisted brain, pulled out on one of the rare occasions Monika had a night class or another engagement with her friends.

I began writing short stories, for no one's eyes but my own, about everyday characters who grew improbably fat, for a variety of reasons. There were stories of over-indulgence, stories of magical weight gain, stories of revenge. But they all featured protagonists who ultimately wound up with bellies of titanic proportions. I sketched pictures of myself having gorged on impossibly large meals, my stomach distended and bloated and fat. I drew sketches of Monika, too, one in particular depicting her in stages as she gained a huge amount of weight.

The more I thought about it, the more the idea of a Fat Monika appealed to me. What wasn't to like about a woman whose breasts would be the size of watermelons? Sometimes I'd picture the pair of us as 500-pounders, rubbing our stupendously fattened stomachs together in lieu of a hug. Less and less did it bother me when I masturbated thinking of either Monika or myself in this grossly fattened state.

I probably should have stopped right there and sought professional help. But I didn't.

That was when I began to realize that it wasn't just an aberrant fascination. Or "gross-out fantasies" to scare myself into staying thin. I had now accepted that I enjoyed thinking of myself--and Monika--much fatter. And I kept on stuffing those pillows and blankets under my shirts and pretending I had become fat. My obsession was getting near to being out of control, and I had no idea where it was going to go, but I had to admit I was enjoying the ride.

And now here I was. Caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. I just sat there on the couch, blushing, with my shirt padded to the bursting point, my belly the size of a giant beach ball resting on my lap, with two of my shirt buttons undone and a third about to pop off the next time I inhaled. I looked at her and grinned.

"What in the wide, wide world of--" She didn't finish. She broke out in a fit of giggles. Her breasts bounced and jiggled, and I got even more horny than I already was. I started giggling with her, and that was enough to send that third button exploding from my shirt on an express trip across the room. It ricocheted off of the opposite wall, and came to rest at her feet.

"I guess I ate too much of your fantastic cooking, Honey."

Which was pretty funny, actually, if you think about it. But it was all I could get out. I was suddenly very, very embarassed. I wanted to be very small, insignificant--someone or something so insignificant that she'd forget all about me. Forget I ever existed. I wanted her to turn around and run and never look back. What kind of freak was I? I wanted to die.

And then she laughed. I must have been as red as an unpeeled radish about then. We both stared at my "belly" and the huge gap in the shirt in between the missing buttons.

And we laughed.


She stared purposefully, with her hands on her hips in a very schoolteacher-ish way. I looked at her inquisitively, but for some reason I didn't move to take out the pillows. I just sat there resting my hands on top of that mountain of padding.

I had the gall to rub the sides of my "belly" as though gloating after finishing off an imperial-sized dinner. I wanted her to laugh again.

"Well," she said again, as if sizing me up.

She sat down next to me on the couch and pecked me on the cheek. She put her hand on my huge "belly" and asked, "Did you have a good day? Did you miss me?"

I smiled and nodded.

"And my tits?"

"And your tits."

She poked me in a teasing manner, and began to rub that mass of padding as if it were real, gentle strokes that made my cock stiffen with excitement. She put on her best smolder and licked her lips expectantly. She kept rubbing my "belly", gently, as though soothing a bad tummy ache. She cooed softly and sexily and sat on her knees, next to me, leaning in to kiss me and letting her breasts brush across my face.

Their soft warmth felt wonderful.

"Mmmm, no bra, " I said, and she giggled softly, her hair tumbling forward and tickling my face.

"Dessert", she said, still rubbing, reaching for my cock, and pushing her big, soft breasts against my mouth. She let one of them pop out of her low-cut t-shirt and dangle tantalizingly an inch from my open mouth. I was a beached whale sitting there, unable to move toward that exquisite mass of flesh, but I lunged forward as best I could, open-mouthed, searching for Mammary Heaven.

I kissed and licked and suckled on her breast and in seconds her nipple looked as if it could cut glass. She bent down and licked my ear and whispered, "you look sexy."

Monika gently urged me to lie down on my back, and I turned and did so, as she unzipped my jeans and pulled them down around my ankles along with my boxers. She played with my cock for a minute, teasing me with occasional feathery touches which I couldn't see over the mountain of padding on top of my stomach. It was enough to drive me nearly insane with excitement. I was almost quivering with anticipation when she took me in her mouth and the warmth and comfort of her tongue pressed against my penis was more than I could stand. I thought I was going to cum all over her.

"Mon!' I beckoned for her to sit on me, and she stripped in no time at all, and within seconds I was inside of her, and our hips were grinding. She pulled my hands to her breasts, and even though I couldn't see them past my "stomach", their jiggly softness and girth felt like Heaven. Monika put her hands on top of my "belly" and rubbed and stroked it as the two of us did likewise. We moaned and exclaimed and shouted our glee with abandon.

Our neighbors must have thought the roof was falling in.

When it was over, she sat there, still sitting on me, looking down at me, her purposeful eyes framed by her mop of wildly tousled hair, grinning an impish grin. It was one of those very Veronica Lake-ian looks. I smiled back, my hands resting on top of my padded tummy. We sat there, exchanging a wordless love, for a long time, pierced only by the occasional goofy giggle. Finally, she patted my belly with both hands and we slowly disentangled.

She stood up, beside the couch, and looked at me, lovingly, standing there naked in the bare twilight filtering in from outside. Her sexy silhouette put those truckers' mud flaps with the naked ladies on them to shame. The ones you always see on the 18-wheelers on the Interstate. Her breasts and womanly hips were almost overexaggerated, and her profile reminded me of Little Annie Fannie's, like an hourglass with an exaggerated top and bottom. She took my hand with one of her own and blew me a kiss with the other, then shimmied her breasts back and forth, like strippers do when they twirl their tassels. I laughed lovingly at that and she grinned, and went to the bathroom to wash up.

And I just lay there, nearly immobile, staring after her. I'd never loved her as much as I did then.


"Would you hate me if I actually were fat?"

I turned and stared at Monika. It was the first thing she'd said that morning.
We were lying in bed, shaking off the cobwebs on a lazy Saturday morning. Monika was lying on her side, as I surveyed her from head to toe and back again, her exaggerated curves rising, then falling, then rising again, like a hypercoaster. She was swirling the bedcovers with her index finger, absentmindedly, lost in thought.


She looked up at me with a raised eyebrow, and obviously expected an answer.

"Hate you? That's pretty hurtful, Monika. You're my best friend. I love you more than anything. You know that. Is this about las--"


I started to get ashamed again. She hadn't demanded answers, or even asked why she had found me sitting on our sofa looking as though I had eaten the contents of an entire supermarket. We just got caught in the moment, and it was magical. I had been starting to hope that maybe I'd dreamed the whole thing.

"Listen, Monika, I--"

"I've read your stories."

I hadn't expected that. Talk about shock treatment.

"Those are jus-"

"I've seen your sketches, too."

I had nothing to say.

"Do you prefer fat women?"

I touched her bare hip, and let my fingers trace a path downward along the very feminine arc to her waist, and back up to her breast. I reached for her soft, curvcaceous legs, and gave her a kiss.

"Monika, I am so in love with you that sometimes I can't even remember my own name. I'd love you if you were green."

"That's comforting." She rolled her eyes back, and a wry smile came over her face then. "You know, when I was a little girl, I used to have dreams, or nightmares maybe, about visiting a candy factory and eating candy until I was so fat I had to be rolled away. Like in--"

"Willy Wonka!" We both said it at the same instant.

I chuckled. Monika looked at me with her big brown eyes flashing.

"When I read your stories, it was almost like we'd been in the same dreams." She looked down at the bedspread. "I think I like to eat too much. Sometimes....sometimes I wonder whether I'll wind up as fat as my Mom."

Monika's mother had ballooned to nearly 300 pounds when Monika was in her early teens. By the time we were in high school, she had slimmed to a plump 160. But it was true--Diana Scott had been heavyset as long as I'd known her.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Monika. You've got a figure women kill each other for. I daydream about you."

"Not everyone loves big boobs, Big Boobie Boy." She stuck her tongue out at me, but winked.

"But you are sexy. Voluptuous. Very, very feminine. I think about you in the middle of the day and can't keep my hands off of myself."

"But you drew pictures of me as a really fat girl."


"Is that what you want? Do you want me to get really fat?"

I thought about saying something, then, but didn't.

"Do you think about getting fat, too?"

I nodded.

"Are you scared of it?"

"I used to think so. Maybe I still am."

"It makes you horny, though, right?"

"Not as horny as you do."


I deliberated. Finally, I nodded.

"Is that why you pad yourself?"

I nodded again.

"I used to do it, too. When I was younger."

I stared at her.

"I dunno why. It felt good. I liked being a big, round, fat ball of padding. Maybe I just wanted to look like my Mom."

That revelation made me open up to her. "I think I saw a cartoon as a kid. One of the characters ate too much and got an enormously fat stomach, and it made me horny just watching that. I masturbated on the spot. I guess, ever since, I kindof always wanted to see what it was like to have a big belly."




I nodded.

"So big it needs its own Zip Code!"

I looked away from her, then.

"Fatty, fatty two by four!" Suddenly, I almost wished I hadn't told her.

Then she put her hand under my chin and turned my face toward her. She looked at me, and smiled.

"You were hot."


"Last night. Your stomach. Your belly. You looked so good sitting there like that."

"C'mon. Stop teasing."

She looked at me. "I'm not." I touched her hand. The early sunlight was glinting off of her mop of hair.

"Spoons, 'kay?" She rolled over, and I nestled up behind her. I caressed her curvy thigh. She purred, and burrowed back against me.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I think I've always subconsciously wanted to be fat." It was the first time I'd heard her admit something like that, and I'll confess--it was shocking.

"Man, I don't believe I'm telling you this. Sometimes...sometimes when I dream about being really fat, I just lose control and come. I think it's a food thing. I think it's just the thought of eating everything I've ever wanted, and just being so full and happy and content. And it can make me come just like that. That used to bother me."

I thought I'd pull away from her about then, and maybe she did, too, but I didn't. Her voice was utterly sexy, and she could've been reading the stock quotes and it would've sounded like a symphony. I put my arms around her.

"You wouldn't be able to do that if I was fat, you know."

"I wouldn't be able to do it if I was fat, either. My belly would be too big to let me hold you."

"Can you imagine how big my tits would be if I was fat?"




"Really fucking big!"

We laughed at that, and I groped her big breasts from behind.

"Oooh, somebody's got a woodie!"

I massaged the sides of her breasts, and she started wriggling and moaning with delight. "Ohhh, please don't do that!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, dumb duck, it's making me want to make love. We have too much to do this morning."

I left her breasts and went back to stroking her hip.


'Nik' was one of Monika's "pet" names. I called her that when I felt like she was going to get mad at me.

"Nik, would you hate me if I was fat?"

"Weren't you listening?"

"Whaddayou mean?"

"I thought you looked totally sexy last night. I didn't say it to make you feel better, or because I thought it was what you wanted me to say. I CONFESSED to you. I 'd love it if you were fat. Not just fat, but if your belly was huge like in the pictures you drew."

I stopped caressing her hip about then, and sat bolt upright in bed. She rolled over again, propping herself up on one elbow, eyeing me with that admonishing look of hers.

"Doesn't any of this tell you something? Anything? By 'this' I mean me knowing about your belly fantasies, confiding in you that I have padded myself, too, and thought about what I'd look like as a fat girl, and then jumping on you and your mountain of a "belly" last night. Don't you see?"

"I see that you're as nuts as me."

She sat up, crossed her arms over her jutting breasts, and pouted.

"And that you love me, Nik."

She smiled, trying not to, and turning her head the other way.

"And that I'd love you in any shape or size." She looked at me again. "Especially 'big. I never would have told you, but I've had dreams about us getting married and growing really, REALLY fat. Just feeding each other yummy treats and eating until we're stuffed and then Making Love all night."

"Fat Love."

"Oooohh, sometimes I think about feeding you so much food you'd be sitting there on the floor with your belly reaching out to your feet, helpless to do anything but let me squeeze your handsome face between my big 'ol boobies."

"You're weird. I'd suffocate in between those."

Now I have to admit, there were worse places to die.

"You'd love it." Of course, she knew she was right.


"Weird? Why? Because I love the thought of you with an enormously fat tummy? Some girls like fat guys. I happen to like really big bellies on guys. When I was little, one of my Dad's friends used to come to our parties, and his belly was so fat that he was almost as round as he was tall. He'd let me pat it and pinch it and it shook all over when he laughed. I wanted to climb up on it and ride it like a pony. Or bounce up and down on it. I dunno why, but I've always really liked guys with big bellies. I just think a big belly is so sexy, B___", she continued. "Men AND women with big fat tummies look so full and satisfied. And happy. I just think it's sexy."

"Then how in the world did you end up with me?" It was a legitimate question. Even now, my waist was barely twenty-nine inches.

"Because you make me laugh. And because you're the smartest man I know. And because you don't judge me. And because I think you are amazing. Special."

I looked away from her then.

"And VERY handsome."

She poked my nose, deliberately trying to make me grin. I did.

"I never told you, but I’ve had so many fantasies about filling up your big belly with my cooking. I've wanted to fatten you up for years. Remember when we were in high school and had to ride the bus every day? I'd sit there and look over at you when you weren't looking back, and I'd imagine you sitting there on a sofa after you'd eaten a big meal I'd cooked for you, with your big belly hanging out, driving me crazy. You don't know how MANY times I had that fantasy." I was scared, and definitely embarrassed the way she was describing it, but I confess, I was also aching to hear more. It was making ME hot.

"But, you know, you've always acted like 'fat' is a 4-letter word. In SPITE of the fact that you have an obvious fat fetish and draw pictures of yourself with an enormous gut. By the way, betcha didn't know I use those pictures sometimes for a little self-gratification, didja?"

I think I was staring open-mouthed at her then.

"Yeah, I masturbate over stuff like that, too. Not so much now that we do it like jackrabbits," she said as she poked me in the forehead and winked, "but sometimes, if we're apart, I'll go to your desk and get them and fantasize that you've grown that fat on my cooking. That's such an unbelievable turn-on for me."

I looked at her with a new respect from that second on. Not because she shared my fantasies, or even because she accepted my weirdness, but because she was far more perceptive than even I had known.

She eyed me curiously now. "What I want to know is, what would you do if I got fat? Would you leave me? Would you go find another girl with big breasts?"

I kissed her, then, and looked her squarely in the eye.

"Nik, please, don't say things like that. I'd find you incredibly sexy no matter how much you weigh, and you know it. Even sexier. There'd be more of you to love. Your face would be round and just as pretty. Your boobs would be gigantic. You'd have sexy big hips and thighs, and you'd have a beautiful fat belly to play with. You'd be a gorgeous BBW. Just like in the pictures I drew. Why? Are we gaining?"

I'd said it as a joke. I didn't expect the answer she gave.

"Why not? We could cook for each other, and order in, and try to get each other to burst out of our clothes. We could go to All-you-can-eats and make people giggle and laugh while we stuff ourselves. And all the while, we'd be feeling sexier about ourselves and each other. It'd be soooo erotic. We could live out these fantasies we've had, to get fat and not feel bad about it. Because we'd grow hornier for each other the fatter we got."

"You are a certifiable nut. I am a freak but you are certifiable."

She frowned.

"Nik, I like to pretend, sure, but getting fat is another matter entirely. We'd go broke."

That was a lie, and she knew it. Our families were pretty well-off, and they'd given us more money for living expenses than we could possibly have used.

"We'd be laughingstocks. We'd have no friends. We'd be ridiculed beyond belief. We'd have health problems."

"Life is short, B___. Wouldn't you rather enjoy it? Besides, fat people can be healthy. And exercise. A little. And how can you say we'd e 'laughingstocks'? Haven't you heard about the obesity epidemic in America? Everyone's fat here. I'm a chub, but you are a toothpick."

"Nik, you are NOT a 'chub'. You have the sexiest hour-glass figure I've ever seen. Your top is twice as big as your bottom, but still--"

"Well, alot of people would call me 'fat'. I don't care. I like being voluptuous. I'm not going to stop eating because I'm not thin. And you need to gain some weight. At least a little. Really--you're a rail."

I gave her a raspberry, then, but she'd planted the seed, for sure.


Last edited by Risible; 06-25-2008 at 08:02 AM.
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Old 02-21-2007, 04:02 AM   #2
Join Date: Nov 2006
Posts: 13
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And that was how it started.

Oh, at first it was all talk. 'Better be careful, Hon. If you eat too many of those, you'll need a new pair of pants soon!' The playful teasing was fun, and it added excitement to our love life.

We didn't rush out and buy out the grocery store, though. Between my concerns over real-life weight gain issues and our almost constant sex-drive, we had virtually no time and little inclination for eating.

What we did do, however, was pad together. That started out as an ad hoc role-playing game we cooked up one weekend.

I had gone to the store for some coffee, before breakfast, and when I returned, I was more than a bit shocked to see Monika sitting on the sofa, padded with just about every comforter, quilt, pillow and towel we had in the house. She was enormous, half as wide as the couch at least, and about as round as she was tall. Her "breasts" were two 20-inch beachballs she'd stuffed under her shirt, and she could barely peek out over the top of them.

"BURP!" She put her hand up to her mouth demurely and then grinned. "I got soooooo hungry while you were gone. I just couldn't help myself."

I burst out laughing, then, but she was undeniably sexy like that. I got a very hard and somewhat painful erection in seconds, and seeing the tent in my pants, she egged me on.

"You're too skinny. Let Miss Monika fatten you up." She struggled and wallowed around the couch until I grabbed her wrists and pulled her to her feet with a mighty "ooooofff!"

So I played along. I stood back and motioned for her to twirl around, which she did, proudly showing off her new figure. "You've gained a few, haven't you, sweetheart?"

"Ooohh, yes! Everything was soooo good!" She pretended to huff and puff a bit, or maybe that was real, from her exertion in maneuvering with all of that padding. She twirled around again. Her ass was huge. Her jeans were stuffed to overflowing with quilts. I held her, or as much of her as I could grab, from behind and planted kisses on her cheek, groping her huge "breasts."

"Not yet," she said as she pushed away, chiding me with a wave of her index finger. "I need to fatten you up a whole bunch first."

She produced one of my "fat" shirts I used whenever I padded myself to the biggest girth.

"I'd love to, Mon, but you used all the blankets and pillows. Guess I'll have to stay skinny today. Maybe we can go buy some more linens later this afternoon. But only if you go to the store padded up like that!" I giggled, but she had other plans.

"You can use water!"


"We have tons of plastic garbage bags. Fill one with water and put it under your shirt! It'll feel nice and squishy!"

I dunno if I was drunk with excitement, or stupid or just horny, but I could find no fault in her plan, and raced to the kitchen. I triple layered the big heavy-duty bags and stuffed them under the shirt Monika had picked out for me. It took forever to fill the bags up, and even longer to position and anchor the bag with a belt and a tight undershirt so that it made my "belly" look real, but in the end, it was worth it.

Two hours later, I stood in front of our bedroom mirror, examining my profile, mesmerized at the sheer size and distended shape of my stomach. Monika reached out and jiggled it with both hands, lifting it slightly and letting it plop down and bounce over my belt. She squealed with delight and played with my stiff cock through my pants. Between looking at my "BBW" lover and my own behemoth "belly", I was as horny as I'd ever been in my life.

Getting to the bed was a struggle. The weight of the water was unbelievable, and it soon became clear that I'd be crushed if I tried laying on my back. So I was pretty much confined to lying on my side, virtually immobile as Monika stroked my "belly" and played with my cock. We rubbed, and kissed, and caressed, and stroked and fondled, and our padding got turned and twisted and when we could stand it no further, we tore out of our "fat clothes" and made hot, messy, sweaty love amidst the mountains of pillows and blankets. I grabbed for her fleshy breasts and plush arms, which felt like sex incarnate, and she must have been disappointed when she put her hands on my flat stomach, but it hardly mattered as we climaxed in a chorus of wails.

"Ohh! Oooohhhh! Oh, B_____, that was so amazing! I love you so much!" She was hovering over me, staring down through cascades of her hair with her big doe eyes. Smiling. When I smiled back, she hugged me and lay her head on chest, planting gentle kisses there. I buried my face in her mop of hair and kissed her head, and we drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


"Oooooofff." I was working up quite a sweat.

"What did you say?" Monika said, loudly, from her roost in front of the bathroom vanity. She was brushing out her mane of golden-brown hair, and putting the finishing touches on her make-up. We were getting dressed for our morning classes. Out of eyesight, in the bedroom, I was trying without much success to button my jeans.

"Mmmmmph! Rrrgghhhh! Ppprrrp!" I inhaled and tried again, but after another thirty seconds of wriggling and squirming, the rush of air came out in exasperation and I collapsed backward onto the bed.

"I didn't hear what you said." Monika stood there in the doorway, looking at me, lying on my back on the bed with my jeans unbuttoned. I sat up and my gut poked out a little.

"Whaaa---I am getting FAT, Monika. Look at this. I can't even button my pants anymore." I looked down at myself with disgust. I couldn't conceal it anymore--I had a pot belly. "I'm a big fat pig."

"You aren't fat at all. It looks good on you. Buy some new pants. Jeez. It's not a crime to gain weight, you know."

I looked into her round, owlish face. It'd been two months since our little experimentation with padding had begun, and we were addicted to it. Every night we were together, we'd stuff our clothes and pretend that we'd grown obese, taking delight in our size and our visions of our much fatter selves.

And we'd grown fatter. A little, but it was noticeable. I'd grown a pot belly that no longer, obviously, was close to fitting into my size 29 jeans.

Monika was an expert cook--did I mention that? She'd learned from one of the best. Her mother had been heavy for years, and she loved to eat. And cook. Whenever she had visited, she cooked enough food for an army. The heavy, rich kind that smelled like heaven and tasted even better. And if anything, Monika was an even better cook that her Mom. She'd actually won bake-offs and prizes at county fairs.

She never forced me to eat. I will say that. She didn't have to, really. Her meals were impossible to resist, even though I frequently tried, most of all when I could feel my pants getting tight, or my love handles getting just a bit bigger. But she did pout when anything went unfinished at her table, and that made me feel a little bad, and so--to please her, I rationalized, I ate more than I should have. Now, finally, it was beginning to take its toll.

Monika, too, had put on some more weight. It almost seemed, at times, like she was trying. Sometimes, after lovemaking, she'd ask me to hand feed her a cookie or two, or a French pastry, or something else equally decadent. And then she'd lick her lips, and giggle, and look up at me with her pretty doe eyes and reach up and put her arms around me, and that made me smile.

I loved her--it wasn't as though I was complaining, or turned off because of her subtly increased weight. Not in the slightest, in fact. Her curves were exaggerated even further, her beautifully curvy hips and rapidly expanding bustline making her growing waistline seem still tiny by comparison, even though she, too had outgrown her old jeans. She was just incredibly voluptuous in every way. Her face was rounder, softer, and a healthy pink, and her fleshy arms and full thighs were incredibly sexy.

She stood there, now, braless and clad in painted-on jeans and a skintight t-shirt that made me want to jump on top of her, a soft smile parting her lips. Her sexy tummy, which protruded a bit more than it used to, was visible through the sheen of her shirt, and under the shade from her enormous breasts.

Those breasts. I loved to watch them jiggle. Jiggle. That's a funny word, but she really did jiggle when she moved. I told you that almost from the beginning Monika knew I had a "thing" for big breasts--for her big breasts--and it was nothing for her to pull a stunt like tying one of her brassieres around my head in the middle of the night. She thought it was 'cute' that they looked like a pair of earmuffs on my head. I always hated giving it back to her because that meant she would put it back on. Each time, I had to stop and read the tags on her bras, somehow disbelieving that she'd truly 'blossomed' into a size 36GG bra.

Sometimes, because she knew I liked it, she’d tease me with her "boobs", as she herself called them. I practically worshipped the way they jiggled and bounced when she walked, and she’d delight in exaggerating her movements to create and then accentuate the bounce I loved seeing so much. The best days were when Monika wore her tight, low-cut tops or a form-fitting t-shirt as she was wearing now. I would almost burst--seriously--staring at her breasts.

Unable to control myself as she neared the bed, I grabbed her around her thighs and pulled her to me, pressing my face into her soft, warm tummy, kissing her first there, then lower and more suggestively, inside her thigh, as she let out little moans and sighs.

But she was curt and hurried and in no mood for play today.

"We have to go--we'll be late."

She clutched my face and toyed with me by lightly bouncing each of her big soft breasts against it, first one and then the other, letting me savor the moment, before rushing off to finish her hair. I stared after her, watching her fulsome rear sashay around the corner. I looked down at my pot belly and my unzipped jeans that mocked me, and I didn't know what to think.


Monika and I were married six months after that. We were twenty-one then. Seniors in college. Our parents were overjoyed--truth be told, this was what they'd wanted since Monika and I were little.

As a wedding gift, our folks gave us a down payment on a nice cozy house in an affluent neighborhood in Huntsville. We knew we could afford it because I already had a job offer with the promise of a substantial income, ready and waiting for me upon graduation. Monika had already decided to take a job as an editor for a publishing house downtown that summer.

Our wedding was really grand. Just about all of Monika's relatives flew in from California and other places out West, and most of my family was there too. Everything went just as we had hoped and planned, other than the fact that about halfway through the ceremony both Monika and I were so randy that we wanted to tear each other's clothes off then and there. But we didn't.

Monika was truly beautiful, a sight to behold. Her dress was the same one that her mother had been married in, its décolletage allowing a generous portion of her cleavage to spill forth and cause a flurry of awed and awestruck murmurs. Mrs. Scott had obviously been pretty well 'blessed' herself in that department.

For her part, knowing how much of a boob man I was, Monika had decided that on our wedding day she wanted her breasts to be front and center, so to speak, etiquette and social graces be damned. I felt a touch bad for this, but her reassuring grins and winks during our ceremony made me realize that she was as proud of them as I. Oh, how I wanted to go "motorboating" down in her cleavage, and oh how she wanted me to. But had to wait for our wedding night.

That turned out to be pretty good too. Playing "fat" was the last thing on our mind in the months leading up to the wedding, and for another night we forgot about this and let our carnal passions run amok. We were barely home and across the threshold when I pulled her to the bed, unbuttoned the antique ivory buttons running up the back of her dress and triumphantly freed her bouncy breasts from their captor.

We sat on the bed and I pressed myself into her, my face against her wondrously soft, large and comforting breasts. Monika began to emit soft moans of pleasure, arching her back, kicking off her heels and rubbing her bare foot in circles in my crotch, massaging my penis. I moaned with delight at this, and Monika giggled coyly. As I bent down and began sucking her nipples, she pushed me backward on the bed. I just lay there staring up at her as she dropped the dress to the floor and stepped out of it, pursed her lips in a sexy pout, and shook her magnificent breasts slowly back and forth for me.

She bent over and unzipped my trousers, and as she pulled them off I drank in the sight of her. She was beautiful, her eyes twinkling and her smile utterly convincing. Those huge breasts of hers hung there, jiggling. My cock was throbbing, and felt as heavy as lead laying there, exposed, on my stomach. When she'd finished taking off my slacks, she looked at me with sincere love in her eyes and crawled toward me on all fours, stopping when her breasts dangled over my penis. She bent down and let them fall to the sides of my cock with feathery touches and jiggled them back and forth, teasing me mercilessly and then repeating that excercise against my open mouth.

She giggled as she let her breasts dangle and bump against the sides of my face, only occasionally letting her nipples within range of my eager and anticipating mouth.

"Did you ever think you'd marry a girl with DOUBLE G tits?!" she panted, in a breathy Baby Doll voice, before smearing them all over my face.

"Mmmtpthmmm..." was all I could get out. Suffocation by breasts was good. Very, very good.

"Please touch my breasts!"

She lay on top of me then and as we kissed passionately I firmly massaged the sides of her breasts, which were now pressed and mashed against my chest. I'm surprised I didn't impale her with my erection.

"Oh, wow, B______, rub my tits! Please, please, touch my titties!"

Big-breasted women are very, very sensitive on the sides of their breasts. That was something I'd picked up from one of Monika's Cosmopolitans, I think, and surprisingly, it made her incredibly horny. So I know this from experience, and that's why all the fellows reading this should be taking notes. Start at the armpits and rub in gentle circular motions along the sides of the breasts toward the nipple. This will drive them wild and leave them wanting more.

Monika whimpered like a helpless puppy when I touched her in this fashion. I reached down and rubbed her clit and her moans came quicker and more intensely.

"Tit massage your peenie with me! Please!" she gasped, and together we rolled over so that I was on top. I sat up and straddled her and lay my cock between the cleft of her massive bosom. She pressed her breasts together with her upper arms and formed her "Tunnel of Love", as we had called it. As I slid back and forth, lubricated by the first dribble of semen, she kissed and licked the head of my penis, which even engorged was swallowed up by the volume of her quivering breast flesh. She rubbed her hands over my growing potbelly, kneading the ever-softening flesh there. As I was about to explode and cum all over her, I patted her butt and she reluctantly let her breasts flop to the sides and released her grip on my penis. I entered her and we started Making Love.

We groped. We ran our fingers through each other's hair. We kissed. We explored with tongues. We touched each other intimately. I glided my hand over her soft, feminine belly and her beautifully curvy hips. I obliged her again and again by touching her big beautiful breasts. And still we Made Love. Her kegel muscle clamped down on me again and again and contracted violently, each time sending her into fits of blissful convulsions. I felt virile pleasing her so completely.

Again and again I stroked her. I wanted to fondle those breasts of hers for the rest of my life.

"Oh, touch my tits again, B____! Please rub my big tits." I did. "Put your face in them." I did. I kissed and sucked on them. "Love my big tits!" Again she cupped them together with her arms and shimmied them back and forth, with my face in between. She laughed seeing how much pleasure it was giving me. I finally exploded inside her, filling her with cum as she wrapped her legs around me.

We panted, grinning at each other. We took turns wiping the sweaty hair out of each other's faces and kissed each other passionately. Still entwined, we drifted off into a peaceful sleep in each other's arms.

The last time I saw the alarm clock it was 5:13 A.M.



I had been reading a good Faulkner on the living room sofa when Monika's interjection, accompanied by a clatter from the kitchen, interrupted the peaceful morning.

"What's wrong, babe?"

"Dropped a casserole. Shattered into a billion pieces. Crap."

I went to the kitchen and surveyed the scene. "Don't worry, hon, I'll clean it up. I'll pick you up a new one this afternoon."

"Oh, be careful! You'll cut yourself. Here. Let me help." I gave Monika a peck on the cheek and we worked in silence, and in a few minutes we had cleared away the glass fragments of the broken dish. We stood up and Monika put her arms around my neck. "Do you realize that this is our first dinner party? I'm so nervous."

That was Monika for you. She'd been working three days preparing enough food for not one but *three* kings, making everything "just so", and yet she was worried that our new friends would be disappointed. It was no use reassuring her, so I tried joking instead.

"Maybe if you run for it now, you can make it out of town by the time they show up tonight."

She didn't look amused. "Very funny. I just want to make a good impression."

The "impression" she wanted to make was on her friend Donna and Donna's husband Dave, and my buddy from work, Mike, and his wife Jenna. We'd socialized as a group for a few months, now, following the wedding, and on the spur of the moment, Monika and I had decided to throw a dinner party together.

When the doorbell rang at seven, the foursome standing on our front porch offered their housewarmings and we showed them around our new home. They were duly impressed. Monika and I worked hard to keep up our house, and it showed.

We had cocktails on the back patio, by the pool, and then I set to work grilling a sextet of flank steaks, talking to Mike and Dave while Donna and Jenna helped Monika get everything together in the kitchen.

"You look like married life agrees with you, B______," said Mike.

I nodded. "Monika too. You both look really happy."

"It's great", I told him. "I don't know what I'd do without her. She's so incredibly smart. She makes me laugh, and she makes me realize how lucky I am. I love her more than anything."

"That's obvious!" chimed in Dave.

"Seriously, she's the perfect wife. I count down the hours and minutes and seconds until I can see her at the end of the day. I don't know too many people I could say that about. And she can cook like nobody's business."

"I can see that!" Mike's statement struck me as odd. I looked at him and frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Mike poked me in the gut. "We've known each other about six months, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, how much weight have you put on in those six months?" He grinned and poked me again.

When I frowned again, he smiled and said, "I'm just kidding with you, B____."

We all got a good laugh out of that, but out of the corner of my eye I caught him winking at Dave.

Later that night, after our guests had left, I stepped into the bathroom, sucked in my gut, and looked at my profile in the mirror. I exhaled and my stomach hung out a good few inches over my belt line. Looking at my protruding belly, I frowned.

Monika and I wrapped up the leftovers and cleaned up the dishes. When we finished, she put her arms around me from behind and bearhugged me. The warmth and squishiness of her breasts felt good against my back.

"Do you think I'm fat?" It came out of the blue. It was the first time I'd asked her that. Our fat fantasies and the padding had resumed, albeit intermittently, after our wedding day, and so had the big meals. Each and every dinner Monika made was seemingly better than the last, and I truly enjoyed eating them, each and every one.

At first, I didn't even think about the effect of her cooking on my body, but as my shirts got more and more snug, as my pants got tighter in the waist, as my belts seemed to get "shorter", I felt all those things. And I was careful to avoid them. I never wanted to look too close in the mirror because deep down I knew what was happening to me. The days of the Twenty-Nine Inch Waist and the flat stomach were long gone. My peek into the mirror had confirmed it.

As I pondered Mike's comments from earlier that evening, I wondered what Monika really, honestly thought of my expanding physique. She was plusher, too, but her lush boobs and curvy butt tended to flatter her weight gain, rather than accentuate it.

I was almost dreading her response.

"Good grief--this again?" She stared at me, critically. Analytically. As though evaluating a patient. She smiled and patted my overhanging belly affectionately, but I pulled away.

"Why do you DO that? Since you've put on a few pounds you're so sexy I want to touch you constantly and you act like I'm poisonous. Maybe you don't have a problem with YOU--maybe it's ME. Did I get too fat for you?"

We were spinning our wheels. Caught in a tug of war between our passions and "logic", which dictated that in conventional terms, our fascination with being fat was abnormal.

"Monika, I think you're sexier every day I'm with you. I just don't want us to grow so fat we'll start finding each other,,,,less attractive. I don't want you to fall out of love with me."

I hated saying that. In my mind I was more and more excited thinking of Monika as a heavy woman. As an obese woman. "I want to know what you really want for us."

"I want to be able to eat whatever I want without having to worry about fitting into my clothes or worry what you'll think of me if I balloon up and lose my shape. I want to feed you until your belly extends out past your knees. I want you to be comfortable enough in your own skin to want that too. I want you to be proud of your gut. I want us to enjoy each other and find each other sexy no matter what we weigh. I want us to be fat, B_____."

She smiled at me with her sexy hint of a double chin and I melted. Looking back, I think that was the night things changed for us. "I want that too", I said, as I opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the leftover pastries Monika had prepared for dinner. I held it up to her trembling lips and fed it to her as quickly as she wanted to take it. When it was gone, her face lit up in a beatific smile. She had a dollop of French vanilla creme on her nose. "I can't wait to see you as a BBW."

And then we ate. It may have been leftovers, but it was a feast fit for a King and a Queen. There wasn't any place-setting, no need for a table. We just grabbed indiscriminately from the refrigerator and the pantry and sat on the kitchen floor taking turns plying each other with sinfully rich sweets, cheeses, cold fried chicken, potato salad and whatever else came within reach of our chubby fingers in between fondling each other's fuller figures.

Monika grabbed a can of Bacon Cheddar Squeeze Cheese and turned it upside down over my mouth, dispensing the contents in an endless stream into my open maw. In between gulps, we kissed, and the orange goo smeared over both our faces. We laughed in spasms, and then took turns licking each other clean.

I found a bowl of chocolate buttercreme frosting that had been leftover from the cake Monika had baked for our guests, and fed it to her from a spatula. Monika's cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled with delight at this treat and she gratefully gulped down mouthful after mouthful of the heavy icing, craning her neck in an effort to lick clean both the spatula and the bowl.
She burped apologetically, but I was so turned on by this that all I could think of was finding more food to offer her. I grabbed her under her arms and massaged the sides of her breasts, which felt even softer and more plump than they had before. They were truly enormous, but now her belly was protruding noticeably, and she had to unbutton her slacks from the pressure. I held up a big cookie, which she nibbled, before putting up her hands.

"It's your turn, baby. Monika needs to fatten up her man. You're wasting away to nothing."

That was anything but the truth, but I didn't care. I was so horny from holding her in my arms, feeling her voluptuousness, and that made me hungry, too. Hungrier than I think I'd ever been. I gulped down giant spoonfuls of potato salad and stripped each piece of fried chicken to the bone.

While I was gorging on that, Monika heated up a huge pot of leftover pasta, with her world famous sauce. I gulped it down gratefully, practically inhaling it as sauce spattered on my shirt. When that was gone, she practically shoved homemade chocolate chip cookie after cookie into my mouth, but I hardly minded. Each one seemed to make me hungrier. A jumbo bag of Snickers bars and half of a leftover cheesecake later, I sat on the kitchen floor propped against the cabinets, my legs stretched out before me.

I groaned a bit, and let out a terrific belch, but smiled at my bride.

"Holy halifax!" Monika was gaping at me, her eyes as big as fifty cent pieces.

My belly was now extremely distended, and stretched a good four or five inches farther into my lap than at the beginning of the evening. The shirt I'd been wearing was now untuck-able in the front and riding up over my belly so that the last few inches were exposed in a wide, round arc of gleaming flesh.

"Now that's what I like to see--a man who can clean his plate!" She was positively beaming. "THAT", she pointed to my bloated belly, "is fucking awesome."

And she was right. A few hours earlier I might have hung my head in shame, but there was something about the way she said it, with total admiration and even lust, that gave me an enormous amount of pride in my bigger belly, right then and there. I wanted to eat for her. I wanted an enormously obese belly that she could ride like a pony.

I massaged the sides of my fattened stomach with my hands, and slapped it a few times as we watched it jiggle. I flashed back to the cartoons I'd seen as a kid, to the daydreams I'd had, envisioning enormously fattened bellies, to the sketches I had drawn of myself with an enormous gut, to the day Monika had caught me padding my stomach, and I chuckled to myself.

I had gotten fat. So had Monika. But we hadn't seen anything yet.

Story continued in post 13

Last edited by Risible; 06-25-2008 at 07:46 AM.
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Old 02-21-2007, 08:21 AM   #3
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shintobreak has said some nice things

Best story I've read in recent times. Keep up the good work!
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Old 02-21-2007, 11:15 AM   #4
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Originally Posted by shintobreak View Post
Best story I've read in recent times. Keep up the good work!

Well, thank you, I'm glad you are enjoying it, but I noticed that my story was edited a bit by one of the moderators--perhaps Observer--so I suppose the credit for this version should go to him/her.

While I don't have an objection to the editing in question, if it's site policy, I should point out that it does somewhat impact the way the story "reads". Omitted or replaced material mainly includes adult language and some stylistic tonal elements that, if you knew me, you'd know that I would never use. ("Whoa boyfriend,......" replaces an expletive which, IMHO, grabs the reader's attention in a much more concrete manner) I wrote it a certain way because I felt it was grittier, more realistic, more identifiable for the average reader. People cuss. Without debating the merits of this, it is a fact of real life. I like to write in a very earthy, conversational tone.

I didn't want a traditional beginning, middle and end. My writing has never been conventional. (my other story published here, originally under a different name, and re-posted by Observer, "Watch out for the Munchies", was VERY unorthodox, and likely not for everyone) I wanted to immerse the reader in a story that had already started, in a sense, as though he/she was merely dropping in on a pair of people in Anywhere, USA. So what appears here is somewhat different from what I intended.

In this respect, I believe good creative writing is "art" no matter what the subject, and while a particular piece of art may not be to everyone's tastes, or suitable for their consumption, it's still someone's original creative thought, so I hope eveyone will forgive my sermon.

I didn't want to include chapter titles, either.

BTW, mods, if you're reading this, there is a spelling error in the third line (stasmmered) which wasn't there when I sent it in.

I submitted another portion of the story this morning, so stay tuned.
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Old 02-21-2007, 01:10 PM   #5
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I haven't read a story this good since Mollycoddles. This is right up my alley and I can not wait for more of this fantastic work. Very, VERY realistic character interactions and a really great premise. Awesome writing. I can't wait for this to develop further.
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Old 02-21-2007, 04:56 PM   #6
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Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!

- yep, everything gets reviewed, formatted and sometimes edited. We even have published guidelines to tell authors what to expect. Small smoothings of transitions and language issues we just do routinely - any major problems we send you an email to discuss.

In this case I had to read your original intro several times to understand who was who and changed some wording to hopefully make it a little clearer. I share the opinion of those who thik you've got a great premise here - padding among young kids who fantasize about being bigger is actually quite common. I know kids on our block who did it.

And to Shintobreak -- glad you like this story, but I'm looking forward to the continuation of yours as well (hint-hint).

Last edited by Observer; 02-21-2007 at 04:58 PM.
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Old 02-22-2007, 09:51 AM   #7
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Screw Snow White. This is my fairy tale wedding.

Post more!!! please!
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Old 02-24-2007, 04:00 AM   #8
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Default Awesome story!

This is one of the best stories I have ever read! The writing is superb. I plead with the author to continue the story. It seems to me that it ended just when it was getting really interesting.
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Old 02-27-2007, 12:25 PM   #9
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Nice job! Good character development. Personally, I don't miss the foul language. BTW: Did the mods also blank out your name? If not, and you just wish to remain anonymous, just make up a name. Or fill in pet names like "honey" or "fatso" or whatever. It helps the reader complete a mental picture. Bleeping it like the Bride's name in "Kill Bill" only works in the movies.
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Old 02-27-2007, 01:11 PM   #10
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Originally Posted by Gentleman View Post
Nice job! Good character development. Personally, I don't miss the foul language. BTW: Did the mods also blank out your name? If not, and you just wish to remain anonymous, just make up a name. Or fill in pet names like "honey" or "fatso" or whatever. It helps the reader complete a mental picture. Bleeping it like the Bride's name in "Kill Bill" only works in the movies.
Thanks for the feedback. The "name blanking" was my own doing. Edgar Allen Poe used that literary device, so I didn't feel all that bad adopting his idea. There's a certain connotation associated with its use. First, it suggests that the narrator/author, by confiding in the reader, is or perhaps feels like he/she is re-telling some kind of illicit or "naughty" act. Second, it suggests that while the author may be apprehensive--he is at least honest, in the fact that he is not making something up. Whether anyone thought of these things while reading I cannot say, but I did make a deliberate choice to identify the narrator in such fashion. It wasn't merely a cop out, nor a "Kill Bill" style bleep.

I toyed with the idea of making up a name but ultimately didn't because I liked the way it read as is.

To those who asked for more, please note, I am not finished with this story. It may take awhile, but I do intend to write more of it. Thanks for the kind words.
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Old 02-27-2007, 02:43 PM   #11
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Well I'll certainly learn to be patient for this story!
I am altering the deal, pray I don't alter it further. ~Darth Vader

(Oh yeah, visit my DA for some of my art: http://vader7476.deviantart.com/ )
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Old 03-15-2007, 06:43 AM   #12
Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: Central Scotland
Posts: 38
Heidi has said some nice things
Thumbs up Amazing story - love the realism

I completely agree with the comments on this being one of the best stories in recent times. I love realistic stories, and this certainly fits into that category of writing - the characters are believable, their actions are a natural progression from their thoughts, and their relationship is both touching and exciting. I disagree that the B____ is an issue. To me, it suggests an added realism that would be difficult to introduce in any other manner. When reading it, I feel almost as if I am reading an excerpt from a true story in someone's diary, and you almost expect to find a postscript informing you that what names do appear "have been changed to protect the identity"... Keep up the fantastic work and I have no doubt that there are a lot of people eagerly awaiting the next 'installment'.
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Old 06-24-2008, 07:08 PM   #13
Join Date: Nov 2006
Posts: 13
Cossaboom has said some nice things

[Author's Note: I've finally managed to pen another chapter of "Monika & Me". I like feedback, and if anyone has any creative ideas or directions where this story might go, I'd love to hear from you. I have a general plan on where to take it, slowly but surely, but I'm keen on hearing ideas.]


It's funny how, when you first wake up after a deep sleep, the world looks like you are looking at it through a kaleidoscope. Everything is blurry. Colors are drab and indistinguishable and blur into one another like one of those impressionistic paintings by Manet or Monet or one those other "ays". I was never very good at art appreciation.

Gradually, she came into focus.

She had wide, earthy hips now, the kind that they used to say were good for breeding. Do they still say that? There are a lot of things they don't say anymore. Political correctness is lurking everywhere you turn.

Political correctness be damned. It was true. She was curvier than any woman I had ever laid eyes on. All over. Beautifully full hips that flowed into plump thighs and on to well-formed calves that were firm but erotically soft and plush at the same time. All of these treats melted into delicately tiny ankles.

She was standing there, nude, not two feet from the bed. I grinned a stupid, half-awake grin while soaking her all in. There had never really been a flat, defined tummy--Monika had never been one of those Stick Chicks. Long as I'd known her, she was soft and feminine and had what you'd call an insanely sexy, perfect and oh-so-womanly tummy, even when she was thinner. The kind that you see on belly dancers. In other words, if you looked her there, you'd know she was a One Hundred Percent Female Girl.

But now her belly was unashamed, proud, majestic. The bulge and sag of her tummy was undeniable, and exciting. I loved the fact that she no longer tried to hold it in, though I didn't want to tell her that for fear of making her self-conscious about it. But if I could do as I pleased, I'd have put my hands to her soft midsection and kneaded her there as if she were dough.

The men's magazines call women like Monika "plumpers." I think it's meant to be a derogatory term, but women built like her just seem to jiggle in all the right places. Monika was my plumper.

I rolled over on my back and looked up at her with admiration. She looked like an angel standing there, framed by the sunlight streaming in from the window, sort of the way the sun does during an eclipse. She was radiant.

Monika smiled, pursed her lips, and blew me a kiss. Her cheeks were full and healthy, and her smile made me warm inside.

I reached up and touched her on the hip and she giggled. With my hand placed so that the 'V' between my thumb and index finger arched around her curvy thigh, I traced a path up over her hip, in a bit past her waist, gently back outward and up the side of her ribcage until my thumb caught hold under her breast. I squeezed gently and her nipple got erect in a heartbeat. Those breasts!

Judging by her breasts alone, the results of her weight gain to date had been spectacular. I certainly had no complaints. I don't think Monika did, either. Secretly, I think she loved how enormous her "juggs" had gotten, and the bigger, the better. She'd never been shy to go bra-less or wear low-cut or tight tops, for my benefit, but now that her cup size was in the OMG category, she seemed almost smitten with them. She told me that as she put on weight and they got bigger, they were more sensitive. That made her hornier, and me a happy camper.

Now, as I gazed upon those enormous breasts, I took note of just how beautiful this female animal truly was.

"Get up, Tubby Hubby, it's on in fifteen minutes!"

I turned from Monika's curves and glanced down toward the foot of the bed, seeing my own "curves" rising up like a dome over an otherwise flat landscape. Monika reached for the lower part of my gut and cupped my bulging, flabby belly with her hand. On the way, her hand brushed against my crotch, and while I couldn't see it, I knew that my boxers were tenting. She slipped her hand through the vent in my boxers and squeezed my hard on, and then bounced off to the bathroom, leaving me frustrated, but happy.

Fifteen minutes. I had wondered again and again if it was the right thing to do. Monika had egged me into it. She was good at getting me to do things I never would have done otherwise.

As the days and weeks had gone by, the pounds had piled on. Somehow, I was no longer worried or ashamed of being fat. Or at least, of having a big belly. Monika seemed to like it on me, and quite frankly, I did, too. The pillows and padding had finally turned into real flab, and most of the time, I loved being fat.

For one thing, the looks I got around town now that I had a bigger gut were priceless. My belly stuck out past my belt buckle a good ten to twelve inches now, depending on how full I was at any one moment, and when I stood in profile, the distance from the back of my love handles to the tip of my belly was closing in on two feet. Monika liked to measure. That's how she knew her cooking was fattening me up like she had wanted.

And when I ate that delicious cooking, I gained nearly everything in my belly. The the effect was that I looked like those cartoon characters that had overeaten and had grown comically distended stomachs. As my shirts grew tighter and tighter, the effect grew even more preposterous. People stared. Women giggled. Men snickered. Their kids would call me "Bellyman" or "Mister Gut."

You'd think that all the reactions to my fattened belly would have made me remorseful or regretful about my weight gain, but in fact, it had the opposite effect. It brought me out of my shell for the first time in my life and made me an exhibitionist. I'd wear the tightest shirt I could find that I could still tuck in, so that the expanding, sagging bulge of my belly would be accentuated, bouncing its fat bounce up and down as I walked. Blub. blub-blub. Blub blub blub. Sometimes I'd daydream about the bouncing rhythm that my belly made when I walked. Sometimes I'd stand parallel to the mirror and marvel at how far my belly now hung out. I changed my 'net nickname to "Blubbergut."

I was as mesmerized by my belly as Monika was. And that made Monika happy. Our sex life had never been better.

It was around that time that I got a call from Bob Sanderson at A-TEC Marketing. I'd know Bob for years, and he and his wife Martha were one of the few couples with whom Monika and I regularly socialized.

Bob had a colleague named Dave, who I'd met at one of Bob's parties. Dave represented a company that, according to Bob, made one of those types of exercise gizmos you always see on TV--the Abdominizer, or Ab-roller or something similar. One of those pieces of junk that fly-by-night manufacturers use to prey on the self conscious.

Well, as it turned out, Dave told Bob he thought I'd be "perfect" for a new ad campaign his client was running. I told Bob I wasn't an actor, but Bob was persistent.

"No acting required. They just want to get a few shots of you for their commercial. This could be big, B_____. He says he'll pay you twenty thousand now, and a royalty for every time the thing runs on TV."

"Why me?"

"I guess he's looking for a certain 'type'. Physical type."

"You mean fat."

"It's a diet thing, yeah. 'Gut-B-Gone' or something. He wants somebody with a lot of 'gut' for the 'before' shots. He took one look at you at the party and said you were the guy. Actually, he said you were the GUT. He says he's got an 'after' guy that looks just like you, only, skinny. One of those Soloflex guys I think. They'll put a profile shot of your belly on one side of the screen and this guy with the six pack on the other side and the announcer will come on in a cheesy dramatic voice and say 'From FLAB to AB' or something. Look, just do it. It'll be funny. They'll make money, you'll make money, and you'll get a big kick out of showing off your belly. I know what you're thinking, but you can't tell me you're not proud of your gut. You're always complaining about how much bigger your gut is after eating one of Monika's cheesecakes, at the same time you're patting it and rubbing it. Here's your chance to show it off."

I hadn't been drinking, so I must have been crazy because what he said actually kind of made sense. Enough for me to mention it to Monika.

"I LOVE it! You HAVE to do this. Back when you were skinny, and fantasizing about having a big belly, you'd have killed to do something like this. Maybe you even pretended it." She laughed. "Oh man, this is so perfect. You must be exploding in your pants just thinking about it. My big fat BEFORE guy!" She laughed again.

"I don't know, Mon." I almost wanted her to talk me out of it.

"They probably won't even show your face, if that's what you're worried about. Even if they do, so what? You ARE fat. Sexy fat." She put her hands on my belly and leaned in to kiss me, and her breasts felt so warm and soft. "C'mon, don't let some some guy do it that doesn't have the belly for it. Yours is perfect."

"Will you get hot for me when you see it on TV?"


"You won't want the 'After' guy, with his six pack?"

"Not unless he lets me fatten me up big time!"

So that's how it all happened. I met with Dave the next day. His videographer did some test shots and the contract was signed. Within three days after that, we were shooting. They took the profile shots and it didn't take a lot of urging for me to get into the spirit of it, relaxing my gut and letting it hang out as far over my belt line as I could. They had me wearing one of my tightest and brightest colored t-shirts, so that my belly looked enormous. The director asked me to pick up a candy bar from the counter next to me and eat it. The he asked me to grab fistfuls of potato chips from the bown on the counter and eat those.

"Like you're famished. Wolf them down, OK?" I obliged, hamming it up, shoveling them in like a big fat pig. "Now look like you've just come to the realization of how big your stomach is--like you're shocked--and put down the candy and chips." I did so, then threw up my hands in mock disgust.

After the profile shots, I had to do a number of takes walking toward the camera as my belly bounced up and down. All through the shoot, I couldn't help feeling that the entire crew was ready to burst out laughing. When we had finished, I was handed my check for $20,000.00.

Monika had told everyone we knew. Now, they would all be watching.

I struggled to sit up, propping myself up with my hands palms down on the bed behind me, since my the size of my belly wouldn't allow me sit up otherwise. She sat next to me on the bed and clicked the remote to channel 9 at 8 AM sharp.

As the commercial faded in, my belly filled the screen. "Did YOU put on too many pounds over the Holidays? Feeling FAT? Had enough of that SPARE TIRE?" The camera panned out and shots of me stuffing my face filled the screen. "Then put down those snacks and DO something about it!" As a look of "shock" came over my face I stopped eating and pushed away the food, the narrator went on to describe the Gut B Gone magic weight loss formula, and soon my fat gut was replaced on the screen with a fade in to a chiseled flat abdomen. "Go from flab to AB with Gut B Gone!" The After guy held up his hands and proudly exclaimed, "I don't need my fat clothes anymore since I got rid of that big fat gut!"

As the narrator continued, "Go from FLAB....to AB!", the sequence of me walking toward the camera, with my fat bouncing stomach filling the screen faded into Mr. After's six pack. "Why look like THIS?", the narrator said, as the profile shot of my distended belly filled the screen again, before fading into Mr. After's flat stomach, "when you can look like THIS? Order NOW!"

I looked at Monika. And we giggled. I grabbed the sides of my belly and rubbed and jiggled it with pride.

"That was INCREDIBLE!" she exclaimed. "I'm married to a big famous movie star!" We kept laughing, and my belly shook all over. "Well? How do you feel about it? You're not going to get all defensive or scared again are you?"

I shook my head and grinned. "I know the whole point was to make me look like a big fat slob, but I don't care. Being fat makes me feel good, Monika. It makes you happy, and it makes me happy. Even though I knew how it ends, I couldn't help wanting to see my belly get fatter after eating those candy bars and chips!" This made Monika squeal with delight.

"My Tubby Hubby!..." She kissed me and we fell back on the bed, where we stayed for the rest of the day.


A few months after the Gut B Gone commercial aired the first time, Bob Sanders gave me another call.

"You aren't gonna believe this, Big Guy, but Dave wants to hire you again."

"More Gut B Gone?"

"Yes. The stuff actually took off--who figured, huh? Anyway, they've been badgered by one of those Truth-in-Advertising groups for faking the before and after scenes, and they want to do another commercial, but this time using just you for the Before and After." He paused.

"Uh, Bob, I can do the 'Before' guy again, but don't you think I'm a little heavy to pass for the After guy?"

"Well, that's the thing. Apparently, this stuff actually works a little bit, and they want you to go on the program and lose the gut. They want to film you as you progress, losing more and more weight. They think it'll be more authentic and convincing. Dave thinks they can do this in two months, buddy. They are going to hire a personal trainer and a nutritionist. After two months without Monika's home cooking, your belly will shrink in no time."

"This is a big deal, B______. They will pay you $250,000.00 for this. A quarter million, man. You go hungry for a couple months, make a quarter million, and then let Monika fatten you up again. What do you think?"

"Mon won't like it." That was putting it mildly. I didn't think there was any way in Hell she'd go for it, and to be sure, she wasn't pleased.

"You'll be skinny and I'll be fat and you'll run off with somebody thin!" That made me laugh.

We fought about it. We talked about it. We fought some more.

"It's a quarter of million dollars, Monika. Guaranteed." I pulled the check out of my pocket and showed it to her. "Paid up front. It's a lot of money. And who says I won't blimp up again after it's over? If I did once, I'm sure you'll find a way to do it to me again. You know I couldn't stay away from your cooking for very long. You'll probably fatten me right up again!"

"Yeah...but I already had a really good starter belly on you."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Starter? Girl, I'm really fat. REALLY fat. Gut B Gone just HAD to have me for their commercial, remember? No one else had a fat enough belly. I'm Mister Gut."

"I wanted to fatten you up like nobody's ever done before. Like your drawings. BIGGER! I want your belly to be ENORMOUS, babe! So it sticks out three or four feet past your belt line when you stand up and way out past your knees when you sit down. So that it jiggles and bounces all the time! I want you to burst out of that 12X shirt I bought you."

"What shirt?"

She disappeared and returned with the largest shirt I'd ever seen. When I put it on, even my big belly was dwarfed and smothered. I looked like a bean bag chair.

"Whaddayou mean burst out of it?"

"I want to fatten your belly until it won't fit in that shirt anymore. I have orgasms thinking of you popping the buttons off of that shirt with the biggest belly in the world."

Part of me was scared, but most was excited as hell. I unzipped my pants right there on the sofa and started stroking my cock. My belly sat heavily in my lap after I'd finished off the big dinner Monika had prepared, and if I was going to be able to have the willpower to lose my gut I had to make decisions while I was sick of being fat. I stroked harder. Monika joined in and rubbed my belly with one hand and my penis with the other. She kept rubbing. The thought of having a stomach as big as she wanted mine to be made me as horny as I could ever recall being.

"Ooohh, Mon, I promise, you can fatten me after I do this for us. Just let me do their commercial. and then we'll eat. I'l eat as much as you want, baby. You can make my belly as big as you want. Ohhhh..."

She took me in her mouth as we both massaged my big belly. I exploded and came in her mouth and she giggled uncontrollably. After I climaxed, my infatuation with fatness and my lust for growing obese subsided and I resolved to start my diet immediately, as I stared at my big disgusting stomach.


Two and a half months later, my flat, trim thirty-inch waist was all over television. My gut was gone.

Monika was more determined than ever to fix that.


Last edited by Risible; 06-25-2008 at 08:01 AM.
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