~BHM, ~Gluttony, ~XWG, ~Sci-Fi, ~Erotica - New Year, New Him, New Fun...!
(Perhaps the last story I'll ever write here - got the urge for the first time in an age! You can read the protagonist, like Your Dreams - And Mine, as completely ambiguous in gender and/or sexuality.)
"It's a pocket-watch," I smile, enjoying the citrus-y after-taste of the chardonnay on my tongue as I settle down in my reading chair. "What is this, Gift of the Magi? Because Christmas was 6, almost 7 days ago, babe..."
Your nervous giggle is all the answer I get, and you palm the silver watch in that slender hand of yours, other hand in your pocket. You're tossing it up and down as though about to juggle, in spite of the silver chain leading link by link back to your elegant grey waistcoat, wrapped so tightly around that charcoal shirt of yours. I must say, Mr. Nguyen, you clean up very nicely for a man I'm used to seeing in overalls and a hard-hat. Where'd this side of you come from? I almost find myself a little...attracted...
(But then, your figure. Sigh. It was merest impulse of mine to bring you to this party, in the hopes that those overalls would hide even the faintest trace of a starter belly, but you didn't even try the canapes! Ah well...at least I won't be alone going into this new year...)
Bup, bup, bup, the watch softly thuds against your palm, a calm little sound against the hubbub of guests outside, milling about the apartment and letting conversation fill in the dreary moments between now and midnight. New Year, new...them! Good for some, I suppose.
You chuckle. "Not just any watch." You're a man of few words, Mr. Nguyen. A man with a bewitchingly dangerous grin. "Never mind where I got it. It's something I've been holding on to for a little while, something I only use when I'm feeling curious...or indulgent."
At this, I laugh. "You, indulge? Darling, if I were to start up a Buddhist monsatery in town I'd have your bony ass nominated for the abbot before lunchtime." I lie back in the plush chair, sipping at my wine a second time.
You laugh too, and as the fireworks sound outside my window I hear a little click.
You're not here any more.
It's not as though you threw dust in my eyes or hid behind a curtain. Where there was a man, impeccably-dressed and rail-thin, jacket slung over his shoulder and watch fondled in his big, rough hand, there's the empty space to which I am accustomed. I'm on my feet like a cat, gasping and lunging towards the bed. Magic is not my forté, and I've never met an invisible man before!
Yet as I paw vainly at the thin air into which you vanished, I find my attention drawn to a figure that is anything but thin. Behind me, there is another barely-imperceptible click and in my chair is...well.
"Ta-da," you chuckle, and after a moment's thought, "Urp".
Our roles reversed, it is now I who stand by my four-poster bed and you who sit back in my reading-chair, and I can certainly see a few more rolls than I bargained for.
"Golly!" is all I can think to say in reply, cursing myself for my lack of vocabulary and blushing even as I do so.
Your waistcoat, my dear, your sweet little waistcoat! Poor thing, it must hand in its papers and go on the road, for it is no longer worthy of its name! A gorgeously swollen pot-belly is now cuddled inside your straining shirt, framed by a pair of wobbly breasts that utterly beatify what once were brick-like pecs. That cherub face of yours has doubled in adorability just as much as your chins, and your plush bottom is creaking my poor little chair into submission. I imagine you must have had some time with my party - there's specks of barbecue sauce on the sides of your chubbier cheeks and crumbs upon your lap.
And in that thicker hand of yours is a silver watch, which clicks merrily in time with my noticing the twinkling of your eye.
Before I can blink, you disappear, and before I can turn my head, you're stood next to me, and now you're twice the man you were. That belt of yours must be digging into your underbelly! I can only imagine, because that new gut of yours is hanging low, low over your waistband and threatening to burst through your shirt as nearly as your spongy water-wing upper arms have oozed tears into your shirt. You breathe heavily, your hair suddenly greasier and your collar popped to make room for the flabbier, more characterful face now in tantalisingly kissable distance from me.
"Do ya...hwurp...get it, now?", you tease, and take one of my hands - so tiny in your grip, now! - to caress the soft, furnace-hot surface of your swollen love handle, begging me to grip, fondle, caress, tease, tickle. I feel a warmth of my own spreading in my cheeks, between my legs, and it's by sheer force of will that I make myself voice another detail that's become apparent to me...
"...My...my Lord of the Hundreds cheese...that's a private reserve...how did you...how did any of this...?"
You laugh, and now that it's a belly-laugh worthy of any giant I can't help but moan softly, my hand rubbing up your blubbery back and noticing its own brie-like consistency. "When the watch stops, so does everything else...bwoORRpppp...'cept me, of course," you say, and lift your belly tantalisingly to reveal the watch-chain now leading into your trouser pocket. Clever butterball, keeping it in easy reach! Not much is in easy reach for you now, Nguyen...
You drop it, and a series of buttons spray across the room, and suddenly I can see the appeal of fireworks after all.
"How else would I have known? When I press that button, I got all the time in the world. Only I've been saving myself, hic, see?"
"For...what..." I sigh, fondling, caressing, desperate to nibble your ear as you chug down a milkshake from who-knows-where. How many supermarkets and kitchens must you have cleaned out by now? And how often have you waddled your way back to me, growing more splendidly ponderous and heavy in the endless space between seconds? I notice a tray of cupcakes on the side table that surely wasn't there before, and it's no effort at all to just feed them all to you with one hand as we talk and play and cuddle...
"For someone, whobbbUURRPP, could keep up with, hic!...all of this...URRRPPpetite," you say, patting that hairy, grabbable gut of yours with a pride that I find adorable.
My hand, now, has reached your other wrist (hah! No wrist here, Pudgy, just flab), and nestled in the paw at the end of it is cold silver.
"Someone rich enough to keep this fatty fed, eh?" I say, feeling my lip complain as my two front teeth bite down on it, hard. "And interested in making sure you...never have enough..." My breathing is quick and shallow, my thighs wriggle against one another like a couple of pythons, my hands are pulling your shirt tighter as pop, pop, pop, buttons spray out...Mr. Nguyen, you're making me all hot and bothered!
"That sounds like a challenge," you sigh, and you hold me close for that one shining moment, and as our eyes flicker to the little watch in your hand, in the supreme moment that both our thumbs find the little button, my noticing that it's 1 minute to midnight coincides with a single click...
...and as the crowd cries Happy New Year amid streamers, downed champagne and empty promises, there's something far from empty underneath me, an elephantine wobbling mass of 600 pounds of Asian-American gluttony, bellowing like a wild boar and feeling my own comparatively little pudge thrust happily, sunk too deep into your largesse to care if anyone finds us two piggies swollen so huge and squealing so loud.
As you push inside me and my tiny potbelly thuds against your enormous gut, as my bullet vibe hums inside your tight little ass and sends you undulating like a human massage bed, as you burp and groan and suck sweet chocolate ganache off my fingers, I notice a glint of silver next to the pillow, and without even thinking, I reach forward, and click...
...and who knows how fat we'll be next time you see us.
Time Consuming
by JimBob
by JimBob
(Perhaps the last story I'll ever write here - got the urge for the first time in an age! You can read the protagonist, like Your Dreams - And Mine, as completely ambiguous in gender and/or sexuality.)
"It's a pocket-watch," I smile, enjoying the citrus-y after-taste of the chardonnay on my tongue as I settle down in my reading chair. "What is this, Gift of the Magi? Because Christmas was 6, almost 7 days ago, babe..."
Your nervous giggle is all the answer I get, and you palm the silver watch in that slender hand of yours, other hand in your pocket. You're tossing it up and down as though about to juggle, in spite of the silver chain leading link by link back to your elegant grey waistcoat, wrapped so tightly around that charcoal shirt of yours. I must say, Mr. Nguyen, you clean up very nicely for a man I'm used to seeing in overalls and a hard-hat. Where'd this side of you come from? I almost find myself a little...attracted...
(But then, your figure. Sigh. It was merest impulse of mine to bring you to this party, in the hopes that those overalls would hide even the faintest trace of a starter belly, but you didn't even try the canapes! Ah well...at least I won't be alone going into this new year...)
Bup, bup, bup, the watch softly thuds against your palm, a calm little sound against the hubbub of guests outside, milling about the apartment and letting conversation fill in the dreary moments between now and midnight. New Year, new...them! Good for some, I suppose.
You chuckle. "Not just any watch." You're a man of few words, Mr. Nguyen. A man with a bewitchingly dangerous grin. "Never mind where I got it. It's something I've been holding on to for a little while, something I only use when I'm feeling curious...or indulgent."
At this, I laugh. "You, indulge? Darling, if I were to start up a Buddhist monsatery in town I'd have your bony ass nominated for the abbot before lunchtime." I lie back in the plush chair, sipping at my wine a second time.
You laugh too, and as the fireworks sound outside my window I hear a little click.
You're not here any more.
It's not as though you threw dust in my eyes or hid behind a curtain. Where there was a man, impeccably-dressed and rail-thin, jacket slung over his shoulder and watch fondled in his big, rough hand, there's the empty space to which I am accustomed. I'm on my feet like a cat, gasping and lunging towards the bed. Magic is not my forté, and I've never met an invisible man before!
Yet as I paw vainly at the thin air into which you vanished, I find my attention drawn to a figure that is anything but thin. Behind me, there is another barely-imperceptible click and in my chair is...well.
"Ta-da," you chuckle, and after a moment's thought, "Urp".
Our roles reversed, it is now I who stand by my four-poster bed and you who sit back in my reading-chair, and I can certainly see a few more rolls than I bargained for.
"Golly!" is all I can think to say in reply, cursing myself for my lack of vocabulary and blushing even as I do so.
Your waistcoat, my dear, your sweet little waistcoat! Poor thing, it must hand in its papers and go on the road, for it is no longer worthy of its name! A gorgeously swollen pot-belly is now cuddled inside your straining shirt, framed by a pair of wobbly breasts that utterly beatify what once were brick-like pecs. That cherub face of yours has doubled in adorability just as much as your chins, and your plush bottom is creaking my poor little chair into submission. I imagine you must have had some time with my party - there's specks of barbecue sauce on the sides of your chubbier cheeks and crumbs upon your lap.
And in that thicker hand of yours is a silver watch, which clicks merrily in time with my noticing the twinkling of your eye.
Before I can blink, you disappear, and before I can turn my head, you're stood next to me, and now you're twice the man you were. That belt of yours must be digging into your underbelly! I can only imagine, because that new gut of yours is hanging low, low over your waistband and threatening to burst through your shirt as nearly as your spongy water-wing upper arms have oozed tears into your shirt. You breathe heavily, your hair suddenly greasier and your collar popped to make room for the flabbier, more characterful face now in tantalisingly kissable distance from me.
"Do ya...hwurp...get it, now?", you tease, and take one of my hands - so tiny in your grip, now! - to caress the soft, furnace-hot surface of your swollen love handle, begging me to grip, fondle, caress, tease, tickle. I feel a warmth of my own spreading in my cheeks, between my legs, and it's by sheer force of will that I make myself voice another detail that's become apparent to me...
"...My...my Lord of the Hundreds cheese...that's a private reserve...how did you...how did any of this...?"
You laugh, and now that it's a belly-laugh worthy of any giant I can't help but moan softly, my hand rubbing up your blubbery back and noticing its own brie-like consistency. "When the watch stops, so does everything else...bwoORRpppp...'cept me, of course," you say, and lift your belly tantalisingly to reveal the watch-chain now leading into your trouser pocket. Clever butterball, keeping it in easy reach! Not much is in easy reach for you now, Nguyen...
You drop it, and a series of buttons spray across the room, and suddenly I can see the appeal of fireworks after all.
"How else would I have known? When I press that button, I got all the time in the world. Only I've been saving myself, hic, see?"
"For...what..." I sigh, fondling, caressing, desperate to nibble your ear as you chug down a milkshake from who-knows-where. How many supermarkets and kitchens must you have cleaned out by now? And how often have you waddled your way back to me, growing more splendidly ponderous and heavy in the endless space between seconds? I notice a tray of cupcakes on the side table that surely wasn't there before, and it's no effort at all to just feed them all to you with one hand as we talk and play and cuddle...
"For someone, whobbbUURRPP, could keep up with, hic!...all of this...URRRPPpetite," you say, patting that hairy, grabbable gut of yours with a pride that I find adorable.
My hand, now, has reached your other wrist (hah! No wrist here, Pudgy, just flab), and nestled in the paw at the end of it is cold silver.
"Someone rich enough to keep this fatty fed, eh?" I say, feeling my lip complain as my two front teeth bite down on it, hard. "And interested in making sure you...never have enough..." My breathing is quick and shallow, my thighs wriggle against one another like a couple of pythons, my hands are pulling your shirt tighter as pop, pop, pop, buttons spray out...Mr. Nguyen, you're making me all hot and bothered!
"That sounds like a challenge," you sigh, and you hold me close for that one shining moment, and as our eyes flicker to the little watch in your hand, in the supreme moment that both our thumbs find the little button, my noticing that it's 1 minute to midnight coincides with a single click...
...and as the crowd cries Happy New Year amid streamers, downed champagne and empty promises, there's something far from empty underneath me, an elephantine wobbling mass of 600 pounds of Asian-American gluttony, bellowing like a wild boar and feeling my own comparatively little pudge thrust happily, sunk too deep into your largesse to care if anyone finds us two piggies swollen so huge and squealing so loud.
As you push inside me and my tiny potbelly thuds against your enormous gut, as my bullet vibe hums inside your tight little ass and sends you undulating like a human massage bed, as you burp and groan and suck sweet chocolate ganache off my fingers, I notice a glint of silver next to the pillow, and without even thinking, I reach forward, and click...
...and who knows how fat we'll be next time you see us.
Last edited:
