I’m lounging in bed watching you get dressed for work. Nothing in the closet really fits you right now, so it takes you some time, more time than you had planned to spend this morning on getting dressed. Throughout the process, I watch you pausing to examine yourself in the mirror, sucking your gut in and letting it back out, running your hands over your burgeoning belly and giving it a little shake, and squeezing your love handles.

You go through a couple pairs of pants and several shirts before deciding on a combination that fits appropriately enough to wear to the office. The pants button still looks mighty tight to me, and you struggle momentarily dragging the zipper up. I wonder if you’ll make it through lunch without unbuttoning in your car as you eat. The shirt you select is probably the largest shirt you own right now, but it is still a little snug through the midsection, with your belly filling out the fabric in a way I appreciate very much. You tighten your belly, and I know you plan to suck it in all day if you can. 

Shirt and pants finally chosen, you look over at me and realize I have been rubbing my nipples while watching you struggle with your clothes. You meet my eyes and push your belly out, making the buttons of your shirt strain. I let out a small noise, and you grin. Belly still pushed out, you walk over to the bed and lean on me, the partial weight you bring to bear pressing the air out of my lungs. Your lips close over mine, stealing away the rest of my breath. You linger a moment before working your way down to my neck, sucking and nibbling. I will have to cover your mark with makeup today. 

I try to pull you the rest of the way into the bed, but you stand back up and straighten your shirt. “Naughty girl,” you say. “I need to go to work. I’m already late. I couldn’t find anything to wear, thanks to you.” 

I pout, but you laugh and leave anyway, looking back at me and giving your belly a little slap as you leave the room. 

Throughout the day, you text me fat pictures from your desk, from the bathroom at work, and from your car during lunch. It is the sweetest, most delicious torture. You know exactly what I like and how to tease me.

You send me one last photo on your way home from work, showing your shirt buttons straining across your round belly.

What you don’t show me is that you unbuttoned your pants the moment you got into your car. That I discover after you get home and I am easily able to slide my fingers into what should be a tight waistband as we kiss hello. I find your zipper and lower it, more easily than you were able to close it this morning, feeling you harden as I do so. 

“I hope you’re prepared to finish what you started this morning,” you tell me.

“Oh, after the way you teased me all day, you better believe I’m ready for you,” I reply. You confirm this by deftly unfastening my own pants and sliding your hand down them to discover the wetness between my legs. I grip your upper arms as you slip a finger inside. 

You stop after a moment and start removing my top, and we slowly meander our way to the bedroom, shedding pieces of clothing along the way, until the only thing left is your slightly snug shirt. You puff out your belly just as you did this morning, completely filling out the shirt and making the buttons strain a bit. I run my finger down the buttons from top to bottom, following the arc of your belly.

“I want to make you not fit into this at all,” I announce, looking up at you, noting how your face has grown rounder, your jawline softening and a double chin starting to form.

A wide grin spreads across your face. It always amuses you when I admit I want you fatter. “Does it look like I’ve been saying no to you lately?” you ask. “You already made me outgrow nearly everything I own. I should have gone clothes shopping tonight instead of coming home right away.”

I won’t be disappointed if tomorrow morning is a repeat performance of today. I slowly begin to undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing your beautiful globe of a belly. I pause, just admiring it. That gives you the opening to push me back on the bed and crush me beneath you, properly this time with your full weight. 

You know how long I can handle your weight, and right as I reach my limit, you ease up and move down my body until you bury your face between my thighs. When your tongue starts flicking, I grip a handful of your hair, driving my hips into your face. You continue to expertly work me over with your tongue and fingers until I shudder with release. 

Your head re-emerges, and you wipe your mouth. “What’s for supper?” you ask. “I’m still hungry.

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