Author's Note: Alright, catching up time. I've got some time to write now, so it's time to be active. It's been a little while since I've written anything so last night and this morning I wrote a bonus little 5,000 word one-off that's a bit of a spiritual sequel to The Boyfriend Effect (One-Off) that I wrote last month. This one is focused on mutual gaining, so for fans of mutual stuff, enjoy! Expect another update on something else I promised this month tomorrow.
Thanks for all the support! Enjoy!
-Polaris
Relationship Weight (One-off)
Warning: This is an adult/fetish story involving weight gain, and stuffing. If this isn’t your type of thing, please don't read it.
By Polarisdreamer
My relationship with my mother-in-law, Angelica, has always been and probably always will be, for lack of a better word, rocky. She’s a petty, judgmental, and jealous woman. To put it bluntly, the widowed trophy wife is hard to deal with, but since I love her son, and he loves me, I’m stuck with her for better or worse.
Emphasis on worse.
I first met her son, Danny, when I was 26, and he was 23. I usually went for guys 5-6 years older than me and taller than 6’0, but in Danny’s case I had to make an exception. He was really cute. I don’t mean to brag, but it’s true. When we first met, he was a hard-bodied 160 pounds, with a taut stomach and the kind of arms that weren’t huge but could lift anything.
He’s only 5’8, but in my mind, his handsome jawline more than made up for it.
Anyway, if you’re interested in specifics, Danny and I met on opposing teams of an adult softball league. He played baseball in college, and I’d played softball. The game our teams played was competitive, so competitive in fact that he accidentally tackled me when he was trying to steal third base. I still remember the first thing I said to him after he asked if I was okay.
“If you like being on top, at least buy me a drink first.”
In making him blush, I knew he thought I was pretty. At about 5’8 with a bombshell body, I looked more like a volleyball player than a softball player. My legs were long and toned, my ass was round and tight, my waist was flat and firm, and my naturally perky breasts filled out an honest-to-god D-cup. At about 145lbs, I was athletically thick, and completely irresistible. After the game, he bought me a few drinks, we had a few laughs, and I took him back to my place so I could try to steal third base. Spoiler alert, I succeeded, and the rest was history.
We moved in together three months into our relationship, but we had been basically living together since the second week we’d started hooking up. I know it’s cliché to say, but it was just love at first sight. He was such a positive and supportive person. We got along so well. We loved the same foods, the same TV shows, and our sexual chemistry was insane. I showered him with affection and in return he spoiled me rotten. For example, I’ll share an excerpt from the end of one of our early dinner dates:
“Cheesecake factory was such a good idea! I wish I could take a slice home for lunch tomorrow though.” I lamented, while we walked by the display of cakes placed tantalizingly close to the exit doors.
“If you want some, go for it.” Danny smiled encouragingly.
“I shouldn’t.” I pouted, placing my hands upon my sorely stuffed stomach. Pasta, bread, and a few cocktails had already done me in. I didn’t want to make a fatty of myself in front of my new smoking hot boyfriend.
“I’ll pay for it. My treat.” Danny promised, placing a hand upon my own and assuring me.
“In that case, maybe wanna get me two slices??? I can’t decide between the birthday cake one and the Oreo.” I greedily chirped with some excitement, as my greedy appetite got the better of me.
“Whatever you want, it’s yours.” He promised me, not hesitating for a moment.
Unsurprisingly, not long after he moved in with me, I noticed my jean shorts were starting to become a little difficult to button. A quick hop on the bathroom scale revealed I’d gained almost 10 pounds since we’d started seeing each other, a product of the dreaded ‘boyfriend effect’ my fatass sister-in-law loved to warn me about. Doing what any sane person would, I got my act together, ate better, started skipping dessert, and got back to a regular gym schedule. I lost five pounds in only a few weeks.
Crisis averted, or so I thought.
I was so worried about my own waistline that I failed to really notice at first what was happening to Danny’s. The same thing happened to him that happened to me. Only much worse.
He got fat!
Well, not fat exactly, I guess gaining 20-30 pounds doesn’t make someone clinically fat or anything like that, but a little chubby for sure. He’d grown a strange new appendage called a tummy with a pair of matching love-handles to boot.
When I first realized Danny was gaining weight, I didn't really mind too much. In one sense it made me feel a little more secure seeing that he was getting comfortable in the relationship. On the other hand, it was so fun to tease him about. He got so embarrassed. I loved making him blush when he was stuffed and defenseless after eating a big meal.
“Geee you are getting BIG babe. When are you due???” I would tease, while rubbing his belly when I knew he was too full to suck in his newly fleshy gut.
“Will you stop.” He’d blush trying to tug the hem of his shirt down a little lower to prevent it from riding up.
Ignoring him, I’d reply with a poke or a pinch to his flabby little belly rolls, “Might as well let it hang out babe, nothing you do is gonna hide that gut from me, hmhm!”
He was still the cutest, as far as I was concerned. I figured once his pants got too tight, he'd cut back on the calories and get back into a regular gym routine like I had, but he didn’t. Instead, he just wore baggier shirts and stopped buttoning the top button. He kept on buying donuts at gas stations and ending each dinner conversation he had with me with:
“Are you gonna finish eating that Brynn?”
In two more months, he gained another 20 pounds. It was clear to me that this new development in his life -- you mean I can't eat everything I want and not gain weight? -- had him really confused. So, I tried to subtly help him. I’d make offhand suggestions here and there, like:
“Y’know babe, popcorn with extra butter is not a good snack.”
OR
“The next time you stop at Burger King, maybe get water instead of a milkshake.”
OR
“You’re on top tonight big boy. You need the exercise.”
A few months, and another 30 pounds later, I knew more direct measures were necessary to save my boyfriend’s rapidly fattening 230-pound figure. So, I tried to cook him healthier foods, but I couldn’t control what he ate when he was out. I tried taking him on strolls after dinner, but the only form of exercise he seemed to enjoy nowadays was sex and the more sex I gave him, the more he ate afterwards. What I was doing was for the best, but still, Danny resisted my little nudges like a petulant puppy. If I hid the chips; he went to the grocery store and bought a family sized bag. It was almost like he was trying to get fat. There was nothing I could do to stop him.
“Is there any more pie Brynn?” He’d ask swollen and stuffed, reclining on the couch while I cleaned up in the kitchen.
“Nope you ate it all!” I’d reply, as I sneakily scarfed down the last of the dessert to save him from himself.
And then I met my future mother-in-law. She lived across the country in California, I was excited to meet her, at first.
Angelica lived alone in a suburban McMansion outside of San Fransisco. She was in her early forties and looked stunning for her age. She maintained a petite 5’5 frame. Her body was fit, lean, and slender with minimal body fat aside from a few womanly curves (big breasts, and large hips) that no amount of cardio could ever do away with. Compared to her, my body was softer and rounder. As much as I hated to admit it, Danny wasn’t the only one who had put on some weight since we started dating. Although I’d fought it, I still fell victim to the boyfriend effect. Although, I hadn’t gained as much relationship weight as Danny had.
Yet.
30 extra pounds didn’t change my figure too much. Instead of 145lbs, I was 175lbs. I’d gone from athletically thick to just thick. My naturally perky breasts had swollen in size more than the rest of me had, something Danny loved, and I honestly didn’t mind. My long legs had grown a little softer and fuller, especially my thighs. Same with my formally round and tight ass. My waist, once flat and firm not too long ago, now had grown thicker and devoid of all muscle tone. It had even developed a slight pooch that caused it to stick outward when wearing dresses or form a dreaded roll of fat when I squeezed into jeans that were too tight for me.
Luckily Danny didn’t seem to mind. He only mentioned my slight increase in weight when I pointed out his. For example, at a bar with some friends, I’d foolishly once drawn attention to his beer gut and teased:
“Might wanna lay off the beer babe. You’re getting so tubby!” I joked, with a little slap to his drum-like beer belly. My friends looked on and couldn’t help, but giggle at his expense.
“I could say the same for you sweetie pie.” Danny retaliated, drawing attention to my newfound muffin top with a little firm pinch before jiggling my gut in front of all our friends. Gosh, as I blushed, I’d never felt so fat before in my life. From that point on I was careful not to tease Danny in public for fear of such swift retribution.
Anyway, where was I, oh right, unlike Angelica, I carried some noticeable extra weight on my body and Angelica didn’t like that about me very much at all.
When we arrived, she was all hugs and smiles to my face, but the minute I excused myself to use the bathroom, I heard her not-so-quietly whisper to her son that I was, and I quote:
“Bigger than the last one.”
Aka bigger than Danny’s previous girlfriend, a cheerleader at his college named Darcy who was five-foot-nothing and probably weighed 110 pounds at most.
I convinced myself that what I had heard was just a joke and that I of all people wasn’t being fat shamed when her baby boy had gained over double the weight I had. When I got back from the bathroom, I was all smiles and the visit seemed to progress cheerfully until Angelica got a moment alone with me later that day when she sent Danny out to the store to pick up some wine for dinner.
No sooner had he left than Angelica turned to me and barked accusingly, “What have you been feeding my son?”
“Excuse me?” I stuttered, not sure how to navigate such an accusatory tone.
“You’re making him so fat!” She hissed with a poke right to my gut.
“I haven’t been feeding him anything!” I replied, in as nonconfrontational a tone as I could manage, “He’s just got horrible self-control. What do you want me to do about it? I’ve tried getting him to eat better and exercise more.”
“Help him!” Angelica fired back without any hesitation.
“How??” I asked desperate to know what my future mother-in-law was thinking while simultaneously recalling Danny happily stuff two gyros into his big belly on our way out of the airport before we caught an uber over to Angelica’s house, “What else am I supposed to do? Babysit him on Atkins, parceling out itty-bitty pieces of sirloin and Swiss cheese?”
“Break up with him.” Angelica replied sounding quite sure of herself, “You’re the problem. He’s fat because you accept him that way.”
“Umm, no. Haha, not going to do that. I love Danny. And he loves me. Are you crazy?” I reeled.
“Not crazy. Concerned.” She fired back, deciding to end the conversation by storming away from me to start cooking dinner.
With my feelings hurt by her meanspirited suggestion, the tension later over dinner was palpable. Rather than risk saying something out of anger, I just stuffed my face the same as Danny. By the time Danny and I finished our second plate of pasta and third glass of wine, my stomach felt like it was about to explode. As I rubbed my swollen and bloated midsection, Danny excused himself from the table to go to the bathroom. The second he was out of sight, Angelica looked me up and down and whispered, “You’re bursting at the seams! Better skip dessert.”
It was like she thought she was doing me a favor. I wanted to say something nasty back to her, and in my overly tipsy state that’s exactly what I did, “Better mind your own business.”
I took a large sip of wine while I watched Angelica’s jaw drop.
“Go on then, keep making a pig of yourself. Better for everyone if Danny loses interest in your sooner rather than later.” She hissed clearly irritated by my words.
Feeling my internal anger overwhelm my fullness, I decided to twist the proverbial knife a little bit more in petty retaliation, “I guess I better start feeding your son extra then. Make him so fat that no other girl would ever want him.”
No sooner did I finish my little drunken comeback than Angelica leaned over and stuck her pointy finger right into my stuffed midsection and growled, “You think you can walk into my house and threaten me you… you…”
“*Burp!*” I belched in her face in response, unable to hold in the gas thanks to the pressure she was putting on my tummy. With Danny’s mom stunned into silence for a moment, I fired back a smug, “Yes. I do.”
Before she could reply, Danny’s loud footsteps could be heard approaching. His incoming presence spawned an uneasy ceasefire. One made even more tense once he served dessert, and we took turns lovingly feeding each other pieces of cheesecake in front of a silent and angry Angelica desperately trying not to reveal the unadulterated hatred she was probably feeling toward me.
As we neared the end of our dessert, our stomachs were filled to capacity, but I didn’t want to stop. Not without sending a clear message to Angelica that Danny was mine. With my fork, I scooped up the last piece of his cake and tried to bring the last bite to his lips, but he stopped me.
“I can’t. I’m so full.” Danny sighed, almost sounding disappointed with himself.
“Nonsense,” I cooed, rubbing his stomach, and coaxing him to open his mouth, “My big husky man can't be full yet. We wouldn’t want to insult your mother’s hospitality.”
Without wasting another moment, I slipped the last bite through his lips, and he swallowed it. His gut looked about ready to burst the button on his pants, so I did him the favor of unbuttoning them for him.
“Ughhh…” Danny groaned in response, before clutching his gut and then grabbing his fork to scoop up the last bit of my cake, “Your turn sweetie pie.”
Making eye contact with Angelica, I could tell she was beyond furious at me. I knew at that moment that I had won this battle. So, with a smile of smug satisfaction, I let Danny feed me the last of my slice of cake. Its texture was moist and fluffy. It slid down my throat with surprising ease down into my painfully full midsection, which at this point, was sticking out so much that I felt the need to unbutton my jean shorts. However, just as I had done, Danny helped me out and unbuttoned my jeans for me, allowing my swollen belly to surge further outward than it ever had before.
In response to the sheer girth of stuffed belly, Danny rubbed it and teased,“Geee you are getting BIG sweetie pie. When are the twins due???”
“Hmhm! Would you not?” I blushed trying to tug the hem of my top down a little lower to prevent it from riding up, but it was no use.
“Might as well let it hang out sweetie pie, nothing you do is gonna hide the sheer girth of that gut!” He replied with a poke to my flabby belly rolls, before starting to playfully tickle me.
Unable to stop myself from laughing and smiling, I looked at the disgust on my future mother-in-law’s face and I let out a big burp before then cooing annoyingly and as sweetly as I could, “Complements to the chef!”
From that day on, Angelica hated me, and I hated her.
Anytime we visited her, or she visited us, she’d bother me with petty insults about my weight and in return I’d spite her by stuffing my face and Danny’s. If we went out to dinner, I would order the fattiest thing on the menu, clear my plate every time, and force Danny to clear his. We always had dessert when Angelica was around. No exceptions.
In response to my petty gluttonous behavior, Angelica lashed out at me any way she could. In private she told me that I had no respect for my body and warned me I’d be a cow in 10 years if I didn't slow down. Then she told me that I didn’t have respect for Danny, because who wants to watch somebody gorge themselves 24/7?
However, as it became clear to her, as time passed, that I wasn’t just some temporary girlfriend passing in and out of her son’s life, her methods of lashing out at me grew more passive-aggressive. For example, every holiday she started buying me clothes a few sizes too small for me as a way to call me fat without having to waste her breath.
Although sometimes she couldn’t resist twisting the knife. She’d beg me to try them on and when I’d make a fool of myself modeling clothes that obviously didn’t fit my heftier figure, she’d gasp in surprise, “They don't fit you? Huh. I thought we were the same size. Guess I'm smaller. Go figure.”
“Go figure.” I’d say, while faking a smile and making a mental note to stuff the kitchen cupboards with chocolate pretzels, Doritos and Dr Pepper, buy cheerios to hide under the sink next to my selection of sugar-filled dessert-like cereals, and fill the fridge with whole milk, whipped cream, cake, fatty meats and anything with added sugar. Anytime Angelica got one up on me I vowed to use food to piss her off in kind. Frankly, Danny couldn’t resist when I filled the place with all manner of junk, and neither could I. We’d make such pigs of ourselves in front of her she’d routinely lose her mind in disgust at both of us.
As months of this petty revenge continued, I was stuffing my face silly at family BBQs, binging on junk food every shared holiday, and cooking big fat family meals whenever she visited. Danny and I always ate seconds and we wouldn’t stop until we were absolutely stuffed.
When I wasn’t around Angelica, I somewhat resumed my normal eating schedule and exercise habits so I wouldn’t actually put on too much extra weight, but stuffing my face with chips and sweets was difficult to avoid when I found myself snacking regularly just to keep Danny company.
The more time passed, the fatter Danny and I seemed to get. Over the course of the next year, I gained 45 pounds, putting my weight around 220 pounds. By breast went up another two cup sizes, my ass and thighs continued to spread, and my gut grew into an undeniable pot-belly. Danny had packed on almost 50 pounds of pure blubber over the same time period. He’d gone from a flawless 160-pound rock solid body when we met to one that was now 280lbs of husky chunky bulk.
One morning after a particularly filling night out feasting with friends, Danny and I were lying around in bed when he looked at me sleepily, wrapped his hand around my bloated doughy gut and teased, “You know, you’re getting a little fat.”
I just blushed in response at first. He was right! I’d spent so much time thinking about him packing on the pounds that I had stopped thinking about my own diet. He wasn't being mean: He was saying it to be honest, and to let me know he didn’t mind at all. So, I teased him right back, latching my hands onto his love handles and humming, “I’m still skinny compared to you.”
Laughing in response to my reply, we cuddled closer to one another and just embraced the softness and warmth of our bigger bodies lying together. I’d never dated a guy that was fat before, and he’d never dated a girl that was overweight, so getting fat together was new territory for the both of us. I never found overweight guys attractive before, but somehow ever since the man I loved had grown into that category I kinda started enjoying the fact that he had developed some more weight to him. He certainly seemed to enjoy the fact that I’d developed some more cushion for the pushing. We’d grown a little lazier in bed, but overall, the quality of our sex life wasn’t worse at all. If anything, it was better than ever, especially the cuddles after sex.
So, since the weight wasn’t really bothering us, neither of us ever directly talked to each other about losing weight. We were happy so we just kept eating and growing together. After all, I loved him the way he was, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I couldn’t. I loved him too much to ever want to make him feel bad about his softening appearance and rapidly declining athletic abilities. And I think he felt the same way about me.
If he’d had a problem with my weight, he probably wouldn’t have proposed to me roughly three years into our relationship.
The engagement ring was positively lovely. Sadly, it was a couple sizes too big, but I still wanted to show it off and rub it in his mother’s smug face. So, that’s exactly what I did when we visited her next. When she saw the ring, she looked about ready to drop dead right then and there. She was pissed and I was on cloud nine.
Then Danny explained to her that he was going to exchange my ring for a smaller one, and that’s when Angelica’s pettiness boiled to the surface right in front of both of us:
“Don’t bother. It will fit eventually. At the rate Brynn’s fattening up, it will fit by the time the two of you walk down the aisle. Mark my words.”
I just laughed at what she said and smiled. After all, Danny loved me, and there was nothing she could do to change that. The prospect of marrying Danny had me feeling like one big chubby ball of bliss. I was so hypnotized by the rock on my finger that I just wrote Angelica’s comment off like I did all her usual petty bullsh*t.
Then she offered to help me plan the wedding, and I foolishly said, “I’d love that!”
What a mistake that was.
In the weeks and months that followed we started looking for a venue and planning the rehearsal dinner and all of a sudden, my once stress-free life started getting much more stressful. Having to constantly communicate with Danny’s mom drove me crazy. Wedding planning cut into my gym time, so much so that I basically stopped exercising entirely. Without the gym to manage my stress, the only thing that seemed to take the edge off was an extra scoop of ice cream here and there. Yet, as the wedding-induced family tension mounted, not even ice cream was enough to chill me out, I had to resort to searching for some peace and solitude at the bottoms of bags of potato chips or at fast-food drive-thru’s.
I didn’t recognize it, but for the first time in my life, I was using food to medicate myself every time Angelica bruised my ego or stressed out my nerves. Danny, the loveable glutton, was no help whatsoever. Anytime I wanted some junk to eat, he just volunteered to get it for me so he could also get some for himself too. For the first time since we started dating, I started to put on weight faster than Danny.
With only three months left before the wedding, to my shock, I realized I’d gained a whopping 50 pounds in the stressful 9-month planning stage. Danny had only gained 20 pounds over the same time period. At 290lbs, I was less than 10 pounds lighter than Danny and profoundly fatter than I was before. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed the stretch marks that had settled on my belly and hips. My extra body mass had profoundly filled out my face, by breasts, my ass, my gut, and even my arms and legs.
Danny had long since become a benchwarmer on his softball team, but now I found myself in the same sidelined position by coworkers and friends who once envied my physical fitness. In the comfort of my relationship with Danny, each of us had grown fat and slow, so much so that we were all but useless in our favorite sport. To be honest, the waddle to and from our car was enough to get us breathing heavy. We still attended games, but mostly just to cheer for our friends and because the chilly dogs at the snack bar were to die for.
Most soon-to-be brides would have had a meltdown, at the prospect of getting so heavy so suddenly, but Danny loved me the way I was and to me that was all that mattered. So as the days passed by, we chowed down on frozen pizzas, takeout, and desserts for three months until the big day finally arrived. The wedding was like a reunion for all of our various friends that hadn’t seen us since our sizable expansions in size. Many of my friends in particular did a double take when I walked down the aisle weighing in nearly 310lbs, but not my nearly 500-pound sister-in-law, Elliot, or my soon-to-be mother-in-law, Angelica. Elliot had long warned me fattening up is what happens when you find true happiness and Angelica had long hoped I’d fall victim to my spiteful stuffing antics. In a way, everyone had gotten what they wanted, Elliot was proven right, Angelica kept me as an outlet for her petty tendencies, and I got Danny.
At 310 pounds, his weight gain plateaued as mine began to pick up more and more steam. I knew it was only a matter of time until I started outweighing him in a major way, but Danny didn’t seem worried about it so neither was I. He looked quite different from the man I’d initially fallen in love with, but (and this may sound weird) somehow, I’d fallen in love with him all over again as a fat man. I knew he felt the same way about me, and I knew we’d be together forever when we cut our wedding cake and happily fed each other in front of our friends and family.
“Good?” He hummed after feeding me a nice clump of cake with his hand.
“Delicious.” I smiled, as I gently rubbed some frosting on his cheek, leaned forward and proceeded to lick it off him, causing a host of cheers and a single jeer from one of our onlookers. I knew Angelica was the one jeering so I made sure to take my time and be extra thorough licking the cake off her son’s face. Once I was finished, we parted and I admitted blushing, “Is it bad if I want more?”
“You really can’t resist, can you?” Danny smiled seemingly pleased.
“Haha, nope. I’m such a fatty.” I giggled, as Danny grabbed another slice and fed me another bite in front of everyone.
In response, someone’s annoying mother-in-law yelled out, “Save some for the rest of us!”
Prompting our crowd of onlookers to break into a muted laughter at my expense.
Blushing with embarrassment, I pulled my husband in close and made a promise right then and there that I intended to keep no matter what, “We are not saving any cake for your mother, do you hear me? I can’t eat all this by myself, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“Always.” He laughed not skipping a beat, as we prepared ourselves to put on the gluttonous show of a lifetime all for the sake of not letting Angelica get the last laugh on our wedding day.
We had a fat future ahead of us, so why try and be modest?