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So Terribly Huge

Thursday, October 04, 2007 11:27 PM

One thing I’ve always loved about my boyfriend is his belly. It was never small. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite, and that’s one of the things I always think about when I masturbate when he isn’t around. Plus, there’s always the thought of it getting just a little bigger. Okay…more than a little bigger.

Even as a young man, I’ve had a rather distinguished taste for big boys. On our first date, I knew my primary objective was to get his shirt off. Although I did my best not to stare, a big belly, with that little inward ridge in the middle (the one that leads to the belly button) was something I couldn’t keep my eyes off of. Just think of a big Valentine’s Day heart, full of chocolates, and turn it upside down. That’s what his belly looks like. Except it’s not full of chocolates, but lots of soft, warm chub.

...my primary objective was to get his shirt off.

So now that he’s laying next to me, taking up most of the bed, I should point out that the thought of making his waistline drastically expand even further is something that makes the tip of my cock drip. The first time we kissed, my hands were on that jiggly, fuzzy belly of his, and I let my fingers sink into his ample flesh, and imagined what it would feel like if there were more—much more—than I could grab. I found it hard to take my fingers away from his middle to write this story.

I love to masturbate with his belly lying on top of me, or with his rather ample ass settled right below my nose, with his tight hole offered to my tongue. With his ass over my face (I need to be careful, I nearly suffocate), I get to watch him from behind and take in the breadth of his widening love handles. As I think about his sedentary lifestyle, and the way I let him eat, I wonder how much longer I will have to enjoy this position before his massive weight begins to impact negatively upon my jaw. Sometimes having him on top of me is a little uncomfortable, but I always enjoy it.

He’s a rather big boy of 26, and if he keeps eating the way he does, he might just get a little too big. On his 5’10” frame, he carries 476 beautiful pounds, which I love to see him tuck into a tight pair of 54” jeans and a 4XL polo. The shirts are actually on the small side, I like to keep it that way, so he has to tuck them in so they just wrap around the bottom of his muffin top. When I say it barely wraps around his flesh, I mean I can shove my hand in between his “tucked in” shirt and the front of his pants, and feel warm skin. The shirt just makes it.

His behind is another thing to behold, deserving of a new paragraph, of course. It can overfill any chair you throw at it, and always hangs off. It’s the kind of ass you can’t help but ogle, and the kind I love to plant my mouth on. When he walks, it looks like two beachballs are vying for the space in his tight pants, bouncing up and around one another. But of course, I know of no beachball that can jiggle like a nice, fat ass. We often say we wish my cock were longer, so it could get through his tremendous ass-wall to penetrate and reach far into his tunnel. Sometimes I let my arm venture up as far as it can go, and it gets nearly lost up to the elbow. Alas, his monumental rear end is fairly deep, but I can still manage when the mood strikes me, it just takes a little ingenuity. I just have to spread his buttcheeks as far as they will go, and guide myself in sideways.

I sometimes scratch my head and wonder how he fits his gargantuan self into those 54” pants. He calls it his “fat people’s waist,” the one that’s sits below his sizeable paunch. And even then, it can be a battle to get those pants buttoned. He really should be wearing 58’s, I guess, at least on his lower waist.

I consider buying him new ones, and simultaneously imagine him hurriedly overfilling them, his fat ass stretching out the rear to the point of tearing, and his huge jiggly gut straining the waist. I’d love to buy fat-man pants for him, maybe 62’s, and hope that when I get them home to him, they just might already be too tiny for his humongous body.

To get a pair of pants up over his huge belly, just around his belly button (the way people without bellies, and some chubs, wear them), they’d have to be at least 74 glorious inches. I measured his belly the other night, and saw that the measuring tape didn’t stretch far enough. If I guessed correctly, his gut is at least 76 big ones, and that’s guessing shy.

There are, of course, other things I love about the body of my near-quarter-ton beauty. He’s got the cutest arms, and his short-sleeve shirts always strain to wrap around them. The band around the sleeves on his polo shirts is always very tight, and when his shirts wear out, this part always gets a huge hole in it from the constant fat-friction. I just took a break to lick and suck on a generous portion of his arm jiggle, which, I should add, is the best pillow I’ve ever slept on. Sometimes I cream my pants just checking out his legs in a pair of straining boxer briefs. They’re…rather full. The tubby rolls cascade up to his crotch, to a succulent pad of pubic fat. He’s definitely not lacking in this area. My hands always find their way in and around these fleshy parts, finding new places to sniff around—a sort of pre-fellatio ritual.

Since I’ve begun to express my interest in his rather large size, getting him to fuck me has not been a problem. He always loved for me to give him head, but the more he learns I appreciate his soft body, the more he wants to fuck me. He never believed the attraction was purely physical at first, with his charming personality, but the thought of being fucked by something so large drew me in like a gravitational pull.

As he gets behind me while in my favorite position, I still get to watch him standing up on his knees, his weight pushing deep craters in the soft mattress. Actually, his depressing force in the bed puts his member in prime position to penetrate me, and I am in all my glory. On my side, my one leg is pulled up towards my chest, and he gathers up his gut and drops it down on my thigh, pushing eagerly into my asshole.

The reason I love this position is simple: If I turn my head, I get to see him in action. He tends to suck in his gut while he’s pumping in and out, which I assume takes less effort to move. Still jiggling quite a bit, he’s like a work of art, rhythmically moving in and out of my insides, each ripple of his fat like a unique snowflake. One thrust, his gut quivers; another, I notice his tits bounce. Yet another, he strikes that pose he knows I love, flexing his huge arms for a couple seconds. I know there are huge muscles underneath the skin, but all I can sense is the ample adipose surrounding it. It takes a lot of strength to pick up that belly, which plays a part in the musculature.

The drooping portions of his upper arms, that round out the bottom just as much as the top, are more than enough to make me drool. I know that once he comes, lays against me to get back his energy, and finally lays back down for me to enjoy, I want to focus on his arms. If I try to wrap both of my hands around either of his chubby appendages, they do not come close to touching. Even if I squeeze the fat in really tight, I still can’t make the connection with my fingers.

...doesn't mind I'm so infatuated with his fat.

While I’m busy with all these thoughts running through my head, he erupts in me, jetting out his load in about a half-a-dozen long pulses. When he’s done, and his member retracts a bit, he leans down on me, which must be an awkward position. His gushy gut is competing for the space in front of him, but he tries to seem comfortable, hugging my waist.

Eventually, he slithers off me, and lays at my side once again. All the energy it takes to move his near 500 pounds at such a quick pace has made him sluggish, but he is young, resilient, and madly in love with me. His task at hand is to get me off. After the show I just got, it’ll be really easy for him. Surprisingly, he does not mind that I am so infatuated with his fat. It pleases him to know my cock is always hard for him.

A couple weeks ago, I told him of my constant fantasies to make someone tremendously fat. At his current size, my man is a dream come true. His late-night eating habits have gotten him into a big predicament, but it is one I revel in. If he only knew that I would one day come along and worship his morbidly obese masterpiece, it might not have taken him 10 years to pack on so many pounds. According to him, they sort of snuck up on him. Personally, I like to think of how he ever got so big. Lately, when I’m horny and want to get him into bed, I ask him, “So, honey…how did you let yourself get so terribly huge?”

He snickers at this and replies, “Years of constant overeating.” It’s a funny thing, love. He and I have been together for a few years, and for a great period of time, he thought I settled for his body. How dense can one be? I’ve always told him how sexy he is, but it’s always in bed, or in events leading up to that. Those were never empty words meant to fulfill my sexual cravings. I always meant it. My big boy really turns me on. The belly, the ass, the lickable love handles—they’re all things I always dreamed of either having on myself, or fondling on a partner.

So one day I decided to tell him exactly what I think of when I’m jerkin’ it. I may look at pictures, or watch videos of young, cute chubby guys. The trend among all of my jacking sessions is my, no pun intended, huge imagination. If I look at pictures of a shirtless chubby guy, I like to know how much he weighs, so I can mentally add 20, 50 or 100 pounds to that.

There’s a special place for my man in my heart, and on my hard drive. When I look at pictures of him in various poses that show off his rolls, I mentally tack on 150 pounds. Sometimes I need to plump him up to 200 extra pounds before I ejaculate. This has always been a part of my routine.

I can always picture a man, and wonder what he would be like with much more weight on him. And when I told this to my big boy, he was kind of excited.

When I sit and masturbate with him stripping for me, I sometimes ask him questions. His chubby thighs jiggle back and forth as he wiggles his pants off from under his massive overhang. I can honestly ask him, “how big would you get for me?”

“I don’t know. I could gain another 50 pounds.”

“You’re not getting it, honey. Use your imagination. That’s really all you’d gain for me?”

“Well, I could do a little more. What if I gained 100 pounds?”

“Now you’re talkin’ babe!”

His upside-down heart has a rather unique texture to it. It’s smooth, with little tiny dimples in the skin, with hair lightly covering it, of course. I love to have him stand at the foot of my bed, and seductively crawl up towards the head of the bed to come steal a kiss. His belly is far too big to not brush up against every part of me as he makes his way down towards my end.

On the reverse side, his love handles mound up rather generously on his back, making round protrusions that I love to kiss and grab when he sits. As he waddles down the bed on his hands and knees, he has no choice but to suck in his gargantuan stomach, so it won’t impede his path.

When he gets face-to-face with me, I ask him to be honest with me:

So…when can I start feeding you?

“How big do you think you’d have to get to satisfy me?”

“600 pounds?”

“That sounds about right, but I think you could be bigger than that.”

“7…800 pounds?”

“If you were 800 pounds, what would your body be like? Tell me what you’d have.”

“Well, I know you love my belly. It loves you too. I think it would be rather gargantuan. Do they make shirts in 10XL? I’m not sure if that size would fit my massive gut.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you could get that descriptive.”

“Oh yeah. And this fat ass I’ve got? It’s not nearly big enough. In fact, it’s small. Maybe I’d have to get up to 900 pounds to satisfy you. It would be so huge, I doubt it would fit on any couch, honey.”

“You really think you could get that big for me, babe?”

“I think it could definitely happen. I can see myself being a bigger man. If it meant you being constantly turned on, I’d eat all day for you. I’d just have certain conditions.”

“And what would those be?”

“You’d have to always get me what I ask for. If I want six bacon cheeseburgers, you better get ‘em for me.”

And with that, I couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Honey, I know you were trying to make me come. You didn’t mean what you just said about getting bigger, right?”

“Who said that? I never said I don’t like being fat”

“You…don’t mind being nearly 500 pounds? Wow, that’s…awesome.”

“No. In fact, I don’t feel fat at all really. People tell me I carry my weight well. How about we start to let it show?”

My jaw dropped, my mouth dried, my heart beat faster. What was going on here? I thought for sure that he was messing with me. Five hundred pounds was big, for sure, but here was this gorgeous creature, willing to fulfill my every fantasy.

“So…when can I start feeding you?”

“How about right now?”

“Are you sure, we just had dinner a couple hours ago. I don’t think you’re hungry enough to eat what I’d want to feed you.”

“I didn’t get this big eating square meals and light snacks. I bet I can take on whatever you can give me.”

“Is that a bet?”

“Bring it on, baby.”

And with that, I did.

To be continued…

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