A Typical Saturday

Chapter 1

Ding! The sharp tone of his phone pierced through the haze of sleep, pulling James reluctantly from his slumber. He didn’t need to check to know who it was—only one person texted him this early. Groaning softly, he ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the grogginess, and reached for the phone. As expected, the message was from her:

Gmorning! Hope ur hungryyy…

Just as he finished reading, a knock echoed from the front door. Breakfast. He sighed, sinking deeper into his mattress for a few extra moments. What would it be today? Heavy, syrup-soaked pancakes? A mountain of eggs and bacon fit for a family? He half-hoped someone passing by would snatch his delivery, giving him a temporary reprieve. That would at least buy him more time before she– Ding!

Get up.

He groaned louder this time, his body protesting as he slowly heaved his heavy form upright. Could he possibly be bigger than he was yesterday? That’s certainly how it felt. His belly shifted as he struggled to the edge of the bed, the large, round mass getting in the way. He paused, panting, thinking back to when getting up used to be effortless. Now, even this small task left him winded.

James finally stood, the weight of his body settling heavily into his legs as he lumbered toward the front door, doing his best to ignore the slight jiggle of his moobs with each step. Dressed in just boxers, he didn’t bother with modesty—the delivery person was always long gone by now. He yanked the door open, looking down at the large white plastic bag with a brown box nestled inside. Widening his stance, he bent down with a grunt, grabbing the bag before closing the door behind him and trudging back to the couch.

Collapsing heavily onto the cushions, he tore open the bag on the coffee table. Inside, eight sloppily wrapped breakfast sandwiches from the cafe down the street. It was one of his favorite spots, a fact she surely knew, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually gone there himself.

The rich scent of bacon and sausage wafted up to him, causing his stomach to growl in response. How could he be hungry after the feast he’d devoured for dinner last night? No matter how much she made him eat, he was always ravenous the next morning. He unwrapped the first sandwich and took a bite, sinking back into the cushions. With the remote, he flicked the TV on, his focus already drifting to the next bite. The sooner he finished breakfast, the more time he'd have to rest before lunch.

——————————

The warm water of the shower cascaded over James' body, rinsing away the last traces of soap from his fattened form. He ran his hands over his chest before turning to let the stream hit his back. His gaze dropped, and his hands instinctively rested on his gut. Grabbing it with both hands, he gave it a gentle shake, feeling its weight, still bloated from breakfast. The soft jiggle continued long after he stopped. Even after months of living like this, it still amazed him—how far his belly protruded, how he hadn’t seen his toes in what felt like forever.

He knew he ate a lot—because she made him. But part of him never really expected the weight to stick. Especially in the beginning, when his metabolism could keep up with the extra food. Now, it felt like his body had simply surrendered, letting the fat pile on without resistance. It was happening so easily, so quickly. He knew better than to dwell on where this was all headed, on how much larger he’d get. Those thoughts made him either anxious or... aroused. Not that he’d ever admit the latter to her. Whether it would amuse her or anger her, he wasn’t sure. Still, deep down, he had the feeling she already knew.

Focusing on the past was easier. He’d convinced himself that he couldn’t have avoided this. She was crazy, that’s all. Sure, he had made mistakes before, and if he could go back, maybe things would have turned out differently. But the past was the past, and he was a different person now. Who was she to hold his life in the balance over things that happened years ago? He still didn’t know the answer—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out much about her.

James sighed as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist, barely able to pull the ends together over his belly. Out of habit, he tapped his phone to check the time. A text from her was waiting, as always.

Ur going out for lunch today. Antonio’s. You know what to wear

Chapter 2

James sat in the driver’s seat of his pickup, parked outside the restaurant she had chosen. Tugging at the hem of his blue and white striped shirt, he felt a wave of self-consciousness. The shirt was tight—too tight. A size or two too small, it stretched over his body, the short sleeves digging into his thick upper arms. It still had some stretch to it, but it clung unforgivingly to his round belly, making it look even more pronounced. At least the buttons seemed strong; only the smallest sliver of skin peeked out from beneath the fabric.

Taking a deep breath, he finally mustered the courage to get out of the car. It had been a while since she made him go out to eat—maybe a month? He definitely remembered the shirt fitting a lot better the last time. As he approached the restaurant, a few diners were leaving, and the last one held the door open for him. They didn’t say anything, but he could feel his face heat up, imagining what they might be thinking, silently judging him for his size.

Inside, James glanced around the room. It wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make him feel noticed. A petite waitress walking by caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile.

“Come with me, I’ll take you to your table,” she said.

He followed her across the restaurant, where she stopped in front of a small booth. Well, small for him. She gestured for him to sit, and he hesitated, but her expression told him all he needed to know—this was arranged by her. With a sigh, he squeezed into the booth, his belly just grazing the edge of the table.

“What would you like to drink?” the waitress asked.

“Uhh water please, thanks,” he replied.

“Sure thing,” the waitress replied, and left to fulfill his order. He picked up the menu and began to browse it, looking for the lightest options. Being an Italian restaurant, there weren’t many, aside from soups or salads. No way he’d get away with that. Several minutes later, the waitress returned, and set down a large beer, small margherita pizza, and a plate of calamari.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” James said, surprised. The waitress just smiled and placed extra napkins on the table before walking away without a word.

James stared down at the food, a knot forming in his stomach. Ding!

Thought we’d switch things up today. It’s easier this way, don't you think?

He read the words on the screen in defeat. He shouldn’t have been surprised, she was always playing little games like these with him. Still, a sense of unease crept over him.

James set the phone down and picked up a slice of the pizza. It was small, appetizer sized, and cut into four neat sections. He finished the slice in three bites and moved on to the next one. After a few short minutes, the pizza was gone. He took a long drink from the beer, keenly aware of how little of a dent the dish made in his appetite. As he began to pick at the calamari, the waitress returned with another tray full of food

“Here you go,” she chimed, dragging out the words as she set down a slice, no, a slab of lasagna and a sizable bowl of creamy carbonara, along with a sparkling lemonade and a basket of garlic bread. “Let me know if you need anything!” The waitress turned on her heel and walked away with another smile.

James groaned inwardly and looked around, his nerves on edge. What would people think seeing him sat with multiple entrees? He picked up his fork and cut into the lasagna. It was rich and flavorful, and he knew he could finish it, despite the substantial serving. Switching between the lasagna and carbonara, he tried to pace himself, eating more neatly than he would at home. As the pasta settled heavily in his gut, he kept checking his shirt, making sure it hadn’t ridden up too far. The buttons were starting to strain, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. At least the table hid most of the damage.

It didn’t take him long to work through the dishes—he wanted to eat them quickly, while they were still hot and appetizing. Having cleared his plate, he leaned back and gently caressed his belly under the table, feeling satisfied. He nibbled on the garlic bread, knowing she’d expect him to finish everything, and sipped the lemonade between bites.

Before long, he saw the waitress returning with yet another tray. He hoped, briefly, that it was for someone else, but deep down he knew better. There was still dessert to be had, after all. No way she’d let him go without dessert. Unsurprisingly, the waitress walked right to him. But instead of the dessert he was expecting, she instead presented him with what looked like two more entrees.

“Lobster ravioli and chicken piccata,” the waitress said as she refilled his glass, in response to his incredulous stare.

“Listen,” James started, he pushed one of the dishes back and gave the woman his most sincere look. “You seem really nice. And I know she’s probably paying you a lot, but–”

“Yeah, she is,” the waitress interrupted. She reached across the table to stack up the empty plates, but left them on the table. “Enjoy!” She turned and walked away once again.

James rubbed his belly, feeling the fullness set in. He wasn’t stuffed yet, but he knew these plates would push him past that point. Somehow, the knowledge that dessert was still waiting made him feel fuller just thinking about it. His appetite had already begun to wane, and the food he’d eaten was settling hard in his stomach.

He speared a piece of ravioli, chewing slowly, thinking. He could tell that it’d be better if he was actually hungry, but he didn’t have a choice but to eat it. Right? Would it really be that bad if he resisted? Stood up to her and just walked out? Ignored her annoying texts and called her out on her bluff? No, his life would be over. He couldn’t risk it, but liked to think about it from time to time.

The ravioli, though smaller than the previous entrees, was incredibly filling in his already full state. It always struck him how heavy a single bite could be when deep into a long meal. The lemonade helped some, a refreshing respite between rich bites of pasta and creamy chicken. But the bubbles meant he had to stifle burps with every sip. It was already mid afternoon when he arrived and it seemed as though the early dinner rush was beginning, patrons slowly filling the tables around him. With each bite, James felt his shirt stretch tighter across his expanding belly, thankful it had enough give to contain him.  He paused frequently, leaning back to rest with his hands on his gut under the table. It was starting to press uncomfortably into the table’s edge, making sitting up to eat awkward. If he were home, he’d pull the plates to his chest and eat that way, but here, in public, that would make him look like a pig.

After what felt like an eternity, he cleared the last of his plates.

James moaned softly, rubbing his distended belly under the table. He rarely felt this full at lunch—this level of overindulgence was usually reserved for dinner. She must be in a mood today, he thought. The waitress, busy with the growing crowd, hadn’t returned yet, giving him a few precious moments to let the food settle. He coaxed out a few quiet burps as he scanned the room. No one seemed to be paying much attention to him, but that didn’t ease the embarrassment gnawing at his gut.

A few minutes later, the waitress hurried back to the table with dessert: a slice of tiramisu and six cannolis neatly arranged in a pyramid.

“She says you can leave when you’re done,” the waitress said, biting her lip. Her eyes lingered on his swollen stomach for a moment before she disappeared again.

James stared at the desserts, his stomach protesting simply at the sight of them. He sat there for a full minute before picking up a cannoli. The sweet mascarpone cream melted in his mouth, reigniting a flicker of appetite. He managed to finish two before leaning back again, struggling to hide just how uncomfortably full he was. The booth was tight, and each shift pressed his gut harder against the table.

Reluctantly, he moved on to the tiramisu. It was lighter than he expected, but far richer than he was ready for. After a few bites, he shook his head, setting the fork down. It was too much—too sweet, too soon after the enormous meal he had just finished. But he’d tried. She’d have to acknowledge that, he thought, he’d really tried.

Just as he was contemplating how to maneuver his heavy form out of the booth, his phone buzzed.

You’ll never guess who I ran into today. Your coworker Ted! Todd? The bald one.

The color drained from James’ face as he read the message.

Think I should get to know him? I’m sure he’d be interested in how we know each other…

James didn’t reply, he never did. He knew what she wanted from him and doing so was the only reply she needed. With a bit of effort, he sat up in the booth, belly painfully pressing into the side of the table. He picked up his fork and started on the tiramisu again, taking bite after bite and ignoring the fullness in his gut. If he ate quickly enough he could get it down before his stomach could protest too much.

As he finished the cake, the waitress returned to refill his glass. He took a long sip, clutching his belly as a loud burp escaped. A few diners shot him disapproving looks, but he ignored them, focusing on the remaining cannolis. His breathing was heavier now, his gut spilling between his thighs as it rested heavily in his lap. He stuffed half a cannoli into his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could, some of the cream dripping onto his already strained shirt.

Figuring he was already making a pig of himself, James picked up the plate and brought it to his chest, leaning back into the booth with a grunt. The shift gave his belly more room, and as he exhaled, one of the buttons on his shirt popped off, flying somewhere under the table.

He glanced around, mortified, but no one seemed to notice. Despite the embarrassment, the relief from the extra space was undeniable. With a little more room, he managed to finish the last of the cannolis. He groaned softly as he set the plate down, rubbing his overstuffed belly under the table. He’d take a few moments to ease the pressure before getting up, but all he could think about was getting home and collapsing into a well-earned food coma.

Chapter 3

“Hey, wakey wakey, fatty.”

James was roused from his sleep by the sound of her voice and the feeling of her hands on his bloated belly.

“It’s Saturday, remember? You know what that means.” She shifted around in the bed next to him, grabbing a handful of his side roll. James could feel her dark hair brush against his chest, and the sweet, familiar scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils. “Do I have to tie you up or will you cooperate?”

James groaned at the thought, still half-asleep. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he returned from the restaurant and collapsed into bed. A couple hours maybe? Not long enough, he knew that much. His stomach still felt full.

“Come on, up up up! I don’t have all night.” She patted his cheek lightly to wake him faster.

He forced himself to sit up, the effort made harder by the soft bed and his distended gut. He heard her giggle beside him as he struggled to get into a seated position. Once upright, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scowled at her..

“What time is it?” he muttered.

“Late,” she responded, giving him a sarcastic smile “I gave you extra time, aren’t I sweet?”

James leaned his head back against the headboard and sighed, closing his eyes. His belly still felt heavy, and he knew the rest of the night would be rough. Saturdays were always the worst, but if he were honest with himself, it was also the day he secretly looked forward to. Not only was he free from having to juggle her fattening demands during the busy work week, but he got to enjoy the one and only perk of his unfortunate situation: seeing her.

“Okay!” She gave his belly a slap and swung her toned legs off the other side of the bed. James winced from the pain and rubbed the sore spot. On his nightstand was a massive pitcher of weight-gain shake. Made with what, he didn’t know. Whenever he asked, she’d simply smirk and tell him it was a secret. She poured the thick liquid into the standing funnel next to the bed, the sound alone making his dick twitch—an automatic response she’d trained into him over time. Or at least that’s what he convinced himself of.

Once the pitcher was empty, she set it aside and turned to him, her pretty face expectant. With a deep breath, James leaned his head back once again and opened his mouth. She quickly positioned the tube between his lips and turned the nozzle. The thick, cool shake began to flood his mouth, and he swallowed obediently. He knew better than to touch the funnel or beg for a break—he was at her mercy. Instead, his hands rested on his swollen belly.

“Good boy,” she cooed, climbing over him to sit on the bed. She squeezed one of his moobs playfully. “I heard you popped a button today… lard ass.” Her mouth found his nipple, teasing it with her tongue before giving it a light bite. James moaned in response.

“You should know better than to eat that much in public,” she continued. “You just can’t help but make a pig of yourself, can you? Now my favorite shirt of yours is ruined.” She shifted her attention to his belly, shaking the soft mass. “All because of this thing.” She grabbed onto his love handle, making it jiggle. James kept drinking from the funnel, focusing on her words rather than the growing fullness in his gut.

“But I’m nowhere near done,” she said, her voice low. “If you think you’re fat now, just wait. The next few months? You’ll barely recognize yourself.” She slid her hand under his belly, tickling the sensitive skin as she leaned down to swirl her tongue in his deep navel. James whimpered, shifting beneath her touch. He wanted so badly to reach for his cock, but he knew better.

“You like that?” she teased with a laugh. “Of course you do. God, you’re such a pig.” She grabbed one of his thighs, shaking it and watching the fat wobble. “You love getting fat for me, don’t you? You act like you don’t, but this—” she slid her hand down to his boxers, stroking him slowly—“this says otherwise.”

James drank faster from the funnel, his arousal heightening.

“Not that you have a choice,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Are you going to let me turn you into my prized hog? Feed you out of all your clothes? Make you so fat you can’t even reach your dick? You’re helpless.” The questions were rhetorical, but in his mind, James answered. She could do whatever she wanted to him. He had no choice, and he didn’t want one. She had broken him down, taken advantage of every vulnerability.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, her hand moving expertly along his shaft. “And I’m going to make you so fat you’ll take up this whole bed. So big you won’t even remember what it’s like to move without hundreds of pounds slowing you down.”

James swallowed the last of the shake and let the tube fall from his mouth. “Ughh,” he groaned, his belly rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. Moments later, he came, shooting his load over her hand. She wiped it lazily onto his boxers and started rubbing his swollen belly instead.

“You’re such a greedy fuck,” she said with a smile, her hand massaging his gut and coaxing out deep, satisfied burps. “You finished that even faster than last time.”

James could feel sleep pulling at him again. He groaned, letting her play with his fat, knowing he had no choice but to submit. He drifted off as she rambled on about what she’d order him for breakfast.