You knew Katie was kind of kinky when you first hooked up.
Her perfect physique grinding into you, still very fit but with a slight beer belly from not being able to run due to your knee. You'd expected some sucking and grinding and humping, but she started stuffing you with donuts out of nowhere, cackling and taunting you for your starter stomach. From then on you were hooked and were a full on fat boy by the end of quarter. You were the frat's fat guy by graduation and nearly busted your tux getting married.
You knew Katie was well, more than just kinky when you both started at the same company in the same finance department. On starting you were the fattest one there by a hundred pounds and most of the young women in the department had a build similar to your fitness fanatic wife, if not quite as perfect. A year later and while you'd gained thirty pounds, your weight was now middle of the pack and falling. As seams stretched and buttons burst, the thin attractive 20 somethings ballooning into uncontrollable fatties before your eyes, you knew your wife was dangerous.
But it wasn't until a decade later, when she started the fertility hormones you knew she was cuckoo for cocoa puffs crazy.
"How about I flash tit in the next board meeting? Or don't do the work and offer to suck the bosses' clit in front of everyone?" the lunatic CFO asks you, blue eyes shining with self destructive insanity while she sucks down her third milkshake of the trip, "Oh I know, how about embezzlement? That'll ruin us financially, especially if I start a crack habit and do hooking on the weekends!"
Whether this is a new permanent kink or a temporary switch due to the hormones is hard to tell. Honestly you think it'd be pretty funny if old, vain, self important Katie emerges from progesterone fog in a year and finds herself an immobile sow living in a trailer but fucking crazy as she is, Katie's been good to you. Yeah she made you fat, but you liked being a pampered, 390 lb pet who still got fucked two or three times a day by a playboy center fold level babe and the amount of money she'd brought in made every luxury available despite you still being stuck in an entry level position years later. Plus, well she was pregnant with your kid, so it was your job to limit her lunacy's impact which was why you'd banned her from drinking.
"No, no sex with other people and no theft and no getting fired. And absolutely no drugs or whoring," you order her, munching on some celery.
Having to diet is fucking killing you, but Katie has said she wants you buff again and Katie gets what she wants.
"Fuck you, if I want to fuck myself up I will," she hisses, slapping your still substantial beer gut, "what are you going to do to stop me, lardass?"
In response you reach over and pinch the thick layer of fat that's grown over her thigh muscles. Katie squeals, eyes rolling back into her head.
"You don't get to make choices any more, you fucking psych patient," you tell her, keeping one eye on the gravel road, "you're too damn loony to make choices because you're knocked up and pregnant. Remember that you aren't fucking badass hot chick Katie anymore, now you're just pregnant fatty dumbass Katie."
Katie's eyes roll back into her head and her nipples pop through the fabric of her shirt, "Fuck yes, talk dirty to me like that..."
Thank God you're at the Lake House, because once she's started like this Katie cums. She parks the car and grabs your dick, squeezing tight.
"Talk dirty to you bitch? Fuck no, you've gotta earn it. You've gotta feel how far you've already fallen," you growl at her, squeezing tit.
You've fucked three times on this two hour drive. Turns out you like dominating Katie almost as much as you like getting dominated by her.
"Fuck me, tell me what to do," she moans.
You glance at the Lake House. Its isolated, nothing but water and evergreen trees for miles around its two story brick and log bulk. It has an immense deck all the way around the lower level, leading out to a dock.
"You gotta do eight laps of the deck at full sprint you tell her, that's about four hundred meters" eyes on the hard wood and on her thick, soft legs, "if you lose, no more bras save for wearing bikinis."
"Fuck, only four? You forget who your dealing with fat boy?" she laughs, "I set the state record for four hundred meters in college and I improved on it more than a year ago!"
You laugh back, "And you've gained a hundred pounds since then porky. Even better, you quit working out about three months ago. The only exercise you do anymore is fucking and getting snacks, now quit your bitching and run."
Fuck, giving her orders is already making you hard.
Both of you roll out of the car at about the same time. You're fatter but you're doing low impact exercises and Katie's starting to turn into a couch potato. She struts over to the porch in her gucci heels, shaking her ass and making you almost cum. It turns out you like fat girls too, surprise, but Katie would still mostly count as thick. She's just got a bit of a gut starting to form and her boobs, hips, butt and thighs soaked up a lot of it, being tall helps too.
But as she bends down to touch her toes, her shorts cut into her stuffed belly and she gives a fat girl grunt on not quite reaching them.
"No stretching bitch, off with the heels and start running," you tell her and she glares back at you, stepping out of them.
The illusion of muscle tone on her thick legs vanishes with the heels. She starts running, jiggles shooting up and down her body. She disappears around the corner and you park your ass on a bench, hearing the thumps of her steps as she circles the house. A moment later she's back around, her breathing good even though her massive tatas have flopped out of her shirt.
"Doing fine fat boy, I can sprint this all day," Katie insists, although there's a bit of forced cheer in her words.
By lap two she's sweating when she taunts you, slapping her ass.
By lap three she's breathing hard.
By lap four, Katie is panting and starting to slow down, one arm pressing her tits to her chest to stop them from bouncing.
By lap five, she's sort of jogging instead of sprinting.
By lap six she's going a little over walking speed, her inner thighs red and sore.
By lap seven she's quit, collapsing panting on the deck.
You pull yourself from the chair, not quite waddling over to taunt her, "Look at you! You couldn't even run a hundred yards. Your pathetic, your worthless, you're a fucking fat whore who's lost the only thing special about her. Fuck, if I sat on you, could you even get me off?"
You plop yourself down on her upper thighs, she gasps as your gut brushes hers.
"Fucking Katie Hawkins, the bitch who grabbed life by the horns can't even run," you chuckle, "good thing I like you sloppy because with out a bra, these tits you've been so proud of are gonna fucking sag as they grow. I'm betting they're at your belly by the time you're due..."
Katie starts writhing beneath you, moaning and starting to come. You start to say more but her ankles are suddenly on your shoulders and she flips you flat on your back. The fat girl sort of springs up and starts pulling off her shorts, while you follow with your own clothes. You've never gotten over losing your jacked body but the thrill of seeing that Katie isn't that much smaller than you makes you as hard as shame did. In a heart beat your still mid sized dick is in her sopping pussy, your bellies pressing against each other as she rides you.
"Fuck you, fucking piece of peaked in college loser," she moans, "I got you your job and kept you there even though you spend all day eating and looking at my perfect ass."
"Your perfect ass has cellulite," you moan back, "and you're starting to fuck up figures because you're getting baby brain. I've been covering for you since the hormones made you nuts."
"Since you've lost weight, your man boobs look fucking droopy," she insults, playing with her own tits.
"You can't pass for a high school senior anymore," you dig at her, "you can get all the lip fillers you want, but those tits are sagging and you're getting some spider veins on your thighs. You might be able to pass as a college senior, you fat psycho slut."
"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck!" she screams, coming hard on top of you, still pretty strong thighs pressing tight.
You come hard into her too, a tidal wave of hot jizz straight into her, despite the three blow jobs she'd given you on the road. You're gonna be sore tomorrow but fuck is this hot. Katie collapses onto you, your tits and guts smacking together with a wet thud. For a while you lay there, naked and fat and visible if any boats came by but thankfully no one does.
"Fuck me, I love going down," she moans, rolling off your shrinking dick, "Go get the bags inside, I need to lose more muscle tone..."
You leave the naked pscyho, slide your fat ass into your shorts and start unloading the car. As you carry suitcase after suitcase in, you think about the point of the trip. Katie's taken a health leave of absence for the rest of her pregnancy and you're telecommuting. The whole point is to let Katie live out her low class, fat slut fantasy in relative comfort and safety while you get stronger and fitter.
To that end...
Greasy Spoon She's trading her executive job for cooking greasy burgers and fries at a local buffet...where part of the pay is free meals.
Stripper Katie spends each Friday evening swinging on a pole...or did until she got too fat for the ritzy burlesque she'd danced in. Now she's gonna start at a local strip club until she's too fat for that.
Stay at Home Mom No more working outside the home for Katie, shes a domesticated woman now, focused just on cooking and cleaning. Narrator and Wife both gain.
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