As the saying goes, if you got it, flaunt it.
Katie had it and so she flaunted it.
Long, shapely legs just shy of muscular. A trim, tapered waist that usually had a firm set of girl abs. Round, pert tits and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. She'd shown it off since it had grown in with tight, stylish clothes that stopped just short of an HR violation during the day, early in her twenties she'd modeled professionally a few times as well, she'd still done nude modeling at art classes up until a year ago.
And of course, the stripping. Under the name Cat-Girl69, Katie had had a place at the most high end burlesque show in the city every Saturday night. A mask covering her identity in case someone from work showed up to see the rest of her nude, she made more money shaking her ass on stage, spinning around a pole and giving lap dances and frequently working bachelor parties than you did in a month.
Until the fertility hormones started fattening her up and she got fired when she hit 160 and the clients started complaining about her cellulite.
"So, this Club isn't exactly the ritz carlton," Katie complains, pausing her packing to suck down her third bottle of coke that afternoon, "I'm only going to get paid minimum wage plus tips. I made five grand a weekend back home."
You grunt, painfully doing crunches on the floor. Don't get it wrong, you wouldn't mind being ripped again but doing exercise fucking sucks. The one good note is that Katie looks even hotter fattened up than she did when she was skinny.
"Yeah and you're not exactly a perfect 10 anymore either," you say as you flop on the ground, wiping sweat from your forehead, "you'd probably fit into that place pretty well though, given what we saw when we drove by on the way in."
Your wife glares at you, blue eyes unchanged and powerful. Involuntarily you flinch, fearing a spanking but then you remember she's handed the reins over to you.
"What is that supposed to mean, fat boy?" she asks.
"You let yourself go, you're losing your looks," you point out to her, rising with a grunt and driving a finger into her gut, "face it Katie, you're getting fat."
"Fuck you fat boy, its ten pounds," she hisses.
Katie is wearing underwear, see through mesh panties three sizes too small. A muffin top folds over their top and runs are starting over her lumpy ass.
"Maybe per month lardass," you say, pinching and fondling, her eyes rolling back in her head in pleasure, "Your thighs touch when you walk, your fat ass is big enough to see from the front, you've got side rolls and love handles, your guts almost at your boobs already. And those boobs are drooping I will add, you'd fail the pencil test pretty hard and they're only going to get lower as you get older."
She's pretty much panting by then, so you toss her onto the bed and start ripping her panties off. You decided a few months ago that she couldn't buy underwear anymore, so she's running out of them.
"Fuck yes, fuck me," she grunts.
You carefully get on her, rock hard dick sliding in quick, "And you're really starting to look your age. Remember last year when you could pass for a college freshman? Ha, since you stopped getting the botox shots after we started trying to knock you up, your face has started falling girl. You've gone some fine lines coming in."
"Oh yes, yes, yes," Katie groans, wrapping her thick, still strong legs around you as you hammer home.
Her tits flop and bounce, given the illusion of her old perk by lying down.
"You're gonna breast feed and those things are gonna plunge, they're gonna be pointing straight down. No one but me is ever gonna want to suck em again," you taunt her, sucking on them hard.
You come into her with an explosion, gasping at the effort and only slowly sliding out. Rolling off with a grunt, you gently knock the hand rubbing her throbing clit away.
"No no, you don't have time for that. You've got to get to work lardass," you taunt her.
Katie obeys with a groan, fat rolls forming across her paunch and begins getting dressed for her stripping shift...
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