Heavy with Guilt

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PART ONE: JONATHAN

My life is great.

I love my girlfriend, I don’t completely hate my job, and I’m not buried in debt. Not at the moment, anyway.

But I’m in a moral quandary.

I met Bernadette in college at a party. She was pretty, funny, and we clicked right away. Late nights hanging out in my dorm room led to some fooling around, and we were officially a couple not long after.

We’ve been together for four years now, and in that time, Bernadette has put on a lot of weight. She was heavy before, but now she was incredibly overweight. This is the source of my guilt– the reason I can’t completely enjoy my life the way it is.

Bernadette, who I’ve come to affectionately call Dette, was only 24, and weighed 532 pounds. I know the exact number because she weighed herself in front of me last night– while I jerked off.

Bernadette is an inch shorter than me, and I’m six feet tall. Her skin is very fair, and her hair is light brown but she dyes it black. Her weight is mostly in her lower half, with massive thighs and an impressively round ass. Her soft belly pushes out and spills over her waist. Her arms are doughy, and her breasts are surprisingly modest and perky.

Early on in our relationship, I admitted to having a fat fetish, though I had worded it more eloquently than that. She was fine with it, and seemed happy that I found her attractive just the way she was.

Later, I began to lightly and jokingly encourage her to gain weight. And she did. More and more over time.

Now, it was integral to our sex life. I was always respectful, loving, and careful not to explicitly fetishize her body. But that’s totally what I was doing.

I loved Dette for the person she was, but I loved her cellulite on a very primal level.

Last week, she had twisted her ankle during a walk around the block near our apartment. That led to a visit to a walk-in clinic. That led to a conversation about her extreme obesity, and the toll it was taking on her health.

I wasn’t there for the conversation with her doctor, but she filled me in on the drive home. It was awkward, and it made me feel dirty for essentially trading in my girlfriend’s health for my sexual satisfaction. It was oddly parasitic, or something. I didn’t tell her about the guilt I felt, but I think she sort of sensed it.

That night, we had better sex than we had in a while– probably because she encouraged me to focus on her large belly while she rode me like a masterful cowgirl. I squeezed and kneaded her flesh, impressed by the volume of her belly alone. The weight of her was overwhelming, and glorious.

It seemed like the health talk with her doctor hadn’t ruined either of our libido.

This is the worst part about my dilemma: I know that she should lose weight. I know that it’ll drastically reduce the quality and duration of her life if she doesn’t try.

But I don’t want her to try, all the same. I love her the way she is. I’d love her more if she was bigger, God help me.

That’s the worst of it, but there’s little things too.

Dette is very generous. She cooks for me often, she cleans, and she makes more money than I do. In bed, she asks for very little. And she gives me very much.

Early on, we were content with sex, and basic foreplay.

But after a while, I felt confident enough to request more. I wanted to 69, which led to me wanting to try facesitting, which led to smothering and breath play not long after.

Dette didn’t hesitate when I wanted to try new things. She went along with my desires, and she never gave any indication that she was uncomfortable.

Not while I masturbated while she let me tongue her asshole, with my face buried under her ass.

Not while I masturbated while she suffocated me with her enormous belly.

Not while I masturbated while I fed her fast food, while she also masturbated.

Noticing a trend? I’m not saying I don’t offer to return the favor. I honestly love eating her out more than I enjoy receiving a blowjob. But as I mentioned, Dette is a giver, and it’s hard to convince her to be otherwise.

And because of this, I became greedy. I had become complacent. I was taking Dette and her body for granted.

Our sex life was very active, but we had started to have less actual sex and engage in more foreplay type stuff as her weight increased.

Sex was trickier with her increased mass. Her thighs and belly seemed reluctant to allow me passage to her vagina, but I managed. Certain positions worked. But because of the effort involved, we often ended up in acts that only benefitted me, and emphasized my obsession with her weight.

Dette seemed to enjoy facesitting. I used to attempt cunnilingus during our sessions, but I preferred to be sealed inside her ass, so that’s how we did it nowadays.

It was routine at this point. I’d lay down, she’d crawl on top, and squat over me. I’d beg for her to sit on me. She’d tease me a bit, then fully commit.

She really let me push the boundaries of breath play. ataköy escort We had a system, and she only got up when I tapped her. I came hardest when she was suffocating me, and we both knew it.

Lately, her recent gain had made the whole thing a little dangerous. One night, after repeatedly tapping her, she had struggled to get off me in time. Sure, I had come harder than I had in years, but it was becoming apparent that Dette was losing her mobility skills.

And wasn’t that my ultimate desire anyways?

I never told her, but I fantasized about her being so overweight that she never left her bed except when necessary. In my fantasy, she’d roll over, exposing a large, sweat soaked impression in the bed, like a shallow valley in the mattress. I’d crawl in, and let Dette roll back, trapping me under her.

I’d squirm under her, crushed and smothered, trapped underneath her mass. Buried in Dette.

But that was a dangerous dream. This lifestyle was killing her, and I could still help her. I could encourage her to be healthier, to course correct before it was too late.

I just had to have a talk with her. All I had to say was that I wanted a longer life with her, and that would be enough.

I just had to try.

…

PART TWO: BERNADETTE

My life is perfect.

I love my boyfriend, I make very decent money at my job, and I feel good in my own skin– though you’d think I’m crazy for saying so.

But I’ll get to that in a minute.

I met Jonathan at a party, during my college years. He was smart, adorable, and we hit it off immediately. I’d sneak over to his dorm to make out, and we were dating soon after that. I was happy to have landed such a cute guy.

We’ve been together for four years and two months, and in that time, I’d really let my weight get out of control. I was very chubby before, but now I was more than twice my size since college. Jonathan doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s his preference. Let me explain.

Jon– who I only address as Jonathan when I’m mad at him– is 25, and weighs about a third of my own weight. I don’t want to reveal my exact number– only Jon knows that. He loves to hear the number, though. Trust me.

Jon is an inch taller than me. He’s six feet tall, with tanned skin, and brown hair he keeps short. He’s thin, but not too scrawny. Compared to me, he’s like a skeleton, but I love that he’s fit. I like his abs most of all. And his dick.

In the first year, he told me he was attracted to curvier women. I just though he was being kind, but I quickly realized it really was his thing.

He never shamed me for being hungry, or ordering larger meals. He seemed to nudge me in the direction of eating more, and talked positively about my curves. Plus I liked eating, so I ate.

I ate a lot these days. I was a big girl now. Jon was very happy with my body. He was affectionate and sensual, and he was never crass. He just worshipped me for who I was.

I loved Jon, so I didn’t mind his obsession with my increasing weight. I actually loved it.

Last week, I sprained my ankle like an idiot. Jon took me to see a doctor, and my weight became the main focus, and the doctor really emphasized how my extra weight was detrimental to my life.

I brought it up with Jon on the way home, because we shared everything. We didn’t keep big secrets. He was quiet, and he seemed a little bothered by the news. I think he felt responsible, even though he never forced me to do anything. I ate because I wanted to. It just helped that he didn’t mind.

That night, we had sex. I instigated things first, and took control. I climbed on top of him, even though I don’t usually go on top. It’s way more work. But I wanted him to feel my weight, and to know that I liked being me. I let him play with my belly. I know how much he likes that.

The chat with the doctor didn’t phase me. I didn’t need a professional to tell me I’m fatter than I should be. I find basic stuff pretty exhausting. My thighs chafe. But I don’t mind.

That’s the worst part about it, I guess. I don’t really care. People smoke, and drink, and that’s not good for you. Drugs. Reckless driving. I don’t do any of that. I just like eating, and I don’t want to stop.

Jon seems torn. He likes my body, but he cares about me. I don’t know how to tell him not to worry. I just want him to be as happy as I am when we’re together. To not think about our mortality.

I’ve always wanted him to feel loved, and appreciated. I do what I can.

Jon’s a good listener. He massages my feet. He scratches all my hard to reaches places. He doesn’t mind scratching my butt crack. He doesn’t blow our money on stupid shit. He’s a great boyfriend. I tell him often, and I reward him with what he likes.

We used to have sex a lot more often, but we’ve kept the sexual spark alive in other ways.

I was self-conscious with Jon in the beginning. I felt big, and I was nervous the first time we 69’d– I was worried that I’d suffocate him. Not long after, I avcılar escort started doing that intentionally, because it turned him on.

I felt comfortable with Jon. I loved trying out all his unique desires, and even though we didn’t always discuss our sex life after the fact, I always relished giving him what he wanted.

I loved showering while he sat on the shower floor, helping me clean my deepest crevices.

I loved feeling him struggle underneath me while I watched TV, laying comfortably on top of him, grinding him into the sofa.

I loved falling asleep to him using massage oil on my ass, knowing full well it would always end with him jacking off while burying his face in my butt.

Actually, he’s pretty much jacking off all the time– but it’s to the sights and smells and sensations of my body– so I love it. He tries to return the favor, but I usually refuse. I still let him eat my pussy every so often. He’s too good at it to abstain indefinitely.

Jon became very comfortable asking for favors. I was happy, because I think I enjoyed being his sex doll, for lack of a better expression.

I enjoyed the sex in the beginning. It was amazing. But the heavier I got, the happier I was just being worshipped. To be honest, I usually waited for him to fall asleep so I could get off while he slept next to me. It helped me sleep, and I sometimes manhandled his member while I did it. It was my own weird little thing.

As I said before, we still fucked, just not as often. I had rolls and folds that got in the way, but we got by. Missionary was the most ideal. Doggy wasn’t terrible. But I preferred to take care of him, in the ways he adored.

I honestly enjoyed his favorite request: facesitting. He used to eat me out, but what he really enjoyed more than my pussy was my huge ass.

I knew the drill. It was almost a daily treat, for both of us. He’d sprawl out naked on the bed, I’d drag my curves up and over him, teasing him with my full moon. Jon’s voice would get all husky, and he’d ask me to smother him. I took my time, but I always gave him what he wanted.

I knew the agreement. He always tapped for air, and I always got up. Watching Jon jacking off from underneath me was my favorite thing. I adored the idea of him climaxing to the unbearable weight that was…all of me.

Lately, I’ve wanted to push his limits. But I had a close call. He was buried under my ass, tapping me like crazy, and I didn’t get up. I pretended like I was trying, but I was taking my sweet time. He helped to push me off. He came so hard that it reached my tits. That must have been a record, for anyone.

But that feeling was new. That rush while I bided my time. I love Jon, but that night while he slept, I masturbated to the idea of toying with his oxygen beyond his comfort zone.

I’d always served his needs, never really questioning what I myself needed. I thought I was content being worshipped. Now I wanted to take charge. To play with his air like I played with his cock.

And I knew it would be easier if I was heavier. Too heavy to push off. Too heavy to blame for suffocating him for too long. Too loving for it to be on purpose.

Hypothetically, I’d always get up before it was too late. I worshipped Jon. I would never do anything to really hurt him. I just needed to know how long was too long. Trial with no permanent error. I needed that feeling again. His quivering body under my own. Fighting for life.

But I had to be careful. I’d have to wait a bit to try it again. In that time, I’d eat a bit more often. My ankle didn’t stop me from working from home, but I never exercised much before– now I was mostly sedentary. I could put on extra weight, and that would be my alibi.

Sorry baby, I wanted to get off sooner, but I just couldn’t. I’m too fat.

That was my new obsession. Getting so heavy, he couldn’t push me off.

And so it began.

…

PART THREE:

IMMOVABLE OBJECT

Things weren’t going as planned.

Every time I tried to breach the subject of Bernadette losing weight, she changed the subject.

I figured that she was just trying to protect my feelings by downplaying my involvement in her weight gain.

It was like the more I tried to veer us towards healthy eating, she got a craving for junk foods and binge eating.

And I couldn’t refuse her. She started requesting that I hand feed her most of her meals. I complied, because it turned me on. I was human.

And so, over the next six or seven months, Dette put on another hundred pounds.

If I had felt torn before, now my mind was splitting in two. Dette was slowly morphing into my ultimate sexual ideal.

Her body expanded so quickly that she had new stretch marks on her belly and inner thighs. Even her tits seemed bigger.

Dette was transforming into my darkest desire. She was inching her way towards being so heavy that it was hard for her to walk.

That meant we spent more time in bed.

In the first few months, beylikdüzü escort our attempts at sex slowed to a crawl. But she was still hungry for playtime. She constantly lured me into bed, and crawled on top of me. I didn’t even have to ask her to sit on my face, she just did it.

There were other notable changes as well.

Dette started pleasuring herself while she sat on me. I loved it, as I had always worried she wasn’t getting enough sexual release in the past.

She also started to ignore my signals for air. Sure, she would begin to get up once I tapped her, but she sure took her time. We didn’t talk about it, but I suspected that she enjoyed asphyxiating me, especially when pushing the limits of my lung capacity.

Soon after, we often climaxed simultaneously as I suffocated under her mammoth behind–which I enjoyed thoroughly– despite the increased hazard to my health.

As Dette’s proportions grew, so did her dependence on me for her personal hygiene. I showered with her, cleaning all of her cracks and crevices. I shaved her legs, and her pussy. I put ointments on her chafed skin, and clipped her toenails.

I wasn’t yet responsible for her…bathroom cleanliness duties…but it was a very real possibility that in time, she would need help with that too.

But because she had my help, Dette always smelled good, and the wear on her 24-year-old body from her weight gain was at least being tended to.

Dette now worked completely from home, which was perfect. I came home from my job to find her sending a last batch of emails, then we were free to fool around and eat bad food.

I had almost fully let go of the guilt I had previously felt. Dette fully embraced her weight gain, and I couldn’t stop her. It didn’t hurt that she was even more sexually charged after putting on a hundred extra pounds.

My only concern lately was her dedication to her obsession with smothering me.

A couple months back, she had clearly been feigning her struggles to get of me while I tapped for oxygen. I could tell she was just dragging it out. It wasn’t the first time that I noticed her act.

Last week, her act seemed far less hokey. She rocked back and forth, trying to gain enough momentum to roll off of me as I panicked underneath, trying to force her off. I couldn’t. She rolled over at the last second.

I almost passed out. Which is to say, I could have died. Not that I believe for a second that Bernadette would ever hurt me. But she loved my struggles. My muffled whimpering.

Dette was still gaining weight. What was I going to do when she couldn’t get off me anymore? I clearly had no power over her mass.

I loved Dette, but I was no longer worried about her well being, but rather, my own.

…

PART FOUR:

UNSTOPPABLE FORCE

Things were going precisely as planned.

Jon made his attempts to stop me from gaining weight. I knew it was coming from a place of love.

The doctor thing bugged him. But we both knew he wanted me this way. Bigger, even.

So I was a little manipulative. I requested the fattiest foods to gain weight quicker.

Jon’s too sweet to say no. Plus I know that he can’t refuse feeding me by hand. I love watching him fondle himself while he crams a jelly donut down my throat. So to speak.

I started weighing myself for him more often. I watched with glee as I put on another hundred in over half a year.

I loved the feeling. I felt like I was becoming a woman made of marshmallows.

Marshmallow that had the streaks of stretch marks. I even loved the discolorations where my parts rubbed together often.

It was hard to stand, and really easy to become out of breath. So I avoided standing, and any unneeded exercise.

The bed became my life.

My desire for sex dropped off entirely, but I still craved Jon. Even more than before, I wanted to be on top of him. It wasn’t hard to convince him to be my seat. I craved the feeling of his head under my ass all the time now.

I enjoyed it so much that I stopped getting off at night, and instead played with myself while I smothered him. He was already jerking off, and I loved watching him tug at his cock. But if I’m honest, what really did it for me was his panic.

My dream was to be so big that he couldn’t push me off. I was getting there. As honest as we were around each other, I didn’t address my new obsession. But he could tell something was different.

It was getting to be a regular occurrence that I came as I smothered him, as he came underneath my great white ass.

Another obsession I developed was Jon’s increased servitude to my needs. He regularly cleaned my entire body in the shower. I usually rewarded him with a quick smother. He used a razor to keep my body hairless, among countless other duties as assigned. I felt like a queen.

Although we weren’t the kind of couple who embraced toilet-themed sexuality, I wondered when the day would come that Jon would need to clean me after I relieved myself. I loved him enough to know that when that day came, we’d make it work.

Despite my sinful, sloth-like lifestyle, Jon was keeping me fresh and clean on the daily.

My weekdays went as follows: work from home on my laptop, mostly in bed, then eat dinner with Jon, and get up to our usual hijinks.

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