Her Last Gym Session

I breathe out hard. 15 miles on max resistance, done. This is my last time on the bike, just after my last barbell lift and my last headstand. I go to the changing room and admire myself in the big mirror. The abs are there, the visible deltoids and thigh muscles are there. But soon they won't be there.

I met him two weeks ago. His smile, his wit, his hug. Perfect. I know this is the man for me forevermore. He is making a sacrifice for me - travelling across the country to where I'm from. So it's fair I make this sacrifice for him. I wondered it on our first dinner date when he suggested keema naan with my curry then afterwards the gelato place. And yesterday he admitted it. He wants me big. He wants me stuffed. He wants me to place layers of body fat over these abs so he can lie on them for days.

And I will do that for him. I will make this sacrifice. I love you Matthew. I belong to you. I want you and only you as long as we live. So we agreed, one last session at the gym. One last time for me to feel the sweat on my neck and admire my tone. Then it's to bed, where he shall bring me food and drink until my gut bursts.

I change out of my sports bra and leggings. The other girls in the room notice me. Some I know are lesbians, most aren't, but all of them see my body as their aspiration. It's funny to think how we're trading places. They, if they stay here, will become like I am now. But I'm submitting to purely gluttony and shall be stuffed until I'm bigger than they've ever imagined they might become.

I put on my baggy jeans and my sweater. It's cold outside. And I plan to walk home. Usually this takes about 20 minutes but I want to do in 15, one last time to enjoy the feeling of activity before even a flight of stairs is too much.

I get home, open the door, and Matthew is inside. He's prepared a large Thai green curry with a mountain of sticky rice, red wine to wash it down, and a tub of rocky road ice cream just for me. I finish it all; I wince in pain as my stomach hurts from so much food. I lie on the couch and he very gently rubs my belly. I feel something as he does so. A love so pure that I know I'm making the right choice.

After I've finally digested, he takes me to bed. Sex with him is beautiful, and wonderfully orgasmic for me. But even sex is limited in time now. He has said he won't be finished with me until my belly is too large for him to penetrate anymore, until my pussy is hidden under an all-consuming stomach. I lie on him, and he has his arms around me. I know what I'm giving up, and I know what my entire family will say. But they don't understand me, I can't express to them my deepest longing. Which is to submit, to belong wholly to a man, and to please him. That thought is sexier than what anybody else thinks looks hot: I've found my man for life and I'm going to bring him joy. Thinking of that I become excited, and hungry for more.

A couple of weeks pass. Gym friends message asking if I'm OK. I pretend I'm sick, as I'm not quite ready to be honest with everyone. Each day Matthew feeds me enormous portions. I finish breakfast bursting, I finish lunch bursting, at dinner I lie in bed with my stomach bursting. I'm used to the pain of exercise, but the pain of eating is different. I don't have anymore the sense of achievement that came from gym goals - now it comes from pleasing Matthew and knowing that I am bringing him pleasure. I must change my thoughts, rewire myself so I am focused on him first. I am learning to replace the happiness of reaching goals with the happiness of surrender.

More weeks pass. I now have several stomach rolls, a large face, uncomfortably huge breasts, and a cushioned ass. Running is impossible. Walking too much I notice my breath going and I need to slow down. Matthew is so good to me though. So attentive. Each night he massages every little inch of my body with lavender oil, then takes me into his arms to sleep.

It's been several months when one night, after a very calorific pizza stuffing, he takes me up to bed. And he can't get in anymore. I'm too fat. The roll covering my pussy is too large for him to push away. There's a certain sadness I'll admit, the end of penetration and ordinary sex. No more enjoying his dick, no more orgasms from him burying himself deep inside me. But this is who I am now. I've changed. There's just too much of me for a man to get inside.

"You still like me?" I ask.

"Of course. You're at your most beautiful."

He kisses me. I kiss him and we lock tongues. So many people would sneer at us, call it abuse, say that I'm losing my sense of self-worth. But I know what is right for me, my gut told me happiness lies with him and it never lies. And as I kiss him with all the passion I can bring forth, as his hands massage each roll and every crevice of my fully-expanding body, I cum. I let out a cry of intense blissful joy. I smile as I gaze upon Matthew. My choice has been confirmed. Being with him is orgasmic. Pleasing him is orgasmic. Letting him fatten my body and adore it is without doubt the most orgasmic thing that I have ever done.