Turn 5 of 6

Mara invites you back to her place for some alone time, and you explore each other's obese fat bodies. Fondling every curve, grabbing your sagging belly and shaking it. You slap her butt and watch it jiggle. Her double chin is becoming a third, she's clearly enjoying how fast she's putting on the pounds and isn't hiding it anymore. She's given into her fat destiny and gainer/gainee relationship

Mara fumbles with her keys at the door, her torn red dress hanging off one shoulder, and you press up behind her — your enormous belly cushioning against her back, your breasts flattening warm against her shoulder blades — and reach around to turn the key yourself. She laughs, a little breathless, and the door swings open into a small apartment that smells like lavender and the ghost of last week's takeout.

"God, you're *warm,*" she says, and you are — your whole body radiates heat like a furnace, soft tissue holding the warmth of the restaurant, of the walk, of her. You nudge the door shut with your hip, and the impact sends a slow wave through your body that you can feel rolling from your belly down through your thighs. Mara turns to face you, and the ruined dress finally gives up its last pretense — the zipper separates entirely, the bodice falls open, and she steps out of it like she's shedding a skin she never wanted.

She's softer than she was a week ago. Her belly presses forward, round and pale, and when she cups it with both hands there's a new weight there that wasn't at the gym. You reach for her, both hands sinking into the flesh at her hips, and she makes a sound — small, surprised, pleased — as you pull her close. Your bellies meet and compress, warm skin against warm skin, and you can feel her heartbeat through the padded wall of her stomach.

"Look at you," you murmur, running your hands up her sides, feeling the new rolls forming beneath her ribs. "You're getting a real double chin going. It's adorable." You cup her jaw gently, thumb tracing the soft cushion of flesh beneath her chin, and Mara's cheeks flush dark red. She reaches for you in return — both hands grabbing the hanging apron of your belly and lifting it, letting it drop, watching it sway. The sensation sends a thrill through you that has nothing to do with sugar.

You turn her around and give her a playful slap on the rear, and the ripple that spreads across both cheeks makes you both dissolve into laughter. She's gained enough that the motion travels visibly now, waves through soft tissue, and she looks over her shoulder at you with that defiant gleam — the one that says she knows exactly what she's becoming and wants more of it.

"I'm going to need a third chin at this rate," she says, and you grin and pull her back against you, your hands resting on the warm shelf of her belly, her back pressed into the vast soft cushion of your chest.

"We'll get you there," you whisper against her ear, and she shivers.