Sex Makes You Fat

Sex Makes You Fat

Published by Elf · 2012-10-28T20:16:35+0000

Sex Makes You Fat…

By Elf


“Margo at the health good shop says that they’re the latest thing,” Mark bubbled enthusiastically as he emptied the bags of groceries he’d just carried in. “Herbal Viagra, she called it. Totally safe. Totally natural. ‘Guaranteed to improve your sex life,’ she said. And you know how she is—she said it so loudly that everyone in the shop turned and looked at me, the silly wench…”

I stared doubtfully at the oversized brownish-green tablets in my hand. “I don’t know about this, Mark. Where do they actually come from? There’s no manufacturer’s name on the bottle…” And why do really need them? I added silently. Our sex life is pretty good, isn’t it?

Well, it was and it wasn’t. Like so many old(er) married couples, we’d gone from fucking like rabid weasels in the early days of our courtship to once a day, then once or twice a week, to maybe once a week, to… well, you know how it goes. Don’t get me wrong, and don’t think that we didn’t love each other, because we did. It was just that… long days at tough jobs, tired-when-we-get-home, sleepy-after-dinner, too much wine, perhaps… And it wasn’t that I didn’t still find Mark attractive, because he was (and I did) even as he passed the big 5-0 and his black curls went more and more silver. He still worked out (we both did) and he jogged eight or ten miles a day (I preferred cycling), so he still presented a fine figure of a man, tall and lean and devilishly handsome… and he never failed to tell me, via word and action, that he still thought me (six inches shorter and several years younger) as attractive as the day we’d met.

But, still… Sex wasn’t much on the cards these days. Almost twenty years together, and we were, perhaps, a bit too used to each other. Oh, Mark grew his beard (a wild mass of silvered-black curls) and that was enticing—for a bit. And then I grew mine (straight and thick and gingery-blond) and sex was improved again—for a bit. Holidays in new places—Mykonos, Morocco, Syria just before the civil war started there—always helped. A bit. Then we’d come home and weeks might go by before Mark would turn over in bed and start stroking my face and neck and hair…

“Did Margo say what’s in them?” I asked, sniffing them—was that mint? Sage? Cinnamon?

“Something called yohimbe, I think she said, and some special honey from New Caledonia or someplace like that, plus a whole lot of other things I can’t remember. Nothing illegal, Eddie, promise!” Mark hastened to add just as I opened my mouth to ask. “Herbs to stimulate the penis and the prostate and other sensitive areas, she said. Loudly!”

“We tried something like this before, didn’t we?” I reminded him. “That foul-tasting herbal tea from Hong Kong—don’t you remember? Margo insisted that it was wonderful…”

“This is different, she said. Some doctor in Switzerland came up with the formula.”

So, gazing at the not-especially-appetising-looking pills, I thought—what the hell… Couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to give it a try? With a quick glance at Mark’s hopeful face, I popped one of the pills in my mouth and swallowed it—after a bit of a struggle. The damned things were the size of my thumbnail, after all, and thick as a chocolate bar… Mark’s grin was wonderful to see as he swallowed his own—cheerfulness mixed with lust mixed with aren’t-we-being-silly…

“Did Margo mention how long we might have to wait for the effects?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes, she said…”

“Time to get the rest of the groceries unpacked, then…”

But the groceries remained scattered all over the kitchen countertop, the ice cream melting and the milk getting warm, because fifteen minutes later were writhing in our bed, locked into a passionate embrace, tongues deep in each other’s mouths, and, soon after (and long after) Mark’s seven-inch cock buried deep in my willing ass…

I have never felt anything like it. A few minutes after swallowing the tablet I started to experience a sort of warmth glowing in my stomach—pleasant, but nothing sexual. With a few more seconds the warmth had turned into an exciting core of tingling heat, which spread—upwards, outwards, downwards—and before I knew what was happening, I was started to pant, and my cock was stiffening in my pants. Then Mark gave a sort of laughing roar and grabbed my in his strong arms and carried me upstairs and threw me on the bed, and—

And that is how we spent a very pleasurable hour late on a Saturday morning.

Well, after we’d finally rolled out of bed, exhausted and sweaty, and cleaned ourselves up (and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, giggling like children as we scoffed the entire carton of half-frozen ice cream and then kissing each other with chocolate-sweet lips), we decided to walk to the Crown and Anchor for lunch, as we simultaneously decided we were starving for one of their homemade beefburgers… Delicious! Dripping with cheese and served with a side of hot, greasy chips, and washed down with a pint (and then another) of one of the excellent local ales. We split an order of sticky toffee pudding, afterwards, which is not something we normally do, but Mark kept grinning this wicked little grin (“I think we’re entitled to a little celebration!”) and wriggling in his chair as if he were slightly uncomfortable—and if his cock was still semi-erect (as mine was), I could understand why…

Sleepy and replete, still feeling the afterglow of that warm tingling inside…Stuffed to the gills and practically waddling home, I thought perhaps I’d take a little nap before starting on pruning the rose bushes and weeding the flower beds… But Mark had other ideas. Just as I settled back into the cushions of the daybed in the conservatory, he appeared in the doorway, shaking a familiar little brown bottle and grinning… What the hell. Another pair of pills popped, and another hour of fucking like rabid weasels. Starving afterwards again for some reason. I made us a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, and when that barely took the edge off our post-coital appetites, Mark threw a couple of frozen pizzas into the oven. We ate them out in the garden, and made love again on a blanket in the shade of the bamboo where none of the neighbours could see us… Ye gods, but it was lovely…

And again that night.

And three times again on Sunday.

And a quickie before work on Monday morning.

And all through the day at work, feeling my sort-of-almost-starting-to-be-stiff cock in my pants, getting aroused again and again at the memory of all that love-making. My ass should have been bleeding and sore, but it wasn’t. Just remembering the deepening thrusts of Mark’s cock inside me would get me all day-dreamy and horny again… I was home half an hour before him that night. I stuffed a big chicken and cut up some potatoes and carrots and was just sliding the pan into the oven when I heard Mark’s car on the gravel. He was hardly through the door before we’d downed two more tablets and torn each other’s clothes off and tumbled blindly into bed… God, the heat! Like my groin and ass and belly were on fire, and every pump of Mark’s cock was throwing more petrol onto the flames…

Two hours later, we’d picked the chicken carcass down to the bare bones and were comfortably into our third glasses of wine. Mark’s dark eyes glinted wickedly in the candlelight. “That was delicious. I feel like I could eat another one, though!” His big square hands dropped down to his lap to loosen his belt a notch, and he sighed, relaxing, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back… for some reason that started to get my cock all excited again… That pose… that relaxation… those eyes, that smile… an invitation to…

“Mark, we’ve got to take it easy with this pills, I think.”

“Why? Aren’t you enjoying it?” And he smiled again, and dropped one hand to his crotch and started drumming his fingers on what was obviously a growing bulge in his trousers.

“Yes, but… eight times in three days? Is that normal?”

“Might not be normal for some. Might be normal for us—it used to be, didn’t it, when we first met?”

“Yes, but—“

“But nothing. Stop being such a damned puritan, Eddie, and come give me a kiss…” And his beard was crisp and curling and tickly-prickly, and his tongue certainly very clever, and somehow without really agreeing to it (but not fighting it much, either) he’d slipped another tablet into my mouth and made me swallow it. And the fire glowed and Mark’s cock filled all the hungry empty places inside me and he roared (and I moaned) with pleasure and afterwards we staggered downstairs to watch a DVD of the first series of “Sherlock” and ate a container of ice cream. Each.

And then another. And then we made love again… And the next day was much like that one. Wonderful!…

…I noticed it first. As I mentioned, I’m a good six inches shorter than Mark, and it couldn’t have been more than a few days later, getting ready for work, when I first had trouble fastening my trousers. I really had to tug hard, grunting all the while, to fasten the button, and then I couldn’t get the tongue of the belt to slide into his usual hole, and when I did, I could hardly breathe. And, standing profile in the big bedroom mirror, I saw to my surprise a distinct bulge of belly filling out my starched white shirt. Not much! But not nothing. Horrified, I pulled the scale out from under the bed—and it insisted (although I kept stepping onto it, and off again, as if there’d been some mistake the previous time, willing the needle to point to a lower number… but it didn’t. The damned thing persisted in declaring that somehow I’d put on eight pounds. Since Saturday…

It hardly shows, I assured myself, quickly pulling on a woolen waistcoat to cover the evidence. Mark hasn’t said anything. No one at work will notice. Yes, we’ve been eating too much this week, that’s all… We’ve been staying in to have sex, rather than going to the gym or out to cycle or jog, and we’re always hungry after sex…

All that day I could feel the waistline of my trousers constricting my swollen gut, feel the top edge of my belt buckle digging into a bulge of tender new flesh… I kept touching it, stroking it, slapping it, sucking it in and feeling it expand back when I let out my breath… It was gross, it was sick, it had come out of nowhere, eight pounds in five days, it was unhealthy, it was…

…Exciting. My cock was half-hard all day, as my fingers pressed in and felt the resistance… And, though I promised myself I wouldn’t eat a thing all day, I was starving by lunchtime and devoured two 12-inch sub sandwiches…

It had to be the sex pills, I told myself, driving home (and sitting in the car, didn’t my belly bulge out uncomfortably, causing me to unfasten my belt and slip loose the button of my trousers, just so that I could breathe). I’ll be home before Mark, and I’ll cook something lo-cal for dinner, and I’ll tell Mark my suspicions and we’ll throw the bottle away… Sensible, logical—and part of me was already in mourning for that delicious heat spreading through torso and groin and ass… Maybe we could ration ourselves? Take the pills only on the weekend, and diet and exercise like crazy the rest of the week? We didn’t want to get fat, did we?

But Mark was home before me, and dinner was in the oven, and he’d opened a bottle of champagne, and there were cheese and crackers and smoked oysters on the countertop and a wicked grin on his face and his clever fingers caressing my neck and back and slipping down the (tight!) waistband of my trousers… and the sage-minty taste of a tablet on my tongue.

Lying back, naked in the pillows, feeling that incredible tingling heat spread through my body… It was almost as if I could feel my stomach swelling wider and heavier as Mark made love to me. He didn’t say anything—didn’t seem to notice the extra pounds—but didn’t his fingertips linger, lovingly, over the fur on my belly, and didn’t he groan with pleasure as he settled all his weight atop me, his cock deeper within my ass…

And hadn’t he put on some weight of his own? Weren’t his six-pack abs the teeniest bit blurred, thickened with a layer of flab which hadn’t been there just a few days before? Or maybe more than a teeny bit blurred…

And (let’s be honest) wasn’t I loving the sensation of his ever-so-slightly thickened middle pressing down on my erect cock, sandwiching it between our bellies? And was the sudden unexpected image of my cock being sandwiched between two future, substantially larger bellies somehow getting me even more excited?

Mark had made a fisherman’s pie, rich with cream and cheese, big enough for four. We finished it between the two of us, with more wine, and a Dorset apple cake for pudding, and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, still kissing. A softening middle… a hint of love-handles… it was almost like making love to a different man—and didn’t that thought get me hot and excited all over again?

I watched Mark in the shower the next morning, when he wasn’t watching me. Watching as he soaped the dark curls on his chest and ass and belly… a definitely bigger belly. And one that would continue to expand, unless I told him, unless I insisted… I should—I would—but then I remembered all that glorious sex… the excitement of exploring his big, thickening body…

…And I kept schtum. Through the next weekend, and the week after that. I tried desperately hard to eat sensibly during the workday, but I was still packing on a pound per day, at least. Those damned pills! Those damned, wonderful pills… The second weekend was an orgy of food and fucking. I couldn’t, could NOT fasten my trousers on Sunday morning… Mark said nothing, but in bed he was playing with my burgeoning belly more and more, stroking it, rubbing his beard across it, his sparkling eyes meeting mine over its expanding curve as he spread my legs and took my cock in his mouth… But he said nothing! Not about my weight-gain and not about his own, which was becoming more and more noticeable. Seven bouts of sex that weekend, and seven feasts to follow, and by Sunday night he had to have passed the twenty-pound mark. I was almost there myself, and he’d been eating far larger portions than I had… Twenty (twenty-two? Twenty-five?) pounds in nine days? Not natural… not possible? But it was happening…

And it looked luscious on him. Thick and strong and hearty and hedonistic. And he wasn’t saying a word about it… Denial? Or something else?

Another week, another seven pounds for me. Twenty-five total, and my gut was filling out my clothes like a heavy, hairy round watermelon, and colleagues at work were making snide comments. In that same week, another ten (or twelve?) pounds for Mark, probably thirty-five total… biggening belly, ass and thighs starting to look heavier, too, making him look stronger, healthier, more and more masculine and rugger-bugger-ish and—and dangerous. Which I liked. And sex was—sex was…

Fantastic. Amazing. Beyond glorious…

And then the pills ran out.

And Margo couldn’t seem to get any more from her supplier.

That’s when Mark and I finally talked about it, the weight we’d both packed on. Admitting (sheepishly at first) how much we liked the way the other looked. Admitting (even more sheepishly) how much we liked the way we looked ourselves.

“I’ve always had a thing for guys with a little extra meat on their bones,” Mark said in bed that night, stroking and patting and drumming his fingers over the taut curve of my potbelly. “I never said anything, because—well, you were so handsome and so sexy and I never thought you’d be into it, but now—damn, you look hot, Eddie!”

“And I never thought much about guys with guts, Mark, not until you started putting on the weight… on you, I like it. I like it a lot.” And I nuzzled my beard into his softening paunch until he moaned with pleasure…

A wonderful feeling, lying back and feeling one’s cock pressed between two fat bellies, one’s own and one’s lover’s…while his cock reams one’s ass… Even without Margo’s herbal magic, a wonderful woozy heat spreads wide…

“Will you gain a bit more?” he whispered, as we lay there in the dark, sated and close to sleep. “Just a bit? A little bit? A nice little hairy pillow of a belly for me to rest my head on?”

“I will if you will, love,” I murmured back. “If you gain—a lot. I’d like to see you with a big, wide, soft paunch on you, Mark… Big. I mean, really big. A hundred more pounds, at least. Muscles under it, yeah, but… jowls and big thighs and man-boobs and a big, fat hairy ass, all that, too…”

And Mark smiled sleepily, and his cock came alert, and sex was—sex was…

Fantastic. Amazing. Beyond glorious… and would continue to be so.