Mom arrived at 11am the next day - not exactly quite as bright and early as I had expected - and I showed her around my enormous home. She was equal parts impressed and concerned, clearly having underestimated the scale of the challenge, but I made sure not to give her any work that was too taxing - after all, I had to befriend her and find a way to finally put my life back on track.
A couple of weeks later on a scorching summer day, I’m sat outside by my pool having a doze, when I am awoken by a light patting on my shoulder. I blink my eyes open to see the smiling face of mom, holding a plate of sizzling sausages and greasy bacon, topped off with a generous helping of fried eggs. “Sorry Jack, but I made your brunch before I realised you were asleep”.
I sit up groggily, and reply, “oh, Lucy, that’s very kind, but I had a rather large milkshake before I went for my nap and I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now”. Half true, I did have a rather large milkshake an hour or so ago, but this fat bloated body is already calling out for its next meal, my stomach rumbling gently. “It would be a shame for all that food to go to waste though, why don’t you finish for the day and come join me by the pool? If you’re hungry you can just dig in!”, I reply hopefully, wondering whether I have pushed my luck. It’s been over a fortnight and I still haven’t been able to really get to know mom, not this version of her anyway, and I’m beginning to feel a little desperate. Perhaps on a full stomach she’d be a little more approachable?
Mom purses her lips, thinking hard, before clapping her hands together and taking a seat in the empty lounger next to mine. “Well, if you insist...”. She takes to the food with gusto, and I watch with interest as she shovels in mouthful after mouthful, until the breakfast pile is little more than a hillock, and finally the flat grease covered remains of the China plate. “Urrrgh, that was good, but... too much...”, she groans, collapsing back into the lounger, cradling her bloated belly in both hands, “mom has me on a liquid diet at home, I have to get my proper meals where I can... *burp*, oh, pardon me...”.
“Oh, that sounds a bit extreme”, I reply, my interest piqued, “she isn’t letting you eat any whole foods?”.
Amy looks back at me miserably, “nope, just meal replacement shakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Apparently I’ll only be allowed the good stuff once I’ve lost another 75 pounds. I’m down 8 pounds in the last week and I’m sooooo hungry!”. She seems quite upset about the whole thing, and thinking back it would explain her sullen moods and monotone responses to my attempts at conversation over the last few days. This simply won’t do...
“Well... I suppose, if you wanted, you could eat here with me? I can’t in good conscience have you working around the house when I know you’re starving. You might get faint and hurt yourself!”. Mom looks at me thoughtfully, as if weighing up whether or not she trusts me, a man that she had only met a few days beforehand, and without thinking I blurt out, “and... and you wouldn’t have to work a full day. In the afternoons you could use the pool, or sunbathe, starting today!”. In truth, mom was an awful maid, and the house was often more untidy after her visits than before. I was already considering hiring someone else to come in on her off days and give the place a proper once over, so this doesn’t seem like a particularly large concession.
At the promise of both good food and good money for less work, mom grins widely and holds out a pudgy hand, “deal!”. We agree the terms over a hearty handshake, after which she folds her arms behind her head, lying back on the sun lounger. The sun beats down on this scorching summer day, and it isn’t long before I’m starting to feel quite sticky. A pool of sweat has developed in my cavernous belly button, and is overflowing, sending little rivulets of sweats over the crest of my belly to drip, drip, drip onto the sun lounger below. Time for a cool-off I think...
I heave myself up and waddle over to the pool, slipping myself into the shallow end and breathing a sigh of relief as the cool water washed over me. I look back to see that mom has sat up, and is eyeing me curiously. “That does look quite refreshing... I didn’t bring any swimming gear today, but... well I suppose you won’t mind...”. She stands up off the lounger and, before I can say a word, lifts her tight bodycon dress up to her wide hips. As the dress reaches the crest of her poochy belly it gets caught, and momentarily lifts the heavy flab up, exposing a pair of frilly lace panties beneath. They just about cover the important parts, but between the see-through lace edging and the fact that they are likely a size too small, there is a good amount of bulging fat pad on show too. As the dress finally squeezes over mom’s belly’s girthiest point, it flops back down with a slap and hides the panties from view once again.
Mom pulls the dress up and over her head, giving me a sneaky peek at her boobs without fear of being caught. They’re fat, soft, and overflowing her bra, which looks like it fit about 20 pounds ago. “Oomph, this gets so tight and sticky in hot weather”, she complains, wrestling with the fabric. After another few seconds,of struggling she pulls it off her head triumphantly, shaking out her long brown hair.
With a cheeky smile, mum runs towards the pool, her flab shaking violently as she picks up speed, and dive bombs into the deep end. The resulting splash send so much water flying out of the pool that I’m sure it will need a top of tomorrow morning. We send the rest of the day swimming, chatting, lounging, and eating, and for the first time since I arrived here I feel like I’m in with a shot of getting my life back in track.
Over the next couple of weeks mom settles into her new routine. With each passing day she does less and less housework, and more and more eating, to the point that I’ve started getting my actual home help to do a full food shop on a daily basis. I also let mom use my facilities as much as she pleases, including the bathroom for her morning beauty routine, where I’ve managed to rig the scales to record her weight whenever she steps on them. This has allowed me to track her weight gain from a hefty 271 pounds when she returned from college up to an even meatier 298 pounds a mere three months later. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I offered mom the job, as she needs to slim back down to become the stone cold milf I had known and loved in my teens. Perhaps there was still time...?
There has been a good amount of flirting too, around the pool, over dessert - I think she knows that I’m into her, and far too fat and out of shape to get a stunner like her in real life. She seems to quite enjoys the power dynamic as a result. A brush of my arm here, a wink and a compliment there. She knows just how to push my buttons...
It’s now early September and I know that the end is in sight. Mom will be going back to college soon, which means my window to make sure that the next jump takes me back to my proper timeline is closing fast. I’m not convinced that her summer with me has helped too much in that regard, and I’m having sleepless nights thinking of the fresh horrors that might butterfly effect 20 or so years from now. As I ponder this problem of my morning paper, mom walks into the room and takes a seat next to me. The wicker bar stool groans under the weight of her flabby bottom. She turns to me, and says somewhat bashfully, “Jack, I have something important to ask you...”.
1 - She invites me to dinner
2 - She asks me to be her boyfriend
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Get MORE!
Shop Memberships
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
