**Part 3: The McDonald’s Night**
Isla pulled into the car park of the big McDonald’s on the high street just before eight, her pulse racing like she was committing a delicious crime. The place glowed neon against the dark—busy enough for cover, quiet enough for intimacy. She’d changed twice before leaving her flat, finally settling on black leggings that clung to her fuller thighs and a cropped hoodie that rode up whenever she moved, exposing the soft lower curve of her belly. At 298 pounds, every new ounce felt like a secret invitation.
She spotted him immediately through the window: Ryan in a corner booth, casual in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that stretched across his shoulders. No white coat now—just raw, off-duty attractiveness. His eyes found hers as she pushed through the door, and the slow smile he gave her sent heat straight between her legs.
“You came,” he said as she approached, voice that honey-smooth murmur she’d replayed in her head for months.
“I couldn’t not,” she admitted, cheeks already warm.
He gestured to the booth opposite him. “Sit with me.”
The fixed table and bench seat looked innocent enough—until she tried to slide in. Her belly, rounder and heavier now, met the edge first. The overhang pressed firmly against the tabletop, forcing her to suck in and twist awkwardly. Her thighs spread wide on the seat, soft flesh spilling over the edges; her belly settled heavily onto her lap, squishing further against the unyielding table. A little jiggle rippled through her as she finally settled, the cropped hoodie riding up to bare a pale strip of stretched skin.
Ryan’s gaze dropped to the trapped swell, darkening instantly. He shifted in his seat, one hand discreetly adjusting the front of his jeans.
“These booths weren’t made for… someone like me anymore,” she said with a nervous laugh, face burning crimson.
“They look perfect to me,” he murmured, eyes lifting to hers with undisguised hunger.
The air between them crackled. Small talk lasted seconds.
“I haven’t lost any of the weight you wanted me to,” she confessed softly, fingers tracing the edge of the table where it dug into her softness. “Actually… I’ve put on more. About twenty pounds.”
His brow lifted, but the corner of his mouth curved. “Twenty?”
She nodded, breath shallow. “Part of it is just… I love eating too much. But mostly—” She met his eyes, voice dropping. “Mostly it’s because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands on me in your office. How it felt when you touched my belly. It turned me on so much I’d binge every time I remembered.”
Ryan exhaled slowly, leaning forward. “Isla… I’ve thought about that appointment every day. The way you felt under my fingers—so soft, so warm. I’ve wanted to touch you again more than I should admit.” His voice roughened. “But as your doctor, I can’t. I’d love to explore this, all of it… but I absolutely can’t while I’m still your physician.”
Her heart hammered. “What if you weren’t my doctor?” she whispered. “I can deregister from the practice tomorrow.”
The words hung between them. His eyes flared, something predatory and relieved breaking across his face.
He smiled—slow, devastating. “Then everything changes.”
A pause. His gaze dropped to her compressed belly again, then back up. Voice low and intimate: “So… what would you like to eat?”
Isla’s breath caught. Wet heat pulsed between her thighs.
Ryan pulled out his phone, opened the McDonald’s app without breaking eye contact. His thumb moved deliberately across the screen.
The first order arrived quickly—two trays sliding onto the table: steaming Big Macs, large fries golden and salty, large chocolate milkshakes thick and cold.
He didn’t touch a thing. Just watched as Isla unwrapped the first burger, taking a huge, greedy bite. Sauce dripped at the corner of her mouth; she moaned softly at the rich, juicy flavour. Fries next, dipped in shake, then long pulls of the creamy chocolate. Her belly tightened against the table, beginning to swell.
He ordered again before she’d finished the first meal—more burgers, nuggets, dippers, pies. In his mind, he tallied roughly: enough to push well past what most people could manage, plenty left over. The trays piled up, wrappers crinkling, the table a tempting excess.
“I’ve ordered way more than you can eat,” he said softly, voice warm. “Just have as much as you want. We can leave the rest.”
Isla nodded, lost in the indulgence, eating steadily—burger after burger, nuggets crunched and dipped, shakes gulped until her stomach felt heavy and hot. The food disappeared faster than she expected, her body responding to his steady gaze, the quiet encouragement in his eyes.
But eventually, the fullness hit hard. Her pace slowed; she leaned back slightly, one hand pressing low on her belly as it domed tighter, rounder, pushing insistently against the table. A soft gasp escaped her—breathing shallower now, the weight settling deep.
Ryan watched every shift, every little rub of her hand. Without a word, he slid his arm under the table, fingers finding the warm, plush underside of her belly where it spilled heaviest over her leggings. He caressed it very, very gently—thumb tracing slow circles into the softest fat, palm cupping the deep overhang with feather-light pressure.
The touch exploded through her like lightning. Heat surged between her legs; her nipples hardened instantly. A whimper slipped out as arousal flooded her, overriding the fullness. Suddenly, she needed more—needed to show him, to feel this stuffed for him.
She reached for another burger, then fries, then a pie—pushing past the tightness, swallowing with deliberate moans. Ryan’s hand stayed, stroking gently, eyes locked on her face, her mouth, the way her belly bloomed even fuller under his touch.
Finally, she stopped, hands cradling the massive swell, dazed and glowing. Half the food remained untouched—exactly as he’d planned.
Ryan withdrew his hand slowly, paid the bill, and stood. “Come with me.”
Isla braced her hands on the table to push herself up. Her swollen belly, bloated and heavy, caught on the edge for a moment—she had to twist and suck in, the motion sending a ripple through her stuffed stomach. Shallow breaths came quick; balance wavered slightly as the sheer weight of the meal pulled at her centre. Her leggings dug tighter into her hips, the cropped hoodie barely covering the taut dome.
Heads turned—staff pausing behind the counter, a few customers glancing over—as she finally extracted herself, belly bouncing softly with the effort. She followed him toward the door, but slowly now: a heavy, sensual waddle, thighs brushing, hips rolling wide, every step reminding her how full, how soft, how utterly claimed she felt.
Ryan glanced back, eyes dark with promise.
She knew exactly where this was going next.
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