An attempt to write about a somewhat more wholesome feeder/feedee relationship, but quite a further ways into the process.
It’s very long.
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My phone alarm goes off just as I dawn my trusty oven mitt. It's been getting quite a workout these days.
These things require such a high temperature, even just opening the oven door is almost scolding, like a blast from a furnace. This tray of mozz sticks is nearly pristine though, with only two leakers out of the entire two dozen or so plus, expending a wee bit of excess cheese onto the silicone baking mat.
She loves these so much, but the window you’ve got before everything starts oozing out of them is so narrow. You have to catch them just right! And this batch feels like a winner.
The cheese is sizzling still, as I set it on top the oven to let them sit a moment. And with the oven already heated, I immediately stick in the full tray of chicken tendies to keep everything chugging along, bumping the temp down just a little. I know the math. It's not like I haven't done all this plenty of times before.
I feel so domestic, "slaving away" in the kitchen. I have to stay on top of like a million things at once. It's hectic, but I truly can't complain. After all, this is the very nature of another one of our “Lazy Saturdays” together.
Speaking of domestic, or rather “domesticated,” I hear the bell ringing in the other room. I got it for her when her fingers began getting a little too plump to text me from the other room easily. And yeah, sure, she was a little peeved at first when I insisted upon it being a cowbell. But it didn’t take her very long to acquiesce. And even try to abuse it. Now today, that cowbell has rang four times in the past hour so far.
“Coming. Just a second,” I call out, trying to sound chipper. And not rushed. So much going on, I have to take stock. Alarm for the chicken is set, mozz sticks are cooling, sauce should be good, crockpot is going, steak is still marinating, shawarma order was picked up by the DoorEatz runner, & has got to almost be here by now.
Okay.
After recombobulating, & reorienting myself, I start setting out a large plate. I reach up to the microwave above the stove, the vents kicking at full blast but not doing much to alleviate the heat. They certainly are not moving any of the air around enough too cool things off for me. I feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of my forehead. But it’s fine. I reach for the small dipping bowl of marinara out of the microwave. Even though it's been sitting, the ramekin is still just a little too hot to the touch, & nearly drop it scolding myself slightly. But I recover & set it in the center of the other plate, without spilling a drop. Then one by one, even if a bit prematurely by what the bag suggests about allowing them to sit, I delicately start fanning out the mozz sticks in a radial pattern around the sauce.
Presentation is half the battle after all.
The cowbell sounds again, but it’s only one ring, sharp & insistent. Fifth time within the hour. Sounds like she’s getting a little annoyed. Or maybe she's just concerned about something.
“Just. A. Second,” I repeat this time a bit more stern, but hardly frustrated. In some ways, I recognize her impatience is nothing but a monster of my own creation, & I don’t have any room to be frustrated with her. All because she doesn't leave any, physically I mean.
At the same time, I am just about there. Just sprinkling a tiny bit of freshly chopped basil over the platter I have created for her. I can't tell if it's something she truly appreciates, but I would feel as though I'd be slacking if I didn't.
I also grab another soda with my free hand, anticipating she’s probably finished with her last two liter by now, & in need of a re-up. I reckon that if she is annoyed about me not being there after that first ring, that will all fade immediately when she sees what I’m bringing her.
I know how she is.
I make my way down the hallway, but per usual, I make it as far as the door way before I see her, & pause. Take in all of her glory for just a moment, while her eyes are transfixed in the other direction, looking away from me.
My beautiful princess has grown to be quite magnificent these days, perched upon her throne. And by throne, I mean the comfy couch that used to be big enough for the two of us. And then some. But these days? It's all her.
To be honest, part of me sort of misses sitting on it myself, especially on a day like today where I’m constantly on the move. But alas, I was squeezed out. Sure I mean I could always try to weasel my way in there, somehow. Sink my way into her soft, warm side or something, but we're talking mere inches. Remember what I said about her not leaving any room? Her growing body takes up so much of it, it's just hers now. A small price to pay, I say.
I don't mean it to be creepy, but I often will just catch a glimpse at her like this. Find myself marveling at just how much of her there is these days. Trace the way her belly cascades off the seat in front of her, over the edge of the couch, resting on a stack of throw pillows on the floor between her massive, now almost vestigial legs. Not that it probably wouldn’t touch the floor if it were simply left to hang. But she’s comfier this way. And besides, the pillows help for easy access. Make um… certain areas… easier to reach. Which we both enjoy. But that’s for later, once she’s finally, sufficiently been stuffed to the gills for the day. Speaking of which, as much as I love just how soft & flabby it can be, I recognize it could also be a little more taut, fuller than it is right now. Something I’ll have to help rectify. But we’re getting there, don’t you worry. After all, this Lazy Saturday is still young.
But I'm still taking a minute for me right now, gawking at her. And I scan her heaving tits resting upon that tummy. Massive now, free & unleashed under her unfastened silk robe. I watch the way her pillowy arms hug around them, with her elbows resting on upon her expansive sides. All while her hips draw ever closer to the arms of the sofa on either side of her. Severely overtaxing the seams of the soft velvety Adventure Time pajama bottoms I got her just a few weeks ago, & already dangerously snug. I was sure to warn her too, they were, of course, the largest size on offer too. We might have to start getting her clothing custom made. Or hey, maybe just forego pants entirely.
It takes her a moment, but her eyes dart from behind her gorgeous cheeks, & she catches me admiring her. Catches me looking all hot & bothered. So I unfreeze as she eagerly sees the next plate in my hand & her lips pucker in curious anticipation, cooing.
“Madame,” I say in the joking, snooty waiter voice I often put on, hovering the plate near her, ready to set it down on one of the three foldable TV dinner stands before her. From her seated position, she can only see the plate, not what’s on it. But even just that’s still enough to make her eyes grow wide with excitement.
“Ooooh,” she swoons, daintily tapping her hands against the new bulgy, shelf-like tabletop her enormous breasts now provide. As if to simply set the dish there.
While it’s probably safer to just hand to her, out of fear of her spilling the whole platter onto the floor, the novelty of her using her tits as a table still gets me every time. Almost as much as her insistence, the fact that that’s how she herself wants me to serve her. If even more just out of practicality at this point. I still hold the plate steady though while her pudgy, conical fingers grab hold, tightly.
“Your third mid-afternoon snack,” I smile.
“Omigosh!” She exclaims excitedly, seemingly forgetting whatever it was that required multiple cowbell rings, demanding my immediately attention just a moment prior. “Mozzarella sticks? My favorite!” Just like ninety percent of the other appies & finger foods I surprise her with. The same way garlic bread is “her favorite.” Or jalapeño poppers. Or potstickers. Or deviled eggs. Or bacon-bit sprinkled cheesy potato skins. Or hell, the pork sausage links I filled her up with, just earlier this morning. All “her favorite.” Neither of us have ever called attention to it, but I feel like she has to mean it as a joke, in the sort of dry way she’ll commonly play around. Joke about her love of food. But there’s always something in the moment that feels so kneejerk & unfiltered about her reaction. So pleasantly surprised & off the cuff. It’s honestly hard to tell if it’s really just a joke, or if she’s just becoming that much of an eating machine that now, everything, in the moment, has truly become “her favorite.”
Either way, I find the whole routine, & the way her round face becomes so joyful, absolutely adorable all the same.
She pinches one between her plump fingers, pinky up, & swabs the dipping bowl to smother it with a healthy coating of marinara. She sure likes a lot more sauce than I ever would. I worry I might want to grab her extra, considering. I anticipated her biting just the dipped area, but she bites the stick down to very far nub, all at once. Ravenously. Leaving too little to do the customary cheese pull. She must be hungrier than usual. I guess I'll just have to step up my game as the afternoon plays itself out. At least if I'm to keep her satisfied.
“Mmmmmmm-hmm,” she purrs, only to punctuate the end of it with a very pleased little giggle. “S'so good.” She manages while chewing. It gets gulped down before she continues with a “You sure know how to treat a girl.”
“Like royalty,” I oblige, watching her round, puffy cheeks redden slightly with my response. "Which is why there's more surprises on the way." She lets out a little giggle while happily wiggling back & forth in her seat. What I reckon is her best attempt at a happy dance these days.
I love how just how happy even the little things can still make her. It's why I put in the effort.
"Hey though... why the bell?" I remember, wanting to make sure her needs are met. She stares blankly. As if even she's forgotten. Her eyes are wide, perplexed. She almost looks as if she's back at university & was just called to answer a question in front of the class while being caught not paying attention.
"Bell... bell..." I see her plump lips murmur to herself, repeating it as if to jog her memory. Kind of funny that's the only kind of jogging she was even remotely capable of at this point. She looks down, side to side, back & forth.
"Something else I can do for you…?” I push, snickering at the notion that the mozzarella stick platter really distracted her enough to forget. I mean it was two rings. She's always had a love of food, but for me, there's something about the way it almost completely nukes her brain nowadays. It really highlights her whole transformation into a hedonistic eating machine.
It takes her a second or so, but we get there eventually.
“Mmmmm,” she hums, remembering while another mozz stick’s already in her mouth. She works it around inside her plump cheeks, chewing for a second before gesturing her head to the side. “The charging cable slid away from me, & my tablet’s just about to die.” A plump finger points vaguely towards the arm of the sofa, but her other hand is swabbing up marinara with another mozz stick.
"Ooh! We can't have that," I affirm as I hop right into action. I look to the side of the sofa. And while the majority slack of the cord did in fact slide off the side of the couch, there's still enough of it poking up over the arm for her to reach. Sure, it might've required her leaning her bulk to the side a bit, & perhaps shifting would've caused the last bit to fall. But she probably could've gotten it herself, if she tried.
For the record, my girl's not completely immobile. Not yet, at least. But that day seems to be coming up on this pretty quick. Accelerated by just how very little she herself seems to want to move any more.
Dutifully, I bite my tongue, & pull the slack of the cord up onto the couch next to her before plugging it into the tablet on the TV dinner stand to her far left. In arm's reach should she need it. The charging indicator flashes. And I realize this really didn't require a cowbell, let alone two.
“Babe, it still has 9% left,” I chuckle softly. Not as an admonishment, just, y'know, to point out there's nothing to stress over. “That's almost like a half hour of charge. It's a "Lazy Saturday." Just how long did you think I would leave you out here, all on your lonesome without bringing more to eat...? For more than a half hour...?" My tone is more chiding, teasing, than anything truly mad or serious. This, she could've done this herself. We both know it. And her round cheeks redden a little more this time. She flashes a look of guilt.
"Ok well... maybe I panicked... just a little," She sighs softly. "And I was worried... I might let it... slip..." she trails, too enthralled by the mozz sticks to give me her full attention. I snicker to myself. Even if I wanted to get frustrated with her, I couldn't be. Maybe, charitably, there's just too much of her in the way to see. Or too much of that pillowy arm flub of hers to feel around for it. I get the feeling she just doesn’t want to admit she’s just too lazy to lean to one side & reach for herself. But the reason she didn't even try is because she’s too lazy to lean to one side & reach for herself.
Whether its part of one of our Saturday traditions or not, we've both come to this sort of unspoken understanding that at this point, she's just getting lazier, fast. I mean, it's not like she's completely helpless. In fact, I remember back when that used to be her biggest concern about all of this- big-ness. Even as implausible as it seemed at the time.
But then she flashes those doe eyes of hers at me. As if I already wasn't putty.
"I'm... sorry," she murmurs softly. "You already do so, so much."
I sneak a glance at the timer on my phone. It tells me I have a bit of time before my next scheduled task. And I can use a bit of a break anyhow.
Recklessly, I put my knee on the arm of the couch & wrap myself along the back of it, behind her round shoulders. While I'm a fraction of her weight, it might be a little ill-advised. With my addition, her throne lets out some very concerning creaks. Or maybe those were floorboards. Or both. Either way, I'm not going to let it stop me from snuggling up next to her for a minute, even if she lets out a worried little sound. Because clearly, even she's not worried enough to stop gorging on mozz sticks. Her feeding frenzy continues.
I extend a finger & fish a loose strand of her hair out of getting pinched in her neck rolls & tuck it up over her ear as she continues to chew, & moan in delight.
"There's no reason for you to ever apologize," I remind her. "You're a very Good Girl." I feel her shutter through the sofa. "And I'm here to take care of everything you'd ever need. No matter how tiny, got it?"
I begin to softly massage her fleshy shoulders. Between them & her neck, there's too much pudge in the way for her to turn & look at me, but a content little groan confirms my words had their desired effect. And I'd much rather her continue to enjoy her mozzarella sticks anyway.
I feel so lucky meeting her the way I did.
It wasn’t online or anything. Not on some forum for this sort of thing, or anything like that. For one, I don't think she would have ever been on something like that in the first place. And that’s certainly not to say there’s anything wrong with that sort of thing. Just that finding each other back in college the way we did? Organically? With these kinds of shared interests of ours? To me? It makes our relationship just feel like one in a million.
I’m sure there are plenty of other women out there who would willingly let me get them nice & plump. Just as there are plenty of people out there who would happily spoil her. But it feels like only the two of us together could fulfill those needs to this sort of a degree for one another, you know?
Prior to all of this, well, it wasn’t as if she was ever necessarily “skinny.” Hell, she was pretty athletic even, as hard as that may be to imagine now.
Like sure, always with just a bit of soft padding hiding her sporty muscle tone. All told, it led to her maybe be just a bit broader than average. Big-boned, as much as I’ve always despised that term. “A Softball Player’s build,” as she liked to call it, even though she was more into field hockey & lacrosse. Something a catty mean girl might call ‘chubby,’ but even that word would’ve been a stretch. And to my eyes, always radiantly beautiful. At every step along the way.
All that said, she did harbor quite an appetite her whole life. Not even secretly. "Never not hungry," as she always liked to describe herself. It was a long-running joke with all her teammates, her constant snacking, having stashes of snacks. But seeing her from afar in the dining hall, carrying a full tray & a half? Just the stack of pudding cups alone. That's the very thing that drew me to her in the first place. She possessed an incessant hunger that would’ve made her a lot bigger than just ‘chubby’ if it wasn’t for her crazy metabolism & athletic routine back then.
But me? I simply saw those things as challenges to overcome. And boy, did we ever.
I was never shy about it. In fact, I was pretty forthcoming about the things I appreciated about her. How I just loved watching her eat. And how much potential I saw in her getting bigger. And frankly, just how hot that could all be. And sure, while she may have thought it kind of strange at first, at the very least, she seemed to appreciate all the attention I showered upon her.
One thing I didn't pick up on at first, given just how much I adored her? It was as though she developed something of a self-esteem issue. With the other girls on her team, it was often as she was relegated to the role of "fat friend." Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, no one was only there for just her.
But now, suddenly she had me, showing up to cheer her on at every one of her games. Then taking her out for a nice big victory (or "runner up") meal immediately after, to help her with the massive appetite she always seemed to work up, win or lose.
Moreover, on some level? I think she just appreciated being able to indulge in front of someone, without ever feeling as though she was being judged. Previous relationships had seemingly left her so insecure about her eating. On the verge of developing unhealthy habits. Not me. Much later, she confided in me just how much she was mortified of being in- let's just say "a more traditional relationship"- when it finally became time for her to hang collegiate sports up for good, & suddenly not be as active anymore. She told me she used to dread the idea of suddenly putting on weight. Getting "bigger-boned."Until she met me.
She called it "freeing."
But even being at complete ease with one another the way we were, & her always doing just an outstanding black hole impression, her metabolism held on strong for quite some time. Frustratingly. Even with me acting as such a terrible influence, putting food in front of her every chance I could. By the time graduation rolled around, she had thickened up a little, but maybe only by about another twelve pounds.
It was nice, sure. But I can get kind of greedy.
Shortly after, we decided to move in together. And while she wasn't entirely wrong about the lack of sports catching up with her, the physique she maintained, even despite my best efforts? Never seemed to exceed past 'pleasantly plump.' She hovered just below that two hundred pound mark for quite some time. Hot, to be sure, but with what I believed to be the potential to be so much hotter. Which is why I remained so persistent.
Frankly, she was pretty amused by my dedication, & ambivalently happy to go along with whatever, just so long as I kept up the sheer amount of sweets I had on hand. All for a glutton, like her. She'd almost taunt me with it. All my best efforts, how I would constantly feed her, only for it to ever show up as maybe a pound or two.
But don't worry, we already know who got the last laugh there.
Pro tip. Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you’d want your partner to put on a great deal of weight quite quickly, my primary advice would be to fill them up, nice & full, right before bed. Obviously the higher the calorie count, the better.
Because just think of it. Not only is a nice food coma going to let them drift off even easier into a nice soothing slumber, all of those calories, going unspent? Unburned during a deep, relaxing sleep? Only to have her wake up with a stretched, hollow, empty tummy, ready to start grazing anew? I mean finding that out, it felt like unlocking a cheat code. My only regret was not trying to do it even sooner. Because whatever remaining metabolism she had left never stood a fucking chance.
About a year out from school, after just a few weeks of this sudden change in tactics, she started to positively balloon. Shockingly so, at first. With any traces of her former athleticism rapidly beginning to fade. The definition she got through hard work would all just start to disappear. Buried under an ever-growing, love-infused avalanche of soft, warm pudge. Her wardrobe was growing all the more snug, at certain points straining to contain all of her glory.
And then, by the time she reached about the 225 range, even the baggiest & stretchiest of her 'fat clothes' no longer seemed to be doing the trick any more. For our anniversary, I took her out to buy her a whole new wardrobe.
We would notice friends of ours starting to notice. My family would ask vague questions out of some unspoken concern about her. A few of hers wondered if she was expecting. Former teammates she'd meet up with would take a little extra time, trying to find just the right verbs or adjectives to use when complimenting her.
"Wow, so... slay."
Or "Oh, you are just ... killing it."
Or her favorite, the old classic: "You're looking... healthy."
Now take it from me, she WAS, truly, killing it. Every step of the way. Even if she would argue that the only thing she had killed was a bag of Oreos. Because she never quite could get a handle on her appetite.
I was in heaven. But, just as the gains I had always dreamt of started to finally come, I could tell her initial, reflexive inclination was to still get a little self-conscious about it. I mean that's just a natural product of what society tells us, y'know? And after all, from her perspective, I figured it must've been something of a shock. With as steady as her metabolism had held, suddenly she was putting on the pounds at a pretty rapid clip. All while being far too conditioned into eating however much of whatever she wanted, with pretty much zero consequence.
And I tried to take my foot up off the gas a bit. Be less pushy. Not stash as much food around the apartment. Offer some healthier options. Let her do what was right for her. I would've stuck by her if she started to diet. Or hit the gym harder.
She just... didn't.
The scale continued to tick higher.
She was no longer just 'big-boned.' She was quickly just becoming 'fat.' For lack of a better way of putting it, she had spent her entire life up until that point 'fucking around,' & suddenly she had abruptly entered the 'find out' stage. To her, this was something she seemed to think was always going to be inevitable.
Thicker. Rounder. Bigger.
But it was around this time where I also had my own impulse control issues develop.
I suddenly, for the life of me, could not keep my hands off her soft, growing body. Every little thing about her was only getting sexier & sexier to me. Like the way my head would damn near explode every time my outstretched fingers sank deeper into her once firm, now softening ass cheeks. Or how I would fantasize about nearly suffocating myself in her expanding bosom. She was hesitant to let me touch it, but I don't think anything had until that point ever brought the same amount of joy as running my hands along the bulge of her protruding tummy, & tracing where the rolls were slowly starting to form. Every item of clothing she out grew secretly felt like a trophy to me. And the whole time, as all the more beautiful as she was becoming, I was greedily consumed with thoughts of her only growing even bigger.
Having more to feel.
To grope.
To squish.
To savor.
I don't think we've ever formally articulated it, but I think she saw this uptick in affection as part of me effectively "putting my money where my mouth was." That all my talk of loving her body unconditionally, the bigger the better, wasn't just simply talk, & instead, very much real. And maybe she appreciated that part of it. Or maybe she low key did enjoy at least some of the changes she was undergoing too. Her curves growing more womanly than simply broad. Hell, maybe it was nothing more than a convenient excuse for her to continue being glutton, & just not to start dieting. Or perhaps some combination of all of the above.
No matter what it was that finally did it, it almost seemed as though she slowly started developing a newfound confidence.
I mean I had been telling her she was a goddess all along, but now, this way of worship was just the thing to finally proved it. And those antiquated, socially-induced fears of "getting fat?" Letting herself from grow? Not allowing herself to indulge? They began to melt away. More & more with each meal. And there was something amazing about watching her be able to embrace herself. See herself the way I saw her.
Maybe I give myself a little too much credit, but I could tell. I always had a sneaking suspicion about her. That she would understand these things the way I understand these things, all from the first moment I saw her. I recognized that appetite of hers, & that she's just too damn hungry. I could see that with just the slightest bit of positive reinforcement, it wouldn't be all that difficult for her to go against the grain too. To acquiesce, for lack of a better term, to her own hunger the way she did.
But I really don't like putting it that way so much, because it's not like she "gave up." Or resigned herself to this. Nothing about what she's been able to achieve has been through apathy. Even if she's been getting just a bit lazier recently, & not just on Saturdays. If she was truly someone simply just going through the motions, she wouldn't have grown this substantial.
No. She simply chose a different path. And I absolutely love the fuck out of her for it. Because let's be perfectly clear here. She knew full well that a lifestyle like this could leave to where we are today. We discussed it pretty often actually.
Even as playful pillow talk, way back in school. It kept arising, over & over again.
"Ok, say I do let you stuff me full of food & I start to get fat," I remember one particular, early instance, laying side by side, back in her cramped dorm room. "Like real fat." She emphasized with widening eyes. Thinking back now, where I am displaced to laying along the back of the couch like I am, it's kind of wild to think how we could both share a single bed together at one point.
"How fat is too fat for you?" She asked, way back when. Her In her gorgeous post-coital afterglow, glistening in the dim lighting. She nibbled on one of the little chocolates I brought her from the store that night, & conveniently left by her bedside table.
"What do you mean?" I remember giggling obtusely. On some level, even back then, part of me wondered why that would be something she'd think to ask. As if she was aspiring towards something. If even as some sort of a dare.
"Like is there an upper limit? Like a ceiling as to how fat I'd get before I'd start turning you off?"
"Well, for one," I clarified with a scoff. "You could never turn me of-"
"Oh, fuck off!" she skeptically laughed, pulling her stuffed corgi plushee we smooshed into the corner out to wing at my face.
"It's true!" I insisted, batting it away. "I mean it."
I hoped being slick like that would be enough to deflect from the real question, which at the time, I was even a little too self-conscious to say out loud.
But it wasn't.
Her curiosity was only peaked, as she flopped over onto her then closer-to-toned stomach, more than happy to unwrap a second chocolate.
"Seriously though. Like I can get the idea behind liking bigger girls. But even for you, there's just gotta be a point where even you tap out & say enough is a enough, right?" Having finally cleared the foil, she bit the milk chocolate morsel in half. She continued while chewing, "Like say you keep feeding me & I just get so big & fat that I'm stuck in bed all day, & you've gotta do everything for me!" Her head tilted on the word "everything" to further punctuate it. "Even that's not a dealbreaker for you?"
I pursed my lips & smiled, feeling my cheeks flush a little from embarrassment. And that embarrassment gave way to an awkward little laugh. I will always remember the adorable way her eyes bugged out of her skull upon realizing the answer truly was no.
"Why, are you... hoping?" I finally eke out.
"Omigod, you are such a freak!" she tried bashing me with her stuffed corgi some more. But, for the record, I distinctly remember her cracking a smile too.
"Hey! Hey!" I tried to get a word in, during the barrage. "Don't you worry one bit. I'll happily roll you anywhere you want to go!"
"Roll me?!" This only led the plushee pummeling to intensify. As well as elicit some playful threats about how she would eventually use her ass to "smother the life out of me." And chide me about how I was only fueling the very method of my own demise.
But hey, if we're really going to talk hubris here though? I think it was banter like that, especially after she found the confidence to really indulge, well after she had already foregone trips to the gym & accepted being a bit more than pleasantly plump.
For a bit there, it felt like something lit up the former "jock" pathways in her brain, & I got the distinct impression she saw this part of our relationship as something of a challenge. Because she would keep insisting that I must have been lying. That there just had to be an upper limit for me at some point. And that I was simply "talking a big game."
So she got a little preoccupied with trying to prove it. And well- let's just say that both her weight, & my affection for her have only skyrocketed.
Hey! Don't blame me!
Like I said from the start, I always tried to be forthcoming about this stuff. I tried to tell her putting on the pounds would only make me love her more. But she just had to go & try & test that hypothesis on her own! I can't be held fully accountable here, okay?
These days, I kind of shutter a little, thinking back to how much time its been since college. Suffice to say, it's been long enough. And despite a few slow downs & plateaus here & there, I am truly at awe, taking stock of how much my beautiful partner has blossomed. And she did so, in no small part, because of me.
That is why I can never get frustrated with her. No matter the size of the task or how demanding she might be. No matter what.
I may tease, but I never want to be too hard on her. Especially not for little, meaningless things like a charging cable & a tablet with 9% battery. I never want to make her feel guilty. Besides, it's not like I mind doing these simple things for her all that much. Part of the reason I maintain this positive, chipper attitude is to keep her at ease. Make her feel comfortable asking, no matter how small the ask. I find, the more unburdened she feels, the less of a burden all this weight becomes for her. Leaving her to happily gain more. So I never view these 'little asks' as a hassle. I try to always be upbeat. Let her know that I will always dote on her. That's what I'm here for after all. I’m thrilled to keep doing it. Pamper her. Spoil her. Especially when it comes to these kinds of results.
I'm not going to lie. In a lot of ways? It’s been amazing, watching her go from so active, so capable, & grow to gradually become so dependent, so reliant upon me. Her being needy, in some ways? It’s like its own little turn-on for me. Because as hectic for me as these sort of days can become? Fulfilling those needs are very much their own reward. And continue growing.
I'm a complete wreck so she can partake in a "Lazy Saturday."
They started out as kind of a joke. We’re both off on the weekends, & even if we both work remotely, it’s a time where we can give each other our undivided attention. And we used to do things. But then there was the kind of unspoken understanding we had where the heavier she got, the more of an ordeal our weekend outings would become. And then, after one particularly long, cold winter where we were cooped up anyhow, I decided to just start going a little ham, making her a massive spread for brunch, with all of her “favorites.” Well I guess that’s not true, there weren’t any mozzarella sticks back then.
But not only did our big brunch feasts turn into their own little tradition, the bigger my baby got, the hungrier she got. Meaning brunch would last longer, & longer going well into the afternoon. And things just continued like that until they culminated into an all day affair. Where she’d brag about having such a relaxed, fulfilling day of lazing around & grazing from sun up to sun down, all while I work myself to the bone, keeping her fat & happy.
Our “Lazy Saturdays.”
I am here, at her beckon call, ready to serve.
Especially now.
The way we’d always talk about this stuff, her constantly eating, & gaining for me like this? Losing some amount of agency & skirting with immobility. Those were perhaps the only parts of this that she always remained a little leery of. The only concerns she’d bring up from time to time.
“Long ago, in the back of my mind? I guess I kind of made peace with the fact that I was always destined to get kinda chunky. No matter how many sports I did,” I remember her conceding one night, very matter-of-factually. It was back during one of pre bedtime feeding sessions. Come to think of it, just after we overcame her little plateau, & her weight started to creep higher, faster. “Not like the way we talked about, just out of shape when the school ended & the sports stopped. I always kind of knew I’d probably end up fat fat.”
It was unprompted, which struck me.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yeah. Runs in my family, after all.” She continued as I shoveled forkfuls of devil’s food cake, with marshmallow crème frosting into her mouth. “So I really lucked out finding someone like you. Someone who really appreciates that kind of thing.” She was leaning over our kitchen counter, already in a comfy, oversized sweatshirt, just about ready for bed. She had the sleeves up past her palms, while resting her cheeks in her hands, opening her mouth for each scoop like a baby bird. Looking up at me with those eyes as I slipped in another bite.
“Uh- same,” I awkwardly responded, catching a moist fleck of cake off her lip. My brain was already kind of off for the evening. I wanted to make sure my baby was adequately fed, but it had been a long day for me. “Only, y’know, in reverse, I mean.” I clarified. She didn’t seem to care all that much, as she worked the cake around in her mouth without lifting her head off her palms, her eyes rolling back with delight every time it touched her tongue. “I love how much you love to eat.” I added softly, under my breath, not trying to interrupt her.
“I guess- we’re kind of perfect for each other like that then,” She smiled, relishing just how little she had to do to in that moment to enjoy yummy cake. “Because I’ll keep on eating,” she looked down at me readying another scoop & with her eyes, seemed to signal she wanted an even bigger bite. I shifted the fork, per her wishes. “And eating.” She repeated for emphasis before opening wide.
“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” I felt compelled to remind her. She let out something that was half way chuckle, half way snort, all hot, as another forkful entered her mouth. “I’m going to feed you.” I stabbed the side of the fork down through another sizable scoop. “And keep feeding you.”
“You’re really going to make me the size of a house, aren’t you?” She asked before accepting another scoop. “You want me massive!”
“Bigger than massive,” I narrowed my eyes, half-joking in a whisper. “Too round & too fat to even move!” I pushed, getting a little too into it.
She gulped down the cake, but her expression stiffened a little. Her round chin, only the one with a second incoming, finally lifted off her hands.
“Well that’s a little much, don’t you think?” She asked with a slightly worried grin. At first, I thought it was maybe just her playfully pushing back. “I mean, I’ll happily let you fatten me up. As much as you want. I just kinda still wanna be able to do my own thing, y’know?” It slowly dawned on me that she was serious. That I had overstepped a bit. That the thought of not being able to move gave her a bit of an ick.
“Oh,” I stammered, trying to recalculate. My own greediness aside, one thing about all this has been abundantly clear. Given just how eager she was, taking to the idea of letting me overfeed her, I recognize that this whole endeavor very much takes two. That first & foremost, we still very much are a couple here. So despite my own compulsions & predilections, I do feel obligated to do right by her, & respect those kinds of boundaries. “Um- okay. Maybe not that fat. But I’m getting way too far ahead of myself. We’re not even a third of the way there.” I said, gathering loose crumbs & flecks of frosting for one last bite of cake. “Let’s just worry about plain ol’ massive first.” I winked, trying to continue our foreplay while readjusting for her.
And luckily, she appreciated that, smiling an affirming smile at me before sucking the fork clean.
From that night on, I always tried to be respectful of her concerns.
And look!
I tried.
Really I did.
... especially about fifty pounds back.
She had grown so large. So round. My baby had truly blossomed. But it was starting to become abundantly clear how once she reached the comfy confines of her sofa throne, she wouldn’t necessarily leave it all that much. For the whole rest of the day. Certainly not if she could help it anyway. And especially not without her little cowbell & my assistance. Hell, even with the benefit of starting out with a more muscular, athletic frame. The perks of her being a bit stronger than your average woman had already run its course. There was just far too many pounds packed onto her frame. Besides, she just had so much belly, & oh, so much ass. The ways she expanded in those areas all seemed to really do a number on her, like where her center of gravity had shifted. The amount of attempts it took, just to get to her feet increased daily. And that’s all before we talk about how pronounced her waddle had become, swaying so far horizontally. Just having her traverse our hallway was a struggle. She’d involuntarily have to brace one wall, while part of her scraped the other.
We were reaching this whole new level of fatness. One that was always remotely plausible, sure, but that had felt more like a pipe dream. Or a devious joke, lying in bed, shoulder to shoulder, back in her old dormroom. And yet here we were, together, making it very, very real.
I saw the writing on the wall. And I thought she’d begin to get hesitant. Start to put her foot down. Start practicing a bit more moderation.
But strangely, she only seemed to get hungrier.
Needier.
Lazier.
All creating more of a feedback loop, hastening things. The inevitabilities were very quickly approaching.
And frankly? I love her just a little too much to take advantage of her.
So, yeah. Okay. Fine.
I was the one that started proposing that we slow down. Just a little. Not that I really wanted to mind you. But just to let her catch up to where her body was at, get her bearings a little, even if only enough for her to remain somewhat active. Waddle a few laps around our place more, if she wanted.
Instead? She immediately laughed it off.
She pretended that she was right, & had been right all along. And that I was wrong.
She joked that after “all my talk?” I was weak. And she playfully pretended as if she finally hit that "upper limit" for me. That she had managed to stick to her self-imposed challenge & actually get too fat for even me.
So then, after immediately fucking her brains out to prove that very much wasn't the case, I made it known that I was only trying to do right by her. And respect concerns she had brought up long ago. About wanting to still be able to do things for herself.
I explained that I would very happily keep things going if she wanted. But that we were coming up on something of an inflection point. And that I just wanted to put the ball in her court before it got a little too late. Leave the decisions, & where we go from here, entirely up to her.
And yeah, as playful as we were being, there was a kind of hubris to the heavy sigh she let out after that. The long, deliberate, pregnant pause as she let it all sink in. I’ll never forget the way she turned to me, her big round cheeks a little red, flushed from activity, but also with what seemed like a bit of humility, when she told me she would think about it. All before immediately demanding more sweets.
I could tell she was not only conflicted, but kind of bothered by just how conflicted she was.
On the one hand, she seemed very happy with her life, even with so much of it revolving around straining our couch & constantly eating. But on the other hand, was, y’know, everything else: walking, going outside, society, etc.
The fact that she was experiencing any of this turmoil made it seem as though her gluttony was firmly in the driver’s seat. And that even just kicking that can down the road was only going to bring us closer that impending immobility of hers.
I mean I did try to respect her earlier concerns. Hold by her wishes. Really!
But her suddenly realizing & resigning herself to the fact that she may have already gotten too fat? That she was already too far gone? That reversing course & changing these long standing habits might be far too taxing, but leaning in would be so, so much easier? For me, it was all so fucking hot, I’m not going to lie.
I took pride in the fact that she was just enjoying herself too much. She was too locked in. Like the way she’s transfixed by the cheese pull of the mozz sticks now, using her plump fingers to pull away from her closed teeth, & stretch, giggling when it won't break.
At this rate, I give it an another month, maybe just weeks before she’s becomes a permanent fixture of that couch. Before she's too big stand without me. And she’ll probably get too big for me to move on my own not too long after that.
Unless I roll her the way we talked about.
Which, hey, totally fine by me. In fact, if this was only up to me? I find the very notion of her eating her way to helplessness quite hot. Even just in like an "achievement unlocked" sort of way, frankly. Kind of more like reaching a destination after such a long journey. And as selfish as I might be about wanting that, the fact that we both got there together kind of makes it all the sweeter.
And not that she’s really expending all that many extra calories now, but imagine just how much more weight will pile on when she’s no longer moving at all.
And it’s not like it's just going to happen like the flip of a switch or anything. There’s still time.
Like I said, I brought this all up quite a few pounds ago. And I never quite did get a proper response. Maybe she’ll change her mind. It gets tougher by the day. By the meal even. But the possibility remains. I’ve even been hitting the gym a little harder for some extra weight training. Just in case.
The ball’s in her court.
As it is currently, depending on the day, she either insists it’s all totally fine. That her size is no issue, & that she could totally be up & around… if only she wanted to be. But then other days, like today with the cord, it's almost as if she pretends she's an already utterly helplessness blob, needing me to do everything, & wallows in it a bit. Lamenting her own fleeting agency.
I just know there’s going to come a moment. And it’ll just be resignation from there on out. And as much as it might make her a little sad, maybe depressed, I hope she realizes that everything’s going to be perfectly okay though.
Because I’m still going to be there, by her side.
I’ve already done everything in my power to make her little area as comfortable as possible. Keeping everything she might ever need within reach. Or at least handy-dandy grabber range. At no small expense mind you, when you consider that, plus both the Switch & Steam docks with extra long cables leading to the TV, & her laptop for work.
It’s all right here for her.
I even lay out clean clothes for her each night before bed, to help her pull on the next day. Should she want to even be dressed, that is. Some days recently, it's like she just figures itseasier to forego certain things. Either way, she has the option, so long as she's not too bushed.
I realize my hands are starting to get a little sore from kneeding into her round shoulders. I really have to press hard to reach deep under all that girl-chub, but there's so much else for me to go do for her, & I’m going to need my thumbs. I should go check on the chicken anyhow, she's almost halfway through her mozz sticks. And the DoorEatz person, hopefully not robot, should be here any minute now.
Waiting on someone like this? Like a goddess like her, hand & foot? I’m not going to lie. It is quite the undertaking. I wouldn’t recommend it for the weak. Days like this? I’m constantly moving. After all, that’s part of our little joke with these "Lazy Saturdays."
They’re certainly lazy, alright. But only because a growing princess like her deserves it.
Her body needs to focus on turning every thing I feed her into more of her for me to love. And smother myself in.
I give her shoulders one final squeeze & start to get up, sliding past her shoulders to get back to my feet.
"Aww, so soon?" She whines. "That felt so good. And I like you here, by me."
"I know, but I gotta keep juggling everything else for you, gorgeous." I explain. "Otherwise you might start to get a little too peckish. And a little cranky." It tumbles out of my mouth with a chiding snicker. “And we simply just can’t have that.” I say, bringing back my snooty servant tone.
"Ech!" she scoffs. "C'mon! I can totally go like a full five minutes without eating SOMEthing." She tried to protest, not paying attention to the way she was jamming two mozz sticks at once into her mouth now, even having sopped up all the sauce already. I knew that wasn’t going to be enough, just from that first scoop of hers.
"Oh. Can you?" I ask with a doubtful giggle, caressing her cheek. She leans her head into it, almost enveloping my hand into her.
"Promise!" she insists. "And I won't get cranky either, okay?"
"Alright, maybe after I take this batch of chicken out & the delivery comes in," I do the mental math. "I'll put the brownies in, maybe come out & we can do your nails? I remember you said something about wanting them a new shade."
"Oooh, that'd be awes- Wait, chicken?" She cooes. "And what kind of delivery?"
"What, you want me to spoil the surprise?" I chuckle. She blushes again, taking a deep sigh before biting into one of her last mozzarella sticks.
"Fine," she allows. "I just hope it's something good.” Her neck tilts a bit confrontationally, as she takes on a playfully demanding tone. “Because now that you mention it, I am feeling kind of peckish."
"OH, I can totally go like a full five minutes without eating SOMEthing." I mock, toying with her, as I back away, reaching the doorway.
In a sudden spurt, she’s moves more than I’ve seen her all day, grabbing an arm pillow just off to her side & trying to chuck it in my direction.
“Stawp!” She moans. Unfortunately for my formerly athletic beauty, she’s got a little too much upper arm pudge to lift, & with power only coming from her elbow, the throw falls just short of me. My chiding giggle intensifies as my disappointed love tries to cross her arms & pout, forgetting her massive bosom now impedes things a little on the first attempt. I bend back to scoop the pillow up off the floor, & walk back closer to her.
“I already know you’re peckish, honey.” I say, reinserting the pillow back under her arm for her. "You're never not hungry, after all." She blushes & pensively unfolds her arms.
"Touché!" she responds, jabbing her finger into a pointing motion toward me, her arm jiggling a bit. My heart lights up when I see her smile.
The hectic timetable? The constant juggling? The hot-ass kitchen?
That smile of hers.
That is what all this is truly all for.
Making my ever-expanding princess happy
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I just figured the world needed more encouraging & wholesome feeder stories further along the process, is that so wrong?
This is one of two attempts, with the other being a story with more defined characters (though this one really ballooned from just a simple vignette initially).
It feels like with writing stuff, I’ve been mostly focusing on things at the beginning stages. Vignettes exploring that initial spark of growth or getting sucked into gaining. Where things are just starting out & we’re relying on the intention & potential of what will happen instead of someone already being quite large.
And frankly, I just enjoy writing cute relationships too, sue me.
So while the narrator might be a bit on the pushier side, & this is all mostly their sort of one-sided perspective, I'd like to think they're pretty honest in their own inner monologue, & that overall, things still felt like this was pretty wholesome. Also partially, I did kind of want to explore the idea of a well-meaning feeder kind of navigating the situation of their feedee on the verge of their mobility going away.
This has been something kicking around in my drafts for a while, so I'm happy to finally kick it out & see what folks think. It's pretty hefty, but if you get through it, be sure to let me know what you think!