I’ve been having some darker fantasies lately, about taking things too far and being unable to stop.
I imagine myself getting so fat that I’m genuinely scared. Telling my feeder, teary-eyed, that I need to reel it in. That I’m uncomfortable existing in my own body. We’ve had our fun, but it’s time to turn things around for my own wellbeing.
I whine to him that I can’t find any clothes that fit my cartoonish proportions and I’m tired of having to ask for bigger pants every month. I can’t fit in booths in restaurants anymore and my love handles spill over the arms of my desk chair. My stretch marks itch and people stare when I go to the beach. I’ve finally caved and started wearing one-pieces, but the marks on my thighs, arms, and back rolls are still visible. No one even thinks I’m pregnant anymore, just grotesquely overweight.
My feeder is understanding and agrees it would be best for me to stop gaining, maybe even lose a little weight. He’s supportive and starts serving me appropriately-portioned meals. I hold it together long enough to lose ten pounds, but I’m so unsatisfied. It’s not long before I start going to drive-thrus behind my feeder’s back. I tell myself it’s just this once, but it quickly becomes a daily habit.
The little weight I had managed to lose comes back immediately, and I feel defeated. I’m disgusted by my appetite, my body, my lack of control, but I still turn to food for comfort. I find momentary solace in sweet treats but as soon as the food is gone I’m hit with the realization that I’m doomed to be a huge and helpless fatty forever.
My feeder pretends not to notice the fast food wrappers in the trash. He lets me think I’m getting away with it and waits for the consequences to catch up to me.
The waistband of my biggest pair of jeans is painfully tight by the time I finally admit I need to size up again. He makes me step on the scale, and I have to lift my belly out of the way to see the number. My heart sinks when I see I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been by a good 15 pounds.
“Oh, what happened Tubby?” He coos and pinches my lower belly, now with a prominent hang. “Did you really think you could sneak all those milkshakes and get away with it?”
My face turns bright red. I’m too embarrassed to meet his gaze. I begin to stammer an excuse.
“Oh sweetie, it’s okay. If you wanted to act like a fat helpless housepet, all you had to do was say so.” He looks me up and down with pride and smiles. “Now go get the funnel.”
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