‘This shopping list is a logistical nightmare,’ she said as he walked into the kitchen.
He reached into a kitchen cupboard, grabbed a packet of Jolly Ranchers, and sat beside her at the table.
Despite the tablet in front of her, paper receipts were scattered everywhere, items crossed off and amounts adjusted in colored pencil.
She glanced at the packet in his hand and added Jolly Ranchers x2 to the list.
‘I should really automate all this,’ she said, as he offered her one. She declined.
‘At least I try to share,’ he said, popping another into his mouth. He admired her dedication. Truth was, she enjoyed the planning as much as the results.
‘Oh, check this out,’ she said, tapping the screen and pulling up a time-lapse of his weight gain. She’d had him pose weekly, arms out, tracking every change.
Dates flickered by in the corner as the numbers climbed.
‘Here,’ she said, as the weight gain counter passed fifty. ‘This is where it all started going to your belly. Neat, huh?’
She looked over at him, smiling as he unwrapped another sweet. The counter topped out at 101 pounds.
‘Wow,’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘Guess I got pretty big, huh?’
‘And these?’ he asked, pointing at a row of rosettes along the bottom.
‘Each one marks another ten pounds,’ she said. ‘I’ve got time-lapses from every angle.’
‘Neat,’ he said, dryly.
‘And then there’s this.’ She split the screen, with the time-lapse on one side, a chart on the other.
‘What’s this line?’ he asked, pointing at WHtR as it shifted colour across the graph.
He glanced at the key. Healthy. Fat. Superfat.
‘Waist-to-height ratio,’ she said. ‘And you’re not getting any taller.’ She winked.
The line had turned green by the end.
‘And “super fat” is a medical term, right?’ he asked.
‘No, silly.’ She nudged him, then poked his belly. ‘But it fits, doesn’t it?’
‘Charming,’ he said, laughing.
She hesitated, shoulders dropping slightly. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d help me out more with all this.’
He nodded. That was fair.
‘Am I not carrying my weight though?’ he said, patting his stomach.
She smiled. ‘You are. But the shopping, two full carts a week now. It’s a lot.’
‘You try gaining a hundred pounds,’ he said, jiggling his belly. ‘I have to carry this everywhere, stairs included.’
‘You like it,’ she shot back. ‘And shopping together could be fun. You can pick anything you want, my treat.’ She looked at him hopefully.
‘I hear you,’ he said, then nodded at the tablet. ‘What else you got?’
‘All sorts.’ She brightened instantly. ‘This one’s fun, your daily calories.’ She pulled up a graph.
His daily intake climbed steadily. His weight lagged behind, jumping in bursts.
‘They don’t track consistently,’ she said, tracing the line with her finger. ‘Your body has to adjust, then suddenly catches up.’
‘Impressive stuff, Doctor,’ he said, admiring her doctorate, even though it wasn’t in a medical field.
‘I’ve been tracking everything,’ she said with a wink. ‘Some things more than others.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been measuring that too?’
She blushed. ‘Just, … my observations.’ Then, she put it more bluntly. ‘You were bound to lose a little length.’ She patted his belly. ‘We’ve been focusing on girth though. And on that, you’ve done very well. Top of my class.’
He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.
‘Moving on,’ he said quickly, swiping at tabs. ‘Any projections here?’
‘Ooh, lots,’ she said, practically beaming, then grinned at him. ‘But all this data’s working me up, so you’re going have to drink me some cream.’
‘That your snack for today?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely.’ She stood up, then grabbed a carton from the fridge, and handed it over. ‘These are just numbers.’ She tapped his belly. ‘This is my real world result.’
He raised the carton in a mock toast. She’d been picking him a daily no-questions-asked snack all that month.
‘I suppose you’ll be adding more of these to the list?’
‘Back order’s a wonderful thing,’ she said. ‘And you’re going through those faster than ever right now.’
‘Seems to be your favourite.’
‘I’m efficient.’
‘Maxxing me out?’
‘Plumping you up,’ she corrected. ‘And documenting it.’
‘Play the time-lapse again while I chug.’
She hit play.
He drained the carton, then belched. ‘We should measure another data point tonight.’
‘End of the week.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘And I know you’re up.’
He wasn’t sure which she meant, the bulge in his pants or his weight.
‘What are these?’ he asked as a file directory popped up.
Project Kickstart. Project Snowball. Project Top Secret.
She quickly closed it down. ‘Don’t you worry about those. I’m getting my results.’
She smirked. ‘The clothing budget chart is my favourite. But later.’
‘Why later?’
She shifted onto what remained of his lap and kissed him. ‘Because right now, we need to get you out of your pants.’
‘Another data point,’ he said. ‘My sex chart’s going hyperbolic.’
She buzzed. ‘Exponential. Fool.’
‘Should’ve known better than to marry a math nerd.’
‘That mistake costs you another carton.’
‘Oops,’ he said, patting his belly. ‘Slipped up again. Not a mathlete.’
She stood up, and headed back to the fridge. ‘Maybe,’ she confirmed. ‘But spherically speaking, you’re right on course. Extra-extra credit in fact.’
She handed him the cream, then tipped it to his lips herself this time, and kept it up until the container was drained.
‘Perfect.’ She grinned. ‘Think we have another data point just confirmed.’
‘This shopping list is a logistical nightmare,’ she said as he walked into the kitchen.
He reached into a kitchen cupboard, grabbed a packet of Jolly Ranchers, and sat beside her at the table.
Despite the tablet in front of her, paper receipts were scattered everywhere, items crossed off and amounts adjusted in colored pencil.
She glanced at the packet in his hand and added Jolly Ranchers x2 to the list.
‘I should really automate all this,’ she said, as he offered her one. She declined.
‘At least I try to share,’ he said, popping another into his mouth. He admired her dedication. Truth was, she enjoyed the planning as much as the results.
‘Oh, check this out,’ she said, tapping the screen and pulling up a time-lapse of his weight gain. She’d had him pose weekly, arms out, tracking every change.
Dates flickered by in the corner as the numbers climbed.
‘Here,’ she said, as the weight gain counter passed fifty. ‘This is where it all started going to your belly. Neat, huh?’
She looked over at him, smiling as he unwrapped another sweet. The counter topped out at 101 pounds.
‘Wow,’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘Guess I got pretty big, huh?’
‘And these?’ he asked, pointing at a row of rosettes along the bottom.
‘Each one marks another ten pounds,’ she said. ‘I’ve got time-lapses from every angle.’
‘Neat,’ he said, dryly.
‘And then there’s this.’ She split the screen, with the time-lapse on one side, a chart on the other.
‘What’s this line?’ he asked, pointing at WHtR as it shifted colour across the graph.
He glanced at the key. Healthy. Fat. Superfat.
‘Waist-to-height ratio,’ she said. ‘And you’re not getting any taller.’ She winked.
The line had turned green by the end.
‘And “super fat” is a medical term, right?’ he asked.
‘No, silly.’ She nudged him, then poked his belly. ‘But it fits, doesn’t it?’
‘Charming,’ he said, laughing.
She hesitated, shoulders dropping slightly. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d help me out more with all this.’
He nodded. That was fair.
‘Am I not carrying my weight though?’ he said, patting his stomach.
She smiled. ‘You are. But the shopping, two full carts a week now. It’s a lot.’
‘You try gaining a hundred pounds,’ he said, jiggling his belly. ‘I have to carry this everywhere, stairs included.’
‘You like it,’ she shot back. ‘And shopping together could be fun. You can pick anything you want, my treat.’ She looked at him hopefully.
‘I hear you,’ he said, then nodded at the tablet. ‘What else you got?’
‘All sorts.’ She brightened instantly. ‘This one’s fun, your daily calories.’ She pulled up a graph.
His daily intake climbed steadily. His weight lagged behind, jumping in bursts.
‘They don’t track consistently,’ she said, tracing the line with her finger. ‘Your body has to adjust, then suddenly catches up.’
‘Impressive stuff, Doctor,’ he said, admiring her doctorate, even though it wasn’t in a medical field.
‘I’ve been tracking everything,’ she said with a wink. ‘Some things more than others.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been measuring that too?’
She blushed. ‘Just, … my observations.’ Then, she put it more bluntly. ‘You were bound to lose a little length.’ She patted his belly. ‘We’ve been focusing on girth though. And on that, you’ve done very well. Top of my class.’
He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.
‘Moving on,’ he said quickly, swiping at tabs. ‘Any projections here?’
‘Ooh, lots,’ she said, practically beaming, then grinned at him. ‘But all this data’s working me up, so you’re going have to drink me some cream.’
‘That your snack for today?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely.’ She stood up, then grabbed a carton from the fridge, and handed it over. ‘These are just numbers.’ She tapped his belly. ‘This is my real world result.’
He raised the carton in a mock toast. She’d been picking him a daily no-questions-asked snack all that month.
‘I suppose you’ll be adding more of these to the list?’
‘Back order’s a wonderful thing,’ she said. ‘And you’re going through those faster than ever right now.’
‘Seems to be your favourite.’
‘I’m efficient.’
‘Maxxing me out?’
‘Plumping you up,’ she corrected. ‘And documenting it.’
‘Play the time-lapse again while I chug.’
She hit play.
He drained the carton, then belched. ‘We should measure another data point tonight.’
‘End of the week.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘And I know you’re up.’
He wasn’t sure which she meant, the bulge in his pants or his weight.
‘What are these?’ he asked as a file directory popped up.
Project Kickstart. Project Snowball. Project Top Secret.
She quickly closed it down. ‘Don’t you worry about those. I’m getting my results.’
She smirked. ‘The clothing budget chart is my favourite. But later.’
‘Why later?’
She shifted onto what remained of his lap and kissed him. ‘Because right now, we need to get you out of your pants.’
‘Another data point,’ he said. ‘My sex chart’s going hyperbolic.’
She buzzed. ‘Exponential. Fool.’
‘Should’ve known better than to marry a math nerd.’
‘That mistake costs you another carton.’
‘Oops,’ he said, patting his belly. ‘Slipped up again. Not a mathlete.’
She stood up, and headed back to the fridge. ‘Maybe,’ she confirmed. ‘But spherically speaking, you’re right on course. Extra-extra credit in fact.’
She handed him the cream, then tipped it to his lips herself this time, and kept it up until the container was drained.
‘Perfect.’ She grinned. ‘Think we have another data point just confirmed.’
*** Just a fun evening scene between a female feeder and male feedee. Think of it as soft feedism with a little spice, as I needed to get back into writing again. Hope you enjoy it! And as always, thanks for reading. ***
She was swiping through pictures of them taken as a couple from his slimmer days. He was sat next to her on the couch, enjoying a pint of ice cream, a nightly ritual.
“This was a good one.” She showed him her phone.
“How many months ago is that?” he asked.
“You mean how many pounds?” She glanced at his belly, but resisted the urge to give it a pat.
“That’s strange for a unit of time,” he replied.
“Not in my book,” she said, trying to think of her reasons, knowing he would probably ask, like the academic he was.
“Explain your reasoning.” He turned to look at her.
He was as predictable as his weight gain, given his habits.
“Too many to mention,” she tried his patience.
He scraped at the bottom of the pint of ice cream with his spoon. “Try me,” he said, looking across at her.
“Well,” she said, finally falling into temptation and placing her hand on his belly. “It took at least forty pounds until you weren’t embarrassed by eating ice cream any more. And then another thirty.” She tapped the side of the empty pint in his hand. “For this to become a nightly ritual.”
“I was just shy,” he said, trying to argue with her logic for the hell of it, before he continued, “To someone who always wanted to put on weight, eating ice cream felt kinda naughty, you know?”
“It is kinda naughty.” She winked at him. “When you’re doing it right.” She puffed out her cheeks.
“Isn’t this not naughty?” he asked, showing her the empty pint. She took it from his hand and inspected the empty container with her appraising gaze.
“This didn’t fill you up, am I right?” she asked, raising her head to look up at him.
“I could eat more,” he reasoned. “But I don’t want to be greedy.”
She prodded his belly and winked at him again. “You passed ‘this guy’s greedy’ ten pounds ago.”
He shifted awkwardly and tried to pull down his t-shirt, but it was already outgrown.
“See?” she continued, smiling at him. “Pounds are perfect as a unit of time. I win.”
He rolled his eyes at her lovingly. “I suppose I need to go get another pint?”
“Yes,” her eyes lit up and she leant over to shake his belly encouragingly. “Let’s put you into a new time zone tonight.”
“Ha!” He laughed at her humour, and got up from the couch, with more effort than had been the case a few pounds ago, but she resisted the urge to point that out. “I don’t suppose you can change the past too?” he asked, waving his hand. “With your new unit of time wizardry.”
“Nope.” She grinned at him. “I can only help with ‘personal growth’.” She picked up her phone quickly and scrolled to her online grocery order receipt. “But I can confirm that I can now predict the future,” she found the line she was looking for, “because I added more ice cream to our grocery order this week.”
“You’re the Nostradamus of our age,” he quipped back at her.
“Not quite,” she said, again swiping at her phone. “You’re actually five pounds early on my prediction of when I could convince you to try a second pint of ice cream.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” He curtsied mockingly, and turned for the door.
“No need to apologise,” she said, then wolf-whistled. “Because those love handles look mighty good from here … And will look even better in five pounds’ time.”
He slapped his ass jokingly. “Cool it, Nosty,” he shouted back down the hallway as he made his way to the kitchen, with a hunger that was growing like never before.
“I can’t promise that if you eat that second pint!” She shouted back at him, then nestled herself up on the couch and made a note of this most posthumous date on her phone.
“It doesn’t fit!” he texted her. “Is the assistant still there??”
“Yes.” It took a while for her to reply, after. “Come out and show us. Don’t worry! I’ve told her you’ve put on a little weight lately. ;)”
“Okay, if you say so,” he typed, then drew back the curtain and walked down the corridor toward the fitting room, his belly still bulging after his large breakfast.
“Oh my!” said his wife, beaming at him. “That IS a tight fit. You weren’t kidding!”
The assistant’s cheeks flushed a little, as she grasped for the tape around her neck.
“I can help fix this,” the assistant declared, and approached him to wrap the tape around his middle, but needed his help to get it right around.
The assistant took the new measurement, and jotted down the higher number in her pocket notebook, before surveying the rest of the damage.
“So, I can see these pants button don’t meet,” she said. She deftly pulled at the pants button and estranged hole and tried to estimate the size of the chasm. “And I can see that only the top button on your waistcoat fits.” She pulled at the middle button and estimated a good three-inch gap had appeared, prompted by a lot of good eating no doubt.
She then spun his body around, like a mannequin, by his shoulders, and assessed the fit of the garments at the back. It was a tight fit that left little to the imagination.
“Oh my, honey!” his wife exclaimed, grinning at him as the assistant spun him back around to face them both. “Exactly what have you eaten?” She winked at him, knowing the assistant was still too busy puzzling with his waistcoat and trying to pull it down over his bigger belly, whilst she enjoyed the show.
It was now time for his cheeks to flush.
“Uhm,” he lifted his belly up a little with both hands so the assistant could get beneath with her tape, to take a second measurement below his waist. “I guess I have put on a few lately.”
“I’ll have to check the stock,” the assistant interjected, cheeks flushed and brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, as she tried to think through the practicalities of accommodating this extra girth, knowing what little of that fabric they had left in stock. “But I can try some amends first.”
“Although,” the assistant continued, scratching at the back of her head with trepidation, “I’m afraid there’ll be quite an extra charge for all this extra work. It’s unusual at least.”
His wife approached him with a sly grin, and prodded his stomach gently with her index finger. “I guess those were some pretty expensive burgers then, hey hon?”
“Oops,” he replied, looking down at his belly, trying to join in with his wife’s fun. “I guess I should have cut back a little.”
“Hmm, yes,” his wife rolled her eyes at him playfully. “Because your actions are causing poor Stacie here to cut quite the extra cloth on your behalf.”
“It’s okay,” Stacie interjected, kneeling beneath a counter to check some stock. “Bodies do tend to change over time, it’s no big deal I guess.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Stacie,” his wife observed, patting her husband’s middle. “But I’m afraid my husband’s become quite the chubby little thing lately, hasn’t he?”
Stacie popped back up from behind the counter. And as if on cue, his belly rumbled loudly.
“Oh dear,” his wife giggled, winking at Stacie, who now faced them both. “The Kraken awakes!!”
“It is almost time for lunch,” he replied defensively, checking his watch, but cheeks strating to flush.
“Perhaps it’s one you should skip,” his wife teased him some more and his cheeks reddened further.
“It’s okay,” Stacie said, patting the cardboard tube wrapped with a little remaining fabric in her hand. “We have a little left.”
“Still,” his wife said, giggling and patting her husband’s belly once again, “that’s no excuse for you to cut loose, honey.”
He looked at his wife a little sternly, before he spoke next.
“Thank you, Stacie.” He glanced again at his watch. “Please add the cost of any alterations to my tab. I’m glad that at least one of us in this room has some sympathy with my problems, and is at least constructively willing to help out.” He looked at his wife, then back at Stacie. “And please add yourself a generous tip to that tab too.”
“Oh yes,” his wife smiled at Stacie, gushing, “make it thirty dollars at least, because I know he’ll spend that much on lunch, I can guarantee it.”
Stacie tried to hide her smirk, but failed, as his wife’s eyes met hers, and the two women exchanged a knowing glance.
“As I said,” Stacie patted the roll of additional fabric again, “we have a little extra, so we can accommodate the extra work.”
“That’s lucky for you,” his wife winked at him, and took his hand to lead him towards the door.
Stacie cleared her throat. “Uhm, the suit?” She pointed at the stretched out garments that he still wore.
“Oh yes,” his wife chuckled. “I thought I’d give your colleagues a little giggle too at what he’s done. At least one of us in this marriage can still control our weight.”
“No prizes for guessing which one!” she added, leading her husband through the fitting room door.
“Sew me,” she misspelled, intentionally, “I had to improvise, okay? Not my fault you outgrew the plan!”
“Kinda is.” He replied, and she chuckled as she read it.
“Perhaps some.” She added a sly wink to concede. “But a lot of that fresh bulk is all you.”
“And a sheet is the best thing you could come up with??” He sent her some rolling eyes in tow.
“It was the only thing that fit! … Barely. Twenty pounds over summer is quite the gain.”
“Frightening!” He replied.
“Now you’re getting into the ‘spirit’ of things,” she fired back, as a joke.
“Evil.” He replied.
“That’s Ms wicked to you!"
“Where’s the buffet?” He began to tease her. “Because I’m about to show you a hovering trick.”
“That sheet is already pulled rather taught …” She gulped, as she typed, warning him.
“Sure with my belly filled I can make it levitate a few inches more off the ground.”
“You sweating yet?” He added, for good measure
“Not telling you where. x” She teased him back.
“How firmly is the side of this sheet stitched?” He asked.
“I rushed it. So glutton’s beware!”
“Fancy meeting me at the buffet, and searching for a bottomless pit?”
“Go on then.” She sent him a wink. “Black holes have a gravitational pull don't you know.”
“You might have to pull this sheet off me after.” He joked.
“Think I’ll be happy to tear at those stitches to get at that gut.” She confirmed.
“How about we leave the party now?” He asked.
“Nu-huh Mister. You need to ensure ghostly apparitions of your slim former self don’t return to help haunt your days.”
“Spooksies!”
“I blame your frightening wife.” She replied to him in the third person. “Her portions sizes are out of this world!”
“Don’t I know it!”
“Your belly sure does!”
And by the time they finally looked up from their screens, both were already standing at the buffet table, grinning, face-to-face, and ready for a little Halloween mischief to begin.
“I have become increasingly concerned about your weight gain.” He forwarded her the text from a concerned female colleague.
“I am increasingly concerned about her concern,” she shot back. “What a straight-up B! You should totally eat a donut in front of her for that.”
“Your body, your rules. How could she not know that???” She added further.
“Lol, thanks,” he replied. “Don’t think she’d like that. Her eyes are on my belly each time I snack.”
“That’s her problem, not yours.” She paused, then added a wry grin. “Although I can relate … I have my eyes on your belly too! And it got a little bigger, didn’t it?”
He answered with a winking emoji. “Growing with a mind of its own.”
She laughed aloud. “I don’t know what you mean!” She texted back.
A picture buzzed onto her screen of a donut on his desk. “I guess I just fancied a donut right now.”
“I wonder why,” she teased him. “Good thing I mentioned them, right?”
“Why not have another?” She added, quick as a flash. “Show her you really don’t care what she thinks.”
“You know what the sweet part is?” he wrote. “They’re her birthday donuts - that she brought into work today.”
“Perfect!” she giggled. “Sweet karma calories … You should have as many as you want!”
“Not that I’m encouraging your weight gain or anything…” she added, tossing in an emoji wink.
“Daren’t dream you’d do that,” he fired back, with a sly winking emoji of his own.
“Might need another clothes shop soon.” She touched upon the little practicalities of him piling it on. “I think I’ve let out your newest work slacks as much as I can.”
“Donuts sure make ‘em tight.” He sent her a picture of another donut on his desk.
“F*ck it, we’ll buy new.” She typed her reply. “Especially since those donuts are free.”
“Your outgrown pants brought to you by your colleague’s concern.” She quipped. “I love that!”
“Sponsoring a stuffing was the least she could do.” He joked along with her.
“Yeah, what a B.”
“Might as well give her something to look eh?”
“Third donut on its way.” He replied, with a smile.
He sent her a picture: he was up on the treadmill, sweating. Now that he’d gained over a hundred pounds (and a little more), they both agreed it was a good idea that he did a little light exercise each week.
“How’s it going?” she asked. “Getting any looks?”
“Nope. Although someone looked impressed when I was on the weights.”
“Not surprised, the way you throw me around the bedroom sometimes.” She giggled as she typed. “How long have you walked?” she added, tossing in an emoji wink.
“Twelve minutes.”
“That’s really good for your size!”
“Any chance of a light jog?” she teased him.
“Not a chance. This machine has a weight limit ya know.”
“You over?”
“A little.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“Looking cute in those gym shorts though.” She figured she oughta buy him a larger pair, but the way the current ones clung was too good a treat to give up.
Another photo arrived: him posing in the gym’s floor-length mirror, mimicking the flirty shot she’d once sent him. Hand coyly over his mouth, looking back over his shoulder, butt sticking out, and winking.
“Baby got back!” she wrote, grinning, as she added little devil horns to her note. “And those love handles? They're lookin’ mighty thick.”
She followed with a flood of heart-eyed emojis, admiring how much fuller they now looked.
“I need to get you on the scale again,” she teased him. “Because I’m pretty sure you’ve put on a little more.”
“Must be the fast-food stop after the gym each week.” He sent, with a wink.
“I guess convenience has its price!” She joked, and added a laughing emoji next to one of a little pig.
“But you still cook when I get home,” he shot back. “Remember?”
“Guess I only have myself to blame for such sexy pics then.” She giggled, and pressed send.
The gym must’ve been quiet, because the next message was a video of him up on the treadmill, shirt off and walking, his big belly rolling in the best possible way.
“You better walk yourself right back home this minute,” she typed, firing off another string of heart-eyes at him.
“Because you got something I wanna eat?” He joked with her.
“Something like that!” she grinned. “Just be real quick!”
“Fine… Guess we can always order in tonight?”
“Oh, I’m firing up the apps right now,” she teased. “And I’m supersizing it all for you. xxx”
She received a picture from him while she was at work: last night’s monster pan of lasagne was balanced precariously on his belly, and he was lounging back lazily, his feet up on the corner couch. That boy was a liability with an open kitchen and her not there she thought, rolling her eyes at his message as she typed.
“Busy I see. Did you paint the fence??”
A picture came back — of a freshly painted fence, all done. “Yep!” he replied.
Fair enough she figured. It was his day off after all.
“How’s work?” he asked her, now clearly a little bored.
She glanced around the quiet office, before snapping a shot of herself peering over her glasses with her tongue sticking out. “Pretty dull. How much lasagne did you eat?”
A photo returned of the full pan, with now only a few mouthfuls left.
“That was THREE generous servings at least!” She giggled as she typed.
“Thought I felt full.” He replied, before sending a picture of his belly from the side.
She eyed the picture with glee. An old painting t-shirt of his was now a few too many Xs too small, and was riding high up over his gut.
“And for your dessert?” she typed, adding: “I’m on my work clock remember.”
“I need a nap first. And besides, we’re all out of ice cream.” He replied.
She smiled. He hadn’t found it then.
“I keep a stash. Promise to leave me some?” She asked.
“I can try.”
“Put out the trash first. x”
“Taskmaster!” He chuckled. But then ten minutes later, a photo arrived on her phone of trash bags neatly piled by a curb.
“Second chest freezer > garage > bottom left > under all the frozen vegetables." She typed, then hit send.
And five minutes later, a picture arrived: a fresh pint of cookies and cream perched atop his belly, and the TV already on.
“Remember, you promised?” She reminded him.
He sent her a picture of his crossed fingers and a wink.
She shook her head, grinning. “Guess I’d better stop at the store on the way home then? I swear you’re getting so greedy these days.”
“Excellent idea.” He replied, before adding another photo of the coffee table to his side, littered with half-opened treats. “I guess I’ll be hungry again by the time you get home. x”
“Eat all that and you won’t be able to reach the fence!” She joked.
“One less chore for me to do then.” He grinned.
“Perfect then,” she replied back. “Because I’ll make you too fat to paint at this rate.”
“Just checking in.” She sent him a mirror selfie from the elliptical, then stepped off the machine and toweled her hands dry.
“How’s the spreadsheet?” she asked, knowing he was stressed about a big project at work.
“Going good.” He sent her two thumbs up.
“Any stress eating?” She asked.
“Always.” He replied. “But not in the last twenty minutes or so.”
She pouted, then glanced around the quiet gym. A little boldness crept in. She angled her phone towards the full-length mirror, turned around and bent forward just enough to give him a treat, then sent the pic.
“Makes you wanna eat, don’t it?” She wrote, beneath the shot.
“So gonna hit that later.” Came his reply, he was becoming bold as brass at his new size.
Surprised by his cockiness, but grinning, she leant into the energy all the same.
“So gonna make you work for it though.” She replied, with a little rouge entering her cheeks, before sending a wink.
“Oh really? How so?”
“Couldn’t you go for a little snack right now, hmmm? … I think you really should.” A photo followed — her lips pursed, her gym top clinging to her breasts.
“You do make a boy hungry.” He replied, with a grin.
“I’ll be on the treadmill for twenty minutes,” she told him. “Why don’t you keep eating until I’m done?”
He sent back a picture of his open snack drawer. “Yeah, …. That sounds like good a deal!”
“You’ll get fat.” She warned him.
“You’ll get thin.” He fired her back.
“Lucky opposites attract,” she replied, with a grin on her face.
A photo buzzed on her phone — an open chocolate bar, the wrapper already torn.
She laughed out loud. “Hey! … I haven’t started running yet!”
“Chase me,” he answered. “I’m just getting a head start.”
She chuckled as she put down her phone, before stepping up on the treadmill and firing up a good pace.
“I gotta admit, I’m impressed,” she typed. “Three drive-thrus before work is no mean feat - you’re showing real commitment to the cause.”
“How does it feel?” she added, knowing that he was probably back by his desk by now after a mid-morning break.
“You want the good news or the bad news?” He asked her over text.
“Both.” She replied in a flash.
“Good news — I feel fat. Bad news — my colleagues have bought me a cake for my birthday, and are now pushing me to have a slice.”
“That’s BOTH good news,” she shot back at him. “And you really should have two slices. It’s your birthday, after all. And you wouldn’t want to appear ungrateful either.”
“Marjorie just brought me a second slice now.” He sent.
“Marjorie likes you fat.” She replied. “A girl after my own heart!” She began to smile.
“Pants are gonna be tight again soon after this.”
“Surely you’re used to that by now?” She asked, a little incredulously.
“You’re not the one carrying eighty pounds more weight since we met!”
“Super grateful,” she answered, with a little fluttering, thumping heart by its side. “Now tell me all about that cake. Describe it for me, … please? xxx”
“Chocolate fudge - butter icing … and lots of whipped cream.”
“Mmm. Two slices at about three hundred calories a piece,” She typed. “At a guess!’” Then added. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about outgrowing your pants??”
“You’re not the one wearing them!!” He replied, laughing.
“Or am I?” She countered, slyly, with a grin on her lips.
“You’re so gonna get it when I get home. I’m gonna lie on top of you, just you wait!”
“Be my guest.” She replied. “But you’d better bring your fat cake too.”
“Witty.” He replied.
“I’m punning for ya.” She fired back.
“And don’t my belly know it.” He sent her a selfie of him amidst his colleagues, smiling, and now presumably being presented with his third slice of the day.
“Belly-check?” she texted again, whilst he was at work.
His reply came almost instantly, a photo of his belly from the front, proudly welling up in the space between the arms of his office chair.
“Phew,” she answered. “It’s still fat I see, that’s a relief!”
“You kidding? After THAT breakfast?” He joked.
“Guess you were hungry,” she teased him. “Although I was a little impressed you ate the third plate.”
“You mean that was OPTIONAL??” He replied, not sounding too impressed.
“Well.” She paused. “I guess not. But maybe I am getting a little soft in my old age.”
“If packing forty pounds of belly onto me is you getting soft.” He followed his message with a picture of his lower shirt button straining. “I’d hate to see you going real hard.”
“That button’s gonna give soon,” she warned him. “Must’ve been that BIG breakfast you ate, huh?” She sent him an animated emoji that winked.
“Which YOU fed me??”
“Oopsie,” she replied, innocently enough, before attaching a set of angel wings to her note.
“You’re a good girl gone bad.” He teased her, grinning to himself.
“Said the thin boy gone fat.” She replied, smirking.
“I fear this lower button might just pop.” He looked down at his middle after he typed, and felt beneath his belly with his fingers for the button that strained.
“How ‘bout you get yourself a snack and tell me how it works out?” She winked, then teased him further. “I have to go shopping now - you know - because like somebody ate all the treats.”
“I’ll eat you in a minute!” He replied, chuckling.
“Please do.” She quipped back, followed by a picture of a prize pig and her dainty foot in a high-heel. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Dude, what the hell?” She messaged him a picture of the empty cake tin.
“Sorry, needs must!” He replied quickly. A subsequent photo followed, his belly straining against an office shirt.
She rolled her eyes at her phone. “I’m so gonna have to put you on a diet one of these days!” She typed.
“I’ve heard that before!” He sent as a quip, before another picture from him landed on her phone, of a half-eaten donut this time, resting by his mid-morning coffee.
“Only one??” She feigned her disappointment via text.
His answer came in the form of a picture of an open box of four donuts - with one gone, three left to go.
It was no wonder he was getting chubby, she thought, smiling as she typed her next thought.
“But a whole honey cake though?” She asked incredulously. “Don’t you know how much I love honey cake??!”
“Me too!!” His words came with a wink, before a more regretful, “Sorry,” followed suit. “I just couldn’t help myself!”
“I know, … it was tasty!” She typed and tutted. “But a little remorse is good though. Although I’ll only truly forgive if those donuts go. x” She sent him a smirking-eyed emoji, then one sticking out its tongue.
“You’re getting pretty cheap these days.” He continued to tease her via text. “I guess everyone has their price!”
“I’m about to get much richer the bigger you get!” She fought back a little, and leaned into his energy once more.
“That’s Biting talk.” His typing and spelling finally let him down, his slick phone screen succumbing to the onslaught of thick and chubby sugar coated thumbs.
“That’s it then,” she goaded him. “I’m about to bake another batch of honey cake, … like right now. And it’s all for you to enjoy.”
“Just keep it safe this time!” He replied, with a wink. “Listen. Really gotta go - ten minute catch-up with the boss. See you after work. x”
“Whatever. Just eat your donuts fatty!” She answered, and grinned, feeling like the true one in charge of him right now.
I just want one of those days where it sneaks up on you, y'know? You don't set out to overeat, I don't plan the day around overfeeding you, but there seems to be an excuse everywhere we go.
We make breakfast together, because how cute is playing house? But then we're invited to brunch and you shrug - what's a little extra? And maybe a couple of glasses of champagne that's been gently kissed by fruit juice later I have slipped most of my meal from my plate to yours. You're a little too full, but we have time before your friends' party, and anyway that's informal.
So you nap and I make lunch and we keep it light - for us. Afternoon events always have snacks, of course, and you would probably have been more careful if you hadn't gotten just a little bit high. The beers don't help, either. By the time I notice what you're up to you're already starting to get a little uncomfortable, but nothing another hit and another drink can't solve. You're back to grazing when someone suggests that the stragglers go out for dinner, and we can hardly say no, can we?
I drive as slowly as I can, so you have time to sober up, but it's so much easier through a haze. It's the weekend, you deserve to unwind. Since we're already late we roll the windows down and park as far from the building as possible so I can rub your belly for just a few minutes...and if I get a little distracted and we run even later, who can blame me?
They're ordering appetizers when we finally walk in, and someone jokingly doubles everything up as you sit down. The waitress isn't in on the joke. You don't have to eat everything in front of you, of course, but it's become habit. You can let me handle ordering our mains, so you don't even bother to look away from the conversation - two entrees for my poor boyfriend, who's been starving all day. A meal for me that you'll want to try. Habit, again. We've both got them. There's a lull between sampler platters and dinner, and you have a few minutes to feel the effects, but it's too late to turn back.
The way your eyes widen at the two plates placed in front of you almost makes me feel guilty. I tell you I didn't know which you'd prefer, we can take what you don't eat to go. It's a thin excuse, but it sets the rest of the table at ease. As they fall back into their usual patter you grab my wrist and pull my hand to your tight midsection. A long, hard look to tell me that this is all my fault, and I am going to make it up to you when we get home.
You take your time over dinner, eating from all three plates when you feel like it - which is more often than I would have expected if I weren't offering subtle...encouragement just out of everyone's view. I'm keeping an eye on your shirt, which was just slightly snug this afternoon as we got ready. Two and a half meals later it is holding on valiantly when someone says, "I'm guessing you don't want dessert?"
The way you're leaned back in your seat, half oblivious, suggests you don't. The way your free hand, the one that isn't rubbing circles on your now impossibly stuffed gut, grips mine and pulls it to your thickest roll, says otherwise. But not here, and we both know it. Anything sweet we'll pick up on the way home.
"I think he might be slightly overset already," I tell them. An understatement that hangs in the air. I settle our part of the bill and promise everyone I'll get you home, and then I exercise every ounce of self control I have not to whimper when you have to brace yourself to heave your overindulged body up. I lose the fight when gravity shifts and you stumble into me. So big, and so heavy that you can't stand on your own right away. You lean on me for the first few feet until you find a rhythm of your own. A slow one that allows you to keep one hand under your protruding stomach.
You unfasten your belt in the parking lot and I nearly forget to breathe. The button on your jeans taunts me. They're so tight that it will be easier to pop it while you're standing, but we still have the rest of the lot to clear. On the other hand your hips have widened in the past few months and I'm feeling reckless.
At the car I shake my head when you reach for the front door. You only look confused for a second or two before you maneuver into the back. Dessert can wait until we get home, but I can't.
I know your friends have started talking, and I know it's easy to get tired of them asking - are you sure you need dessert tonight? Do you want to come along to the gym as their guest? But, baby, they're trying to be good friends. And really, you should try to enjoy it while it lasts.
Before long the questions will turn into sighs, the sighs into stares. There will be whispered conversations that end as you return to the table with an overladen plate. Again. Someone will start to say...something...and the group will silence them. You'll look to me, shrug it off. Maybe it should bother you, but I squeeze your thigh under the table as you settle back in and suddenly you're starving.
At the end of the night there will be a moment of stillness, held breath, as you wedge yourself from a booth that's grown tighter over the course of the evening. Looks back and forth. No one says a word. Your cheeks flushed red with effort, embarrassment at being caught out. I can almost feel them wondering if this will be it - the moment you finally realize what you've done to yourself. I almost hold my breath with them, but then -
I cuddle up to your side, one hand around your back, the other just barely brushing your beltline. You're not even full, yet, my poor darling. You've been so cautious tonight. I rise up on my toes to kiss your face, suggest softly that I bring the car to the front. Is that panic in your eyes? But no, these are your friends. And it's such a long walk across the parking lot.
You'll have to make small talk around the table as everyone slips easily into coats. They all seem to glide across the restaurant, highlighting your slightly halting gait - not full, yet, but heavy nonetheless. At the door as you wait, someone finally breaks free of the group hypnosis, and makes an awkward start. Are you sure...is everything...that is...and finally, "You good, though?"
As he says it your phone lights up with a text message confirming the dessert order I've placed for pick up on the way home. You type something to me, watch headlights fill the dark space outside the door. As you hit send on a request for a drive-through run first, you smile at him.
"So good," you tell him, pushing out into the chill of the end of the night. I get out of the car to let you have the driver's seat while you can, and you kiss the top of my head. "So good," you say again.
A short scene where a female feeder arrives home to find her male feedee partner in the kitchen getting ready for an evening meal. I've probably written lots of similar scenes to this before, but wanted to get back into writing again. Hope you enjoy! (And if any female feeders in the UK fancy living this lifestyle out with me, drop me a line. Worth a shot, hey? lol).
“Chubby.” She poked his belly with her index finger.
“Good evening to you too,” he replied.
“Aw, don’t be too sore about it.” She smiled sweetly at him, then grabbed his waist from behind. “You know I think this looks so good on you.”
He looked down at his enlarged middle, as she gave it a shake in her hands.
“Thanks. ... At least, I think so,” he muttered, then glanced toward his phone screen once more.
“You sure it’s still thirty though?” She asked, in reference to his growing weight. She then glanced back down at his rear again. “I swear I detect a little more growth back here.” Suddenly her hands were all over his backside, and he felt like a piece of meat.
“I guess I do feel heavier.” He understated his true feelings about his recent uptick on the scale, then reached again for his phone and checked progress on the app. Five more minutes left to go.
She came around to face him then placed her hands squarely on his front, her favorite place for them now to be, as if he were expecting a very overdue food-baby lovechild on behalf of them both.
“This certainly looks heavier to me,” she glanced down at his waist again, then winked, before she spied the door dash update flash up on his phone. “And more takeout tonight too? Hmm?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him now.
“I had another craving,” he said, a tint of that gainer’s remorse but equal reckless abandon already in his tone.
“Like last night too?” She winked, mischievously. “Someone’s getting greedy again.” She patted his belly very enthusiastically. "It's like you're liking getting fat."
“And what if I am?” His cheeks began to flush as he spoke, before he added, “And why are you giving me hell about it anyway?”
“Oh." She threw her hands up in the air at him in mock surrender, then continued. "This is a judgement free zone right here. And I’m totally here for all this indulgence. I just hope you’ll confess I was right all along.” She then glanced at his behind again and asserted more confidently now, “Yep. Any day now, and these jeans won’t pass your thighs.”
“They're not gonna last forever anyway!” He protested, a little grumpily now, and tried to stem her teasing at its base.
”Not with door dash on your phone.” She kissed his cheek, smiling sweetly at him, as she teased him back, then he sucked in his belly at her touch. “I know, I know," she gesticulated at him with her hands. "Takeout’s making it all too easy for you to pack it all on.”
“But all these cravings,” she continued, as she began to search the kitchen cupboards now for her own evening meal, a renewed fervor in her step. “It’s as if you’re starting to actually need to get fat.”
“Ha! Charming!” He rolled his eyes at her in frustration, then added. “I guess I’ll have to deal with you in a moment after this order arrives.”
“Just admit it.” She said, then re-approached him, to steal a kiss from his lips, and his hungry eyes began perusing her dainty frame. “I was right all along, wasn’t I? ... I always told you this would be fun.” She then ran her fingers subtly behind the waistband of his jeans to check that they still fit. “Any day now,” she continued, whispering some sweet nothings in his ear at him softly. “Pop, pop, pop! And you’ll blow right up out of this pair.”
“I am not outgrowing these jeans.” He crossed his arms, defensively, and irately, but it only emphasized the roundness of his belly once more.
“Well I’m sure the scale disagrees when you next step,” she replied, puffing out her cheeks cheekily at him, as well as her waist, as she waddled back pregnantly towards the kitchen cupboards once more.
“Really!” He said, with some exasperation now in his voice. “It’s bad enough having to put this all on, but having you give me hell about it too??”
“All part of the fun.” She winked at him once more, then picked out an open bag of chips from the kitchen cupboard and offered him one.
He accepted, then said, “You’re pretty lucky I don’t use all this added bulk up against you right now.” He gave his belly a firm shake in her direction with his free hand, before he grabbed another chip from the bag before she could tie them right up.
But the front door bell rang and his order arrived.
“Saved by the bell big boy.” She giggled, and patted his waist again, before placing a suggestive hand on her own rear. “I guess I’ll be keeping all this warm until you want your next feast.”
“I know I can always get it when I’m growing like this,” he replied, more confidently now, as he turned away from her to head for the door.
“Finally!” She welcomed his confession, gesticulating again at him wildly with her hands. “He admits! He’s putting on a little chonk!”
“And damn boy!” She hollered back after him, as she checked out his fattening rear from behind as he waddled away. ”It seems like you want it a lot, .... don' it??”
“Yeah, yeah, Keep talking,” he shouted back at her over his shoulder at her and kept on toward the door. “And I’ll be sure to shut you right back up once I’ve eaten my fill.”
“Ha! Charming!” She said, repeating his own words at him now as she opened up the freezer door and tittered lightly to herself. “I guess I’ll start picking out your 'just' desserts. And we can take it from there.”
