summary: At his first office job, Hudson learns that Connie from admin is a great baker and that her favourite diner lunch-spot serves a mean burger, all of which has a (*ahem*) big effect on his performance.
a silly connieverse wg fic that felt too niche for ao3 so i’ll be posting it on tumblr in three or four parts instead, for the sake of the like five perverts i think might enjoy it lol
The nerves don’t hit until Hudson’s waiting in the departure lounge of the airport. Suddenly, he thinks this might be crazy. Is this crazy? Last night, at the party, after she texted him, Connie came over briefly and brushed his arm and said she had to get home to pack, would he text her the flight details, and Hudson, dazed with happiness, said of course, and she said, before she left, that the Christmas jumper suited him, the silly, far-too-small one, and those words were enough to push him into eating two pizzas when he got home just to feel it grow that little bit tighter.
They’re about to spend two weeks on vacation together. They’ve never seen each other out of work before - he doesn’t count their lunches, technically out of the office but still feeling like part of the rhythm of the working day. They’ve never even kissed.
Then Connie appears, walking towards him wheeling her suitcase and wearing a smile. He realises, when she gets closer, that each work day she must put on make up, a subtle amount, not so much that he noticed, but now her face is bare and he loves the fresh glow of it, how much she looks like herself. She’s dressed differently, too, in a long floaty skirt and top rather than sharp tailored suits and skirts. He can’t believe she’s really here. She stops in front of him.
"You look - I mean, you’re so -" He’s tripping over his words, she can probably see his hands trembling, but when she reaches up to cup his cheek it’s like his racing mind finally goes quiet.
"I’m going to kiss you," she says. "Ok?"
He can’t speak, he only nods, and lets his eyes drift closed.
She’s ever so slightly taller than him, so when they kiss his head tips back, and her arms are wrapping around him like a solid weight, and he feels like his legs might give out, but it’s ok because she’d be there to hold him. He can feel the way his soft belly presses up against the firm plane of her abs under her top, and the sensation of it has him whining softly into her mouth.
They break apart. Connie’s eyes are sparkling, bright.
"Better." Because all the nerves are gone. He’s floating in a pleasant haze.
"Good." She rests a hand on his gut, a proprietary touch that has him feeling weak at the knees all over again. "Now, let’s get you something to eat."
The hotel is an absolute dream. White sand beaches, three pools, luxurious interiors, and their room is a suite with a balcony overlooking the sea. They arrive close to sunset and are drawn straight outside to look at the sky; as soon as the porter who carried their bags is gone, Hudson’s reaching for Connie but she bats his hands away.
"Where are your manners, young man?" she says, playfully scolding. "At least buy a lady dinner first."
There are three different all-inclusive restaurants around the resort, two sit-down and one buffet-style. The buffet is open, Connie informed him on the flight over, from 6am until midnight every day. And then, of course, there’s room service, 24 hours a day.
He’s not exactly hungry - Connie kept buying him snacks from the cart on the plane - but he tells her he could eat. Her eyes slide down to his waist.
So they go to the buffet. As soon as they step in, all thoughts of the plane snacks are forgotten. A whole wall of the vast room is lined with steaming silver dishes of food, and Hudson’s stomach is suddenly growling at the thought of sampling as much of it as he can. He goes to collect a plate, but Connie shoos him to a nearby table.
"You sit and relax. I’ll bring you something right over."
The food is a mix of American-style, local cuisine, and international fusion favourites from curries to stir fries. Connie starts with the most familiar fare - his first plate has a huge steak, a burger, even bigger than the ones at their usual diner, fries, mashed potatoes and green beans. His breath hitches when he sees it; it’s so, so much food, and he can already imagine how it will feel, swelling out his stomach, weighing him down. He digs in with gusto and soon, without too much trouble, he’s finished, belly feeling very well-filled. He’s thankful he had the foresight to change out of the pants he wore on the plane and into some swim shorts with an elasticated waistband he bought specifically for this trip.
It feels like he’s barely put down his fork before Connie is back with a second plate, this time of Caribbean food. There’s a meat stew - goat, Connie tells him - three jerk chicken drumsticks, a fish curry, rice and peas, and a heap of fried dumplings. The novelty is good, enough to give him a second wind, but by about halfway through he’s feeling rather like the dumplings himself - puffy and round. Somehow, he manages to finish; he leans back, pats his stomach, and belches quietly.
"Oof," he says. "Stuffed."
Connie’s smile is almost wolfish, hungry and with teeth.
"Another plate? Their chicken curry looked divine."
Hudson shakes his head. "Couldn’t have another bite." He’s rubbing slow circles, trying to soothe his overloaded gut. But Connie just laughs.
"Come on, big boy," she says, and his brain practically short circuits. "Let me get you one more."
She sets the third plate in front of him. Three different curries, naan bread and rice, and Hudson feels weak just looking at it. He tries a few forkfuls. It is good, almost good enough to keep going. But he’s so, so full.
"Connie," he says, looking at her pleadingly. "I can’t."
She shuffles her chair a little closer towards him, the better to reach across and trace a finger across the curve of his stuffed belly. He whimpers at the touch; he can’t help himself.
"I think you can," she says, her voice low. "After all, you don’t get all this -" she pokes his gut, finger sinking into the fat of it - "without a big appetite, do you?"
He shivers under her touch. She’s right. Any of the other hotel guests, if they looked over, would see it clearly. He can’t hide the fact that he has the round, overfed belly of a man who loves to eat.
"If you finish," Connie says, still in that low, sultry tone. "We can go back to the room and you can have your reward."
And that’s all it takes. By the end, he’s having to lean back in his chair and bring forkfuls of curry over his bulging, too-full belly; he drops a little sauce on his shirt, which must make him look even greedier than the plump swell of his stomach already does, but he’s far too stuffed to care.
When he’s finished, he feels like he’s going to burst.
Connie has to help him to his feet; he groans as he stands, and leans on her to walk slowly out of the restaurant.
"Poor you," she says. "Maybe that was a bit too much food. But you were such a good boy, eating it all for me."
Hudson can’t even form words, can only nuzzle his face into her neck and whine.
Back in the room, the reward turns out to be her going down on him as he lies on the bed, pinned under the weight of all the food in his gut. She pulls down his shorts and stroking him to hardness while his mind, already hazy from overindulging at dinner, goes blissfully blank. But that bliss doesn’t last, because, to his horror, he comes basically as soon as she gets her mouth on him.
"Oh my god." He tries to sit up too fast, groans at the twinge in his overfull belly when he does. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I -"
But she’s grinning at him, genuinely delighted.
"Hudson," she says. "It’s all right. You’re so eager. It’s cute."
He flushes at this, his face hot and probably bright red.
"Here’s an idea," she says. "Why don’t we order up some room service for dessert, and then we can try again."
"I feel like you might last longer if you’ve got your mouth full."
And, unfortunately for his poor belly, which soon has to find room for a thick slice of cheesecake, she’s absolutely right.
Unsurprisingly, he sleeps like the dead. When he wakes, Connie’s already showered, fresh and pink and wrapped in a towel robe, and there’s already a well-laden dining cart in the room.
Hudson sits up against the headboard, his belly resting on his thighs, still a little bloated from last night’s excess. Connie comes over and puts a hand on it.
"I can see why they call you Big Hud," she says. He swallows thickly, lost for words all over again, stupid with arousal. "You were so skinny when we met, weren’t you?" Her hands travel over his middle, his sides, poking and squeezing the fat around his waist. "But then came all those lunchtime milkshakes and burgers, all those brownies and cupcakes and pies."
Hudson tries his best not to whimper; it’s a close-run thing.
"Look how big you got," she says, "With all that eating."
She pats his gut; they both watch it jiggle. Then she looks up, meets his eye.
"You want to get bigger for me, Hudson?"
"Yeah," he says, desperate and so achingly hard. "God. Please."
She feeds him breakfast from the cart by hand, every bite. Cream-filled pasties, pancakes, bacon and sausages, a thick cheese omelette, all end up in his stomach, and when she’s stuffed him full, she lies him down and sits on his face and the taste of her, the way she grinds down on his tongue, a confident rhythm, using him to get off, and the way she reaches back to grab his belly when she comes, it’s so hot he thinks he might actually die.
Then, to the pool - he’s too full to do anything but lie there, but she brings him a sugary cocktail saying, "It’s five o clock somewhere!" and he watches her swim laps in a bikini that shows off her thighs, her abs, her ridiculous arms, and he feels pleasantly stuffed and, after another cocktail, a little tipsy, and very, very content.
He feels like he blinks and then it’s lunch. They go to one of the sit-down places this time, set right on the beach, with a range of grilled meat options. He’s hardly recovered from breakfast but Connie shows no mercy, ordering him the beef, lamb and chicken skewers and a chocolate mousse for dessert.
He’s practically waddling on the way back to the room to have a nap, and he tries to pull her into bed with him.
"Will you fuck me?" he asks, breathless - partly because he’s desperately horny, partly because there must be enough food in his swollen belly to feed a family of four.
"Later," she says. "If you finish all your dinner."
And she’s as good as her word. She feeds him three heaped plates again, which was a challenge enough yesterday and even more of a challenge now he’s spent the whole day groaningly full, but it’s worth it for the way she rides him afterwards - teasingly slow, because he’s too stuffed for her to jostle him if she moves faster, and she brings him to the edge again and again until he’s a whimpering mess and then finally, finally lets him come.
And so it goes, day after day. He eats, he naps, he lies by the pool, they fuck, and he can’t get enough of it, the sex or the food.
He basically has two states, full or stuffed to the brim, as Connie keeps him topped up through the day with snacks and sugary cocktails and then feeds him to bursting at every meal.
Connie goes to the hotel gym every day, usually in the afternoon while Hudson sleeps off lunch. One time, he decides to join her; he’s too full to do much more than watch, but when he sees her heft two enormous dumbbells to do a shoulder press, he nearly blacks out. He doesn’t even let her finish her set, he drags her back to their room, babbling, "Oh my god you’re so fucking strong, you need to pin me down on the bed, please, Connie, please, I need -"
She shuts him up when she gets him on the bed with his wrists above his head, and her hold is so firm and so perfect that he actually comes then and there, humping her leg, and he would be embarrassed but he’s too wrung out by it to care.
"Now," says Connie, when she’s cleaned him up. "Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to order you some afternoon snacks, then I’m going to go finish my workout. If you’re very good and eat everything before I’m back, I’ll tie you to the bed -" she brandishes the belt from the towel robe - "and fuck you real nicely, ok?"
He nods, utterly blissed out. He’s in heaven.
All holiday he wears swim shorts in lieu of real pants. He knows, obviously, he’s getting fatter, practically by the day, with all that Connie’s feeding him. He can feel the waistband getting tighter as his belly grows rounder and rounder with every meal. But it’s like he doesn’t really confront just how much fatter until they’re packing on their last day - before dinner, because Hudson knows he’ll be far too stuffed and useless after. He lays out his outfit for the plane, the same pants he flew out in.
"That’s what you’re wearing tomorrow?" Connie asks.
She looks pointedly at his waistline, then down at the pants.
Hudson blinks at her. He feels stupid for not even considering the possibility that they wouldn’t; but then, that’s how all this overeating often makes him feel, stupid and slow and so lucky to have Connie there to take care of everything so his mind can go blank.
He tries them on. He knows he’s in trouble when he struggles to get them over his thicker thighs; he has to wiggle and jump to get them past his ass. Connie watches, biting her lip, fighting a smile, as he finally pulls them up to his hips and…
Yeah, there’s no way in hell he’ll close these; they’re tight even with the button undone. He and Connie both stare at the place where his gut spills through the open flap.
He looks up at her, pouting slightly.
"This is your fault," he says.
She raises an eyebrow. "My fault?"
"Yeah. They fit on the way out, before you brought me three or four plates at the buffet every day."
"Mm," she says. "But you’re the one who ate them, aren’t you." She grabs a handful of his belly and squeezes, fondly. "My greedy boy."
Then her hands are everywhere - along his sides, pinching his thick love handles, cupping his ass, before returning to the swell of his belly.
"Do you know how much?" she asks. Voice a little husky.
"How much weight you’ve gained? Since we met?"
He shakes his head. He doesn’t own a scale, used to weigh himself at the gym, but stopped doing that pretty soon after starting his job.
Hudson peels off the pants as Connie calls down to reception, saying they need a scale to weigh their luggage. When one’s brought up, she sets it on the floor of the bathroom; waiting to step on, Hudson gets a full view of himself in the mirror, how ridiculously overfed he looks, with his huge, round belly, his softening pecs, his ass and thighs fatter, the start of a double chin forming under his jaw.
"What were you before?" Connie asks.
"Um," he says. "Around 205, 210."
She flashes him a sly smile. They both know he’s a long, long way from that number now.
He steps on. He has to lean forward to see over his belly. The scale flashes - 257. Almost 50lbs.
Connie looks at the number, and then at Hudson’s blushing face.
"When we’re back, you’ll start coming for dinner at my place," she says, in a voice that leaves no room for argument. She pats his gut, firm and businesslike. "We can get another 50lbs on you, I think."
Hudson feels dizzy. His hand is on his belly, imagining how much bigger it will grow as Connie fattens him up on her cooking in the weeks and months ahead.
