[Sheesh, it's seriously been nearly two months since I published anything??? Good god, time do be flying... Anyway, wrote this in a hungry haze this morning to get it outta my system. CW for implied immobility and tube feeding, as well as references to public feeding and group feeding. Enjoy!]
Inevitable.
That's what all your friends said of your current size. Too big for clothes, spilling over the edges of a king bed, rolls and folds of blubber piling atop one another to form a literal mountain of flab.
During your fleeting moments of lucidity, you went back and forth on whether you agreed with that assessment. Sure, you'd always been a hungry guy, but you'd joined the group as a much smaller person, probably an eighth of your current weight, if that. How could anyone say that your appetite alone, even hefty as it was, would cause you to snowball into this blob? That would be an absurd statement, especially considering how frequently your feeder friend group conspired to "test your limits". "Just to see, for fun," they'd claimed, but even in your overstuffed haze, you weren't entirely stupid. You could see their arousals written plainly on their faces; as their sacrificial lamb of lard, how could you not see what they were doing?
That was how it had started: pub crawls and restaurant dates, as you steadily outgrew each location's single chair and had to add another. Wider, heavier, hungrier you grew as your friends plied you with yet more food, all greasy, all decadent, all high calorie. Delicious, of course, but you wound up in a partial food coma after the first couple of entrees and drinks, so you could barely remember the tastes of most of what got shoved down your throat. "Oh well," said once particularly mischievous friend. "Guess you'll have to get it again!"
Not only that, but everyone could see what was happening to you. Not just within your group, but without as well. As your group meetups became more and more frequent, you started running out of time to shop for new clothes for your expanding form, with obvious consequences. The strip of belly hanging out of your shirt grew wider with the rest of you, sleeves started stretching over your hamhock arms before being cut off to allow them to breathe, and a nigh-constant plumber's crack amidst your swelling ass made it plain to see that not only were you getting fat, but it was happening fast. If only they could see the full extent of your stretch marks.
Anyway, all that was in the past now. All anyone had to do nowadays was take a single look at you. Limbs forced outspread by the amount of fat caked onto each one, your CPAP on one side of the bed and a feeding tube on the other, your gigantic belly keeping you decent even without a scrap of clothing on your body... Who wouldn't see this as the obvious outcome?
Well, we wouldn't, of course. Because we know how much bigger you're still going to get. Open wide, fatass.
[Wow, it's been a minute since I've done any writing on here. Fair bit of unspecified weed-esque drug use in this one, as well as some dubcon/noncon. Also some implied immobility, and maybe some health stuff if you squint? Enjoy, fatties 💕]
In hindsight, I really should've realized what you meant early on. Once I hit 350 pounds, you sat me down one morning and told me, with barely concealed excitement, that it was "time to shift gears". I remember feeling that excitement, too, though obviously I can look back on that moment and laugh at my naivete. I agreed readily, promising that I'd continue to go along with whatever you had planned for me.
Truth be told, the last 50 pounds had been wearing me out. I'd been pretty unathletic when you'd started fattening me up 200 pounds ago, and it had only gotten worse as my sedentary lifestyle and high-calorie diet caused me to swell with blubber. My back and legs ached whenever I had to walk more than a few dozen steps, I could barely lift anything heavier than a fully loaded plate, and my flexibility was downright laughable. I figured you had meant that you would start bringing me with you to the gym, cutting back on my intake a little bit to build some muscle. Maybe it was to keep me healthy, maybe it was to build a stronger foundation for future growth, but I didn't ask either way. I just went along with whatever you had planned.
So, when I woke up the next morning to find myself handcuffed to the bed, CPAP still placed over my nose with a distinctly *herbal* scent attached to it, I realized how mistaken I'd been.
The days blended together in a haze of feeding, funnels, massages, cloth-bathing, sex, and the occasional bathroom visit, all overseen by you. The only thing I was aware of beyond the veil of drugs was your touch, and how consistently full I was kept. Every now and then, I'd shiver and gasp when you applied lotion to my belly and thighs, squirming as much as my overfed body would allow beneath the cold lotion. I grew, and grew, and grew...
I couldn't keep track of time in my drug-induced haze, but some time later, you removed my drugs long enough for me to sober up. Little by little, I began feeling the weight that had been caked onto me. At some point, my arms had been uncuffed, I just hadn't noticed on account of how heavy they were. I looked down at the giant, flesh-colored pillow on my lap, and it took me entirely too long to realize that the blob covering my legs was my belly. Enormous, wide, heavy, and sloshing as you guided my hands to it. I blinked as I explored it, my pudgy fingers squishing gently into my gut before finding their way up to my chest. Nothing but soft blubber as far as I could feel.
"You love it, don't you?" you snickered, leaning against the bedpost as you watched my mystified motions. I nodded, overwhelmed with how much more of me there was to feel now. I guess I looked it, because your expression softened as you drew closer to me, caressing my plump cheek and wiping away a tear I didn't know I'd shed. "How do you feel?"
You were barely able to get the question out before my reply: "Starving."
We were about the same size when we met. I was a little heavier thanks to my efforts to fatten up alone, but you promised to change that.
After the first twenty pounds, people started assuming I was the one paying for our dates more often. I must have looked a little more mature and imposing with my bulk, I suppose. Or maybe they correctly assumed that I was the one eating most of the food ordered.
Fifty pounds, and people started giving you sympathetic looks once they recognized us in public. 'It must be so hard,' they must have thought, 'having a boyfriend who so completely failed to take care of himself. How could he have let himself go so badly?' If only they knew the sort of garbage you fed me behind closed doors, how badly you whined for me to get on top or crush you against a wall.
At the one hundred pound mark, I could no longer keep up with you as easily during our walks. You managed to maintain your slim, athletic physique while I had blown up into a genuine porker, and with every restaurant you dragged me to, every appetizer you had two bites of before pushing the rest onto me, the difference only grew more pronounced. Having replaced my entire wardrobe at this point, I joked that you had only blown me up so big to steal my clothes. You silenced me with another funnel full of gainer shake.
After one hundred and fifty pounds, my weight nearly doubled from when we met, you unceremoniously cancelled my gym membership. A fair decision, honestly, since I hadn't gone in months and that was perfectly good money that could go towards food. I was a little worried about my future mobility, not having enough muscle mass beneath the several dozen layers of padding, but you assured me that it was fine and stuffed another cinnamon roll into my mouth. You'd been getting more dominant the fatter I got for a while now, but here is where it really kicked into high gear. I couldn't have been more turned on by it.
At two hundred extra pounds, I was closing in on some seriously massive sizes. Not only that, but with how much facial and body hair was starting to come in on me, you decided it was time for some help in blowing me up. Now that I was undeniably in bear territory, you put me on the appropriate dating apps and advertised me as someone who needed help staying fed. With plenty of pictures of my smaller sizes to prove that I was a blubber bomb, you had no trouble enticing new feeders to your cause, and the weight continued piling on.
After two hundred and fifty pounds gained, I got called into a meeting at work. My size and drastically changed appearance was starting to affect my performance in the office, and it had gotten to a point where they could no longer ignore it. I was offered a work from home position, and you were over the moon when I told you, already scheming up ways to more effectively fatten me now that you'd have me home all the time. No office hours meant we could stop spending money on work clothes, but I pointed out that I would still need to be on video calls at times, and I'd need shirts for that. The idea of me popping even more buttons seemed to lift your spirits from the idea that I would not in fact have all my wobbling blubber on display at all hours.
The next milestone, three hundred pounds gained, came more quickly than either of us were expecting. Between working from home and having multiple extra feeders working on me over the course of the day, those next fifty pounds came on fast. Not a free moment went by when I wasn't either being hand/funnel fed, getting my belly rubbed, or both. We both laughed pretty hard when my office chair finally gave up the ghost while I was on a video call, sending me toppling to the floor and giving my coworkers a full view of just how wide and low my gut had gotten since leaving the office as I got back up. You insisted on a full sheet cake "reward" before we ordered a new chair.
After a whopping three hundred and fifty pounds gained, my weight triple what it had been when we'd met, I realized that it was now completely impossible for me to reach around my gut and between my thighs to get to my dick. You took obvious pride in this accomplishment, and celebrated with a double helping of gainer shake, funneled into me as you fucked my enormous ass. With all my numerous heavy rolls and folds of fat wobbling and jiggling, and me living in a near-constant state of arousal from how intensely you'd been feeding me, it didn't take long for me to have my first hands-free orgasm, filled from both ends and hearing you go on about how huge, fat, sexy, massive, etc I was getting. When I told you I was still hungry after we both finished, you looked ready to go for another round.
Another fifty pounds later, a package arrived in the mail addressed to me. Seeing as my main activities were either work, food, or sex, I didn't really have much time for online shopping. When I walked into the kitchen with the package, you grinned and sat me down in my chair, eager to see me open it. Inside was an enormous pair of sweatpants that looked like they would've drowned you, and a photo of us when we'd just met. Back when we'd been younger, and I much thinner, we'd joked about getting a pair of sweats just like these, ones that you could fit your entire body into one leg of, while I'd overflow the whole thing. After you did a quick test of your part, you helped me pull them up around my blubbery waist, having me hold up my gut as best I could so you could wedge the waistband between the two heavy, blubbery folds. When it came time to pull the rest up behind my rear, they only barely cleared my shelf of an ass.
In an uncharacteristic move of dominance that I could tell both surprised and aroused you, I whirled on you, pressing you to the wall with my belly. I grabbed your wrists to keep you against me as I waddled the two of us over to the couch. While you still reeled over having your whale of a boyfriend manhandle you so, I brought my immense belly down to rest on you, sandwiching you between my weight and the furniture.
"Any thoughts for dinner?" I mused idly as I looked out the window, spying one of our feeder friends pulling up to our driveway. "I think someone's bringing pizza today. Might call them to double the order, eh?"
From beneath me, I could feel you groaning and groping me, your arms barely able to reach halfway around me. I wasn't even close to done growing...
[Getting a little more explicit this time around. Features depictions of oral stuff, a bit of fat-based gender play, stuffing, force feeding, some dirty talk/name-calling, size difference, and near-immobility. Lots of near-immobility.]
I wheezed as I threw my arms to one side, attempting in vain to clear the two massive sandbags that sat on my chest. All I succeeded in doing was making them wobble and plop against each other as the exercise ball-sized orb below growled impatiently. 'I know, I know, I know...!' I thought to myself, my breaths coming ragged and deep.
Much to my chagrin, I had woken up starving, and if I hadn't already been on the verge of tears, the thought of my final frozen pizza sitting lonely in my freezer would've done the trick. I'll admit, 5 AM wasn't my ideal time to have a pizza, but I was hardly going to discriminate. I needed that space for my grocery delivery later anyway, after all.
Steeling myself, I prepared to try again. If I could just manage one good mighty swing, I could probably get my elbow underneath myself and finish propping myself up that way... Given the amount I was attempting to haul, that was a pretty big 'probably' but then again, most things in my life were excessively large at this point.
I could feel another hunger pang brewing, so I took a few more steadying breaths, and... "Hnnnngh... Gah!" I'd done it! By some miracle, I had halfway made it onto my side, and a few shimmies later, I was all the way there. All that was left was to sit up, catch my breath again, stand up, probably catch my breath yet again, and then start lumbering into the kitchen to start getting some food ready.
My belly sloped off of me in this position, looking less like the imposing mountain it felt like at times, and more like a ski resort's slope. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I could almost see the tiny ski lift against my gut. Amidst the panting, I breathed out a laugh.
Summoning my strength into the arm that was now half-beneath me, I continued my gauntlet. If I wanted to satiate the hunger still gnawing at my insides, I'd need to get fully upright, and there were still a few steps remaining. A sudden growl erupting from my middle sent waves of weakness through me nearly strong enough to send me toppling onto my back, but my desperation held firm, and one huge push later, I was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, my legs spread wide to accommodate the hanging swell of my gut between them.
I should have gotten up right then and there, but typical me, I got greedy. 'Even if I got up and started the oven right now,' I thought, 'it'd still be nearly half an hour before I eat.' The thought again brought me to the verge of tears.
But wait... I remembered the apparatus my boyfriend had installed during his visit last month. In a box on the wall next to the bed, a tube like a fire hose sat wound up, clicking out to keep it from snapping back into the wall as I pulled it out by the nozzle. Once it had a decent amount of slack to it, I stuck the nozzle in my mouth and slammed my meaty fist against the big red button next to its home.
Immediately, my mouth and throat were filled with a thick, cold, creamy substance, and I swallowed rapturously as it pumped into my stomach. The rich, calorie-dense slurry my boyfriend had concocted was thick and largely flavorless, but it was filling, and in my state, that was all I cared about. With one hand, I clung tightly to my lifeline, a few tears actually escaping my closed eyes this time as my other hand fell to my belly, rubbing in slow, soothing circles as my ridiculous hunger began to abate ever so slightly.
I sat there like that for a little while. I don't remember how long it actually took me to start feeling full, but I didn't get to finish. Not on my own terms, at least. My eyes suddenly jerked open as I found the nozzle of the hose suddenly jammed down my throat, circumventing my need to swallow. I might've choked if I weren't so experienced with this, but I managed to hear the click of the nozzle's straps behind my head past my grunt of surprise. Before I could even process what happened, I felt fingers tangle themselves in my long hair and yank me back down onto the bed, my massive body wobbling and jiggling with the impact; my belly's motion was a bit more subdued, given how much cream and oil was already inside it.
As I came to rest, my hands steadying my jostling belly, I looked up to meet the teasingly wrathful gaze of my feeder boyfriend. I hadn't even heard the twink enter my apartment, much less my bedroom, and I would've congratulated his stealth if I had been able to speak. "My, my, getting gluttonous already this morning, babe? Couldn't even wait to get some real food in you before you just started sucking the calories down?" he taunted, leaning around me and running a thin finger around the edge of my saucer-sized nipple. "You still had one more pizza in the freezer, it wouldn't have taken /that/ long to prepare!"
He giggled as he effortlessly repositioned himself to lay parallel to me, his slender, toned legs hanging over the edge of the bed next to my enormous, ham-like thighs. "Guess I can't blame you... You're just a big fat pig, after all; a total slave to this huge tank..." He wrapped his arm around my belly and began rubbing those same, soothing circles into it as his tongue found my nipple and started playing with it. What little self-control I had at this point was long since spent, and I moaned around the feeding tube like a whore at the pleasure.
He was completely correct, after all. No matter how much I liked to act like I was in control of myself when I went out, on those increasingly rare occasions I managed to squeeze myself into clothes and look at least somewhat decent, the moment I got back behind closed doors, I was desperate to feel full again. Sometimes, more and more often nowadays in fact, I wouldn't even wait until I got home.
For instance, I'd often have to withstand the shame of ordering four large milkshakes at the fast food joint on the way home, and watch the cashier's expression change as I pulled up, and they realized that I did not have three friends with me. No, all of them would clearly be going into me, and nobody else. Sometimes they were amused by my shamelessness. Others were appalled by the abject gluttony. I think one of them might have actually had an awakening of some sort as I came to a stop at the drive-thru window, my massive, empty belly shaking beneath my shirt from the inertia, his face going red as his mouth quirked up at the side and he whispered, "Oh, /wow/..." before snapping back to attempting professionalism.
Speaking of snapping back, I was brought back to my current predicament by a sharp smack to my taut and tightening gut, making me squeal before I could stop myself. I hadn't realized just how full I was starting to get, and I looked up at my feeder with worried, tearful eyes.
Sadistic pleasure looked back at me, and he dug his thumb into my deep, wide navel as his fingers wrapped around my thick, doughy overhang. "Getting full, piggy?" he asked, voice dripping with faux concern. I could only nod and whimper in response, my fat fingers gently massaging at the upper half of my gut as he began gently wobbling the lower half. "Good. Why don't you go ahead and finish this tank off, and I'll go get that pizza going for you, hm?" The thought of actually eating at this point was hellish, and I so desperately wanted to say no, to tear the hose out and preserve what was left of my clearly dwindling mobility... But I just couldn't.
Beyond the obvious immediate facts of how removing the hose now would create a mess that I simply was no longer equipped to clean up myself (and how I was also nowhere near mobile enough to turn it off first from my current position), I just... simply did not want to stop. I knew I should have, I knew that this was probably my last chance to maintain some semblance of independence before I swelled yet closer to my impending immobility, but the thought aroused me like nothing else, and I sucked on the tube even harder as I nodded.
"Good pig," he smirked, giving my overhang one last squeeze before he departed, hopping to his feet and practically dancing out of the bedroom.
As my eyes watched him leave, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Before, he had always praised my gluttony with 'good boy', but as I took a close look at myself, my overstuffed belly towering over the rest of me, I could easily recognize the reason for the change in term. My manhood was completely buried by the intersection of belly and thighs, my body hair was incredibly stretched out by the copious amounts of blubber, and my tits were about as big as my head, if not bigger. If it weren't for what little facial hair remained seeking in vain to disguise the thick ring of fat around my neck, my gender would've been a lot more in question.
It was hard to say whether I was more masculine or feminine at this point, I was more just, 'fat'. Despite being assigned male, it was like my gender was being stripped away with my mobility. The brief notion that my boyfriend might've been spiking my food with growth hormones occurred to me, and though I quickly laughed it off, I couldn't entirely discount the possibility...
Before I could give it too much thought, though, the feeding tube began making a noise I had heard only a handful of times before, an empty clunking sound as it attempted to pump that which was not present. Two feelings filled me in its absence. Pride, firstly, that I had managed to consume the entire tank he had prepared for me, followed by worry that it was now just feeding air directly down my throat with no immediate way to alleviate the unavoidable discomfort I was now cognizant of.
I grunted and groaned, trying to twist and reach my porky hands behind my head to undo the straps, but with how full I was, the movement was putting too much strain on my shoulders and upper belly to make it possible. Trying not to panic, I slapped my hands against whatever I could reach. The mattress, the blankets, the pillows, nothing hard enough to get his attention... Ah, the bedframe! The sound was still somewhat muted, given how much fat surrounded my knuckle, but the metal frame made a satisfying clang as I knocked at it.
Blessedly, he seemed to have heard it, as I heard his voice from the doorway not long after. "Holy shit, fatty, you really did it? The pizza's not even out yet, you must've been /really/ hungry...!" His voice was filled with horny delight as he switched off the pump and knelt between my legs, keeping my mouth occupied by the nozzle as he busied his with my thighs and overhang.
My eyes rolled back in my head, and I moaned as he pressed his lips to my overstuffed belly again and again, his thin fingers grabbing heaping handfuls of my fat. His teeth grazed the underside of my belly, and I squealed around the mouthpiece, my fat thighs attempting to come together around him, only to be stopped by the resistance my belly provided.
Suddenly, he pressed his whole face into my doughy underbelly and grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands against my belly. "Hold this up," he ordered, his voice low and husky with desire as he pushed my gut up towards my head and away from my crotch. I did as instructed, and he began squeezing, kissing, and playing with the last obstacle to my manhood: my fat pad. It had really ballooned in size once I hit 400 pounds, I remember that much, but I hadn't kept close tabs on my weight for a while since then. Rather, I hadn't been able to keep tabs on it. He did it for me, keeping notes on his phone about it. Deep within that fat pad, I was about ready to burst, and when he pushed it back to expose my buried head to the cool air of the bedroom, I had to bite down on the nozzle to keep control of myself. "Alright, drop it," he commanded, and I did, the massive orb propped up by his head as he started in on his prize within.
His breath, hot and heavy against it, was followed by his tongue, plunging into the folds surrounding it to get as close to the base as he could. His hands roamed from inner thighs, to fat pad, to love handles, to navel, squeezing and groping me all over. "Come on, fatty," he husked into me as he pulled away momentarily for air. "Keep growing, keep getting fatter for me, baby. God, you're so fucking huge, won't even fit through your doors soon, already have to get your clothes custom, gonna fatten you out of this bed, outta this whole damn building, keep growing, kee-mmf!"
My climactic scream echoed up the length of the feeding tube as I exploded down his throat, his lips plunging to my base as he swallowed every drop. It felt like it lasted an eternity, my body twitching and jiggling as it finally came to rest and I began catching my breath for the umpteenth time that morning.
Finally, I saw him over the horizon of my gut, licking his lips and brushing his hair out of his face. "Good for you, hog?" he asked with his usual smirk, his voice teasing and loving again. I nodded, and grunted around the feeding tube. "Ah, right." As he reached around my head to undo the straps, we heard the oven timer go off, and he looked down into my eyes as the nozzle was removed. "You're still hungry, right?"
A long, thunderous belch erupted past my lips, and my fat hands slapped the sides of my gut as I replied, "I'm starved."
[I wanna say this is some of the biggest I've consciously written? But it's hard to say lol. CW for tube feeding, partial immobility, light dubcon... I think that's it? This one ain't part of my big ongoing project, it's just one I've had on the back burner for a while and I think it's ready for the light of day. Enjoy!]
Most people would have doubted the truthfulness of my statement already, and just as many probably would have doubted whether or not I could even drive the vehicle I was currently trying to squeeze myself into. Both parties would find their doubts well-founded, as no matter how I twisted and turned, I seemed to be simply too big for my car.
Worn out from spending several minutes trying to force 800 pounds of man into the driver's seat of my old sedan, I retreated to the steps of the garage, my ass taking up the entirety of the steps it covered. For a couple minutes, the garage was filled with only the sounds of me panting and huffing like an animal, occasionally interspersed with my stomach chiming in to voice its hungry displeasure. My oversized sweatpants slid down the front of my belly as I leaned back, working in tandem with my tent-like shirt to reveal a wide strip of stretch-marked belly.
"Should I get the hose?" I heard my husband smirk, and I shot him a dirty look in response as I looked over to see him looking over the top of the car at me.
"Fuck off..." I panted, holding up a very pudgy middle finger. "I did not get that sweaty from just... trying to get into my car..."
Gracefully, as though mocking how big and unwieldy I'd let my body become, he danced around the vehicle to return to my side. To be clear, he was not what most people would describe as thin. But even a sturdy 275-pounder like him would look downright svelte next to a blob like me. As he reached me, he knelt down in front of me and placed both hands on that exposed strip of blubber, giving it a gentle squeeze and catching my gaze with his eyes. "As hot as that would be... That's not the hose I meant~" he giggled deviously.
I felt a thrill go up my well-padded spine. "W-We're about to go to dinner," I protested. "I do not need to be stuffed right before a meal...!" At those words, meant to convince myself as much as him, my stomach weighed in once again to agree with my husband.
"Somebody clearly thinks otherwise!" he laughed, leaning in to give my belly a kiss.
I tsked. That traitor... As if it wasn't its fault I'd blown up so huge to begin with! Still, I wasn't about to give up so easily. "Ugh... W-Well, we're running late as it is, I don't want to keep all our friends waiting!"
"I'll text the group chat," he rebutted simply with a shrug, nuzzling his face against my gut. "I'm sure they'll understand. Takes a lot to keep a massive work of art like you fed, after all!"
My willpower was draining fast. If I didn't provide a good enough argument soon, I'd lose to my appetite yet again, and the war for my mobility would tip that much further... "Ngh..." I grimaced as my stomach growled again. "Alright, maybe a small snack for the road, but the hose? Wouldn't that just take too much effort to set up? We don't have anything ready here in the garage, so you'd have to go back into the house, and God damn it, are you fucking for real?"
His insufferable Cheshire grin rose to his face as I formulated my argument, and as he braced himself to stand against my wall of a fat belly, I realized how badly I'd lost this match. Without a word, he walked over to the corner of the garage where we kept our auxiliary fridge and unraveled a length of hose with a spigot at the end. The length was already opaque with creamy contents, and I started salivating in spite of myself.
"Ugh, fucking... Alright, give it here," I conceded, holding out my porky hand to receive the hose. "When did you even prepare this? When did you find the time? Oh-..." Despite thinking I had the situation figured out, it turned out the end of the hose had more than a spigot, but straps as well, and I fiddled with them for a few moments before he fastened them around the back of my head, the nozzle effectively silencing me as he turned the hose on.
"I started prepping the night after you slipped in the shower," he explained as I began chugging, the cold, thick chocolatey substance flowing down my throat as effortlessly as water. Delicious as always... "I ordered the supplies when I ordered that seat for the shower, y'know? I figured you wouldn't be coming down here to see my work in progress any time before it was finished, and I was right!" He let out a triumphant little giggle at that, and I rolled my eyes with a muffled grunt from behind the feeding mask. He knelt down next to me and snuggled into my side, his own meaty hand stroking gentle circles against my belly.
"After that, it was just a matter of taking advantage of your increasingly common food comas to finish getting everything ready. Though honestly, I didn't think I'd get to use it just yet." With a deft motion, his hand went between my belly and the waistband of my sweats and freed my blubbery middle. I shivered as the lowest part of it smooshed against the cold garage floor. "I figured I wouldn't get to use it until you finally gave up and let me move you into the garage full-time. That mattress isn't going to be big enough for much longer, after all~"
In a mild act of resistance, I reached around him and gave his own love handle a squeeze. 'Maybe not,' I tried to say with my playfully accusing look. 'But I'm not the only own taking up more space in bed!'
He laughed good-naturedly at that, but gave my overhang a squeeze and shake. "That may be true, but the majority of that real estate is definitely taken up by you! Hahaha!"
By this point, I could feel myself starting to get... Not 'full' as in 'I can eat no more', but 'full' as in 'I am no longer starving'. I conveyed this to him, tapping his side and pointing at the hose to get him to turn it off. Despite my apparently unyielding gluttony, I did still want to show up to our gathering with our friends somewhat on time.
He pouted up at me, and I groaned internally. I really should've foreseen my hunger being partially sated and said something sooner. "Aww, c'mon, just a few more minutes? I worked hard on this shake, y'know..."
I glared back down at him and reached over my plump chest to tap my pudgy wrist. Not that I'd had a watch that fit me in several hundred pounds...
Rolling his eyes, he seemingly relented. "Oh, fine, fine... But you'd better finish the rest of it when we get back, alright?" he grinned, pushing off of me to stand and making me grunt with the impact. Casually, nonchalantly, as if we weren't on any sort of time crunch whatsoever, he strolled over to the fridge and started idly fiddling with the pump controls he'd rigged up on the side of it. The flow still wasn't slowing down, and I rolled my own eyes as I realized what he was doing: drawing out my tube-feeding by dragging his feet. A childish tactic, but an effective one on occasions when I was too stuffed to think straight and he could get away with it. But not this time...
I typically prefer not to move around when I'm being tube fed. The jostling of the tube in my mouth can sometimes end up in making a lot of unnecessary mess, and while that's normally not that big an issue, I especially didn't want to slob out right before going out to meet up with friends. Somehow, though, I managed to haul myself back to my feet without spilling a drop, and in just a few wobbling paces, I closed the distance between the stairs and the fridge.
He must have heard me. I don't know how he could've not noticed the creaking of the stairs, the sound of my heavy breathing through my nose, the clomp of my shoes against the concrete. But regardless, when I approached the fridge, he still had his back to me, running his fingers over the pump controls without actually changing anything.
My stomach was beginning to hit its first capacity by this point, and I grunted as I noticed a feeling of panic start to rise in my chest. Okay, I definitely wouldn't be able to drive at this point, but we could still be somewhat on time... I bumped my belly against his back, and he gave a little breathless moan as he arched his back into me. That little tease... If we hadn't had prior obligations, I would've started undressing him right then and there.
I bumped him again, a little more insistently this time, and this time he backed into me more completely, his plush back against my doughy front. "Oh my," he teased, putting his hands against the wall of my belly behind him, squeezing what he could reach from his position. "What about that dinner? You gonna take me right here and now, big boy~? Mm, we've never done it in the garage before- oh fuck-mmf~!"
I lost my patience. I wouldn't say I was rough with him, maybe just a little firm, but I did completely press him against the front of the fridge with my belly as I reached around him to the pump controls. My aggravation led me to taking much deeper swigs of the gainer shake than I had been up to that point, so I'm sure he was in bliss, feeling me blow up like a balloon against him, trapping him between a rock and a soft place.
Finally, I was able to switch the pump off, and after clearing the spigot as much as I could, I undid the straps on the mask. I could feel him squirming against me, but I couldn't tell if that was him just having a good time or if he was genuinely trying to get out, unable to escape my mass.
Holding the mask in one hand, I leaned forward a little to clear the extra air I'd swallowed in the process, belching loudly into his ear. "Ugh... Uurrrpp, God, you're a little freak," I teased him, smacking the side of my gut with my free hand. With his face smooshed against the fridge door by my tits, he couldn't reply freely, and I leaned in once more. "Y'know, though... As delicious as that shake was, I'd feel bad keeping it all to myself~" I grinned sadistically, holding up the mask to his face. "Have you tried it yourself? You really should!"
As his squirms picked up again, I withdrew my phone from my pocket, shooting our friends a message saying that we would be a bit late to our meeting...
[Yeah, this one's heavy on the dubcon/noncon. No explicit stuff this time, but it warrants repeating that this is A Fiction, this is not endorsement of this sort of behavior, I just think it's fascinating and hot to write about :U]
"Bro." I didn't look up from my dinner preparations as you entered the kitchen. Your voice was a little uncertain, but I could still hear your approach over the noise of the steaming pan. My interest was piqued at your next words, though. "Are we... getting kinda... fat?"
I looked up at you, and I'm genuinely not sure how I was able to keep a straight face. Your shirt, an old, hole-filled garment that was now stretched thin over your prodigious table muscle, failed to come within three inches of your cavernous navel. Your love handles, which not only covered your waist but had a second pair coming in above them to support, were not concealed themselves in the slightest. Beneath the massive apron of stomach, your blubbery thighs finished wobbling as you came to a halt, and though it was not visible to me from this angle, I knew from recent memory that your ass was much the same.
Above the enormous blob of fat sitting on your waist, two soft pillows rested, each stretching your shirt even further and preventing it from reaching as far down your tubby torso. On either side of your well-padded shoulders, porky arms curled back in, grasping the hem of your poor shirt in a futile bid to make it cover you. And at the top of it all, your face. Cherubically chubby cheeks framed plump pouting lips, and I wasn't sure if that was from how upset you seemed to be, or if the fat in your features simply made that your default state.
As I finished taking in the sight of you, I sniffed delicately and turned back to dinner, hoping the redness in my cheeks could be explained away by the hot pan I was working over. "Not at all, why do you ask? Did you shrink some clothes in the laundry or something?"
You made a frustrated noise and stomped closer to me, and I could see your jiggling and wobbling out of the corner of my eye. "Bro, I'm serious...!" you whined, your plump hands grasping the sides of your belly and giving it a shake. "I swear, we did not used to be this big...!"
I decided to play dumb a little longer. "Whatcha mean, dude? Like, what are you trying to say?" I asked, my voice still light and quizzical as I turned to you, my hip leaning lightly against the edge of the stove. "I do all the cooking for us, after all, and it's not like I've been doing anything different recently...?"
You scoffed and released your own belly to give mine a poke. "Yeah, no shit, bro," you grumbled, the touch making me giggle and half-step away before leaning back towards you. "Everyone knows you do the cooking. Tons of it, in fact! I'm being really serious, bro, you and I are both getting super fat lately and it's weird!!"
I looked down at myself, and you definitely weren't exaggerating. I was, indeed, super fat, just like you. Maybe even a bit bigger, in fact. While your lifestyle generally kept you pretty active, going from your job to the gym to all sorts of physical leisure activities, I was much more of a homebody, preferring to while away my hours at a computer, game controller in hand. It was a good thing my belly was so big, otherwise my arousal would've been visible and given away the whole game.
Rolling my eyes, I cocked my hip, making my belly wobble with the motion. "Uhh, I think you might be overreacting, dude," I chuckled dismissively. "I mean, it's like, bulking season right now or whatever, right? Isn't it normal to gain a few pounds during the colder months? I mean sure, it's not like we were ever models, but we've pretty much always been this big, haven't we?"
A bald-faced lie, especially given the picture on the bookshelf behind you of both of us when we'd moved in together, you weighing about 180 pounds and I about 225. I estimated we'd nearly doubled those weights nowadays, maybe more in your case, but ever since our scale had maxed out around 350 pounds, I'd not been able to keep exact track. Even given the audacious lie, though, I doubted you'd put those pieces together.
I could see the doubt working against your complaint in your mind. "I-I mean... No, we were... A-and /you/ were...! We were not always this fat, bro, I swear...!!" I could tell you were starting to get agitated, so I shifted gears.
"Dude, chill out. Where is all this coming from, huh? Is it your clothes? I told you we'd get some new ones in the new year, right?" A promise I'd been making for the last few years. I had secretly sized up a handful of garments in your wardrobe, but to this day, I refused to have my hard work drowned in excess fabric if I could help it.
"Or are you hungry? Dinner's almost ready, but there are some cookies on the table if you need something to tide you over." Another of my genius ploys. Even if you were to scarf down every single treat on that platter overnight, I'd have more baked by the next time you woke up. There are cookies on the table. There are *always* cookies on the table.
"Or... Hehe, have you not been getting any lately and you're all pent up?" I teased, my voice a little lower and playfully seductive. "If that's all, you'll just have to wait until after dinner."
I watched as your face went from a slightly agitated pink to a deeply flustered crimson as you stuttered and stammered. "Bro...!!" you hissed, stomping up so close to me that our bellies audibly plapped together. "You promised you wouldn't bring that shit up!! I told you, I'm straight, bro...!!"
Instinctively, my mind replayed the dozens of times over the years I'd given you head or jerked you off when you'd been too stuffed on my cooking to take care of yourself, when you'd all but begged me to because I could do it better than any chick you could find at the bars... All those times I'd been so lucky to get up close and personal with your constantly swelling fat pad, my own chubby fingers grasping your lardacious thighs as I shoved my face in.
"Ah, you're right, dude, sorry," I apologized sheepishly, though internally I was still counting the days until you not only wanted my help to get off, but needed it. "Anyway, like I said, dinner's almost ready. Wanna get some drinks out and we'll pull up Netflix? Maybe we can take a look at some clothes online afterward, yeah?"
Having somehow successfully talked circles around you, bringing you back to your complacent state, I turned back to my cooking as you nodded and huffed, pulling a six-pack of beer out of the fridge and heading to the couch. I waited until I could hear the tell-tale sound of the springs crying in agony from having to hold your fat ass self up, before I reached into the spice cabinet. I knew it was a dangerous game, keeping my secret weapon so close at hand, so nearly out in the open, but I knew you never went in here.
A healthy sprinkle of the taste-enhancing white powder was applied to the pasta sauce before being stirred in, and I grinned deviously as my own stomach growled impatiently. Sure, the shady guy who'd sold me this stuff had warned me to keep my food separate from that of my 'subject', as he'd called it... But it wasn't enough to just soften you up, I wanted to feel what it was like, too!
"Bro!" You called from the living room, and I screwed the cap back on the little bottle and stored it away again. "What sounds good to watch tonight?"
"Oh, whatever you like, I'm not picky!" I called back, plating up the food and struggling to wrestle my grin back under control. 'Besides,' I thought privately as I entered the room, two heaping plates in hand, 'I'll be watching a show of my own tonight...!'
As I sat down next to you, our love handles barely an inch away from touching on our tiny couch, I looked down at your belly, your own attention split between the show and the food. Easily, I imagined it swelling to completely encompass your lap, pushing your legs apart until it could drop heavily to the floor between them...
Gaining-Related Office Untitled Project (GROUP), Part 1
[At time of posting this installment, this project is not quite entirely finished, but I REALLY wanted to get something out before the end of March, so here we are. I'll do content warnings, etc. on a part-by-part basis (which I'm now realizing means I'll have to do yet another editing run, but whatever, I do this for you.) This first one's pretty tame, and in all honesty it'll probably stay pretty tame? This one's much more of a slow burn.]
[Contains depictions of fat-shaming, diet-shaming, and some nods to a future potentially inappropriate workplace relationship, if that's something you're concerned about. Like, spoiler I guess, but that's kind of what this whole thing is building towards so if that's a dealbreaker, best if you find out now, right?]
The way he looked at me... I could hardly stand it.
There used to be a time when our roles were reversed. I was on top of the world, practically a god of fitness with how much I was worshiped, and he was some fat, mousy nobody, barely worth what little attention anyone paid him. We didn't interact much. I believe he asked me for advice once, and I was honest at the time.
"Advice?"
I looked him up and down, a light sheen of sweat visible on my face. He wasn't ugly by any means, but he was certainly far too heavy to actually be entertaining the notion of a regular conversation with me. Even behind his baggy workout clothes, I could make out the very rounded shapes of his bulging belly, plush hips, massive breasts... His face was just as round, well-padded to the point his chin was nearly invisible, consumed by its double.
I'd been jogging on the treadmill for a good while, but I guess he got tired of waiting to talk to me. He nodded in response, looking up at me with his vulnerable blue eyes. I spoke frankly. "Yeah, sure... Head to the front desk, cancel your membership, and find yourself someone who appreciates fat guys online. It'll be better than deluding yourself into thinking you could lose all that and keep it off... Anything else?"
I don't believe he had anything to say to that. Hard to say, I barely remember that interaction. But after that, it felt like I started seeing him everywhere. I remember running into him at the grocery store once, and I had tried like hell to avert my eyes from the sorts of junk he was no doubt putting in his cart...
I would usually never even think about the sections he'd shop in, but I would allow myself one pint of ice cream whenever bulking season came around in the winter. That's where I saw him, his own cart loaded with all sorts of food I would never touch: fatty red meats, ice cream bars, all manner of chocolate-drizzled treasures from the bakery. It's not like I meant to take such detailed stock of his purchases, but his cart was taking up the entire aisle as he deliberated between two bags of frozen fruit. I waited for a moment before clearing my throat and shooting him a look. He jolted out of her thoughts and readjusted his cart with a meek, "O-Oh, sorry...!" I said nothing this time, rolled my eyes, and walked past him to head toward the cashier.
Despite my head start, I ended up leaving the store after he did that day. The lines were backed up, but as I heard his cart (and his heavy breathing) approach, I saw someone else in the store uniform run over to an empty register and beckon him over. They didn't turn their light on, and when they were done scanning his transaction, they gave him a brief hug, and I could barely make out something about his shift being covered tomorrow. I smirked at that; no wonder he was so huge! Working around food all the time, I could practically see him stuffing his face in the aisles to try and not get caught by his supervisors as he "took care of" stock that could no longer be sold. Then my line moved forward, and he fell out of my thoughts once again.
Then, there was the time Finance at my job hired someone, and when I delivered my weekly report to my point of contact, there he was. Aric, my point of contact, introduced us, and since I wasn't sure it was really him, I played along.
"Oh, Daniel! Sorry, I didn't hear you approach, you can be so quiet sometimes, haha!" The larger man laughed jovially, and I couldn't help but smile with him. Sure, he was even fatter than his new hire, his massive, blubbery frame posing a sincere danger to every shirt and chair he came across, but he was an alright guy. I'd had several interactions with him over email before I ever saw him in person, and by then, I'd already built up a decent amount of respect for him. It was still tarnished a little when I found out what a fatass he was, but it wasn't like I was saying that stuff to his face or anything. "Oh, right, let me introduce you. Daniel, this is Connor, I'm training him to join my team in the spring. Connor, Dan here is one of the best in Analytics. You need anything scrutinized, he's got the eyes and wit for the job!"
I rolled my eyes playfully at his joke, my face keeping its usual expression, and held out my hand to Connor. I almost didn't notice the conflicted expression on his face, his pudgy hand halfway through a little wave of recognition, before he straightened it out and shook my hand. "Pleasure to meet you." I spoke coolly, my mind already off the duo in front of me and back onto the pile of tasks waiting for me back at my desk. "Well, if there's nothing else you need on my end, please excuse me." I set the report down on a free corner of his desk and turned to leave. I could vaguely hear him mumble something behind me as I left, but I needed to get back to work.
From there, my sightings of him began to multiply like rabbits. Or, perhaps more accurately, like the pounds he was apparently inflicting upon his scale, assuming he owned such a thing. Whenever I got lunch at the cafeteria, he was there. Our cars seemed to wind up near each other in the parking lot. Department meetings would find us sitting next to each other. Eventually, I'd had enough, and I confronted him.
"Oh! Hi, Dan, I thought you'd already left for the day!" He greeted me cheerfully as he caught sight of me leaning against the wall outside his cubicle.
I narrowed my eyes a little at him. "It's Daniel," I replied coldly. He and I were hardly friends, I just kept constantly finding him underfoot, like an unwanted pet or something. "Feels like I keep running into you everywhere lately," I went on casually as he continued packing up his things. "You following me or something?" My tone was neutral enough to be taken as joke or threat, though perhaps I needn't have worried.
"Oh, haha, I've noticed that, too! Crazy small world, right?" he giggled, seemingly unaffected by my coldness. Was this really the same guy I'd met a few months ago? "Could say it's 'cause of my own natural, charismatic magnetism, hehe!" I rolled my eyes at that. More like he's developed her own- "Hah, or maybe I've developed my own gravitational pull?"
I raised my eyebrows at that. Whether he'd read my mind or not, that was still quite a thing to say about oneself, and I found myself double-taking at him to make sure I'd heard him correctly. His eyes met mine, and he giggled again. "Oh, relax, I'm only joking! My boyfriend always says that whenever he sits down next to me, and I think it's kinda cute!"
I'd been so thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation that I found myself going along with it by reflex. "Huh... And he's...? That is, you're... You both find that...?" Or, trying to go along with it, as it were.
"Exciting?" His eyes held a strange, almost dangerous glitter to them, and I couldn't tear my own away as I nodded and swallowed thickly. "Oh yeah. You wouldn't believe how much he loves it! I swear I've gone up two sizes since we got together!" Ah, so it hadn't been my imagination, then. "Yeah, no, that first time we met, at the gym way back when? I took your advice! Good thing you gave it to me before we started working together, or that could've been REALLY weird, right? Haha!!"
My blood went cold at the mention of some event I'd all but forgotten, but someone else apparently remembered well enough to thank me for. "At... At the gym?" I asked, racking my brain for the memory. "Er, what did I...?"
His cheeks went a little red at that, and she looked away bashfully before replying. "Well, uh, you said... You basically told me to find myself a chubby chaser, so I did! It's been great, not worrying about what I eat and being pretty much worshiped for it... Ha, honestly some of the best advice I've ever gotten!"
I could vaguely recall it when he told me about it, and I nodded. "Yeah... Yeah, I think I remember that now. Well." I shrugged. "Glad you seem to be happy with each other, then." If he'd interpreted my snarky and dismissive comment to him way back when as genuine advice, then that was on him. I couldn't see that sort of relationship ending well for the guy, but again, that was his deal. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Over the next few months, I became the proud new owner of a circus, with some extremely persistent monkeys.
I reached down surreptitiously to undo my pants button while he had his back turned. Strictly speaking, I'd been forbidden to touch myself or to give myself any sort of physical relief until he grants permission, but after my sixth plate tonight, I had decided to take my chances.
Undoing the button itself was a struggle, kept closed from the inside by the tidal wave of blubber it was holding back, but I managed. My free hand went to my mouth to stifle some of the grunts of exertion that slipped out of me as I worked. At long last, though, I managed, and the table jostled slightly as my belly surged into it.
He turned back to me, slender arms laden heavily with four more plates of the buffet's greasiest, most fattening offerings. "You're making great progress," he said to me, clearing the empty plates from the table. "You've almost made it to five of everything in one trip!" I couldn't help but roll my eyes a little at that comment. It wasn't like we needed recognition from the buffet for accomplishing some random achievement they'd set out, and doing so with a handicap imposed by my feeder no less. All we'd get was lifetime admission to their establishment, and at my size, I wasn't going to be mobile enough to use it for very much longer.
He slid into the booth seat next to me, having noticed that, even with his slim middle, the opposite bench was no longer usable with how far the table had been pushed towards it. I tried to control my breathing, but he must have noticed how shallow it was, as he picked up the next plate and held a forkful of the most buttery mashed potatoes I'd ever seen to my lips. "C'mon, tubby," he goaded, nudging the side of my gut until I opened my mouth. "Sooner you finish, the sooner you get belly rubs." Had my mouth not been full, I would've begged for the rubs now instead of later, but I'm positive he would have laughed at me.
Bite after bite disappeared down my throat, my tortured gut being forced tighter and bigger with every swallow. Occasionally, he'd pause to let me lift my soda to my lips to wash down the starchy, fatty goodness, but then it was right back to devouring the mountain. He wasted no time on small talk, instead coaching me through every bite of every plate. At a certain point, halfway through the second plate (steak and pasta), I zoned out and just ate, relaxing my body enough to where I could follow his directions and not explode.
Finally, after what felt way too short and way too long, he gave the side of my gut a light slap, and the resulting belch that ripped out of me snapped me back to reality. I felt massive, and from what I could feel of his hands over my overstuffed middle, I looked it, too. "You did such a good job, baby, you feeling alright?"
I responded yes, I was fine, just insanely overfull, and he giggled at that, just like I knew he would. He hopped up from the table and went to go show the buffet cashier some proof he'd gotten of my astounding gluttony, and he allowed me to soothe my own belly at last.
A few minutes later, we were back in his car, driving back to our shared place, him keeping one hand on the wheel and the other on my bloated belly. I was ready to veg out on the couch as soon as we walked in the door, but I could only manage to slip my shoes off before he whirled on me and cornered me in the foyer.
"Cheater," he accused, a sadistic grin on his face. "Got anything to say in your defense, pig?"
I blanched. "I-I thought you wouldn't notice, wouldn't care, I... I needed /some/ relief...!" I whimpered as his fingers traced the indent of my pants waistband along the equator of my gut.
"Thought I wouldn't notice?" he scoffed, dragging his nails along the deep, red marks. "You must think I'm blind, huh? Or just stupid. Well, let me tell you something, fat boy." He leaned in close as his fingers wrapped around my lower overhang roll. "Your gains are my absolute priority. Nothing happens with this thing that I won't know about," he whispered, his toned middle pressing against my taut, bloated one. "Got it?"
I nodded and whimpered my understanding, and he backed off, going back to his more bubbly and cheerful personality. "Good pig. Now it's time for your punishment, okay? Go to the kitchen and get-"
"The Chair? I know, I know," I sighed, pretending to be upset about the fate I had coming as I waddled past him. That little bit of sass got me a smack to the rear as I passed him, and I bit back a moan.
The Chair, as we called it, was a fairly sturdy piece of wooden furniture that we'd used in the past for stuffing sessions that had the potential to get a bit messier. Didn't want to get gainer shake on the couch or the carpet, after all. Lately, though, The Chair had begun creaking slightly when I sat in it, and even more so when he pressed himself up on me to feel just how stuffed I'd gotten. Today, I noted, was no exception, as my wooden throne cried out desperately for relief from the burden of my overgrown backside.
My feeder, however, would not be denied. Once I was seated, he joined me in the kitchen and wasted no time in roughly pulling my shirt off of me, leaving my belly and chest on full display. Part of my brain idly wondered if he'd have been more satisfied if he'd gotten to rip the buttons of a button-up shirt apart, rather than just shimmying a much-too-tight graphic tee off of my porky body, but I didn't have much time to wonder, as I soon found the end of a funnel hose in my mouth.
"Now that I've filled you /in/," he snickered, pulling a pitcher of premade gainer shake from the counter (one of many that he had in stock within or fridge). "It's time to fill you /up/~!" He giggled at his own joke and began to pour the thick liquid into me. "I know, you're probably totally stuffed, huh? Poor pig... But I know you. Greedy, gluttonous beast that you are, I'm positive there's no small amount of air in there, which can easily be replaced with something more worthwhile, you see?"
I simply turned my brain off, focusing solely on swallowing and thinking about how much fatter this was going to make me. How much more of me there would be for him to grab, grope, fuck, fondle... How much wider my hips and ass, how much rounder my tits and belly would get... Beneath my boulder of a gut, I was rock hard. Once the pitcher was fully emptied into me, a raucous belch ripped from me, and my throat went right back to full moaning. Guess I must have gotten a little too turned on during the stuffing, and judging by how my feeder was now also in the nude, I wasn't alone.
"That's it, fatass, drink it all down... Fuck, you're getting huge... You'll be the fattest pig at the buffet next time, I know it..." he huffed, removing the funnel from my mouth.
I wanted to point out that that was probably already the case, but all that came out was, "Nnnnngh...! Hmmmmmphf..." On the far side of my gut, the one that I hadn't been able to reach in several dozen pounds, I could feel his hardness pressing into the underside of my belly, thrusting against it as he gently fucked my overhang. "S-So... Uuurrrrpppp, f-full," I whined, my hands weakly coming up to the sides of my gut.
The pitcher and funnel fell to the floor with a clatter as he grabbed my meaty mitts in his strong, toned hands and began ramping up the intensity. "You're gonna get even fatter, pig boy... You like that, fatass? You fuckin' whale? Go on, keep gorging yourself, see where that gets you... Jesus, you fat fucking hog..."
I can only ask that you believe me when I say that the porcine snort I let out at that moment was unintentional, a result of my overburdened stomach pressing against my windpipe or something, but someone certainly enjoyed it. The underside of my gut was suddenly flooded with wet, sticky heat as he groaned and put his whole body against mine.
We both let out noises of surprise when, the very next moment, The Chair finally decided it had had enough of our kinky fuckery and snapped, sending me crashing to the floor with him on top of me.
The impact forced a combination belch and moan from me as I hit my climax as well, overwhelmed by the sensations and dirty talk from my partner. "Oh shit, oh fuck," he breathed, rolling off to my side and holding me more gently. "Are you okay?"
Breathless, I nodded, and focused on regaining my ability to speak. We lay there for a while, panting and recovering, until he finally got to his feet and offered to start the shower for us. I waved him on and resumed my beached whale inactivity.
After we had showered, during which time he made sure I was indeed all good after that intense night, we made our way to bed, where I informed him, "Y'know, tonight really stretched my limits, so you'd better have a through plan for breakfast tomorrow. I'm gonna be starving."
