Winter Wind
Cw: Gas, Slob(ish), Implied Weight Gain, DomFeedee.Male/SubbyFeeder.Ambiguous
Someone shows up in the middle of winter at your cabin... Can't just let them leave without a warm meal!
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It starts with a tap tap tap on the door. A stranger on the doorstep in the dead of winter, wrapped in not much of anything and certainly not suited for the weather. He's freezing and hungry and has nowhere to go, he says. Might he take some time near your hearth?
Extra wood is thrown in the fireplace, a spot is cleared for the man near it. His clothes are drenched, soaked in slowly melting snow and nigh unusable. You remove them from him and place them aside to dry, setting him up with a warm blanket instead. He's not too much to look at, all scrawny and tall with not much muscle to speak of, a body certainly built from rationing heavily. That's no surprise though, given he's a orc...
The recent war was hard on them, according to what news had come over from afar. Even with as strong of a fighting force their armies were armed with, they were forced to pull some... questionable tactics. The cities suffered and the citizens starved, and some found they had no choice but to leave and try and find less hardship elsewhere. They packed their bags and migrated, leaving their home behind with only the barest they could afford. If you had to guess? You've got one of those migrants right here.
You don't comment on it though. Right now there's just a man here, one that could use your help if you'd only give it. There's many more blankets for a improvised bed, and the wood stove is easily fired up. If he plans out setting foot out tomorrow the least that can be done is that you make sure he's been fed first. His stomach is practically audible from here, the pitiful grumbles of a stomach that has been denied countless times over. Plus, you just like watching people eat. Always have.
A pan hits metal, fat thrown in with mushrooms. You take the closest knife and grab a onion from the dry pantry, quickly chopping it up and joining it with the others. A flip, a sizzle. You fucking love cooking. Some grinded salt and pepper make their way in as well, a touch of flour mixes it's way with some spare chicken broth from your last slaughtered batch. Glorious aromas fill the air as you set yourself to simply stirring. It's almost ready, and listening closely you can hear the man in the other room sniffing the air.
He's surprised when you offer it to him, a great heaping bowl full of the soup you've fashioned just for him. For a moment you think he'll refuse, post-wartime paranoia leading into distrust, but he's hungry. He's hungry and he's already relying on you for this temporary shelter, already putting his neck out. So he takes it, hands and arms under the blanket still and allows himself a tentative bite. One second, two second, three...
Bam. He starts eating like he's never eaten before in his life, and as far as the past few weeks go you'd imagine that's true. He yelps a little as he drips a small amount on his bare arm, the soup still very hot. It fails to impede him, his empty stomach too pressing to ignore compared to the slight burn. He's beauty in motion, a simple and primitive action taken tickling your upper synapses as he tears his way through the soup. No matter how much you love cooking, you love watching people eat more. You just don't get to indulge in the practice much, living alone around here.
It's only too soon that he succeeds in eating the whole bowl, a quick belch making it's way out of him as he finds that his ravenous pace has left him with quite the airy insides. You ask him if he would care for another bowl and he is quick to agree, stomach clearly not properly impressed by this single serving after being made to show restraint for so long. So you head back to the kitchen, allowing a slight blush to show on your face and fill the bowl again, only pausing to cut some recently baked bread from the pantry to go with it.
The refilled bowl and bread switch hands, and you get to watch the spectacle yet again. The bread is broken in half, each half dipped in the creamy mushroom soup before disappearing down his gullet with a pronounced gulp, crumbs showering his thighs as chews. The soup isn't too far behind, the spoon making the path from meal to mouth at insane pace. In moments fast he finishes with the bowl cleaned out once again being followed with a far heavier belch as he almost seems to forget you are there at all, hands cradling his protruding stomach and rubbing.
...You decide to try your luck, feeling a bit emboldened and ask if he wants to finish the rest of the soup off now. You could always reheat some of it over the stove tomorrow... but he shakes his head. Doesn't want you to have to waste cut wood if the soup is already hot. He puts the bowl back in your hands and burps a little at the movement, a little fuller than he likely expected.
Third trip, last serving. He's got quite the appetite, and huff. Not much restraint to his name either. You are finding that you will be quite disappointed to see him go tomorrow... but at least you've still got tonight. You scoop the last portion of the soup to make a almost overflowing bowl, and pair it with more bread and a glass of mead. You feel a little bad actually, since he's been eating without any drinks to accompany his meal. Hard to blame yourself when he's been so... woo. As if to puncture your thoughts you hear a particularly loud UuuuuUrrrp from the other room, and find your footpace quickening.
You take a seat by the fire and hand him his cuisine once more. laying back into the front end of one of two fur-coated chairs to watch the show. And does he give you one, unwitting as it is! The mead goes first, a glugluglug meeting ears as he powers through the mead, some spilling down past his lips as he slugs the whole thing back. The bottle is replaced with the bread and he doesn't even bother to break it this time, seemingly pleased with merely dunking the whole thing in and chomping through it. Warm soup spills on his lap as crumbs join the mess he's making of himself in his unleashed ravenousness, unrestrained in his need to fill himself and in your implicit permission. His belly is getting redder, his body being pushed further and further as you watch with baited breath. He huffs a little, burping just slightly before he tips the soup and chugs it, his throat bulging as he swallows it all in a continuous stream.
You wait. Your breath is held, as he puts down the bowl. You know what's coming. He's rubbing his stomach with both hands, moaning in his fullness. Again, he's basically not even acknowledging you are here, but you find that suits you. You just want to watch him work, want to see what he does. And with a slow wind up, he thumps his gut-
UUUUUuuuUUUUUUUrrrrrppp!!!
and belches loud and long, 3 servings of quickly devoured soup making their way through his throat once more, the air he swallowed in his haste making it's way back out. And just as quickly as he ate? He passes out on the blankets you piled up beside him, fast asleep and loudly snoring with the occasional burp sneaking out. hoooooo. You sit there for a minute, just staring at his gut, that rounded curve, red skin containing that bulging mass of food inside. You can hear it gurgling and grumbling, trying to digest everything he ate. You made that, you brought that to life! Oh, god. Even if you only see him for tonight that was so worth it.
It's a little hard to focus as you wash down the pan and bowls with water and soap, the not-too far away sounds of a groaning and gassy orc punching holes in your thoughts. You have to catch yourself from dropping the pan at one point, before you just tell yourself that the dishes are clean enough and stop early to go off to masturbate bed. Morning can't come more slowly.
Unfortunately, you have no control over the rate at which time moves, and soon enough it's morning anyway. You sigh and turn to your windows, and blink a little. You've... been snowed in. You've been snowed in... which means he has to stay a little longer. Your face breaks out into a grin as you get out of bed. Oh, you won't be letting him leave without a few good meals. Not that he'll be protesting. No, by the way he was acting last night you are nigh certain he'll insist on it. That shameless rubbing, that released gas... nobody like that could resist the urge of gluttony.
And if you play your cards right? You might even be able to convince him to stay with you. You'll have plenty of time to do it too.
After all... the winter winds are blowing, and that snow won't be going away anytime soon.