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Getting Back Together


AdiposeAdorer

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I know I shouldn’t. All that ice cream will only end up as more padding on my already far too flabby thighs. I need to be strong, need to control myself. If I keep eating like this, I’ll never lose a single pound.

“What’ll it be miss?” asks the man behind the counter. I can’t help but feel as though he’s judging me as I stand there with my doughy belly poking out from under my too tight t-shirt, my blubbery backside outlined only too well by the strained pair of pink slacks that used to be my fat pants only a few months ago.

“Um, well, a chocolate sundae, please,” I say, quietly, my gaze locked on the logo on his apron rather than on his face.

“Right,” he nods. “Go ahead and grab yourself a seat and I’ll be out with your order in a few minutes.”

Well, so much for strength, I guess. As the clerk prepares my little treat, I pick out a small table at the back, one where hardly anyone can see me. Minutes later, he arrives to place a large beaker of ice cream, drowning in chocolate fudge, on my table before vanishing again without a word. This isn’t the first time he’s seen me. I’ve been coming here every day for almost a year now, giving him a front row seat to my transformation from fat to fatter.

As soon as he’s vanished from view, I dig in. That cold ice cream, drowned in that warm, sugary chocolate sauce, is just too good. With every bite I take, all my worries seem to fade just a little further from my mind.

Why do I have to be like this? What would she say if she could see me now? Fatter than ever, even after all I said to her.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I’m supposed to be losing weight, to be getting my life back under control. It’s just not fair. Why does this damn ice cream have to be so damn tempting?

“Alice, is that you?”

Oh no! Not now, not here of all places.

Slowly, like a deer caught in the headlights, I turn to look behind me. There she is: Yvonne, every bit as thin, pretty, and perfect as ever. With her lean figure, her wide, twinkling eyes, her sultry, sensuous lips, and her long, flowing, golden hair, she’s everything that I’m not.

“Hi,” I say, desperately wishing I was somewhere else, “how have you been?”

Yvonne smiles, a radiant smile that lights up her slim, shapely face, with its sloping cheeks and slight, subtle chin. I don’t have sloping cheeks, only a set of ripe, round ones. I do, however, have plenty of chins.

“Oh, you know, pretty good,” she says. “How about you?” She leans in towards me, her slim, well-manicured fingers ever so slightly squeezing the soft roll of flab bulging out from under my too-tight shirt. “Looks like you’ve really been enjoying your food since I last saw you,” she giggles.

“Yeah, I guess …,” I look down at my table; my ears are getting warm.

“Strange, I thought you were supposed to be on a diet? I seem to remember you saying something about that the last time I saw you. Guess that hasn’t been going too well, huh?”

“No,” I sigh, “not really.”

Yvonne pulls out a chair and sits down across from me. For a moment she just looks at me, her teasing smile gradually turning into something warmer.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she says, leaning closer towards me over the table. “How about we get some more ice cream and catch up?”

“I don’t know,” I try to object. “I really shouldn’t …” But she’s already headed off to order me another sundae.
 

***


Yvonne and I first met a couple of years ago. I’ve never been what you’d call thin, but that was when I really started to blow up.

I fell for her pretty much the moment I saw her, though it took me a while to really figure it out. She was so stylish and elegant, so pretty and petite—everything I could never dream of being. When we were together, I just couldn’t stop looking at her. Soon, I found myself thinking about her every minute of every day, like I never had about anyone before.

For a long time, I wouldn’t let myself believe that she could possibly feel the same way. I mean, with my flabby body and my messy, curly, dark hair, I was so chubby and plain, so average in every way. I knew perfectly well that someone like her could never be interested in someone like me. No matter how happy she was to spend time with me, or how eager she was to touch me, I just wouldn’t let myself believe it. In the end, I only caught on when, late one night, after she’d gotten tired of flirting and waiting for me to take the hint, Yvonne reached out to gently stroke my chubby cheek before, suddenly, planting a careful kiss on my lips. The conversation that followed was the most awkward and wonderful I’ve ever had.

At the time, we were both students, her and I. We spent our days in lecture halls or in libraries with our noses stuck in various textbooks. Though she was perhaps a bit better at all that than me. While I worked on my English degree, Yvonne studied nutrition. She knew all there was to know about food, including how to make the most fattening and addictive meals you could ever imagine. She wasn’t slow to turn all that knowledge against me.

I’ve never really been the kind to exercise much, or to watch what I eat. I’m a natural couch potato, basically. So, even before I met Yvonne, college hadn’t exactly been kind to my figure. Once the two of us had gotten together, though, I soon blew up like never before. Yvonne found it only too easy to use all my weaknesses against me. She knew what a spoiled slug I was, and she was only too happy to indulge and enable all my worst habits.

Oh, how she spoiled me; oh, how I ate. Back when we were together, she did everything for me, to the point where I rarely had to move so much as a muscle. All I had to do, as far as she was concerned, was sit on my fat ass and eat all those delicious treats that her dark arts would conjure for me. As the months passed, it got harder and harder for me to say no, harder and harder for me to stop. Before long, I’d completely lost track of how much I was eating. My life had turned into one huge feast. By the time the year drew to an end, I’d put on nearly forty pounds. Putting me, for the first time in my life, at well over 220.

Much as I loved every minute of my life with Yvonne, my ballooning body was starting to worry me. I knew I was putting on weight, but it wasn’t until I went back home for the holidays that I realised just how far I’d let myself go.

Two weeks of my mom asking whether I really needed that second helping, two weeks of being called “tubby” by my skinny little sister, was all I needed to make me realise just how fat I’d gotten. And then, there was the last straw: having to squirm for nearly five minutes to get into the new jeans my mom had bought me, only to burst out of them a few hours later. As I stood there, in my old bedroom, with my pale flab oozing out between ripped seams, I knew that something had to be done. Then and there, I swore that I was going to get myself together. That, one day, no matter what, these jeans were going to fit me like a glove.

Yvonne proved less than supportive of my new plans. She told me not to worry about it, that I’d be much happier if I just let myself eat. When that didn’t work, she told me there was no point pretending to be something I wasn’t.

“Sweetie,” she said, fondly shaking her head, “we both know you’re too lazy and out of shape to exercise for very long, and there’s no way you’ll manage to stay off the food for more than a few days. If I were you, I’d save myself the trouble and just forget about this whole thing.”

It took every ounce of strength I had not to give into her. In the end, I told her that we were on a break, that, when next she saw me, I'd be every bit as fit and thin as she was. She just smiled.

And now here I am, even fatter than when I left her.
 

***


I suck down another spoonful of ice cream. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m supposed to be on a diet, supposed to be working my ass off until I can finally fit into those old jeans again. I need to stop this, to get myself together. I need to put my spoon down and just not take another bite. But I don’t.

Greedily, I shovel more and more of my delicious, runny treat into my fleshy face. It’s so good. I don’t stop eating until, finally, my spoon hits the bottom of the beaker.

“You sure were hungry,” Yvonne grins, looking at me with her big, bedroom eyes.

I lean back in my chair, a low groan escaping from the depths of my cold, stuffed stomach.

“It’s no wonder you haven’t lost any of that weight.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumble, my face red and hot. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Is that so?” she giggles, her voice like a clear, tinkling, silver bell. “Looks to me like you’ve been doing pretty well without my help.”

I glance at the bulging belly resting in my lap, at the soft, pale slope of fat sticking out from under my shirt, which still fit the last time I saw her. No matter how I try, I can find no words to explain away all the pounds and inches that’ve settled on my figure in her absence.

Suddenly, Yvonne places her slender fingers on top of mine.

“You know, I really miss you.”

I blink and try to look away. But I just can’t help being drawn in by those big, glittering, green eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” I mumble, unable to stop myself.

Yvonne smiles and squeezes my chubby hand, before suddenly checking the watch on her wrist.

“Sorry, got to go,” she says apologetically. “But if you want, you can stop by my place tomorrow evening. I’d love to catch up some more.”

Then, all of a sudden, she’s gone. I watch without a word as, with a wave, she heads out the door.
 

***


It’s the middle of the night; I can’t sleep. Instead, I just sit on my bed, staring at my closet, at all the cute clothes there that no longer fit me. The jeans mom gave me for Christmas nearly a year ago hang there in plain sight. I saved them, hoping that they’d help motivate me to lose weight. Now, I can’t even squeeze them up over my way too broad butt. They just keep getting smaller. Or, well, I just keep getting bigger.

I know what’ll happen if I go to see Yvonne. I know I won’t be able to resist whatever temptations she has to throw my way. If I go, there’s no chance I’ll ever wear those jeans again.

But then again, it’s not like I’ve been doing all that well on my own. If I’m going to keep getting fatter anyway, I might as well go. At least then I’ll have somebody to appreciate me for the lazy lardass I am. And anyway, it’s just a visit, nothing more. I’m probably just being overdramatic. Even if I do want to lose all this weight, it couldn’t hurt to visit her just this once.
 

***


With a lump in my throat, I ring the doorbell to Yvonne’s apartment. As I wait for her to open, I tug at my clothes—straightening them just to keep my hands occupied. Instead of wearing my usual slacks—the only clothes I have that are really comfortable anymore—I’ve tried to put on something nice—a cute top that still sort of fits and a pair of sea-green pants that I can still squeeze into if I suck in my gut a bit. They aren’t comfortable, the pants are so tight that I struggle to bend my legs, they dig so hard into my fluttering stomach that I can barely breathe. I don’t look good in them, but at least I look like I tried.

The door opens and Yvonne greets me with a beaming smile.

“Hey there, you’re earlier than I thought,” she says, pursing her lips as she looks me over. “You look nice,” she adds, gesturing to the outfit that my rolls are poking out of like rising dough.

“Thanks,” I say with a nervous giggle, trying my best to sound casual.

She invites me in and sits me down in my old spot on the couch—the place where I gained most of this weight. On the coffee-table beside me stands a plate piled with delicious-looking donuts.

“I thought you might like a little snack,” she says, gesturing for me to take one.

Without so much as stopping to think, I do as she’s told me to. “Well, I guess just one won’t hurt,” I say, but I know it will.

Yvonne sits down beside me, and for a while we just talk—about how we’ve been, what we’ve been doing. All that. One by one, the donuts disappear, vanishing into my greedy gut until there’s not even one left.

“Oh dear,” Yvonne lets out a girlish giggle, “looks like we’re out of snacks already. I’ll go get you some more?”

I open my mouth to object, but she’s already headed off. Soon, she returns with an even larger plate of fattening treats. Before I can get a word out, she’s pushed one gently past my lips. Once I’ve tasted it, I can’t help myself. It’s heavenly, so rich, creamy, and sweet—so deliciously bad for my figure. As soon as I’ve swallowed it, Yvonne pushes another on me.

“I made these myself,” she says. “I hope you like them.”

“I shouldn’t …” I object meekly, knowing perfectly well that, sooner or later, I will.

“Oh, really?” Yvonne teases. “Why not?”

“Because, well … because I’ll get fat.”

“Honey,” she grabs herself a handful of my soft, squeezable love handles, “you already are.”

My heart leaps in my chest; my ears are so terribly hot, my overstretched stomach feels like it’s fluttering with as many butterflies as it can possibly hold.

“I know … I know. But …”

“But …?”

At this point, I’m all but drooling. The treat she’s pushing on me smells so good. I want it so bad. Desperately, I try to recall some reason, any reason, why I shouldn’t just let my appetite take me away. Why I shouldn’t just start eating and never stop. I know there are reasons—good ones, probably. But, somehow, I just can’t seem to remember them.

Still, I try as hard as I can to resist. If I take that bite, I know, it’ll be like giving up, like admitting that I’m exactly the weak, gluttonous pig that she thinks I am.

Yvonne leans in towards me. “Go on,” she whispers in my ear, pushing the donut more forcefully up against my lips.

I can’t help myself. I take a bite, just a small one, and then another, and another, and another …

“That’s my girl,” Yvonne smiles sultrily, patting my hanging, jellylike belly.

As one donut vanishes, another is brought to my lips. I dig in without thought, savouring all that delicious sugar that I know will only further ruin my already hopelessly lost figure. God, I’ve missed all this!
 

***


“Ugh,” I moan as I cradle my tightly packed tummy, “I’m so full.”

“Oh sweetie,” Yvonne coos as she rubs my naked belly, “you’re such a greedy girl.”

I answer her only with a loud burp. I’m too stuffed to talk, too stuffed to think. All I can do is sit here and stare dozily off into space, with my heavy belly resting atop my unbuttoned pants and hanging out of my hopelessly snug shirt.

“Hey, come to think,” Yvonne grins mischievously, “weren’t you supposed to be on a diet, or something? I seem to remember you mentioning something like that …”

I’m trapped, and I know it. I knew it before I ever set foot here. The last several months might as well never have happened. Yvonne’s still got me wrapped around her little finger, literally eating out of her hand.

“This is all your fault,” I moan, trying to convince myself more than her. “It’s all because you keep tempting me.”

“Of course, dear,” she says, her voice calm and soothing. “Of course …”
 

***


The next morning, I open my eyes to find the sun shining through the spacious windows of Yvonne’s sparsely decorated studio apartment. I’m still spread out on her couch; she’s nowhere to be seen. As—slowly and sluggishly—I sit myself up, my naked boobs swaying to and fro before settling on my bulging belly as I yawn and stretch out my chubby arms, I notice a neatly folded piece of paper on the coffee-table beside me.

Back in a few hours, it says, the letter looks to have been written in red lipstick. There’s breakfast in the kitchen and plenty of snacks in the fridge.

The note is signed with a bright, red kiss. Having read it, I look nervously around the room before placing my own lips against the impression left behind by Yvonne’s.

The breakfast that my thin, gorgeous girlfriend has left me turns out to be exactly what you’d expect. A huge mountain of pancakes drowning in syrup and cream—every bit as delicious as it is disastrous for my figure. I eat every last bite without a second thought. I’m tired of watching my weight, of trying to control myself and feeling like a failure when, inevitably, I give in. I can’t do it anymore. I never really could. If I’m going to be a fatty anyway, I might as well eat like one.
 

***


And that was that. Once Yvonne and I had gotten back together, she wasted no time getting to work on me. To her, my surrender was a license to stuff me like she never had before, to keep me locked up in her apartment and turn my life into an endless feast.

As I continue to eat and grow, Yvonne makes sure I never have to lift even a finger for myself. She takes care of everything for me while I sit on her couch, consuming a constant diet of TV dramas and fast food, to soften me in both body and mind.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve piled on the pounds like never before. I’ve blown up with fat to the point that I hardly recognise my own reflection anymore. When I look at it, it’s hard to see anything other than the huge, helpless ball of a woman that she’s turned me into. I always knew Yvonne wanted to put some padding on me, but I never thought she’d go this far.

Now, when I move, all my blubber jiggles and sways. I’m a mass of drooping rolls, with a belly that hangs like an apron over my thighs and a butt far too wide for any regular chair to hold. I haven’t stepped on the scale in a few months now, but last time it told me that I was creeping up on 400 pounds.

Yvonne, meanwhile, is as slim as ever. Next to her, I feel like a huge, unwieldy hippo of a girl. She’s made me so much fatter than I’d ever dreamed, but at this point I’m too hungry and out of shape to care. I don’t even bother to keep track of how much I eat anymore. It feels like I never stop.

It’s hard to imagine that I ever even considered going on a diet. These days, the very thought is enough to strike fear into my heart. I’m far too hungry, far too addicted to all that delicious food Yvonne always makes me. I can’t even go fifteen minutes without a snack anymore.

One day, as I work my way through another plate of Yvonne’s cookies, I notice my thin feeder heading for the door with a huge, plastic bag full of clothes strung over her shoulder. Peeking over the top, I see the legs of my old jeans, the ones I used to be so desperate to fit into. These days, I doubt I could even pull them up over my calves.

“Where are you going?” I ask between bites.

Yvonne stops to look at me a moment. “Oh, you know, I figured I’d turn some of your old clothes over to charity. They’re a bit big for me, and it’s not like you’re ever going to wear them again.” She glances meaningfully at the heavy belly resting between my tremendous thighs. “That ok with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug and grab another cookie.

“Want me to get you anything while I’m out? Some ice cream, maybe?”

“Yes please!” I nod eagerly, setting my chins quivering.

“Alright then.” She smiles, her slim fingers grabbing my soft belly as she leans in to plant a kiss on my round and overly chubby cheek. “Now, you just stay right there, fatty. And remember, I want to see each and every one of these gone by the time I get back.” She gestures at the mountain of cookies I’m making my way through.

Yvonne closes the door behind her; I grab another cookie. I still have a lot of food to get through today, a lot of pounds to add to my already immense body. All for her pleasure.

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