Curtains

Another, broadly gender-free (there's a few tiny inferences you're free to ignore) story about a feedee/feeder relationship, open for whatever sort of self-inserting you'd like. It started out as a quick vignette but sort of just ballooned as it were.

This was something started during my busiest there for a bit a little over a month & a half ago, able to look like I was potentially crafting an email whereas actively drawing a large body would arouse suspicion. But really, this one was more a matter of combining a lot of different disparate, bulletpoint ideas for weight gain content I had jot down a while back for separate pieces of art or vignettes etc, & I was trying to combine them into one quick narrative.

As far as warnings go, on top of some very low key manipulation, the narrator's tone might be a touch 'reddit villain-y,' but I like to think that sort of pretension is foreplay to these two in particular. I imagine the narrator laying this all one a little extra thick while potentially stroking the fully engorged belly of the feedee, as a stuffing session slowly winds down. Mostly sated, but on the fuller side. Still nibbling, but prone to a fair bit of teasing with little recourse. Imagine a few moans & possibly soft burps throughout to sort of punctuate things for full effect.

So I had a few variants I was able to kick out in these past weeks, & this story only took a little to finish up (though I did go a little ham), but I'm currently focusing on that other old comic I mentioned, & doing a new page for that right now, as slated on the roadmap & previewed. It'll still take some time, so I might kick out a few other quick things in the interim before it but that's the big thing I'm currently working towards right now before moving back to Spice Up Your Life. And just as a progress report, Bellflower's in another one of those dense chapters with a lot of character interaction. I've written & rewritten portions, & plan to keep pushing but that might hit too if I get a free block of time & the inspiration hits allowing me to lock in. Either way? Thanks once again for all your patience! While I'm slow as shit, I feel like I have been very gradually working to make progress on some things more recently. And that's motivating, despite everything being truly awful all the time always. Thanks for being here & take good care of yourselves.

|||

Y’know, it’s kind of funny.

Despite all that hesitation on your part, initially? There were still three, very distinct instances where I just knew it was curtains for you, & that trim little figure of yours. Or I should say, at least the one you used to have.

Heh, do you remember? How you used to be a runner? Underneath all of that now, there used to be someone that- ran?! For fun? I still think about that sometimes. When I catch you at certain angles. And you look your largest. The way you used to try & fight your very own nature. And how I knew you better than it seemed you even knew yourself.

Three times.

There were three distinct moments that I knew you were the one for me.

That with only a bit of patience, you'd inevitably grow to be just perfect. I mean I knew it from the very start. Could feel it all along. But there were three particular cases that really confirmed those suspicions for me. That looming just under that skinny, toned surface, lie the unrepentant, couch-filling fatty before me today, just waiting for the go-ahead & bust out. Dying at the opportunity to just sit around & be fed eclairs & cookies & donuts & all manner of delectable confections, all day, every day.

Do you remember though? Just two years ago, when I first let it slip? My intention of having you just thicken up a little for me?

Do you recall that show of resistance you started things off with? The way you contorted your face in sheer disgust at the very notion? "You actually want me... chubbier?" I remember your words clearly because of that little pause of acknowledgement. And the almost telling way you immediately jumped to "chubbier," when I simply said "thicken." As I thought it best to lowball you in this sort of- negotiation, if you will...

I've got to tell you though, that was quite the performance you tried putting on.

Hell, for a moment there, I thought I had ruined that entire evening. And perhaps even our, at the time, budding relationship.

You then said something I thought was patently absurd, kidding yourself. Something along the lines of things like decadence & being overindulgent were for other, weaker-willed folks, & not a former athlete like yourself. I remember it seeming nonsensical. That athletes just like you blimp up all the time, the instant they stop being so active. But I bit my tongue, became a bit pensive in that moment, not wanting to endanger things further. It grew kind of quiet between us.

At least until the waitstaff came around. Because that's when you shot me a devilish glance, & you suddenly decided to take me up on my offer. At least in part. If even as a "joke." Ordering two expensive entrees, on my dime.

Yeah, damn. You sure did really stick it to me there, sweetie.

You tried playing it off at the time. Saying that if I really wanted to feed you, you weren't "going to look a gift horse in the mouth," & you claimed how one was specifically "going to be for lunch the next day."

But, as I surmised? It didn't take all that much of a push.

Ultimately, all I really ever needed to do was eat slow. Small, little bites, making my meal last.

Inevitably, unwittingly, you finished long before I did. And then? The longer we sat? The longer that alfredo sat there, staring at you from its to-go package.

"I just want to taste it," you eventually announced peeling the lid, as I suppressed my triumphant smirk. Like a fiddle.

By the time we were ready to leave, you had already polished off a good two thirds of that intended "lunch."

What made it all the cuter was the fact that you only had a fraction of the capacity you have now. But as you gingerly wobbled out of that restaurant that evening, clutching your "food baby?"

That was number one. The first little confirmation. The moment that I knew, whether you wanted to come right out & say it or not, we were on our way. The first step on our little journey together, of you fattening up for me. Whether you fully recognized it or not.

What's a little funnier to me is that when I think back to that instance? I know that remaining third of a serving you left with? That certainly wouldn't have been enough to satisfy anybody, let alone you at the office that next day. So I think about you warming it up in your office break room, polishing it off in only about a minute & a half, & still needing a second lunch to hold yourself over. Imagine one of those paninis you always go on about, from the sandwich shop in the lobby?

That blush I see rosying up your cheeks right now is all the confirmation I need to know I am right once again.

The next sign came a couple of months later. After I noticed how your workouts started getting lighter, & lighter. And those daily runs of yours had slowly started to completely fall by the wayside. Which, come to think of it, I also found quite interesting, as that seemed to happen organically. All on its own. The laziness seemed to set in without me lifting a finger. Just in completely unspoken fashion, keeping everything nice & tight suddenly seemed to be less of a concern for you. Hell, you can try & say it was the colder weather, but that could've been a fourth hint as to what you would become, the way you so willingly gave up on your workout routine.

But you hadn't even officially reached that level of chubbiness you feigned concerned with during that aforementioned dinner. Not yet at least. You were only just the slightest bit softer. The tone & definition that was there was getting padded over. Quite nicely.

And there was that one rainy day where you beat me home to my apartment. I forget what held me up at work, but you used the key under my mat to get in, only to plop down on that very couch you entirely take up now, turn on the TV, & wait for me.

After a long day, I told you I would get us a pizza. You knew this. Full well. But you were impatient, weren't you? Hungry. Greedy.

Now, I may have tipped the scales in my favor here a little. With you coming over as often as you were back then? Perhaps I had started stocking up on a few extra sweets here & there. And perhaps I strategically left them in a few easy to reach places around my place, for the sake of your convenience.

Oh, you thought I didn't know...? That you did what you could to hide the evidence? That I wouldn't have noticed? You must've thought yourself so slick.

Truth be told, I'm a little sad I wasn't there to watch it happen. Watch you give in the way I know you did. But it's pretty easy to surmise what happened. So let me give you my theory.

Decompressing after your own conceivably annoying workday & a little bored, you looked over & saw the bag sitting there, within arm's reach, & you thought to yourself "well, I'm going to have pizza later, but maybe just one would hold you over." Ooh. Or maybe you hadn't even taken the pizza into account, I like that even better honestly. Either way, you opened the bag, grabbed just one cookie, & sealed it back up, thinking you were done. And as it turned out, taking your time & savoring it, you really enjoyed that one cookie. A great deal in fact.

Am I on the right track?

Inevitably, that first one wasn't enough though. So while, in the moment, you may have beat yourself up over it, you eventually went back for a second. And knowing how you are, I wager you did it sneakily, as if there was someone watching, even with no one around. Because I know your little quirks.

How am I doing so far?

Only this time, after the second cookie, you weren't as quick to reseal the bag. Because to your conscious mind, a third would simply be out of the question. But this? This was one of a couple different little turning points, wasn't it? Where your conscious mind wasn't calling all of the shots, was it?

Because mindlessly? The next thing you know, you realized were four cookies were gone. And you once again even have the inkling to close the bag, but deep down? Something stopped you from acting on that.

Then the tally jumps to probably something like seven. Seven cookies down.

Then, as if by magic, the next instant you pay any attention, only two remain. From what was once an entirely full bag. And speaking of things being full, the only thing that made you pay any attention was the uncomfortable fullness in your belly. And with this occurring back during a time when you still would've been embarrassed by something like this? Hell, maybe you even thought I'd be upset by being down a bag of cookies.

You decided the best course of action was to cut your losses, & completely hide all evidence of this ever even happening. Even if your middle had grown distended & round. At this point, you're no longer concerned with how delicious they are, you just needed them gone. In your head, a switch flipped & the story moved from "Sorry, I got peckish & had some of your cookies," to "Bag? What bag?" You needed them gone, so you just chomped away at them, Dispassionately. Phlegmatically. Bite after bite until your cheeks puffed out I bet. Then they were all gone.

You tried to dispose of the only remaining bit of evidence left, the bag itself. Only that morning was trash day.

So I came home, pepperoni, olive, & extra cheese in hand from Nino's. Fun fact, Nino's is probably the only pizzeria, or perhaps the only one that I know, that still uses the goofy little plastic pizza tables to prevent the pie from getting crushed. As bad as they are for the environment. Did you know that?

At first, I thought it a bit odd, barely getting much of a response from you, sitting on the couch. Kind of cold. I didn't recognize it as guilt at first. Or may just trying not to come off as stuffed to the gills. But I went to throw the plastic pizza thing away, only to look down into a clean bag & see only an empty cookie bag. So blame Nino's, but I knew right then & there? I got you.

Heh, what's this?

Seems like those big round cheeks are getting awfully red. You're blushing again.

I take it my theory's correct, then?

But I do just have to say, even then? My plan was to leave a bag lying around, only expecting to be down just one or two cookies. Shooting for the "Peckish" scenario, if you will.

Yet seeing a whole bag polished off like that? Only for you then try & keep the ruse going by pretending you were hungry & force a slice of pizza on top of that? That's what sealed the deal for me. Confirmed my intuition about you being special.

To be a bit merciful, I didn't bring it up. Figured I'd let you feel like you slid one past me. After all, I certainly got what I wanted. And I thought it funny how you didn't move for the rest of the evening. I don't think you could, as stuffed as you were that night. Not til I had to help you to the bedroom. Though I do remember jokingly badgering you "Are you sure you don't want another slice?" over & over while you were probably ready to explode, yet still pretending everything was normal.

Which brings us to number three. The third omen. And the one I found the hottest.

It came a little over a year ago.

At this point, the pounds had started to really stick, & you were pretty well into your "plump era." Slowly getting comfortable with the idea that you didn't necessarily need the absolute tightest, "runner" body for me. Coming around to the idea that it was alright to enjoy the ability to indulge if you wanted.

But at the same time, it hadn't seemed like you had fully given in just yet, & accepted your fate. It was as if you still held out some fleeting hope that if you really wanted to turn things around, well hell, just a few gym visits would get you back to where you once were. You could always "spring back," if you wanted. Any time now. If only you weren't so "busy." "Next week though, for real!" Only you were never fooling anyone. Even yourself. The deal was already sealed at this point. That next week would always come & go, & all you would do is eat. And eat. Every time, just a little bit more. And a little bit more. 

Where was I?

Right. The third specific instance? Was the night of your friend Christine's party. And this time, it wasn't so much a sign of whether you were going to ever get fat or not. With your quickly disappearing waistline? That ship had well sailed. There was no question, you were well on your way at this point.

No. This was more of a sign of your potential. And just how fat you were going to get.

We were late to arrive. Fashionably. If I recall correctly, it may have had something to do with your favorite outfit, & how, suddenly, it just was no longer fitting right?

Weird. Can't imagine why. We sure ran into that issue quite a lot over time, didn't we?

But we walked through the door & all eyes were on you, bugging out of heads.

Oh, sure. Etiquette prevented anything extending too far outside the boundaries of standard niceties. But your old friends from college? Other folks from around town who hadn't seen you in a few months? You might've gotten greetings like "You certainly look... happy." Or "things must be really comfortable for you. That's awesome." But everyone could see it all over their faces. Clear as day. The reaction to what, to them, must've seemed like a sudden transformation.

Going around, mingling? I remember the words & inflection all still, remaining quite cordial. The things they wanted to say, or ask, all getting choked back. I'm not going to lie, I took a small sense of pride putting them in that position. Having them gag like that, the whole time, as I kept watching them look you up & down. Trying to do the mental measurements since the last time they laid eyes on you. Gauge just how much you had already softened in that interim.

Their reaction was palpable. I know I could feel it. And at times, I got the impression you seemed to feel it too. But what I couldn't gauge was whether you seemed to really care. Either way, it drove me wild, the way you only kept right on eating anyway.

There came a point, later on in the evening, where we broke off on our own. As I tried to be sociable, I noticed you mostly hover by the table with all the food. And maybe it was even just inadvertently, but you never seemed to want to leave that table out of arm's reach.

During this? Christine approached me. And I don't know if I fully went into our little chat with you.

We exchanged the typical pleasantries, "Great party," "Thanks for having us." Yadda yadda. But the topic of you came up. Almost immediately. As if she desperately needed to pry.

She went in to "just how happy you seemed with me," as we spied you orbiting the food table the seven or eighth time to keep your plate full. All while laughing & carrying on, not missing a beat in your own conversations. Christine's tone was clear though. She noticed just how plump you were getting, & seemed to want to know what was going on.

Come to think of it, the way she mentioned that you seemed so happy you were "glowing," "beaming?" Perhaps she was reading something deeper into your new lust for food, & vying for a very certain type of scoop.

Do you think she would've been let down by finding out you were becoming a massive glutton?

Instead, we just continued to go back & forth singing your praises. How you were the greatest thing since sliced bread. Smart, funny, kind? The works. All until...

Well, I don't need to tell you.

You remember how we suddenly needed to leave, right?

Involving reaching for a piece of cheese just a little too far on the other side of the table? And a tight pair of black denim jeans abruptly splitting?

Heh. You're blushing again.

Relax. I don't think you ought to be embarrassed. For one, very fortunately for you? For a full party with a couple dozen people? I only think the couple next of you realized exactly just what had happened.

Now sure, most, like me, were distracted by the sudden weird fabric-y pop of a rip sound. But I don't think anyone was really able to place the source.

And to be fair, I only put two & two together when you immediately shuffle-walked over to me red faced, & ready to leave as quick as humanly possible.

Proud, & okay... admittedly very turned on? I remember obliging with a wink.

Out of the loop, I think Christine seemed a little surprised by your sudden need for goodbye, but gave us both big hugs all the same. At which point I think I even subtly draped my hoodie over the back of you even to help keep you modest on the walk out to the car. 

But, well-

I dunno.

If I were you, & my ravenous ass just ate enough crudites to bust the seat of my pants open? The prospect of walking out of the party with a half filled plate still in hand? Still picking at things? Just wild.

And the funniest part about all of this? As much as all that hit every single one of my buttons about you thickening up? We haven't even reached the moment that stood out to me yet.

No. Because when we did manage to crabwalk you out to the car, in the dead of night? My first thought was that you were going to start bawling your eyes out in humiliation over how plump you were getting. Or scream at me for fattening you up despite this particular incident being your own doing. That despite how much you had turned me on, I was still going to have to catch an earful & do something to reassure you everything was going to be okay. The whole walk out, I braced for it. Mentally prepared for it.

But no!

I looked over to you, in the passenger seat, watch you let out one, very simple, relieved sigh, & calmly just say "Well that was fun while it lasted. Sorry to leave in a huff like that."

Here, I figured you'd even just at least lament about your ruined jeans. But no. You were hardly upset at all. As easygoing as ever.

Only then, you suddenly realized you had the now empty plate still in your hand, & wondered why you didn't just throw it away as we made our way out the door. With a slight grunt, you leaned forward to set it at your feet for the time being, only to then turn to me.

And I will never forget this...

With a sheepish little grin, you looked at me with those doe eyes of yours, & asked "Do you think we can still make the Gordita Loca drive-thru? I could really go for some tacos."

At that moment?

My face was redder than yours had ever been that evening. And amidst all the other thoughts swimming in my head in that very moment, it suddenly started to dawn on me that you weren't just going to get fat.

You were bound to get FAT.

Massive. 

Positively enormous.

We got you home, safe & sound, with two large bags of fast food tex mex. I helped peel those black jeans off those thick thighs, & started hand feeding you tacos until you passed out, rubbing you full gut.

The one thing I can't quite put my finger on? I couldn't tell if there was ever a conscious decision on your part. A sort of acceptance. Or resignation. But it was as if that night was something of a turning point. For us. For you. 

After that, you seemed to stop being remotely self conscious. Or concerned as to what was very quickly starting to happen. But you know what never seemed to stop? The eating. The sight of you with food in your hand.

To me? It started to become very rapidly apparent that every time I looked at you? Was quite possibly ever going to be the last time you were that "small" ever again. And I found it maddening, in the absolute best possible way. And that I was correct. That I was always correct.

Damn. Do I know how to pick 'em?

Now just look at you! 

The very sight of you! You've become such a big, fat pig, haven't you?

Oh, come now. You know I mean pig in a nice way.

Here. Have another eclair, you'll feel better.

That's right.

Frankly? I love the way you've progressed. The way you've utterly transformed into the round, substantial you I always saw you as. The true you.

And that's the thing. We both know this is the true you. Because if it isn't? Well, I mean I would've listened, you know? If this wasn't what you wanted I mean.

Like, at any point, had you wanted this to stop? Wanted this whole experiment to come to an end? God forbid, even wanted to get skinny again? Get you out there back "running" again?

I would've begrudgingly listened & gone along with it. For you. 

But... you never really put your foot down, did you?

No.

You just kept on eating. Getting bigger, for me. 

And sure, the idea of gaining weight, fattening up the way you have, it probably seemed completely bizarre to you at first. Outlandish even. Given how most of society works? Views such things? I don't fault your reticence.

But once you finally got that little chance to indulge yourself? Just a teensy bit? On purpose? Something took root, didn't it?

Those very things I sensed about you from the start.

You liked indulging. Liked being able to cut loose. So you took advantage of the opportunity. And indulged just a little more, didn't you? And then a little bit more. And a little bit more.

Suddenly, without even that much of a push, you seemed to really the idea of being doted on. Of being spoiled. So you let me dote on you. Let me spoil you. More & more. You got so comfortable with the idea, it became like second nature. And that's when things really started to snowball. You seemed to start becoming more & more preoccupied with what you were going to nibble on next rather than the fact nothing seemed to fit the way it used to. Those long hard days back when you used to still go into the office, you'd come home, immediately park yourself right there & let me take care of every little thing you needed. Keep doting on you. Keep spoiling you. In ways where the consequences of continuing all this never once seemed to really matter to you. At all.

Now here we are.

That true you now fully blossoming. Perfecting.

Look, I'm just going to come right out & say it.

I have loved this journey together.

I love fattening you up. I love feeding you, general. I love coming home, & foisting an obscene amount of eclairs onto you, knowing full well they'll be all dutifully gone by bedtime. I love how all of that will only lead you to becoming even bigger. I love your massive belly, & your enormous ass. I love your whole, round, albeit slightly bottom-heavy, silhouette, & how you are definitionally, an utter butterball. I love how when you let your arms droop down to your sides, they no longer actually seem to go down, but more out, to the side. I love how when you sit, your belly presses your large chest & everything else up, crowding your cute, round face all the more. I love the way your ass widens as you sit too, as it presses into the seat & everything smooshes out to the sides. I love the way you're on the cusp of having to wedge yourself between the armrests of our loveseat. I love the way your belly has begun to pour off the edge of it, even when you're sitting all the way back. I love how infrequently you leave that loveseat at all these days, always right where I last left you, eating. I love your little waddle, when you are up & around, even if it feels like I might be on the verge of never seeing it again, soon. I love to take care of everything for you. I love serving you, pampering you, spoiling you. I love how you're always hungry, ready to eat. I love keeping you well-fed, & full, even if that's a harder task to maintain these days. I love overfeeding you too. I love stretching your stomach capacity just that little bit more, til its all taut & a little red. I love watching the gains take shape, & stretchmarks form. I love how you love melted ice cream. I love it when you're asking for thirds, fourths, & fifths during a meal. I love your little moans & coos, from whether it's just because something tastes delicious, or because you feel like you're on the verge of exploding from having eaten just a little too much. I love your burps too. I love when all the little noises you make tell me I'm doing a good job. I love how every time you eat, your features soften just an infinitesimal bit more, & those gentle, dark eyes of yours sink ever slightly further behind your round, growing cheeks. I love when your eyes somehow get a little bigger than your stomach, & I have to assist you with the last few bites of something. I love how there are occasions where you like to think you're still totally in control, only to become completely unable to help yourself if I set food anywhere within your reach. I love how your elbows disappear into your pillowy upper arms whenever you greedily extend them, & desperately reach for something else to cram down your hungry maw. I love watching all the new rolls form on you. I love having to contend with all that smothering flesh, to squeeze between your thighs, & make your meals all the more pleasurable. I love it when that, along with many other things frankly, leave you winded & the cutest shade of red. I love giving you belly rubs after huge meals. I love the way your full tummy feels full under several layers of blubber that my hand sinks into. I love how over a relatively short period of time, you've slowly morphed into this big, sort of eating machine. I love to think about how buried somewhere deep within that eating machine, underneath all of that flub of yours, is what used to be someone who would masquerade as some kind of runner. I love how much you seem to keep ballooning, just exponentially. And I love how I knew this was the true you all along.

I knew the telltale signs. And that it was all over for you.

Curtains, if you will.

That the longer we were together, this was what was just simply bound to happen to you. And that as insane as it might've sounded to you at first, deep down, there was a gluttonous fatso yearning to let it happen too. And now that you've proved me correct at every step along the way? Now all that's left is to see just how far we take this. See how far we can really go.

Now maybe this might come as something as a shock.

You might think something like 1,000 pounds sounds quite lofty & out of reach.

Wait, what's that look for? why are your eyes popping out of your head?

I mean, it's ambitious, sure, maybe. But you're already over half way there. I assure you, it's not that wild an estimation. Seriously.

I mean if that's truly too much, then you'd be trying to push back against it without an eclair in either hand.

Go on.

Put them down.

Yeah.

That's precisely what I thought. I'm right again about you.

Relax, sweetie. Don't worry. Just settle down, & enjoy your treats.

I promise you, things are going to be fine. You'll be perfectly fine.

Just rounder & softer still. With a lot more time on that couch. And I'll be here with you, every bite along the way, pampering you, taking extra special care of you. You know that, right? You won't have a thing to worry about. Not a care in the world.

I mean at a certain point, it's not like it's anything more than a number for you anyway, right? Once it starts getting a little too hard for you to get up any more, what's it matter ultimately, anyway?

I only say 1,000 because, well- in terms of feasibility? I've seen the way you eat. You never stop. Feels like a month since you've been full enough to even take a break. In fact, you never not have something in your hand, even when you're on the verge of passing out for the night. I mean let's face it, you've really become something of a bottomless pit lately, haven't you?

No need to be embarrassed. In fact, quite the opposite, actually. I'm quite impressed. I mean I had hopes, but even I didn't suspect you to turn into this much of an eating machine. While I was always right about you generally, you've really only ever blew any expectation I had out of the water.

So not only do I think you can get to a half ton, easy, I'm also willing to bet it won't take nearly as long as you'd think, sweetie.

And well, let's face it. It's not like I've been wrong yet, have I?

So eat up.

Prove me right once again.

|||