Delight in Increase

This is a one-shot I've had drafted for years that was finally ready to see the light of day. It's been long enough that I don't recall exactly what period I wanted this set in, but knowing me  it's either late Victorian or very early Edwardian. I remember doing a bunch of research about the historical timeline of public consumption of chocolate for the opening of this. I might have to dredge some of that up if I ever end up writing a sequel to this.

Also, I'm writing this on the evening of November 21st, but when this goes up it'll be the morning of the 25th, which means there are only five days left to vote in the Kinktober poll! Links: Part 1, Part 2 Additional nudges in the comments on the poll (or via a message to me here on Patreon or note on deviantart if you'd prefer not to post publicly) about which direction you'd like the rewritten stories to go in are very welcome!

***

“Phyllida! Goodness, darling, we are in public—”

“Oh, hush, Antony, and eat up.”

Antony frowned. “The buttons are going to pop off my waistcoat before we get home.” He patted his stomach, which had grown remarkably rounder since their excursion had begun that morning.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Phyllida smiled, the look in her eye saying something like, Popped buttons will only make it easier to undress you when we get home.

“I… suppose not.”

“Good. Now finish your chocolate.”

Antony took a deep breath and took a bite of the chocolate bar in his hand. He moaned happily. Phyllida giggled and he stopped, blushing and looking around to make sure no one had heard him.

Lord, he could just imagine the beating he’d get the next time he visited the boxing club. He knew he felt this sluggish because his belly was currently swollen with sweets, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be much faster once he’d digested it all. He had only been to the club once since they had been married two months ago. A friend had commented that he looked like he was taking to married life “quite well.” The same friend had then joked that he looked like he’d be more at home in a more sedate gentlemen’s club than in the boxing ring. Antony had laughed it off then, but now, a month on and bursting out of all his clothes, he felt rather differently. Especially now that he’d been taking advantage of the dining room at the club more often. (Heaven above, no wonder nothing fit. Did marriage do this to every man?)

As he licked the last of the chocolate bar from his fingers, Phyllida tried not to stare inappropriately. It was more difficult than she would admit. He was beginning to look truly soft. He had been delightfully burly when she’d met him. On their wedding night, he’d been able to hoist her up against the wall and hold her there for ages without breaking a sweat. He was still just as strong, but the ripples of his abs had disappeared. As he sucked chocolate from his fingertips, his new double chin was in full view. Her heartbeat quickened as she watched him enjoy himself. If the food doesn’t pop those buttons, heaven knows I will.

She patted his thigh. “Come. Let’s get back to the carriage.”

He made a face. “Can’t we sit a bit longer? You’ve got me stuffed like a Christmas goose. I can hardly breathe, much less walk.”

She stood from the bench they’d been sitting on at the edge of the park. “Keep talking like that and I’ll be asking cook to bring dinner to our bedroom tonight.”

“How can you even think of dinner?” he groaned.

“Not all of us stuffed our faces until we couldn’t stand up anymore.” She smirked. She loved bantering with him this way, teasing him. The blush in his cheeks made her feel giddy and powerful.

“Not all of us have your willpower, my dear.” He grunted as he hefted himself off the bench.

Phyllida looped her arm around her husband’s as he stood, his breathing shallow. “It’s not far. You can stretch out in the carriage.”

“Just promise that I won’t have to eat another pie anytime soon. You know how I adore pastry, but after today, I think even the sight of a flaky crust will make me retch.”

Phyllida laughed. “I promise.”

He caught sight of the carriage and sighed with relief. “Thank God.”

***

Two weeks later, as the two of them sat down to dinner, there was a sequence of loud pings as a series of small projectiles bounced off the chandelier. The crystals dangling from the ceiling swung back and forth, tinkling gently. The couple looked around, confused. Antony’s hand brushed along his belly as he stood, ready to investigate… until he realized his waistcoat no longer had any buttons.

Phyllida was standing and still looking around, trying to determine the source of the noise. “What could it be? Do we have mice?”

“Dearest—”

“But why would they be on the chandelier? How mysterious.”

He cleared his throat. “My love, I—“

“Oh, fiddlesticks, what if it’s bats?”

“Phyllida.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but his tone caused his wife to turn towards him.

“What do you think it could b—oh.” She finally caught sight of his open waistcoat, which was now missing all of its silver buttons. She stepped around the table and drew close to him. Her tone was low, a silken rustle that warmed him through. “What happened to your buttons, husband?”

He licked his lips. He was slowly becoming an expert at stoking the fires of his wife’s desires. He wanted to say the perfect thing. “You happened to them, wife.” He cupped her face in his broad hand, a blush blooming in her cheeks as he did so.

Phyllida, for once, had lost her composure. “D-did I?”

It took all he had not to start grinning right then. That breathy little voice was all the encouragement he needed. “You and your onslaught of pastries and cakes and suckling pigs.” He felt her hand drifting toward his belly and gently took her wrist, pulling her hand away. “Not yet, sweeting.” He bent his head low, nearly allowing his lips to brush her ear. “You wouldn’t want me missing dinner, would you?”

Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. He was such a merciless tease!

He stepped away from her and sat down. “Join me, then.” She began to walk toward the opposite end of the table, but he caught her skirts in his hand. “Not all the way over there—I want you with me.” He pulled her into his lap.

“Antony!” she squeaked. “What if someone sees?”

“Who is there to see, besides trusted servants and ourselves?” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. He slipped one of his hands into her lap, gently squeezing her thigh through all her skirts.

“I… I suppose.”

“Then we are agreed.”

She paused and leaned back against him. “There is one thing.”

“Hmm?” he murmured as he nuzzled his face against her neck.

“Part of my… pleasure in all this is watching.”

“Watching?”

Her mouth was a little dry. She had never been quite so frank about her predilections. Antony was so intuitive that she hadn’t needed to be. But now that he seemed to be purposefully engaging with her… interest, she supposed it was only fair that she tell him how best to do it. “I enjoy watching you eat.”

“Oh?” She could feel him smirking against her neck, his lips like a brand against the skin of her throat. “Then I am afraid I must disappoint you.”

Antony felt Phyllida’s shoulders drop slightly. She had been sitting ramrod straight in his lap, but now she was deflated. She attempted to stand. “I apologize, I was too forward—”

“Phyllida.” Again, his voice made her stop. Her head was still dipped low, but he leaned forward. “I don’t want you to watch me.” She tensed. “But I would be quite pleased if you would feed me.”

She straightened again, and turned round to look at him. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” he grinned wickedly.

“You are such a devil!” she replied. “You delight in torturing me. I thought—”

“Dearest, the longer you keep talking, the colder my dinner gets. I prefer a belly full of warm food. Don’t you?”

She smiled like a child at a fair. Before Antony could take another breath, she was lifting a forkful of quail to his lips. He opened his mouth and ate happily, her eyes never leaving his face.

The delight in her eyes would be enough to keep him eating long after he was past fullness.

***

On their first anniversary, Antony spent a good portion of the morning analyzing himself in the mirror. He has always been a bit vain, but today was the first time in a while that he was really looking at himself. And there was so much to look at and touch, especially once there were no clothes to hide behind.

He was a year into a marriage to a woman who expressed her affection by feeding him constantly. She had delighted in his increase. As rippling muscles had given way to tender, grabbable fat, she had rejoiced. She had showered kisses and compliments upon his rounded belly, sighed with pleasure as she ran her hands over his plump thighs.

Antony was occasionally unsure about it all. Phyllida’s enthusiasm never wavered, but his pursuit of an ever-thicker waistline was still rather new. He had once prided himself on his strength. He’d been proud to cut a fine figure rivaling any classical statue. Athleticism came to him naturally, and he’d always thought he looked his best when stripped to the waist and covered in sweat, thews humming with energy from exercise.

He cupped his stomach in both hands. It was heavy, pale, and petal-soft. He hadn’t done anything athletic (aside from seeing to his wife each night) in months. His soft middle made it look like he’d done nothing but eat for years. He dropped his belly and felt it jiggle. It hung down a bit now, but it mostly seemed to grow outward, making him look far larger from the side than the front.

He turned in the mirror, getting a view of himself from the side. God, but he was fat. Truly. He ran his hands over curvy hips (hips! He’d never have dreamt he would have hips, of all things) and glanced down at his thighs. As soft and pale as the rest of him. He gave his belly another wobble, watching his soft breasts and plumped up upper arms ripple right along with it.

It was an entirely new body. One he’d never expected to have. But could he really say he didn’t enjoy it? There were some things about his old body, it was true. But many of those were things that likely would’ve fallen to the wayside in time as he matured and focused more on business affairs and family.

Phyllida had shown him there were quite a lot of things to be enjoyed about his new size. First, the ability to eat as he pleased. He hadn’t abstained before, exactly, but now his appetite could be truly indulged. The freedom of being able to ask for more, the pleasure of having thirds of a course he particularly liked purely because he desired to… well, wasn’t that everyone’s desire?

Not to mention all the new foods he’d tried. Phyllida liked to have brilliant up-and-coming chefs come visit for a while and try their latest dishes on him. He had eaten paella for the first time, and Indian samosas filled with spices and potato. He’d slurped up heavy French soups and lamb tagine, dined on American fried chicken, Creole remoulade, and Haitian joumou. He still loved a good beef pie, but filling his stomach with exotic flavors from the world over was a delight.

He had begun to come around to Phyllida’s aesthetic preferences. Once, he would’ve been ashamed to be looking so tubby. But the convex curve of his stomach, hips, arms, and the rest weren’t so displeasing as he might’ve imagined. Softness felt quite good. A properly tailored waistcoat looked just as good stretched over a rounded belly as it did against a flat stomach. Antony felt like he looked prosperous and jolly, and his wife wouldn’t have traded the new version of him for the old for anything.

Antony pulled himself out of his reverie and began to dress himself, calling in his valet once he was decent to put the finishing touches on his outfit. His stomach was growling, which would please his lovely wife. He wasn’t sure exactly what she had planned to celebrate a full year of marital bliss, but if he knew Phyllida, it would involve copious amounts of food. He could smell something delicious wafting up from the kitchens, which only made him hungrier.

He observed himself again now that he was fully dressed. He gave himself a moment to imagine what he might look like by their next anniversary, and five years from now, and ten… He couldn’t imagine himself getting any smaller, only bigger. Softer. Rounder.

He would have to tell Phyllida all about his predictions about his future self. He had a feeling she would love to hear them.