by Wilson Barbers
Harold Provyde was a feeder. He saw it as his calling in life.
An admirer of female amplitude in extremus, Provyde had devoted much of his young bachelorhood to the identification and fattening of sweet young things. He had a knack for detecting susceptible women: girls on the verge of plumpness who only needed the right amount of male encouragement to slip into chubhood, women who'd been fighting the battle of the bulge for years and were eager to surrender. Within a year, he was able to turn each gal's life around, leaving her considerably bigger and more satisfied than she'd ever been.
It was easy for Harold to meet women. He had looks and money and, more importantly, an ability to make any woman he met feel like he was intensely interested in her. He saw himself not just as a builder of big women but of self-esteem, and, in most cases, he was right. Nearly every one of the fat girls that Provyde dated wound up snagging more solid boyfriends within two months of their time with him. They came across so assured and sexy that they couldn't help but catch the closest fat admirer's eye.
There were exceptions, of course, the most notable being one Jean Vinge. A three-hundred-plus pound brunette who'd been one of Harold's earliest conquests, Jean was unable to get past her initial infatuation with the dashing young feeder. Instead of going out and finding a worthy replacement for her fattening lover, the girl brooded. She moped and ate for nearly eight years, doubling her weight from her final days with Harold, fantasizing about a time when she got him back in her fleshy arms. It was futile, but she was unable to stop herself.
She spent all her spare time watching Provyde as he went from conquest to conquest. Misery pervading her one-third ton of womanhood, Jean both resented and loved him, torn between thoughts of vengeance and a yearning to have him. One day, standing by a paperback rack in a local corner drugstore, she found the means to satisfy both desires.
Between a selection of frothily rendered romance covers was a strangely anachronistic title, a psychedelically decorated book entitled Fast Majicke (author unknown). Though she typically disdained such low-rent occult fare, the obese young lady purchased the title, anyway. Like so many members of her generation, her attitude toward magic was tinged by years of television comedies: a childish part of her wanted to believe that she could learn to cast a spell that would positively change her life. She bought the book, telling herself it was just for a lark, but the more she got into it, the more she was caught in its spell. Scanning the whole volume over dinner, Jean found what looked to be the perfect spell for her needs. She memorized it then returned to watching Harold, waiting for the moment when he ended his newest relationship.
That Spring, Harold was again free, having just bid adieu to an inflated young dental technician whose new pulchritude had recently inspired her employer to make overtures. It had been a successful relationship, the feeder thought: a gain of one-hundred-and-fifty pounds that really looked good on the girl's five-foot-two frame. While he personally would have been willing to keep going a bit longer, Provyde knew to take advantage of those occasions when one of his girls was ready to leave on her own. There were plenty of other women to work with, he thought.
As if to validate that belief, he bumped into his next project the very day of his break-up. Pushing his cart through the produce section of his supermarket, he met Yvette reaching for the same jar of Marie's salad dressing. Her shapely arm was graced with the slightest hint of incipient chubbiness; when he followed it to the rest of her he was stunned to see a female form so ripe that it defied believability. Packed into a lightweight spring dress, her hourglass figure beneath a heart-shaped face that was poutingly innocent, she smiled and offered him the jar. It was buttermilk dressing, he noted with approval, so he quickly introduced himself. Her name was Yvette Somnseed; she said she was an exchange student from France at the local university.
They went out that night to one of his favorite restaurants, so Provyde could get a chance to access her appetite and ability. Wearing a sleeveless low-cut dress that barely held her quivering cleavage, the young exchange student looked luscious. They sat by the salad bar, and he was heartened by the way she filled her plate with high-calorie items. When she stood to get her third helping, he was hooked. This was a woman with an already prodigious appetite: under his tutelage, she could reach wondrous levels of corpulence. It had always been a dream of Harold's to make a woman so massive that she was unable to move. While he knew this was little more than a fantasy, the thought of it was enough to get him hard under the table. He just had to get to know Yvette better.
The next six months, he spent wining and dining his new lover every chance he got. As he'd observed that first night, she had a nearly infinite ability to consume whatever was placed in front of her. Their meals grew longer and richer, as Provyde worked to encourage the sexy student's growth. She smiled happily and accepted his encouragement. The only trouble was: she didn't grow.
Harold didn't understand it. Yvette was gorging herself on meals that would make a Weight Watcher cross herself, but not an ounce of it showed on her fulsome form. She had an almost supernatural metabolism that seemed to burn off every extra calorie that she devoured. He'd never seen anything like it.
One night, he decided to up the ante. They were seated in a Greek restaurant and she was making her way through a second plate of gyros. "Yvette," he said, chewing on a black olive. "I really enjoy being out with you."
"Me, too, Harry," she answered in her lightly accented voice, a trickle of sauce oozing between her slender fingers. "You definitely know how to treat a lady."
"The only thing is," he continued, "I don't know how much longer I can continue to see you."
She watched and let him continue, her cheeks full of gyro.
"I'm attracted to a specific type of woman," he said, "one somewhat more Rubenesque than you. I've always been this way, and I'm afraid there's no changing my preference. I've tried, just so I could be with you. But to be honest, the only way that I've been able to make love to you has been by imagining you bigger. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."
She licked her fingers thoughtfully then gestured to their waitress. "You want me to become fat for you," Yvette said, as she prepared to make another order, "I'll become fat for you."
Provyde's heart soared.
He watched her eat until closing time, and it almost seemed as if her stated decision to gain weight was being realized before his eyes. She was definitely straining against the fabric of her dress as they left the restaurant, her round hips starting to shelve outwards, her belly's concavity disappearing, her breasts swelling slightly over her dress top. As he drove to his cabin by the lake, Provyde regularly stole glances her way, appreciatively taking in the way her thighs spread slightly against her seat and her neckline had become rounder. He could barely wait to get her undressed.
He'd prepared the inside of the cabin beforehand. It only took a flick of the switch to turn on the tape player and dimmed lights. As Yvette sidled into the living room, jazz great Louis Jordan was singing about his attraction to fat mamas. The French girl (who'd rhapsodized about her love of old swing music more than once to Harry) smiled appreciatively and began to shimmy her hips to the rhythm. Harold hustled her into the bedroom.
She pulled her dress up off her head, and as she did, it was as if she'd also lifted all restraint from her body. Noticeably widening before him, Yvette stood provocatively, tracing the midriff bulge along her sides, pressing her round belly in to let it push back authoritatively and fingering the press of her thickening thighs between her legs. She looked wonderful! Her heart-shaped face had widened at the chin line; her cheeks had become more prominent. "Do I look good to you, Harry?" she asked, breathily.
Provyde answered by tearing off his clothes and pulling Yvette down onto his king-size bed. He didn't understand her ability to add weight so quickly, but if she was able to pudge up like this in the space of one evening, what could she do in a month? In six months? The possibilities were enough to make him stiff and eager. He looked down at Yvette, at the start of her second chin, at the breasts that were looking more pendulous than before, and he inserted himself into her eager womanhood. "Yes," he gasped, "you look wonderful!"
"Ah," she chuckled, "but wouldn't I look even better if I was bigger?" She lifted and entwined her long legs behind him. "Like this?"
To Harold's astonishment, Yvette's breasts (which were both beneath his palms) began to push against him. He watched as they filled out under his hands, overflowing past both sides. Then he noticed the pressure building against his belly: Yvette's waistline was disappearing as her torso began to balloon beneath him. He felt her thighs soften and surround him, felt the swelling ridge of avoirdupois surrounding her twat as it began to envelope his erection. She was growing huge beneath him by the second: her face developing a series of chins and jowls that totally hid her neck; her upper arms surging and flowing over her elbows. Finally, she enlarged so much that her belly pushed her breasts out of reach. Yvette continued to expand until she practically covered the full width of his bed.
"Have I gotten big enough for you now?" she asked beneath him. As he struggled to take her filled-out form in, Provide was reminded of the stories he'd read of a thousand-plus man who'd become so huge that he was unable to leave his bedroom: Yvette looked even vaster than that famous elephantine man! "I can hardly move!" she whispered excitedly.
That was the final fillip. His fantasies realized Harold felt close to shooting every bit of liquid that was inside him. Riding atop her inflated torso, sinking happily into this mountain of feminine fat, the overwhelmed feeder couldn't say a word. He wished he could stay this way forever, but his dick had a different idea.
Just as he was about to come, though, Provyde felt a distracting, tingling sensation. Before he could determine its cause, a surge of warmth began to flow from his crotch through his body. Momentarily dazed, he worked to refocus his attention on the massive mama beneath him. Appallingly, the humongous Yvette was rapidly deflating.
It took several seconds to figure out what was happening to all the divine fat that had been beneath him. A sudden pressure between his legs was the first sign that the night's marvelous accumulation wasn't simply disappearing. He held his hands before him and saw his once-slender fingers start to puff and fatten, felt his face as it started to round and bulge. Every ounce of fatness, every roll and bulge that had appeared on Yvette so suddenly was rushing onto him!
He struggled to pull himself away from the demonically grinning form that had ensnared him, but it was no use. It all happened too fast: he was like a balloon getting filled by a pump. Harold felt himself swell to mammoth proportions, his date disappearing under his spreading tonnage. Then he no longer felt Yvette beneath him.
Harold remained face down on the bed, his arms floundering at his sides, unable to lift himself, his blimp-like belly so big under him that he couldn't even rest his head on the pillow. He struggled to get to his knees, but the hang of his belly squeezing out from under him pushed against his thighs. What in the world had happened to him? Where the hell was Yvette? Panicking, he futilely squirmed on his sagging mattress.
"I'm over here, Harry," a sprightly voice said. "I just went to let Jean in!" Provyde strained to get a look at the cause of his unnatural ponderousness, but his protuberant shoulder got in the way. He'd never felt so helpless in his life; a moan of frustration escaped his blubbery lips. Then he felt two pairs of hands on his side, lifting and rolling him over. "Good thing you've got me here," Yvette's voice said, "there's no way two human women could move your boyfriend's bulk by themselves. We're working on over thirteen-hundred pounds here!"
"Twice my weight," he heard a familiar voice say. "Don't you think men should be bigger than the women they marry?"
"Not necessarily," Yvette answered, and with that they finished rolling Harold onto his back. Human women? he thought.
He would have pursued that last thought further, but at that moment he became aware of Jean. She backed away from the bed, her body barely fitting through Provyde's extra-wide doorway. When they'd split, she'd been half the size she now was: she looked gorgeous! Why hadn't he taken the time to follow up on any of his old girlfriends? he thought, as his undischarged member once more perked up. "Jean," he said. "You've really grown!"
"So've you, babe," she said, bringing Harold's predicament once more back to him. She stood there appraisingly, her fat arms crossed on top of her spheroid front. Jean had gained much of her additional poundage in her lower half and upper arms. Packed in a sweat suit that had to be tailor-made for her, she was a cornucopia of bulges: her inner arms grew in ever-widening rolls; her upper legs sagged dramatically around her; her sizable breasts were dwarfed by her mountainous paunch. Provyde wished that he could lift himself from bed and embrace her, but the press of gravity remained too powerful.
Instead, she doffed her sweat suit and climbed on top of him! Reaching under layers of flab for his building erection, she was surprisingly deft at straddling and inserting his rod inside her. He was unable to view beyond his swelling front to see the actual connection (so it was possible that he was being cradled between two of her fat rolls), but that didn't matter. As she hovered in front of Harold, her breasts swinging wildly from side to side, her torso shifting and folding in new places with every move, he finally came. As he did, so did Jean.
"You did all this," he said, when he'd finally gotten his breath. He wriggled his torso furiously as Jean rolled off him, stunned by the change he'd undergone yet caught in the afterglow. "You and Yvette!" With that, he remembered the exchange student's earlier statement. "What was Yvette talking about when she said, Ôhuman women'?"
"I thought that was obvious by now," Yvette said, suddenly appearing on the other side of the bed brandishing a brightly colored paperback. "Jean called me up, using this book!" She patted his side with the book, appreciatively watching his fat ripple, then continued. "My job was to be a kind of repository, storing every single fattening item that you bought me so I could give it back to you in one lump form. Call me a kind of karmic battery." With that, the demoness winked out of sight, dropping the book on the bed out of reach beside Provyde. As if in concert, the tape shut off.
The irony of his falling victim to his own deepest fantasy wasn't lost on Provyde. His ex-girlfriend had definitely shown creativity with this magic business, trapping him in his own bedroom. All he could do was wait and see what happened next.
Waddling to the other side of the bed, Jean grabbed the paperback and then leaned over to plant a kiss on his puffy left cheek. "I don't know about you," she said cheerfully, "but after that lovemaking, I'm feeling famished. Did you know there's a spell that gives you an unlimited food supply in this book?" She examined his beached whale body and continued, "You should be able to sit up now."
"What?" he puffed, and he eagerly tested out her statement. It wasn't easy. Smothered in so many layers of fat, it took a major effort of will to even bend his arms. After much exertion, he was able to wiggle himself into a semi-seated position; he had too much around the middle to be able to sit up all the way, though. "Does this mean I'll eventually be able to get around?" he gasped once he was able to control his panting.
"Damned if I know," Jean laughed. "This is my first spell. All I know is your body's working to acclimate itself. One of the effects of the spell is the way it builds you up to maintain your size. The change is irreversible: you couldn't lose weight now if you tried!"
"Nowhere to go but up, eh?" he asked. Perhaps it was the effort of sitting, but he was suddenly feeling giddy.
"Nowhere to go but up," she agreed. "Which brings me back to my question: are you hungry?"
Was she kidding? With a body this size, Harold was going to be ravenous most of the time. Looked like his bachelorhood was over, he thought with a strange combination of resignation and anticipation. Jean had him caught, not only under his voluminous body weight but the promise of an endless supply of good food. He could do worse, he concluded: those three hundred extra pounds definitely looked choice on her. Harold looked down once more at his own swelling self, and suddenly it all felt right. Perhaps that magical acclimation Jean had mentioned had an emotional component, too. He nodded as fervently as his chins would let him. Jean turned and waddled into the dining room to chant the spell that would start their bounty of food. Holding the book before her, she stood with her great sagging legs apart, her distent apron quivering, and she started to sonorously speak. Unlimited food meant plenty extra for Jean, Harold realized.
"You didn't really mean what you said about men being bigger than women, did you?" he called from the bedroom once she finished reciting her Fast Majicke spell.
"Still a feeder at heart, eh, Harry?" Jean said, chuckling loudly and inwardly rejoicing. His question indicated that he was starting to get used to the idea of them living together. She thanked whatever fates had led her to this book of magic. "Don't apologize. That's the way I fell in love with you, after all. I've always loved to eat, and you gave me permission to."
She bit hungrily into a croissant that suddenly appeared in her hand. Harold was torn between the desires to watch her finish it and his own growing hunger. His dilemma was quickly resolved: in another instant, a pastry apiece appeared in his fat hands. It was no trouble at all working them into his mouth.
"Don't worry," Jean concluded. "I'm a nineties kind of girl. I think men and women should be as equal as possible in all things." She snapped her finger and chomped happily into the jelly donut that had blinked into existence.
But Harold didn't notice Jean's feat. He was too busy savoring the taste of croissant on his tongue. All those years he'd been encouraging others, yet he'd never fully appreciated the food he'd been offering them. As he ate and thought back to all the women that he'd known and fed in the past, Harold finally came to this realization: The best project you could have was yourself.
Particularly if you had a partner willing to work on it with you.
Revised Version Copyright 2000 Ð Oakhaus Designs
