Mrs. Chin - by Mindship (~BHM, Eating Romance, ~XWG)

[Observer]

~BHM, Eating Romance, ~XWG - a feeder/feedee fantasy with a twist, Oriental style

Mrs. Chin
by Mindship ​

First Phase

My name is Daniel M.

When I was very young, I sometimes had dreams of animals getting fat, like a cartoon elephant or piggy stuck to a hose and filling with water. Those dreams were quite sexual, though as a kid, that was not how I understood them. To me at that age, they just felt good.

Twice, when I was alone in the house as a skinny teen, I stuffed pillows under my shirt and drank cup after cup of water. Though it was very arousing, my immediate thought was, I wanna get fat, not I wanna get off. There was no partying with the “boys downstairs.”

I could go on. For me, fat, getting fat, getting fatter, was hot. It still is.

As an adult, at five-foot-eight, I had always been athletic and slender; it wasn’t in my nature to be fat. Still, the yearning called for expression, so for most of my life, I had always liked plump women. However, in my forties I gained a few pounds naturally (a lot for me), and this brought back the old feelings. More than ever, I wanted to be fat.

I figured that now I would succeed. Yet many times I tried to pork up and failed. Wanting it fast, I wasn’t used to so much eating. I made myself sick and had to be hospitalized.

Most of the weight I had gained, I lost. I went back to push-ups and crunches, settling for a toned, middle-aged frame, the envy of every plumper. Enter my Companion of the Imagination: Mrs. Chin.

Mrs. Chin (she refuses to tell me her first name; she’s cute that way) is my neighbor, a delightful, attractive woman whom I believe to be about fifty. After my divorce, I moved into an apartment right across the hall from where she happened to be living. Her husband had passed away three years earlier. She’s a little shorter than me, is finely boned with medium-length hair, and she dresses in a fashion somewhat between hip and traditional. She has an accent, and though she comes off demure, you can tell there is an intense intellectual being behind those pretty Asian eyes.

Mrs. Chin had seen me buying a Superman comic. We started talking and quickly realized we both liked a lot of the same things, things involving the imagination. Understand, we didn’t start dating or anything--she wasn’t my type, being way too thin--but we liked spending time together, and soon we got into a kind of routine watching scifi movies in the evening. During the day, I worked at home through the Internet. Mrs. Chin ran a neighborhood bakery.

I discovered that tidbit when one night she brought out a bunch of unusual-looking pastries for our snack. I commented on how good they were; she said thank you. I looked at her, and she said in her quiet voice, “I made these.”

“Really?” I replied with complete lack of wit.

“Yes.” Her eyes shined. “You know Double Chin Bakery on 39th?”

“I’ve heard of it.” I was lying.

“That’s my shop. Please come and visit.”

I pulled hard on the reins of the Fantasy Stallion. Whoa! I told myself. I had long accepted I would never be fat, but this was too much. It inspired one wonderfil feeder fantasy.

I sealed shut that part of my mind as I ate the last of the pastries.


* * *

Two days later, I found myself on 39th Street.

I couldn’t help it, I was curious, and the Human Piggy deep inside me just wouldn’t let me rest. My heart hammered as I entered her store.

It was filled with goodies and customers. A young Asian girl wearing a smile and candystripe uniform came over and offered assistance; a few of them were acting as waitresses for the small eating area up front. Not seeing Mrs. Chin, I said, “I’m a friend of the owner.”

Then I heard my name: Mrs. Chin had emerged from the back room.

She was beaming. She was wearing glasses. “I’m so glad you here,” she said. Dressed in a white blouse, black slacks and heels, she offered me a table.

“Please, sit,” she said, then spoke in Chinese to an employee, who took off for the back room.

“I bring you something special,” Mrs. Chin said to me as I fought to stay cognizant of my surroundings, for Piggy was yelling in my mind’s ear, She’s gonna feed you! She’s gonna feed you! I had a hard-on pounding like a charging rhino.

“No work today?” Mrs. Chin asked as she made a setting for me.

“I’m taking a break.”

“I’m so glad.”

The waitress returned with a pastry on a plate and what looked like a vanilla shake. Her boss said, “Try this. I made it for you.”

I focused. I took a bite. Man, was it good.

It must’ve showed on my face. Mrs. Chin did not take her eyes off me. “Like it?” she asked.

“It’s delicious.”

“Here. Try this.” She pushed the shake closer.

I took a sip, and it too was good, though I could not place the taste. I said, “This is great. What’s in it?”

“Ancient Chinese secret,” Boss Lady replied with a wink.

My mind was racing.

Lucky for me Mrs. Chin soon got back to work. She spoke sharply to several waitresses (no demureness here--she was definitely The Boss), then she cheerfully said to me, “I see you later.”

A waitress stood attentively as I finished my sips and bites. Standing to leave, I asked the girl how much I owed. The waitress smiled and said, “It’s on the house.”

Man, I needed to get home as quickly as possible.

* * *

I hammered the ol’ sausage as soon as I could. My mind was aflame with whole erotic scenarios starring me and Mrs. Chin. Staying rational, I assumed that, in fact, I had imagined an ulterior motive, thanks to Piggy. Thus, I affirmed that my delightful neighbor was no feeder, and that I had projected my deepest fantasies onto an innocent situation. God help me if she ever suspected. Scifi or no, she’d surely think me freaky. Piggy kept whispering, But what if it was real?

* * *

That evening I checked the scifi channel. A movie was on at eight; I’m sure Mrs. Chin would come knocking by seven-thirty. I couldn’t calm down. I wanted to be with her, I really, truly enjoyed our moments together, but this Feeder thing was muddying up my perception.

In my pants, Mr. Bojangles tried to dance. Thank goodness I had already popped that buttinsky. "Just be cool," I told myself.

At seven-fifteen, I heard Mrs. Chin’s soft, familiar knocking. I opened the door to see her in a blue tunic and jeans, looking very casual, very thin, and of all things I started to raise a second boner. At this point I knew that all my systems had gone loco.

“My place or yours?” she asked as if this were our secret password.

I tried not to stare. “Yours. Better snacks.” Wow! I couldn’t believe I said that.

Mrs. Chin laughed, softly, like wind chimes. “Wise decision.”

* * *

Nothing happened.

That evening Mrs. Chin brought out her usual array of fine cakes and cookies, and we watched the movie, made comments or jokes and basically had quiet fun. We even flirted, as friends of course. I felt that finally I had gotten a grip.

Two nights later she called and asked if we should have dinner together. A Twilight Zone Marathon was starting in an hour.

“Sure,” I said. We had never really had a meal togther. “You want to order in?”

“No, no. I’ll cook. You see, I make a lot of things yummy.”

"Wot" said Piggy. But on the surface I stayed cool.

It wasn’t easy. Traditional Chinese or American quickie, it didn’t matter: Mrs. Chin was a sorceress in the kitchen. We were soon dining together at least three times a week; and it took me about a week to convince myself, once again, that nothing more was happening, that she was no secret feeder. Yes, I was disappointed. I would’ve loved it; I groaned at every thought of getting so huge and round I couldn’t reach my boys. But alas, that was never going to be.

If only reality would leave me alone.

* * *

A late October morning, sitting in bed, was when I felt something touching my stomach. I looked down: my stomach had made contact with my thighs. It wasn’t much, but I had never had this before, even with my earlier weight gains. I bent forward a little and folds of flesh creased beneath my pecs.

Energized I stood, feeling my belly, with Mr. Bo-jay coming to life. I went to the bathroom and got on the scale. Holy Cannoli: I was up seven pounds. Now remember, I’m five-eight. In my youth, my fighting weight was one-thirty with a twenty-eight-inch waist. Add what I gained over the decades, plus this weight gain, and you have me approaching one-sixty and thirty-six inches around. I was now officially paunchy. Piggy was gunning my engine.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, checking my gut in the mirror, looking pregnant if I slouched. It was good that I wore sweats a lot. I wondered if my summer shorts would still fit.

It was like foreplay barely being able to close them.

Okay: so my fantasy had gotten a toehold on reality. But I had perspective, I was gaining carefully and Mrs. Chin suspected nothing. We were just friends hanging out, while I pigged out on all that she graciously offered.

* * *

I got to the Double Chin a little later than usual. As a regular, I was greeted by all the waitresses and was seated up front by the bakery shop window. The girls were buzzing like bees around customers. Their stir was causing hanging Halloween decorations to spin softly.

An older girl, Hannah, had become like my personal waitress. She waited while I removed my jacket. I caught her noticing my newly rounded belly; she smiled as she met my eyes.

“Where’s Mrs. Chin?” I asked as I sat, adjusting my pants to be comfortable.

“Out. She’ll be back soon. You want your usual?”

“Sounds good.” Hannah spoke in Chinese to another waitress then smiled at me and turned away. Watching me, two more girls giggled before getting back to their own customers. Had they also noticed my belly? I was embarrassed yet turned on. Boss’ friend getting bigger, soon too big for little tables, I could imagine them saying. My pants were tight; I wished I could loosen my belt another notch. But Mrs. Chin’s girls had me under surveillance...or did they, I wasn’t sure. I only knew that I liked the idea.

The younger waitress returned with my pastry and drink. “Thanks,” I said before digging in. I never ordered more than this because Mrs. Chin still refused to let me pay.

As I ate, I noticed Hannah studying me before getting busy elsewhere. I let it go. My imagination was revving up again just a notch too high, because I started thinking that even people passing by outside were watching me down my sweet treats. Piggy on Parade, I mused, making me want to eat more. Lord I was excited.

I thought to order a second pastry when The Boss entered her domain. She had make-up on and auburn highlights in her hair; she looked good. She greeted me with a smile as Hannah took her jacket. Mrs. Chin said, “You late today. I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“I had a lot to do, errands as well as work.” I wasn’t about to tell her I had gone shopping for pants.

Mrs. Chin sat to catch her breath. “Yeah, errands. Always errands, me too. Business no fun sometimes.” She looked at me and sighed. “Sometimes big pain in the der-lierre.”

I chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“‘Derierre’,” I repeated.

“You making fun of me?” Mrs. Chin said, feigning annoyance with a slap to my arm. Waitresses were watching. She barked orders and they scurried.

“You have them well-trained,” I said.

“Hey, no work, no pay. Mustn’t keep customers waiting.”

Mrs. Chin’s eye-contact floated off a bit. She’s noticing, I thought. In a fraction of a second, she had scanned me, especially by my neck. Returning, she said, “I have new recipes in mind. I’ll try them on you sometime, okay?”

“You know I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”

Gripping my arm, she laughed. “I have you well-trained.” Then she stood to get back to work. “Dress nice for dinner tonight. Don’t be late.”

I told her it would never happen again.

I took another moment to try and calm down my body. Mrs. Chin was quite a presence. Hannah came over and asked if I wanted anything else; I said no. Standing, I noticed my face in a display mirror. Beneath it was a puff of neck fat, especially when I tilted my head down.

Wow, I thought. But it was all okay. I was getting fat, my friend was helping me, and now she didn’t seem to mind.

I was getting fat. Mmm. Time for more celebrating with the boys.

* * *

Wearing a tee shirt and sweat pants, I was about to change for dinner when Mrs. Chin came a-knockin’ at my door.

“Hi,” she said when I opened it. “You have string beans? I forgot to buy fresh.” She seemed genuinely annoyed.

“Yes, I believe I do.” Off to the rescue, I went to the kitchen and returned with a can.

Mrs. Chin’s eyes were not meeting mine as I approached her. She reached out, and for the first time, out of the clear blue, she softly sank her fingers into my protruding belly. I was frozen in place. “You getting fat,” she said in her Boss voice, taking the can.

I was barely holding on. I said, “It’s, it’s your fault.”

She laughed, like wind chimes, transporting me.

I kept fumbling. “You’re too good--you’re too good a cook.” Words were tumbling from my mouth.

“I have big surprise for you.”

Get a grip, get a grip. “Really? What?” Could she see how fast I was breathing?

“You see. You like it. Just bring your appetite.”

A glint in her eye fired off a nerve to my belly and groin, its intent unmistakable. I knew, I knew that Mrs. Chin had just said to me:

I am going to make you very fat.

I audibly groaned. Mrs. Chin smiled and went back across the hall to her apartment.

* * *

An eternity passed. Her door had long since closed. I was still standing in mine.

Summoning the will, I finally managed to step back and seal myself inside my little world.

That world was spinning. I was shaking. I needed to sit.

Just bring your appetite.

Her tone, that look in her eyes, had been profound. Whatever I might have imagined before--or thought I imagined--now there was no denying it. She was one. I had found that rarest of jewels in the lipophile’s universe. I had found a female feeder.

Or maybe she found me. She had approached me that day when Superman beckoned, had come over to me and said hello. Then came the sweets, then the whole dinner thing.

But how could she have known? I was helpless. Mr. Bo-jay had pitched a tent in my sweats, was bobbing with unbridled glee, and Piggy was stretching his wide, stupid grin across my face.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. Think. I have to get dressed.” Dress nice. “I’ll wear my new elastic-waistband khakis.” Shirt, what shirt? My denim button-down. I didn’t need shoes. I just needed to make sure my socks were clean.

My heart was pounding like a war drum, not letting up for a second.

When finally I was ready, I took a minute to try and quiet all systems. Just be cool, I told myself. She’s a friend, there’s no pressure; she has a nice surprise for you, just enjoy it.

Nothing can go wrong.

That’s what I was suddenly most afraid of.

* * *

“Come ihh-inn,” I heard Mrs. Chin say in sing-song after I knocked. Slowly I entered into darkness. I saw candles burning, and wonderful aromas were wafting up my nose, basting my brain. From out of the shadows, a slender figure shuffled forward.

“Happy Halloween,” said Mrs. Chin as her face came into the light.

I was hypnotized. She was wearing a traditional Chinese dress, black with dragon and phoenix brocade. Her hair was up, her lips were red, and all I could do was stare.

“Come in,” she said, pulling me gently forward so she could close her door.

“You...you look spectacular,” I managed to say.

“Thank you.”

“But Halloween’s not til Tuesday.”

“Would you have been as surprised?”

Yes. Yes I would’ve. I said, “You should’ve told me. I’d’ve worn a costume.”

“You not in sweats, that’s costume enough for me.” She guided me over to the sofa where we usually watched our movies.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Mrs. Chin.

“Please. A big one.”

She laughed, wind chimes.

I could hardly move. That dress cleaved to her delicate curves; I couldn’t catch my breath. She returned with a glass of wine.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip. I wanted to guzzle it.

Mrs. Chin sat next to me. “New clothes?” she asked, looking me over.

“Just the pants.” Her finger found the elastic waistband and snapped it.

“Hey,” I said.

“Clever.” She poked between spanning shirt buttons. “Splurge. Buy a new shirt.” Her hand rested on my paunch. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”

I was in heaven, but I wasn’t used to this. “I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

I blinked. Mrs. Chin laughed, stealing a feel of my neck puff before saying something in Chinese.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Let’s play a game.” Then she spoke some more in her native tongue.

“Mrs. Chin..you ever gonna tell me your first name?” She continued to avoid English. It took me a moment to figure out what she was up to. “I’m supposed to guess, right? See how well we can transcend the language barrier.”

Her smile told me I was now on her wavelength. I downed the rest of my wine to keep from flipping out.

Man I wanted to bang her, almost as much as I wanted to stuff myself for her. Had she read my face? She got up and returned with a tray of exotic appetizers as well as a pair of chop sticks.

Speaking in Chinese, she plucked up a piece of honeyed chicken. Heart thumping, I opened my mouth, and with infinite finesse she placed the treat inside.

My hips wanted to buck as I chewed and swallowed. My mouth opened again automatically. At long last, we were playing our game.

Mrs. Chin beamed, singing, as she continued to feed me.

 

[Observer]

 

[Observer]