BHM Served (eventual BHM, civilian turned feeder, slow burn, economic satire)

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like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
For a moment, Auralee looked stumped, but she quickly bounced back: “And what were the dates of your term of employment with the defendant?”

“March of 2020 to June of that same year.”

“And what was his approximate weight at the time?”

Wherever Auralee was going with this, there was no way Christyn could produce a number that was anything more than a rough guesstimate.

“140,” said Christyn, sounding a little meek.

“How did you know that?” asked Damian.

“Your arrest record.”

“BOOYAH!” Auralee slapped the table once more. “Ms. Brandywine can’t vouch for the defendant’s workplace performance in his current condition, and therefore, her testimony should be thrown out.”

“But you called me to the stand,” Christyn protested.

“She’s wasted,” said Sabine.

“She said 140,” Zeke breathed with a note of disbelief. For a moment, he was silent, seeming to contemplate his next move. Finally, he approached Christyn and said, “Alright, let’s get this cross-examination underway. My first question for you is, exactly how many years of restaurant and hospitality work do you have?”

“Going on nine.”

“And at which level would you rate your own proficiency in the kitchen?”


“Do you cook at home, Ms. Brandywine?”

“Yes, every day if I can manage it!”

“And do you think your relationship with the defendant has had a direct causation with his significant weight gain?”


“And did you ever attempt to encourage him to lose weight?”

“No. I mean, I make him eat a salad like twice a week, but that’s more for what I call ‘positive nutrition;’ there’s nothing sexy about vitamin deficiency.”

“But there is something sexy about a dude putting on thirty pounds while he be dating you?”

“Closer to forty, and hey, that’s just more to love.”

“Interesting.” Zeke smirked, pacing slowly back and forth. “My opponent wishes to accuse my client of deliberately remaining overweight in order to fraudulently sue her for discrimination, but as we have all just heard, his resistance to any diet plan is a result of the machinations of this woman--”

“Hey, wait a second! ‘Machinations?’ Why do I have to be the villain, here?” Christyn cut him off.

“Hey, cool it, Chrissy, I’m the one trying to get your boy acquitted of fraud in this hypothetical court of law!”

“She’s right, though, it was my idea, not hers,” Damian confessed.

“Your idea? Explain,” said Zeke.

“I put on forty pounds on purpose, Christyn’s just been here supporting me, though I do have her do all the math when it comes to stuff like calories and stats.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly okay with admitting this to a whole patio full of people listening in, but the alcohol probably had a lot to do with it.

“Bro, you are not helping your fraud case right now,” said Zeke.

“On the contrary,” Christyn cut in, “I think knowingly altering your body in a way society will disapprove of, in the pursuit of personal and sexual pleasure, is one of the most genuine and least fraudulent things anyone can ever do.”

“She said for sexual pleasure,” Zeke repeated, his head tilted with surprise and curiosity. “Y’all really on that Auralee shit, huh?”

“Furthermore, I think all the folks who adhere to a set of restrictions and regiments they hate, all in pursuit of an unrealistic body type dictated by photo editing software and rich old white men in charge of the diet industry, are the real fraud artists, so deep in the lie they’re even fooling themselves. But hey, to all who’d let the capitalists win, that’s your business, I guess.”

Someone in the crowd said, “Hear, hear!” In less than a minute, three shots had been delivered to Christyn by a server, courtesy of people in the audience.

“Oh, I can’t, I have to drive,” she said, so Auralee took all three of them one after the other.

In the end, the mock trial dissolved into laughter, with no real verdict. Christyn disappeared inside, and when she came back, she had a glass of beer, which she handed to Damian. “I can always tell when you’ve missed a meal,” she said. “You get all vacant in the eyes, and I can almost see you already getting thinner in the face, but maybe it’s just because you don’t smile. Anyway, the kitchen is closed, but drink this, it should make you feel better.”

He took a couple sips and found that he did feel a lot better. He couldn’t taste it due to the lingering aftertaste of hard liquor, but it filled him up pleasantly and gently renewed his buzz. “What is this?” he asked.

“An IPA, locally brewed. I’ll get you some real food on the way home.”

“I was just about to ask if I could catch a ride with you.”

“Oh, you and Auralee are both coming with me. There’s no way I’m letting her drive in her state.”

On the drive back to Richmond, Christyn stopped at a taco truck she must have discovered on one of her trips into or out of the city and bought him two tacos and a soda. He finished the first one in record time, even if he was having a bit of trouble keeping it all inside the tortilla. As he started in on the second one, Christyn pulled over in a gas station parking lot and took it out of his hands to hold it to his mouth. He bit in gladly, but felt a little self-conscious: “We’re doing this right in front of Auralee?”

“Well, you’re spilling cabbage in your lap, so I thought I’d help you out. Anyway, don’t worry about her, she’s so drunk she probably can’t see,” said Christyn.

Auralee was indeed very far gone, laying across the backseat and breathing shallow. “I can hear jus’ fine, though,” she said. “By the way, when’s one of us gonna bring up what’s really on all’ve our mind?”

“What, that you said you would fuck me?” said Damian. Well, technically, she just hadn’t said she hadn’t thought about it, but her message came through pretty clear. “Don’t feel bad about it, I actually thought about you like that one time, but you from the picture, back when you were in the 300-plus club.”

“Wait, did I miss something?” asked Christyn. “I mean, I feel like there’s this looming subject we’ve all avoided talking about tonight, but I’ve been under the impression it was Kane v McIntyre.”

The case, she explained, had been one of the most pivotal in the blue-collar industry in the last decade. What happened was this: an employee at a shipping and receiving company was being rudely chastised by his supervisor on the job for the pace of his work, until the supervisor finally shoved him, screaming, Out of the way, fatass! Unfortunately, the supervisor knocked him right in the path of some heavy machinery, and he was injured grievously. He filed for workman’s compensation, but was denied after failing a drug test for marijuana. So, he decided to sue for weight discrimination, despite having a BMI of only 28.2 and a full range of mobility before the accident, making him disqualified for protection under the Americans With Disabilities Act. The jury sided unanimously with him, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that he showed up to court with both legs in casts. So, if Damian seriously wanted to take Virtue Kingston to court, he might have to bleed on the clock if he wanted any sympathy.

“I was actually talkin’ ‘bout payroll,” drawled Auralee. “Why do you really think my mom gave Will a raise?”

“Mmh.” Damian finished the rest of his second taco and ventured, “Cause she only likes skinny people?”

“No, y’fool.” She kicked the back of his seat. “She cut you because you refused to go snooping in my business, so if she bumped him up, it means he agreed to. Probably wants revenge cause I broke his little heart. Tell you what, you and I’re gonna have to have each other’s backs around that guy.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
The scale read 195, and although Christyn couldn’t see it, she could definitely feel it in bed--Damian must have put on the latest fifteen pounds in muscle mass as a result of his work at the bowling alley. His arms were rock solid when he held himself up on top of her, and she’d bet he had a full six-pack buried somewhere underneath a pillow of fat that was soft enough for her to fall asleep on if that was where she happened to lay her head. She was getting better at positioning herself underneath him so as to be able to take in his full length without pain, or maybe he was just getting better at getting her ready for him, and while he fucked her from on top, she loved running her fingers up and down the musculature of his back and shoulders almost as much as she loved wrapping her legs around his ample waist and squeezing the doughy, pliable love handles he’d developed.

His hands were rough from non-stop work, and they felt good against her skin as he kneaded and caressed the curves of her body, lovingly squeezing her where she was soft. They couldn’t get enough of each other; it seemed every moment they were home together was spent having sex, sex, sex.

On the 21st of June, she worked a double, just as she had on her birthday for the last eight years. She had expected the occasion to go unmarked, but when she got home, Damian was waiting up for her. “Hey babe, where you going so fast?”

“Bed,” she groaned. “Maybe a glass of champagne first, unless Auralee finished the case we bought last week, but I need to get off my feet, ASAP.”

“Don’t you want to open your present?” he asked, thrusting a bag into her hands as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Aww, you didn’t have to get anything for me,” she said, but smiled in spite of herself.

“Here, sit down, I bet you’re tired.” He pulled a chair out at the kitchen table for her and poured her the last glass of champagne in the fridge. Really, it was more like three-quarters of a glass. “I told Auralee to leave you some, and I guess this is her idea of ‘some.’ But maybe we could go out...I did get you something to wear.”

She pulled his gift out of its bag, a little confused at first. “Is this a sweater or a dress?” she muttered.

“The lady at the department store said it was a sweater-dress,” he said, his expression shifting with concern. “Sorry if I don’t really know your style--”

“I love it!” she said. “I don’t really know a lot about fashion, but it’s really pretty, and the knit’s so soft. I’m gonna try it on right now,” she said, and ducked into the bathroom despite her exhaustion.

The dress was amazing, hugging her curves in black angora down to her mid-thigh. She didn’t really own any shoes that would match, but she found some suede stiletto boots of Auralee’s in a closet down the hall that fit nicely and did her muscular calves a little more justice than they did Auralee’s rail-thin legs. She touched up her hair and lipstick and returned to the kitchen. “What do you think?”

Damian didn’t have to answer; the awestruck expression and the flush rising in his face said it all.

“I called and reserved us a table at a bar close to here, if you want to go,” he said, “but if you’re too tired from work then I’ll call and cancel.”

“No, let’s go!” Christyn insisted. Though she was spent from work, she didn’t want to deny him the chance to make her happy, especially since he had put so much deliberation into giving her a special night.

The bar was about six minutes up the road and it was packed, but the hostess had a private booth in the back ready for them. At long last, Christyn collapsed into the booth on the same side as Damian, letting herself sink against the upholstery and the soft warmth of his body.

Their waiter was a rotund, late-twentysomething white guy, which didn’t surprise her. One drawback to living in an upscale neighborhood in an outskirt town was that it was populated almost homogeneously by white conservatives, who all seemed to assume she was likewise a conservative, presumably because she was white-passing, and if they found out she owned a pistol, it was over. It happened all the time at the hotel now that she was open carrying behind the bar. Luckily, she was at a bar she’d never been to, and didn’t anticipate getting into a political discussion with any of the staff.

“Good evening, y’all, my name’s Brian and I’ll be your server, is there any special occasion y’all are celebrating tonight?”

Christyn wouldn’t have said anything, but Damian spoke first. “Yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday, can you bring her a bottle of your best champagne?”

“A very special night indeed, then! Although every day is a special occasion with such a beautiful companion. If I could please see both your IDs?”

“Actually, house champagne is fine,” she said, surrendering her ID. “And he’s not drinking, but you can bring him a sweet tea with two creamers.”

She didn’t like the interested look the server gave her, or the dismissive glance he threw Damian’s way, as he left the table, promising to be right back with their drinks.

“What’s that guy’s problem?” asked Damian. “You should have let me buy you the expensive one. Shown him I can take care of a lady like you deserve.”

“Don’t be insecure,” she reassured him. “He’s probably a racist lunatic, anyway.”

Putting the encounter out of her mind, she enjoyed a glass of champagne while telling Damian about her day, cashiering at the science museum in the morning and closing the hotel bar at night. He in turn told her about his opening shift with Beans, and his trip to the mall with Auralee, with whom he’d had to consult on Christyn’s dress size. Auralee had bought him dinner at the food court in the mall, but even though it had been at least a thousand calorie affair for him (and a three-craft-cocktail disaster for Auralee, who had nearly busted a tire running over a curb on the way home), he was still hungry enough to put away two packs of instant ramen before Christyn returned from work.

“I’m not surprised; your daily maintenance calories must be through the roof if Beans works you as hard as you say she does.”

“Is that why I’ve been stuck at 195 for three weeks now?”


She understood now why he’d been so upset before by one little look by the waiter. It was envy he was experiencing.

“Look, I know you’ve set yourself a goal.” It wasn’t something she readily understood, having had more or less the same body since she was 16, with no inclination to change it in either direction, but she wanted to be empathetic. “And while I know I’ll be thrilled to have a little more of you once you break this plateau, I’m really digging on 195. You’re nice and soft, but also so sturdy and powerful…” She wrapped an arm behind him and let her other hand come to a rest on his wonderfully squishy gut. “You’ve gotten so nice and plump in such a short time, too--fifty-five pounds in less than a year is nothing to scoff at; you should be proud of your progress. Look, see how you’ve already buried your hipbones?” Her hands moved lower to squeeze him through his clothes where his juicy love handles met his hips and the tops of his widened thighs.

“Mmmh, careful, Christyn.”

“See how I couldn’t feel your ribs if I tried? But it’s not just about the weight. In these last few weeks, you’ve made me incredibly happy. I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

He pulled her close, and she could feel him settling deeper into a state of relaxation with her every word. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “See, this is why I love you, Christyn.”

Ah, that dreaded L word. She avoided it like the plague herself, always wondering when the next disaster would strike, but in that moment, she thought to herself, why not just come out and say it? Even if she held her tongue for another hundred years, it wouldn’t change the fact that she felt it anyway. But before she could speak, the waiter returned to the table, setting down a piece of apple pie with ice cream on top in front of her. “For the birthday girl.” He gave her a wink.

“Thanks.” She didn’t look at the waiter, instead turning to Damian, spoon in hand. “Split this with me, baby? If I know you, you’ve got room for dessert…” She spooned a bite into his mouth and made no secret of her delight in watching him eat it. The little sigh of pure pleasure he let slip from the simple act made her instantly wet. She caressed his thigh and watched him intently, giving him an encouraging little mm-hmm, as he swallowed, his eyes fluttering shut.

“So good, Chrissy.”

When she glanced into the aisle again, the waiter had gotten rid of himself.

Fifteen minutes later, she was ready to go home. Damian called for the tab, upon which the waiter informed them that he’d rung up the house champagne, but served them the nice champagne. Dessert was comped, and the total after tax came out to eighteen bucks and change. “Thanks, bro, here, all yours,” said Damian, handing him the checkbook.

“Are you sure you don’t want your change? There’s a hundred here.”

“Yeah, and it was gonna be two hundred, but you spent all night checking out my date.”

“You’’re too kind, Sir,” said the waiter, and left the table looking ashamed.

Christyn stoppered the bottle and took it home, where she split it with Damian before dragging him to bed. There, she undressed him slowly, teasing, squeezing, stroking, kissing, and licking every inch of skin from his neck to his groin until he was a writhing, begging mess. Only then did she mount him, riding him slowly at first, picking up speed until she was fucking him so hard that at the exact moment of his completion, the box spring broke through the bottom of the bed frame.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
4. High Crimes and Misdemeanors


There was a good reason Damian had decided early on to set a cap at 230. From the beginning, he had suspected that if he went through with this gaining thing, he’d get addicted to it and wouldn’t want to stop, and it looked like that day had come. He had become mildly obsessed with seeing the number on the scale go up, each new pound sending a euphoric high through his brain. He imagined he felt how Christyn felt as she watched the numbers in her bank account skyrocket.

But then, where did it end?

Christyn was right, and as he dressed in the mirror the next morning, he thought to himself that 195 wasn’t a bad place to be. He had a good life. He ate whatever he wanted, had a job where he was respected, at least by his direct superiors, and a beautiful woman who adored him in his bed every night. And when it came down to it, he was happy with his body, and his progress. 55 pounds in a year was certainly impressive. Maybe he deserved to take a break; just enjoy life and let the numbers do what they would.

When he came downstairs, it was to the delicious aromas of Christyn’s cooking. She was in the middle of a conversation with Auralee, so he was glad he’d gotten dressed.

“Your boy told me he was stuck at 195,” Auralee was saying, which made him a little irate. When he’d told her that fact at work, it was in the hopes that she’d sympathize with him, being a feeder herself. Would he find out next that she’d been telling everybody at the bowling alley about his sex life?

He lingered outside the kitchen for a minute to listen in.

“Yeah, he and I had a talk about it last night. He seems to be feeling better about it now.”

“Oh? Then he should have told me before I wrote this week’s schedule.”

“What’s up with my schedule?” he asked, starting to worry as he walked inside.

Auralee got up from her seat at the table and handed him a copy of the new schedule. “I’ve taken you off of Sabine’s shifts and put you on mine. That way you’ll have a chance to relax, and get your gaining back on track. Does that sound good to you?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate, as his manager?” said Christyn.

Normally Damian would agree, but then Auralee shot Christyn a smirk: “Ooh, someone’s getting a little possessive of her feedee!” And he thought it was kind of hot to see Christyn defending her title as his feeder, forgetting everything else. “So, Damian, what do you say?”

“ guess it’s alright,” he said. “I don’t really mind working with Beans, though. She has all the busy shifts, and I’m liking the money.”

“No kidding, Mr. ‘Let Me Leave a 400% Tip Just to Be a Show-Off,’” Christyn interjected.

“Trust me, you’ll be making plenty of money,” said Auralee. “Instead of Sabine, I have you barbacking while I serve my special clients.”

A grin broke across his face as he remembered his first conversation with her. “You mean the ones that tip hundreds of dollars a night?”

“The very ones,” said Auralee. “You’ll be making more money than ever, for a fraction of the work.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Aura?” said Christyn.

“More money for less work? What could be bad about that?” asked Damian. “Anyway, what’s for breakfast?”


Sabine was less than thrilled when she showed up for her evening shift. “What the fuck is this?” she asked, thrusting her copy of the schedule under Auralee’s nose. “I’m off the reservations, and I’m stuck with Will? Just tell me what I’m being punished for so I can stop this from happening again.”

“This isn’t a punishment. Take a walk with me, Beans.” Auralee led her out through the back door, leaving Damian to man the bar alone. He only had one customer, a regular named Courtney who worked at the vet clinic across the street and came in to practice and have a few drinks after she got off.

“Damian! It’s good to see you!” she chirped as she bounded up to the bar. “Mind making me one of your famous old fashioneds?”

Courtney was an attractive girl, her bright blue eyes the centerpiece of a round, kind face framed by light blonde, curly hair. She had curvy hips and a prominent chest that balanced her slightly pudgy middle. She flirted with Damian every time she came, even though she knew he was taken. In fact, he had been experiencing no shortage of female attention even as his weight climbed. If anything, he was receiving even more from the kind of girls he found attractive--ones with some meat on their bones, that is. Auralee had said to him that he’d ‘always been a good-looking young man,’ but that back when he was slimmer, big girls probably found him ‘hot, but unattainable,’ whereas now he was ‘much more approachable-looking.’ When he mentioned he’d gotten quite a few come-ons from thin women as well, Auralee had proposed that they might have been FFAs--female fat admirers, or maybe it was just that he was a charming guy who made an excellent old fashioned.

“Anything to eat today, Courtney?” he asked as he handed her drink to her.

“Who’s cooking?”

“Girard. Zeke should have been in by now, but you know him, he gets here when he gets here.”

“In that case, start me a tab, and I’ll come back when Zeke arrives. That man knows how to use his spices!”

He swiped her card to start her tab, and she handed him a ten dollar bill. “Put that in your pocket and don’t tell Auralee,” she said before making her way out into the lanes.

He was about to do it, but then Auralee’s older brother Ashton walked into the bar and he threw it in the tip jar to pool. Ashton didn’t seem to recognize Damian, but Damian remembered him as the psychiatrist from juvie. They used to call him ‘the Xan man,’ due to his generosity when it came to handing out prescriptions. “Tell my sister these are for her,” he said, and left a couple of scripts on the counter before departing.

When the girls returned, Sabine stepped behind the bar and approached him with a guilty look on her face. “Damian, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re the best barback I’ve ever had in this dump, and I’m sorry if I’ve been working you harder than you’d like me to be.”

“It’s been no trouble,” said Damian. Sure, working with her left him sore all over, out of breath, and starving, but it was a point of pride for him that he could keep up with her when nobody else could.

“You don’t have to lie to me; I’ve been a horrible supervisor. The truth is, I care about you as a friend, Damian, but sometimes the worst of me comes out and I end up treating you more like an appliance. I know you have a life outside of work, and...aspirations, that maybe don’t mesh well with the pace I keep on shift. Auralee says I can have you back in a month, and when that time comes, I promise to go easier on you. But until then…” She clapped him on the shoulder and cracked a small smile. “I’m really gonna miss you, dude.”

“Hey, we can still hang out outside of work,” said Damian.

“You’re right! And now you’ll probably have more time to socialize anyway, and maybe catch up on your reading and work on your art.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re the first person to call what I’m doing ‘art.’ Are you sure you’re not a closet feeder?”

“I meant your sketches, dumbass. Your girlfriend says they’re pretty good.”

“You talk to Chrissy?”

“Yeah, I got her number while we were all at Sapphire.”

“In that case, I bet Chrissy would love to have you and Zeke over for dinner and drinks.”

“M-me and Zeke?” Sabine repeated, her cheeks flushing.

About that time, Auralee came back in, found her scripts, and said, “Damian, it’s time to go. The pharmacy closes at 5 today.” She emptied the tip jar, gave him his half, and off they went.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Damian took the first opportunity he could to invite Sabine over. It was one of those rare nights when Christyn had the evening off. She was happy to entertain, putting together a whole three-course menu: a charred, creamed brussels sprout dip with homemade crackers and mojitos to start, made lovingly with agave instead of simple syrup, followed by shrimp and crawfish over elbow pasta in a cajun spiced cream sauce with whole roasted garlic cloves, basil and baby tomatoes paired with a California sauvignon blanc, and for dessert, dark chocolate mousse, with something called ‘limoncello’ over ice to drink. As she was prepping, he played taste-tester, delighting in the flavors of everything she spooned into his mouth. It was all so delicious...if he could get her to cook like this every day, even his sweatpants would need replacing before too long.

“I thought you were a vegetarian,” he said.

“I make an exception for shellfish, because I can clearly tell what they are,” she explained. “My qualm with meat isn’t a humanitarian or a moral one. I know there isn’t any ethical consumerism under capitalism, and my vegetables hurt poor farmers just as much as factory livestock farming hurts animals and the environment. It’s just a matter of wanting to know for sure what I’m putting in my body. Beef, pork, chicken, and even fish--anything that I can’t see whole on the plate, I don’t trust. If the whole chicken is on the table, or the whole fish, I can let my guard down, but if it’s served in pieces, I don’t want it, and anything ground, like a burger patty--just forget about it. It’s too easy to be faked out. Someone might serve you a whole human being and you’d never know.”

“Dark, but okay.” By now, he was used to Christyn going off on a weird dark tangent, and he didn’t let it put a damper on his mood.

Sabine arrived at about 5 PM, the telltale roar of her motorcycle engine and Christyn’s car alarm announcing her presence. Christyn rushed out and tended to Carolaine before embracing Sabine at the door. “Sabine, it’s such a pleasure to welcome you into our home! Come in, have a drink, Damian’s been dying to have you in!”

They all mingled over cocktails before Christyn sat them down at the dining room table and served dinner. Sabine was particularly fond of the dip, even after Christyn confessed it to be the most calorie-laden thing on the menu, beating out even dessert. Damian of course enjoyed his meal, but he pushed his plate toward the center of the table after only one helping, which seemed to startle Sabine. “Are you feeling well?” she asked. “Christyn has put out a delectable spread, and I know you usually like to eat.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I actually wanted to focus on you, ask how you were doing. Have you talked to Zeke?”

At the mention of the subject she had been avoiding, she reddened and fiddled with the tablecloth. “Yes, we talk every shift we work together. He’s the only one keeping me truly sane in that hellhole.”

“Yeah, but have you talked to him, about how you confessed your love to him at the bar?”

“Oh, please. I said that under pressure. I had just been accused of sleeping with the defendant on the witness stand; I needed to deflect.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?”

“Even if I did, what would it matter? He’s got three other women on his dick, two of whom are in law school, and I’m 23 and already a service industry lifer. I’ll never be good enough for a guy like Zeke. Besides, I’m a Mathison.”

“What does that mean?” asked Damian, while Christyn poured Sabine more wine.

Sabine didn’t answer the question, just chucked back her wine. When she put her glass down, her face was wrought with some unspeakable shame.

“Look, Beans.” Christyn stood up from her chair and gave Sabine’s shoulder. “I talk to Ezekiel on the regular. I hear how your name comes up again and again, and I know he’s quite fond of you. He couldn’t care less what you do for a living, and any man who does isn’t worth your time.”

“Yeah, and who your family is, whatever they did!” Damian cut in. “What matters is who you are.”

“What, a belligerent bar wench with no prospects and an aggravated assault charge?” said Sabine.

Damian hadn’t known about the charge...but he understood, and wasn’t surprised. He knew how easy it was to catch a case around here, firsthand.

“Or a strong, beautiful woman, who’s fearless and grabs life by the balls, but has enough sense to admit when she was wrong and that she’s sorry,” he pointed out.

“I know Zeke can spread himself a little thin when it comes to the ladies,” Christyn added, “but if you want to be his number one...well, the first step is asking.”

Sabine smiled. “Thanks, guys.”

“Our pleasure. Now, I think we’re all ready for dessert!”

After Sabine had left, Damian asked Christyn if she knew anything about the Mathisons, but she shook her head.

“I assumed you might; she is your coworker.”

A few shifts later, Zeke and Sabine both arrived late, together, in Zeke’s car, just as he and Auralee were getting off for the day. He didn’t have time to ask them any questions, but they both looked happier than he had ever seen them.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
[A/n: Trigger warning: the next two segments include a plot device wherein wealthy, unscrupulpus feeders employ Auralee to make their spouses more complacent to force-feeding by dosing them with sedatives and appetite stimulants. I don't sanction this sort of behavior, and neither does Auralee, really, and this is not meant for titillation but rather to demonstrate what you SHOULDN'T enable your customers to do as a bar manager. If that sort of thing unsettles you too much to read about it, feel free to skip this post and the one directly following it.]

It was a slow Sunday with one reservation on the books for a table in the restaurant area (party of two, arriving at 8 PM, last name Huebner), although Auralee had given Damian the strange instruction not to say the word ‘reservation’ in front of the couple when they came.

“Mister always does it like this,” she had explained. “About twice a month he acts like he made a reservation at some high-end restaurant, then fakes like the reservation got lost or canceled somehow, and takes the Mrs. here as a ‘last resort.’” It all sounded a bit suspicious, but who was Damian to question his manager’s orders when there was money on the line? He could ask her about it after they got tipped.

Apparently, this was one of those thousand-dollar parties she had told him about the first time they had met.

An hour before the Huebners were set to come in, she handed Damian a bottle of pills, a mortar and pestle, and a blue plastic cup. “Crush these up and put the powder in here,” she told him, and then, once he was done, she had him repeat the process with a different bottle of pills and a red plastic cup. He guessed these were the pills her brother had written the fake scripts for, and he had so many questions on his mind, but Auralee kept him too busy to commit them all to memory for later, having him preset the tables in the dining room with appetizer plates, silver, and even tablecloths that reached the floor and citrusy-smelling little candles. “See, if I just set one table, it looks like I was expecting them, and Mrs. might catch on. But Mister pays good money for my service, so I want to make the place look presentable,” she said. “Now, I’ve given Zeke and Girard the night off; I usually like to cook for these reservations, which means you’ll be handling the service end.”

“Don’t we have a server on tonight?”

“Yes, but I need her in the lanes, and if she’s out there, my table in here won’t get the most attentive service.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard if it’s just one table.”

“That’s the spirit.” She led the way back behind the bar and checked the time on her phone. “Five minutes to showtime. You know, Christyn used to like to take a shot with me before this sort of service. Are you game?” Before he could answer, she had already poured two generous shots of vodka, and he didn’t want to be rude, so he drank with her even though it burned all the way down.

Soon the Huebners arrived, and Damian found himself mesmerized as Auralee greeted them at the door and showed them to a table. These people were dripping with wealth; he could see it in the easy grace with which the husband carried himself. He wore an untroubled smile, along with a tailored gray suit, a medium blue tie, and a very nice watch. His salt-and-pepper hair was parted to the side, making him look distinguished. Damian guessed he was 20 years older than his wife, a beautiful brunette with her hair sprayed into elegant curls and a luxurious fur coat on over a blue satin dress. Her round face, wide eyes, and full, pink lips reminded him of angels in old paintings.

“Well, hello, you two, what a surprise!” Said Auralee, shaking the man’s hand as Damian pulled the lady’s chair out for her.

“It’s a surprise for us, too,” said the lady. “Apparently, McCarthy’s lost our reservation. But you always take such good care of us. Last time we were here...well, I barely remember it, which means we must have had fun! Speaking of which, have you come up with any new drinks?”

“I think I can make you one or two that you’ll enjoy. Now as far as dinner goes, have you any special requests?” said Auralee, looking now to the man.

“Just work your magic, as always,” he said.

“I’ll try my best. Oh, this is Damian, he’ll be taking care of you,” said Auralee, but Damian was a little preoccupied watching the wife take off her coat and place it on the back of her chair along with her bag.

It was hard for him not to steal a glance at her amazing cleavage, with the low cut of her dress putting it right on display. The rest of her body was just as fantastic. She had round shoulders, soft arms, wide hips, and a great ass that spilled an inch or two out of her seat in either direction. Her stomach was small compared to her curvy hips and impressive breasts, but round enough to put some strain on the material of her dress and soft enough to spill slightly into her lap when she sat.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there appreciating her, but apparently, it was too long, because Auralee felt the need to snap her fingers right in front of his face.

“Yeah, it’s like Auralee said, if you need anything just let me know and I’ll take care of it,” he said to the couple before following Auralee to the back.

“Give me three minutes on the timer,” she said, dropped something in the fryer, and set to work on the drinks. “He drinks merlot,” she said, pouring a glass of red wine. “And this is for the lady.” She threw some liquor and ice into a strainer, along with a little of the powder she’d had him grind into that blue cup earlier, and--what was that, egg white? She gave it all a vigorous shake, strained it into a flute, and topped it off with champagne. The result was a pinkish cocktail with a thick, pretty foam on top that rose about an inch out of the glass but did not spill.

“What’s in that?”

“Gin. Simple syrup. Raspberry liqueur. OJ, a little bit of egg, a little bit of sleeping pills, not enough to knock her out, but enough to relax her and possibly induce acute memory loss. Oh, and champagne. Now run those really quick and come back for the appetizer.”

That drink sounded like it would have Mrs. Huebner feeling pretty good by the time she finished it. He ran the drinks and informed the couple that their appetizer would be out shortly. When he returned to the service well, Auralee was plating six deep-fried balls of something on top of globs of a creamy orange sauce. She sprinkled the plate with some parsley and shredded parmesan. “Fried mac and cheese balls with chipotle aioli, off the menu,” she explained as she handed him the plate.

He brought it to the table and as he said what it was, the woman squirmed in her seat. “It looks so good...oh, every time I come here, I wreck my diet.”

“You and your ridiculous diet,” said her husband. “Son, tell my wife here that she looks ravishing.”

Damian felt a little awkward about complimenting another man’s wife while he was seated right at the table...but what could he do? He’d been asked, explicitly. He turned to Mrs. Huebner and said, “You have a great figure, Ma’am. That’s a lovely dress, too, and it brings out all of your best features. You shouldn’t be afraid to enjoy yourself once in a while.” He hoped he hadn’t made it too obvious that he had been checking her out earlier.

“Have you got a wife, boy?” asked Mr. Huebner.

“I...I have a girlfriend.”

“And is she a skinny little toothpick of a girl, or is she a real woman?”

Damian was starting to feel very awkward. Instead of answering, he said, “Look at that, your drinks are running low. Let me get you some more from the bartender. Anyway, enjoy the food!” before scuttling back to Auralee.

She was already pouring another glass of red wine for the man. “You can make Mrs. Huebner’s next drink. This is, after all, your specialty.” She passed him a short glass with a lemon, a few raspberries, a cube of sugar, and some of the powder from the red cup. “Make it like you make an old fashioned, but pour this instead of bourbon, and use the orange bitters instead of the angostura.” She placed a bottle of clear liquor in front of him. The label said moonshine.

“More sleeping pills?” he asked as he started to muddle the fruit.

“No, this one’s gonna be spiked with an appetite stimulant.”

Damian had been trying to wait until the service was over with, but he couldn’t hold off asking any longer. “Auralee, what’s going on?”

“Mr. Huebner is a simple man. He likes his meat medium rare and his women nice and plump. Unfortunately, his wife is obsessed with trying to lose weight, so he’s been employing me to help him keep her well-fed and growing. Here, take another shot if it doesn’t sit well.” She poured them each some more vodka.

“Auralee, this is more than not sitting well. This is super rapey!”

“Not to mention a felony...look, I don’t really like it either. I would get in so much trouble for this if my father wasn’t who he is...but it pays well. Now, run the drinks, would you?”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Put on the spot, he didn’t know what to do except take another shot with her and follow her orders. Following round two of drinks was salad and bread rolls, and then, finally, burgers. Damian didn’t get to watch her cook them, but one of them appeared juicier than the other, and better put together, too, with mayo carefully spread to cover the entire inner surface of the top bun. Auralee stuck a toothpick with a little red flag on top into the second burger and said, “That one’s for her.”

Damian felt sick as he delivered the main course to the table. “Looks wonderful,” said Mr. Huebner, and his wife nodded in vigorous agreement.

“I really should get a box for this; I can’t believe how much I’ve already eaten tonight. But somehow I’m still hungry, and Auralee pours those drinks strong, so I guess I should have some solid food to hold ‘em down, right?”

“Of course you’re hungry, darling. You’ve been torturing yourself with that diet for weeks!”

This time, Damian had no comment; he just went back to the bar to take another shot with Auralee. He hated himself for what he was doing to this poor, unsuspecting woman. As attractive as he thought he was at her size, he had the common decency to know that if she was trying to lose weight, she should have her wishes respected. He tried to rationalize it, hoping maybe she was in on it, and that having her husband pretend to “secretly” fatten her up was some part of her own feedee fantasy--but if that was the case, Auralee would have just told him from the start, and they wouldn’t be standing behind the bar drowning their moral objections in alcohol together.

“Keep an eye on the table,” Auralee instructed him. “I can’t plate dessert until the entree plates have been cleared, and she should be finishing soon. These appetite stimulants act fast. Between you and me, they haven’t been cleared by the FDA yet, but the penal system has been using them to break up hunger strikes under the table,” she confessed.

“You mean they’ve been experimenting on--?”

“Your people, yes.”

Damian found it a little offensive to be lumped in with the prison population as ‘his people,’ but what could he say? Technically, he should have been incarcerated.

“I have some stronger ones that really only exist because there are freaks like us in the pharmaceutical industry,” confessed Auralee. “Those will likely never be cleared. But I tend to reserve them for more, ah, personal use? But only with a consenting man.” She glanced sideways at Mr. Huebner and said, “Tell me why the people who are like this have the deepest pockets?”

Another shot down for each of them.

He could barely stand to watch as Mrs. Huebner sat and ate like a zombie, getting dumber and drowsier and hungrier each minute the drugs coursed through her system. It was to his relief that the pair finally finished their dinner, even if he had to witness the man coaxing over half his own meal down his wife’s throat. He picked up the dishes, threw them in the sink in back, and returned a final time to Auralee to pick up dessert.

“What’s the ice cream laced with?” he asked, slurring his words a bit as she handed him a glass bowl on a thick stem with two spoons, full to the brim with a golden-yellow and berry-red ice cream sundae dressed heavily with whipped cream.

“Nothing, it’s just ice cream. Raspberry French vanilla. I make it here,” said Auralee. “You can have a scoop once you drop that off. You can have a piece of pie, too. And make sure and don’t drop that bowl; it’s expensive and my mother will kill us both!”

He didn’t linger at the table for any longer than necessary after dropping off dessert, but it was enough to catch all the unsettling details. How Mrs. Huebner’s dress pulled uncomfortably tight around her distended middle; how she shook her head gently but was too weak to fight back as her husband began spooning ice cream into her mouth.

“I’ll handle dropping the check, you just worry about the dishes,” said Auralee. “You did great tonight for your first special service, kid.” She fixed him a plate of dessert to eat in the back while he worked. The pecan pie was horrible, the taste of butter way too overwhelming in the crust. Not for the first time, he suspected that maybe she just didn’t know how flavors worked anymore. The ice cream was actually quite good, but the events of the night had put him off his appetite, so after a couple of bites he left the rest of his plate outside the back door for the racoons.

After a few minutes, Auralee met him in the prep kitchen. “Mr. Huebner said you’re an excellent server,” she said.

“He can shove it up his ass. That was sick,” said Damian, scrubbing the grease off one of the entree plates. “I can’t believe I just did all that.”

“I get that you’re upset,” said Auralee. “But here’s your cut. Count it, and if you’re still unhappy, give it back.”

She thrust a thick wad of cash into his wet and soapy hands, and he fumbled to count it all up. He was full-swing drunk by now and was having a little trouble adding up the numbers, but if he wasn’t mistaken, it was $1200.

He shoved it in his pocket. “You said they come here twice a month?”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Damian was a wreck when he got home. Stressed and conflicted, he laid waste to the dinner Christyn prepared of eggplant parmesan over creamy tomato risotto, helping himself to two and a half heaping servings until he was stuffed well past his normal limit with rich, heavy food--ordinarily, he only overate until the first small twinges of pain in his stomach crept over him and enhanced the pleasure of being stretched full, but now, he was simply in downright pain. Food usually helped him when he was stressed, and by the time he was full, and still stressed, he thought maybe if he kept eating, eventually he’d feel better. He was wrong.

He realized he’d have to take a different approach to killing his guilt from the shift. Christyn was having a glass of red wine with dinner, so he decided to join her in drinking...only, he poured himself the rest of the bottle, and halfway through his third glass, he had to run to the bathroom and throw up, emptying his stomach’s contents into the toilet.

In a way, he was lucky to have a converted normie for a feeder. Christyn didn’t get mad or impatient with him for being sick. Instead, she took him to bed, got him a glass of water, and soothed him with gentle cuddles. It was times like this he appreciated that she was more concerned with his comfort than his weight. He wasn’t going to say anything about work, but then she said, “Aura had you work one of those reservations, didn’t she?”

It was then that he remembered she used to work his job, and she had been younger than he was when she started.

“You know how it goes, then,” he said.

“It was awful,” she said as she caressed his still-queasy stomach to help with the lingering nausea. “But it was either stay on the clock and do those awful things, or go back to being homeless. But hey, I can talk to Aura in the morning, see if she won’t put your schedule back the way it was.”

He thought about it for a minute before deciding, “You don’t have to.”


“Look, we both know it’s dirty work. But I’m probably not going to be a fugitive forever. It’ll help if I have some money saved up to cover the court costs I’m gonna have to deal with, and maybe I can even buy a car if I save up enough. Even if I don’t like it, she tips out good.”

“Once again, you’ve proven yourself quite mature for your age,” said Christyn. “If you’re sure, then I won’t say anything, but if you change your mind you just let me know and I’ll talk to her.”

The next few weeks were Hell for Damian, but they could have been a lot worse without Christyn to advise him.

Like when she gave him the heads-up about a customer named Molly McCready, who would come in with her girlfriend Ann expecting not only for Auralee to dope her up with additives to her food and drink, but would expect whoever was serving them to help forcefeed the woman by hand once she got complacent enough on the sleeping pills. Christyn hadn’t known how to get out of it at the time, so she’d helplessly gone along with it, but she told Damian what to say so that when the couple came in and Molly made her disgusting request halfway through service, he was successfully able to decline: “Sorry, Ms. McCready, but bare-hand food contact by the staff would be a violation of the Texas health code. I wish I could help you, but there’s rumors that the health inspector’s making his rounds, and I can’t put my job on the line. But maybe I can get you both another drink from the bartender?”

As the days passed by, he met a handful of wealthy perverts all fattening up their spouses with Auralee’s pharmaceutical help. Between courses, he took shots with Auralee.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if there didn’t already exist a demand for it,” she said.


“And if it wasn’t me, someone else would be doing it.”


“If someone’s gonna profit off these people, it might as well be us, right?”


“And that’s capitalism for you. Bottoms up, kid.”

Even on the days when there were no reservations, he took to shooting liquor on the clock to kill the dread of the next time he’d have to drug someone up so their spouse could violate them through the stomach. Then, he’d come home, sweettalk Christyn into buying him a 6-pack of IPA, and slam that back too. He was waking up still drunk, feeling hungover by the time he got to work, and drinking again before noon to dull the headache.

One day Virtue Kingston strode into the bar while he was prepping some simple syrup for Auralee. He had yet to take his first midmorning drink and he was already irritated even before she slapped a piece of paper on the counter in front of him. “This was in the copier in the office. Is it yours?”

The document was titled, A Comprehensive List of Ways to Absolutely Wreck Your Metabolism As Quickly As Possible.

“What, so just because I’m the fattest guy at the bowling alley, we’re gonna assume it’s mine?”

It was obvious to him that it was Auralee’s, intended for her online feedee from California, who was flying in in a few days to visit her. But for some reason, probably spite, Damian felt compelled to torture Virtue a little. He picked up the document, made a show of reading it, and said, “Whoever wrote this is obviously planning some sort of revenge. Maybe they’ve gotten sick of your casual fat-shaming and constant criticism and finally decided to do something about it. Maybe they plan to slip appetite enhancers into your morning coffee, or better yet, maltodextrin. You know what maltodextrin does, don’t you?”

At her shocked silence, he went on, “It floods you with insulin so that every calorie you eat gets stored as fat on your body. Actually, maybe this person has already started putting their plan into action. That suit is looking kind of tight, Ms. Virtue.”

“Why...I should fire you right now for your insolence!”

“Should you?” He smirked. “Because maybe I switched the labels on the lines in the back and now I’m the only one who knows which is which. Or maybe I struck a deal with one of the mechanics so if anything happens to my job, service in the lanes gets fucked. Or maybe not, but is it really worth the risk?”

Of course, he hadn’t actually done any of these things, but it was worth it to see Virtue go white as a sheet and leave the bar without another word.

When he finally caught a day off, he thought he’d have a chance to breathe and relax a little, but as the day wore on, his hopes were shattered. He was on edge all day, pacing the house and unable to put his mind at ease. His stomach hurt, but not in a way that he associated with hunger or overfullness; rather, it was a sharp pain in the middle of his right side that came and went. By two in the afternoon, he was shaking, even though the weather had warmed up for the year.

Christyn came home from her lunch shift to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, shivering, his mind reeling. “Damian, baby, what’s wrong?”

“I--I don’t know, I…”

She sat down with him and wrapped her arms around him. He clung to her for dear life, feeling his eyes get hot and wet. “What did you do today?” she asked.

“Just a whole bunch of nothing.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Like half a bowl of cereal, but I’m not hungry and I don’t feel good.”

“Did you drink?”


His answer seemed to have unlocked a realization in her. “Well, how much have you been drinking?”

He confessed to having been knocking back vodka all shift with Auralee before coming home to renew his buzz every night for the past three weeks. “You’re withdrawing,” she said.

She wiggled out of his embrace--he didn’t like that--but when she came back, she had a double shot of vodka for him, along with a cola to wash it down. He drank it in one pull despite the burning sensation in his throat and within a few minutes, the shakes stopped.

“Feel any better?”

“Definitely a little. Why does my stomach hurt?”

“For one, your liver’s experiencing a shock,” she explained. “You’ve been getting it used to working overtime and now it’s confused, since you haven’t given it any alcohol to process today. Which I guess is a lucky thing; even though you’re exhibiting signs of physiological addiction, the fact that you haven’t drank all day says that the psychological addiction hasn’t set in. It’s going to be a rough journey from the brink, but easier than it was for me.

“Secondly, alcohol withdrawal is a huge anxiety trigger, and what a lot of people don’t know about anxiety is it comes with a load of physical symptoms. Stomach cramps, headaches, the list goes on and on.

“And finally, any sudden change in your drinking is gonna affect your regularity.”

“My what?”

“It means you’re backed up with shit.”

“Lovely,” he said sarcastically.

“Listen, you’re going to be okay,” she said, plucking the shot glass from his hand. “I’m going to make sure of it. All you need to do is trust me.”

She let him get as drunk as he wanted that night, explaining that it was important that he taper off gradually, but starting in the morning, she would be rationing his alcohol intake. After a few more shots, he was relaxed enough to hold down dinner, and after that, she had no trouble getting him to bed and kissing and cuddling him to sleep.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
The next day was Wednesday, the start of Christyn’s weekend, and rather than picking up for the last minute with the staffing agency, she stayed in bed with Damian for most of the morning, stirring in and out of wakefulness. At around seven, she called Auralee’s cell to inform her that Damian was taking a week off due to personal illness.

“You know she’s still home, right?” said Damian. “We don’t usually leave until 8.”

“Yeah, but I’m not ready to leave you just yet,” she said, nuzzled against him, and went back to sleep. It was easier to hold off the shakes with her warm little body pressed to his under the comforter, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Eventually, he started to feel a slight tremor in his hands, but he didn’t want to drink. Sure, it felt good to be drunk, but it felt even better to be curled up with the woman he loved, clear-headed and fully able to appreciate the moment.

There was one thing he did have to do, though. His appetite had returned with full force and as Christyn finally woke up entirely and asked how he was feeling, he held her close and confessed, “I don’t want to get up, and I don’t want you to get up, either, but I’m so hungry I’d probably eat a roll of printer paper if you put chocolate sauce on it.”

“Makes sense. You’re missing all the calories you’ve been getting from liquor. Stay right there, I’ll fix you something.”

“I can go with you, help you with the dishes,” he offered.

“No, baby. You need to be getting as much rest as possible right now and focusing on feeling better.” She pressed a sweet kiss to his temple, pulled on her PJs, and left the room.

She was back in fifteen minutes with pancakes with bananas in them, along with two glasses held expertly in one hand. One of them was just water, but the other was full of what looked like a thick chocolate milkshake. As she set breakfast on the nightstand for him, he snickered and said, “I would have thought weight gain shakes were more Auralee’s thing than yours, but I’ll take it.”

“That’s not what that is,” said Christyn after he had already taken a gulp. She could have fooled him, though. The stuff was delicious, and sure tasted like it was packed full of calories: sweet, smooth and creamy, with a definite bulk to it that he was sure would leave him pleasantly satisfied.

“What’s in it, then?”

“Chocolate, of course, to ease the withdrawals, and ice cream to make it all blend, but I also threw in some raw spinach and a whole avocado. You’ll be deficient in potassium and magnesium because of how much you’ve been drinking. This ought to set you right. And don’t forget to drink the water, too; you’re dehydrated.”

He could hardly believe it. She was basically medicating him, and she managed to make even that taste good. He must have saved a bunch of orphans from a burning school in a past life, or something.

The chocolate did help with his nerves, and the hunger pangs subsided once he’d put away every scrap of breakfast. Christyn cuddled back up to him in bed, just laying with him at first, but in about an hour she had him on his back for a little hard cardio.

“I thought you said I was supposed to be resting?” he said, breathing hard and spent as she rolled off of him, not that he was complaining.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist!”

He soldiered through most of the day without alcohol, but by five, he was miserable again. Christyn served cocktails with dinner, and though he felt like he’d lost the battle once he downed his second, she told him, “You’re doing so good!”

When he was shooting vodka on the clock with Auralee, she explained, he was, by her estimation, up to twenty standard drinks per day. The previous day, she’d given him ten, and tonight, five. It could take several weeks for the withdrawal symptoms to fully subside, but from what she could tell, he was responding well to having his intake halved by the day. She had actually expected much more resistance on his part. According to her, if he continued to make progress the way he’d been doing, he’d be feeling mostly like himself again by the end of the week, right on schedule.


Christyn continued to monitor Damian closely on her next day off, but more for his comfort than her lack of trust. Even if she no longer had him brainwashed, he was obedient to her command and she didn’t suspect him of trying to sneak liquor while her back was turned. But he didn’t like to be left alone while he went through this rough time, so she remained dutifully glued to his side as often as possible.

Although it wasn’t her initial intention, attending to him gave her plenty of opportunities to feed him up. He reported feeling better and more in control of himself when he was full, so between mealtimes she whipped up snacks for him to shove in his mouth at his leisure, often straight out of the oven before she had the chance to apply frosting. Once, when he was doing this, she pouted and said, “You’re supposed to taste the pastry and the filling at the same time!” And with that, she squirted the cream filling into his mouth directly from the pastry bag.

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” he said once he’d swallowed.

“Want more?”

“Please, Chrissy.”

She pushed another pastry past his lips and filled his mouth up the rest of the way with cream. “Good, because I want more, too.” She gave the bottom of his belly an affectionate squeeze, smacked his ass (good God, it was jiggling so much these days), and kissed him hard on the lips when he was done chewing. Within seconds, he was hard as a rock and dragging her to the bedroom, which was good: if he was making passionate love to her, he couldn’t be drinking.

She was loving the effect all of her extra attention had on his frame. The added weight settled nicely around his waist, making his pudgy little muffin top even more delightfully squeezable. For the first time she noticed his chin beginning to double gently when he looked down, and she thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. His chest had softened on top of an impressive swell of muscle, and even his wrists, once upon a time so delicate, breakable-looking, even, were looking thick and pudgy these days. Eventually, she had to return to work, but she was pleased to find that after a few days, the weight was sticking. “I think we need to go shopping,” she said when she returned to him after her Sunday night shift, palming and kneading his yielding sides. “You’re spilling out of these pants, babe, and that shirt looks painted on.”

She had never been too concerned about the numbers, but apparently, he had decided to check them himself. The next time she looked at his blog, he had posted a picture of the scale reading 202, along with a shot of himself in the mirror, head cut out of the frame, giving his own ample midsection a squeeze. The caption:

My feeder is the best! I love her!

She got out of work on Monday early enough to drive him to the mall, replace his wardrobe, and take him to get a long overdue haircut. He got it cut short in the back but left it curled and a little messy in front; it was nice.

That night, she met resistance with him in bed for the first time. It was entirely her fault. She was feeding him a slice of the key lime pie she’d made off a new recipe she had found online, when she was suddenly struck by how pretty his throat looked when he was swallowing a bite of food he particularly enjoyed, and she reached up with her free hand to stroke his neck when his whole demeanor changed and he suddenly recoiled, pulling her hand away. She thought it would be alright, since she knew he liked when she kissed him there, but apparently not.

“I’m sorry, baby!” she said. “Did I hurt you?”


“Did I scare you?”

He clammed up. She felt horrible. She couldn’t read his mind, but she imagined she must have touched on a painful memory. Maybe someone had choked him in county jail? “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just won’t do that again, okay?”

He relaxed underneath her and pulled her to him. “Thank you, Chrissy.”

“Forgive me?”

“Of course I do!” he said. “And for the record, I still like it when you cut off my air supply with these babies.” He squeezed one of her inner thighs and flipped her on her back.
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like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
On Tuesday, she watched the clock while he sat around in bed, propped up on pillows against the headrest, working on his art. She was particularly impressed with one sketch he did of Auralee, leaning over the bar with a vacant smile on her face, pouring into a cocktail shaker out of a bottle she seemed unaware was labeled with the universal symbol for poison. At precisely 4:03, she hugged him tightly and announced, “That’s twenty-four hours you’ve gone, bone-dry! I’m so proud of you, Damian!”

At around 6, her car alarm went off. She rushed out the door to check on Carolaine, and there on the doorstep were Zeke and a sheepish looking Sabine, making an unexpected house call. “Yo, heard Dame wasn’t feeling too well, so we wanted to swing by and give him our best,” said Zeke. “Also, Beans is messy as shit, and wants to know what’s up.”

“Zeke! Beans!” Damian rushed up behind Christyn and gave Zeke a high five, then pulled Sabine into a hug.

“Whoa! Auralee said you were sick. You’re not contagious, are you?” she snapped. “I swear to God, if you get me sick--!”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been dealing with, um...alcohol withdrawals,” he admitted.

“Well, fuck us then, for not wanting to show up empty-handed,” said Sabine, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of her bag.

“It’s okay, he can have a little, as a treat. We’ll have to wait on dinner, though; I wasn’t expecting guests!” said Christyn as she hurried into the kitchen.

Zeke ducked in to help her out while Damian and Sabine caught up in the dining room. It reminded her of old times at the bowling alley, the two of them dividing the kitchen into stations and working with an effortless synchronicity. While Christyn chopped vegetables, Zeke put some rice on to boil, and soon, they had a stir-fry going.

“What do you think?” he asked as she sampled the rice once he’d spiked it with soy sauce, hot sauce, and some choice seasonings.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad? Come on, now, I’m an excellent chef when I’m not limited by the deep-fried slop we serve at Memorial Lanes.”

“I’ll concede, you have some skill. And is it just me, or is there a little more of Sabine lately?” It was a small difference, almost imperceptible at first. Ten pounds at the most--actually, probably closer to five, given Sabine’s short stature. But after encouraging Damian through his gain to date of over 60 pounds past his starting point (jail didn’t count, she had decided--140 was square one; 120 was ground zero), Christyn’s eye was trained, and if she looked closely, she could see that the second button of Sabine’s shirt and the seat of her jeans were more strained than the last time she’d seen her. “Developing a bit of a feeder side yourself, are you, Zeke?” she teased.

“Ain’t like that, you freak,” he said. “I just cook good, and if she happens to get a little thicker because of it, I don’t mind, is all. Means I’m loving her right.”

“’re a great guy, Zeke. And a decent cook. But I think it’s clear who’s the talent in the room,” she said with a playful smirk. “Damian just tipped the scales at 202.”

“You know you have an unfair advantage if that’s how we’re gonna judge our skills,” said Zeke. “By the way, sorry to hear about his little drinking problem.”

“He doesn’t even have a drinking problem. He’s just been stressed out at work, having to do the things Aura has him do. I don’t even think he knows yet about the worst part...I feel like I should tell him, but I don’t know how.”

“How can you?” said Zeke. “Even if you told him, he wouldn’t believe you.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019

“Congratulations on breaking through your plateau,” said Auralee on the drive to work on Damian’s first day back.

“How’d you know?” he asked, surprised. His first thought was that Christyn had told her...but he hadn’t even told Christyn the final numbers yet. He’d been waiting to see if it was a sure thing: oftentimes, his weight would fluctuate by up to five pounds before settling on a set number. But it seemed this time it had at last decided to firmly stick at 200 or above. He had planned to break the news to Christyn tonight, but was it possible that she could already tell what his weight was just by looking or feeling? Or did Auralee just have that good of an eye?

“You put it on your blog, silly,” said Auralee. “By the way, that was quite a tasteful selfie you posted.”

“You follow my blog?”

“Yeah, it took me a while to figure out it was you, but then I recognized Chrissy’s jacket in one of your pictures and put two and two together.”

He took out his phone, logged in, and scrolled through his list of followers. “Aura-Fixation, that’s you?”


He clicked on her blog link and had his eyes assaulted by the sight of several video previews of Auralee feeding different men of varied weights, some by hand and some with a funnel and tube, and in almost all of the videos, either she or her partner or both were naked or nearly so. He hit the back button and tried not to linger too long mentally on those images of his current manager.

“Holy shit, am I glad to see you behind the bar!” he said as he walked into the bowling alley to find Sabine making simple syrup.

“I missed you too, Damian,” she said with a smile.

“Good that you’re happy, Beans; I’ve been getting sick of hearing you complain about William,” said Auralee.

“You know his name Wilhelm, right?” said Zeke, coming out from the front kitchen.

Auralee shrugged. “Sometimes if a guy doesn’t have enough meat on his bones to hold my visual interest, I tend not to have the best memory for names.”

“Damn, that is cold, girl.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Zach.”

Damian couldn’t stifle his laughter, even if Zeke didn’t think that was funny.

Auralee left, promising to come pick him up when he got off before she had to return for her night shift. Sabine, true to her word, went a lot easier on him than he was used to. She still worked him at a fast pace and held him responsible for hauling and changing kegs, but she didn’t yell at him anymore, which made all the difference in the world. Midway through the morning, Beans started to get irritated with the workload, but rather than burden Damian with her ill temper, she started taking it out on the customers. She told one lady, “Wow, for $2 on a $70 tab you might as well strip the shirt off my back and wipe your ass with it!” Another man got, “Really? You’re gonna complain about the price of a soda and not even stick around for your change?” while she forcefully threw thirty-five cents at his back as he left. The crowning achievement, Damian felt, was her rebuttal to one old man who complained about her service and made some threats: “GO AHEAD AND LEAVE ME A BAD REVIEW! IF I HAVE YOUR NAME, I CAN FIND YOUR HOUSE!”

After the lunch rush, activity slowed down in the restaurant, and he, Zeke, and Beans were able to break together. Christyn had sent Damian to work with a container of pasta big enough to share with the other two, and they all came back on the clock in a good mood, satisfied and ready to work.

During the lull, Damian lingered at the corner of the bar, sketching on a piece of scrap paper, a bad habit he’d picked up while working with Auralee, who allowed him to relax now and again. “Oh my God,” he heard Sabine’s voice behind him, and he turned around feeling vulnerable, thinking he was in trouble for slacking off…

“I’m sorry!”

“No, I’m sorry!” said Sabine. “I never realized you were left-handed!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Every time I’ve seen you try and shake a cocktail, you fail. But every time, you’re trying to use your right hand, like you’re copying me or Aura. Come here, make me a kamikaze, but hold the shaker with your left.”

He let her lead him to the well, her arm around his waist. “Wow, that Chrissy has made you bigger, hasn’t she?” she commented offhandedly. He flushed and struggled to conceal a smirk. He liked when other people noticed. “Now, show me what you’ve got!”

He made the drink, amazed at his own ability to hold the shaker together this time. Once he’d strained it into a glass, she downed it and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Hey there, handsome...when do you get off?

He turned around abruptly to see Christyn sitting at the bar.

“Chrissy? What are you doing here?”

“I had the day off, figured I’d save Auralee the drive. Plus, I wanted to make sure you were adjusting well on your first day back. And I wanted to give you a little something to tide you over until dinner. You know, I saw on the news this morning there’s been a string of deaths in the Memorial City area. It’s looking really similar to mad cow; people are experiencing acute psychosis and prolonged insomnia before they just drop. The CDC isn’t sure if it’s contagious, or if it is, whether it might be airborne, bloodborne, or food-borne, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Don’t worry, Beans, I brought enough for you guys to split. I know you like the green dip,” she said, sliding a couple of plastic containers across the bar.

Damian shuddered at the thought of some new freak disease spreading in the area, but he was glad to see Christyn, and relieved that he wouldn’t have to ride home with Auralee. That she hadn’t killed them yet was some kind of miracle.

“Chrissy! You’re gonna want to see this!” said Sabine. “Damian, make her a cosmopolitan.”

She had to recite him the recipe, but he poured all the ingredients into the shaker and was able to strain it neatly into the glass with ease. Christyn watched him with a funny expression, her eyes wide as she parted her lips, licked the bottom one, and bit down. Her cheeks had gone bright pink and she seemed frozen, almost mesmerized, as he set the drink down in front of her.

“Well, taste it!” said Sabine.

At last, Christyn took the glass by the stem and sipped. “It’s good, it’s a good drink,” she said quietly. Damian realized a little late that she had been watching his gut jiggle while he worked the cocktail shaker. His pulse sped up both with pride that she liked what she saw, and anticipation of what would happen as soon as they got in her car at the end of his shift.


Satisfied that Damian was adjusting well to his return to work, Christyn clocked in for her own Friday morning shift at the hotel bar feeling calm and relieved. It was her and Topher today, with him working a double and Sten coming in to relieve Christyn at 4 PM. They didn’t have a barback--Robert and Sylvia were too cheap to hire one--but when there was more than one bartender scheduled, one of them usually took the backup role and they all pooled tips. Topher always insisted on being the one to restock and change kegs while Christyn and/or Sten talked to customers, despite Christyn being faster, his reasoning being that ‘pretty girls always get tipped better.’

She was having a good morning until about the mid-shift, no food sent back, every customer satisfied with their beverage. Then, after she finished serving a second round of margaritas to a pair of ladies sitting at one of the tables in the bar area, Natalie Walker, that idiot, turned around without looking and hit her in the ribs, hard, with a cocktail tray. “Might want to watch where you’re standing, Chrissy.”

Might want to watch where you swing that thing! Christyn wanted to rebuke, but she was in pain and could only manage a hissed intake of breath.

The pain didn’t subside as the shift wore on, just kept throbbing in her side. When Esteban made a pass through the bar, he stopped and gasped when he saw her bent over with one hand braced against the liquor cabinet under the bar and the other pressed to her aching ribs. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I can still stand up, but I might need to file worker’s comp.”

“Don’t let the owners hear you say that, they’ll fire you like a shot! I’d hate to lose you, you’re the best here at what you do.”

“Yeah, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. We’re both too good for this dump.”

His lips pursed into a thin line. “Take a breather, Chrissy. You can sit on the bench outside. Here, take a cigarette.” He passed her one out of his personal stash and she took it, even though she had her own.

“Topher, take the front for me?”

Topher nodded, and she stepped out.

The smoke helped calm her nerves, even if every inhalation sent a new wave of pain through her side. If she had to guess, one or more of her ribs were fractured. She touched the area gingerly through her shirt with the tips of her fingers and felt a definite swelling, but nothing seemed misaligned.

It frustrated her, how afraid Esteban was of their employers. He was a good chef and a decent manager, aside from his habit of simpering and sucking up to the boss. Richmond was a smaller town than Houston, but surely job prospects weren’t terribly limited for either him or herself. She wondered, did Robert and Sylvia have dirt on him?


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
As she stared out into the parking lot in thought, a shiny dark gray Camaro pulled into a parking space. It was the kind of car that would have impressed someone who cared more about cars; as it were, Christyn only noticed it because it was parked dangerously close to her own old Fiat. Fortunately, the driver had the good sense not to scratch her paint as he opened the door to get out…

“Oh my God...Alex?”

Standing up shot a fresh jolt of pain through her side, but she had to see him. Meeting him halfway out in the parking lot, she appraised him with her eyes, wincing. He looked exhausted and he had lost some weight, but it didn’t look like healthy weight loss. He looked gaunt, malnourished, not unlike Damian after each jail stint. “Oh, dear Lord...I never thought I’d see you again!” She placed both hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze which her injury protested.

“You alright there?”

“I’m fine, a waitress hit me with a tray, Jesse’s done worse. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were working down here, so I thought I’d swing by, catch up a little--Jesus Christ, is that a gun?”

She froze. “Who told you I was here?”

“Some hot redhead I met at industry night at the Sapphire. I would have got her name and number, but she was obviously too drunk, and all over some fat rando, too--”

“Auralee!” said Christyn. “That’s my roommate. I’ll be having a talk with her about throwing my name around.” Alex was Jesse’s cousin, and it was a lucky thing for Christyn that they hated each other. If Auralee had happened to let her name slip to someone who knew Jesse and liked him...she shuddered at the possibilities. “But come in! Let me fix you a drink!”

He followed her in, sat down, and ordered a skinny margarita.

“Let me buy you lunch, too,” she insisted, keeping to herself that he looked like he needed it. “How does grilled chicken sound?” she asked.

“It sounds great...but you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I feel horribly about the way I left things off.”

“I completely understand,” he said as she rung in his meal. “You couldn’t stick around with Jesse knowing where you lived.”

“Are broccoli and roasted potatoes on the side okay, or do you want something else?”

“No broccoli. They can double the potatoes, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Still picky about the vegetables, I see. Well, it looks like you’ve been doing well without me, that’s a nice set of wheels out front.”

He laughed bitterly. “Thanks. Worst financial decision I’ve ever made. I thought I could hold down the car note and the lease, working at McCarthy’s, but I lost the lease not too long after they fired me.”

“They fired you?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d made a good sale on the sashimi grade ahi tuna steak--”

“Oh, honey. The ahi at McCarthy’s was never sashimi grade as long as I worked there.”

“Yes, I know. And they know. And so did the customer I was trying to impress. Turns out it was a famous food critic. The restaurant got slammed in his scathing review for ‘sub-par food’ and ‘deceitful waitstaff’...he put my whole name in it and everything. I’m as good as blackballed in the industry.”

“That’s terrible,” said Christyn. “What kind of person goes out of their way to ruin the life of a waiter? I mean, how petty can you get?”

The bell in the kitchen signaled her to come pick up her order. She retrieved Alex’s plate from the window (it hurt to walk, it hurt to breathe) and set it in front of him. “So, where you been staying at these days?”

“In the Camaro.”

“Jesus!” She reached for her phone in her right apron pocket, a movement that caused her to wince in pain. “Let me text my roommates and ask if I can let you crash at my place, at least until you get back on your feet, but I’m sure it’ll be okay, we have plenty of space.”

“What? You don’t have to go through the trouble--”

“Oh, don’t put on the whole ‘I don’t want to impose’ act. You came here to ask me for a roof, I know it. You can’t fool me, Mr. Master of Bullshit.” And even if he said he didn’t fault her for it, she couldn’t bring herself to turn him away after the way she disappeared.

With no objections from Damian or Auralee, Christyn had Alex follow her home at the end of her shift. He was too exhausted to move his things from the car, and Christyn too badly injured, so they left everything in the backseat for the moment. “Damian and Auralee should be home from work shortly, I should start dinner.”

“Not in your condition,” said Alex. “You could barely work a register, let alone a frying pan. What do you want to order for delivery?” he asked, taking out his phone while she collapsed onto the living room sofa.

“Chinese?” she ventured. He made a face. “What?”

“All that MSG.”

“Right, ‘cause salt is fine to eat unless it’s being cooked into food by Asian people.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m trying to take it personally.”

“Wait, you’re Asian?” he said.

“Half. Why does that surprise you?”

“I just always thought Asian women--”

“Work in nail salons? Eat dogs? Have sideways vaginas?” she rattled off. She’d heard every stereotype and bad joke in the book, which was why when people asked her ‘where she was from,’ anymore, she just said, Beaumont, TX.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just...well, all the Asian chicks I know are quite, well, thin.”

“Then what has you so afraid of a little MSG?”

“Does it have to be Chinese?”

“Yes, dammit!” She dug her debit card out of her purse and threw it across the room at him. “I’m in pain and all I want is some fucking Chinese food!”

“Okay, okay, what do you want?” he asked, dodging the card and picking it up off the floor where it landed.

“Grilled eggplant, for sure! An order of veggie egg rolls...a thing of fried rice, some lo mein noodles...oh, get some beef and broccoli, too, Damian loves that, and whatever you want, of course. Oh, and some crab Rangoon.” That last one was for Auralee; she kept to a mostly liquid diet, but it wasn’t good for her. Christyn, however, happened to know that she had a weakness for all things cheesy and fried. She’d eat at least one of them before resuming her usual regimen of chasing liquor with wine.

The delivery arrived at the same time as Damian and Auralee. She entered first, and Alex gazed up at her--quite a good deal up, as she was at least half a foot taller than he was--his face taking on a look of awe.

“So this is the new roommate?” said Auralee, more to Christyn than Alex.

“Auralee, right?” said Alex.

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“We met at the Sapphire Lounge the other week.”

“Honey, I barely remember yesterday.”

“Damn, we’re ordering in now? What’s the special occasion?” asked Damian, whipping out a crisp $20 to tip the driver.

Instead of answering, Alex stood frozen on the spot, staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Holy shit, dude!”

“Alex, didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” snapped Christyn. The last time Alex had seen Damian was roughly forty pounds ago, so she understood he’d be getting a bit of a shock to the eyes, but she had hoped he’d be a mature adult about it and withhold any overt reaction. She got up off the couch and smacked him in the arm, then immediately clutched at her searing ribs. “Fuck me!”

Alex’s behavior went straight over Damian’s head, his attention turning to Christyn. “Chrissy, are you okay?”

“Someone at her job hit her with a tray,” said Alex.

Damian’s eyes took on a dark glare. “Lemme find out whose tires I need to go up there and cut.” In his voice, Christyn could detect a note of vengeful righteousness; she’d never seen this darker side to him and as much as she was flattered that she was so important to him, she wanted to bring him back to the happy, carefree state she was used to.

“She didn’t mean it! Natalie was just being her normal, idiot self, not looking where she was going.”

“How bad is it?” He led her to the bedroom, where he helped her unbutton her shirt and spread it open to assess the damages. The swelling had gotten severe, and she had a deep purple bruise spreading a three-inch radius from where the blow had struck.

“Oh my God...does it hurt?”

“A little.” A lot.

“If I could just find out what this bitch drives.”

“Damian, no! I don’t want you getting arrested again.” She gave him a one-armed hug on her good side. “I need you to stay with me.”

He barely touched his food when they sat down to dinner, but she didn’t push him. She knew what anger did to his appetite, but sooner or later it would subside and he’d come back to the kitchen for leftovers.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Auralee stood off to the side while the others dined, picking apart one crab Rangoon and sipping from a bottle of vodka she had open on the kitchen counter. She was uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Alex made a few attempts to get her to sit down at the table and talk, but, being unsuccessful, eventually gave up, seemingly unaware of how intently she watched him eat his unadventurous dinner of plain white rice and orange chicken. “So I spoke to Jesse,” he brought up at the table, making Christyn’s blood curdle.

“When was this?”

“Easter. My aunt twisted my arm into coming to see the family,” said Alex.

“Does he know anything about me?” Christyn probed.

“Not for definite. He deduces that you’re still with Damian, but only because he thinks you brainwashed him into gaining weight for you and wouldn’t want to waste all that invested time.”

“Asshole,” said Damian.

“He really is,” Alex agreed, turning to Damian now. “He thinks she made you think it was your idea, and it pisses him off to no end that she’s ‘better’ at mind control than he is. He knows how to implant memories, but not how to rewrite them, see? He’s trying, though, on his new submissive.”

“Poor girl,” said Christyn.

“Eh...I don’t have a lick of sympathy for her, but maybe that’s because she’s the bitch who shot a hole in my ceiling.”

“Stella?” said Damian. “But I thought she only liked skinny guys.”

“Yeah, well, things change when you have a lot of money, or know how to do mind control,” said Alex. “Besides, he’s lost, jeez, it has to be about seventy pounds since you all last saw him? He barely eats; all he ever does anymore is plot revenge on Chrissy here.”

Christyn gulped. “What kind of revenge are we talking?”

Alex paled. “He said he didn’t want you dead, just something close to it.”


Damian started Christyn a warm bath with some bath salts he found in a cupboard that said on the label they were pain-relieving and offered her an ibuprofen, but she decided to have a glass of wine instead, because “Those pills are just as bad for your liver and not nearly as much fun.” He was sitting up in bed reading a book and waiting for her to be done, when Auralee knocked on the door.

“Damian, do you mind helping Alex with some of his stuff?”

“How much I’m getting paid?” he asked, but got out of bed anyway. His anger at Christyn’s workplace had mostly subsided, but he still had a little steam to blow off, and could be down for some heavy lifting.

As he followed Auralee out to the driveway, he noted, “You’ve been quiet.”

“Just sizing up the new guy, seeing if he’ll be amenable to having a little fun with me. He’s got a pretty face.”

“Oh’re thinking of fattening him up, aren’t you?”

“Only if he’d like me to; I’m not a monster. I only do these things to the unwilling if there’s enough money on the line.”

When they got outside, Alex was struggling to haul one of his bags out of the trunk of his car. “Here, I got that for you, man,” said Damian, but as he took it from him, he realized exactly why the other man was struggling. “Damn, what you got in here, bricks?” He unzipped the bag to see a ton of those little workout weights; Auralee was silent but an expression of disappointment crossed her features. “Guess he’s not the one,” he whispered to her at the threshold.

Alex’s car (amazing Camaro, immaculate paint job and shining clean) was packed with bags, and though Damian managed to help him haul most of them to one of the spare bedrooms, they both tired out and started dropping stuff in the living room after a while. Damian almost couldn’t believe Alex had been sleeping in his car, as cluttered as it had been. Then again, Alex was a lot smaller than Damian, two inches shorter and probably eighty pounds thinner. As Alex was dragging out the last item--a guitar case--Auralee finally spoke to him.

“You play guitar?”

“Yeah, self-taught, but I’ve been practicing every day since I was fourteen…”

He decided to leave them to their conversation. It was rare to see Auralee take a break from her obsession, and he hoped her sudden interest in Alex’s music led her to make a new friend. Besides, all that physical labor had him working up an appetite since he hadn’t eaten his fill at dinner, so he headed to the kitchen to heat himself a plate of leftover Chinese.

His mouth was full of noodles when Christyn came in to refill her empty wine glass. She was in her pj’s and her hair was wet. In her comfy clothes with her face washed clean of makeup, she looked very warm and inviting. “Good, you’re eating again,” she said, setting her wine glass on the counter so she could wrap her arms around him. “I didn’t want to say anything at dinner, but I felt awful, knowing my distress was causing you distress. It’s a relief to see you looking after your lovely figure.” She gave his side an affectionate squeeze, which caused him to draw a sharp breath once he’d swallowed. She had him addicted to her attention; some days he could have sworn she would be able to make him come just by playing with and jiggling his soft parts like she liked to do.

“Keep talking like that, Chrissy, keep touching me like that, and I’m gonna have to eat you for dessert.”


Auralee seemed to forget about trying to fatten up the new resident, but if Damian didn’t know any better, he would have thought Christyn had taken up the task herself. Her cooking didn’t lighten up one bit, but it wasn’t her fault that Alex completely ignored any vegetables she put on the table every night, favoring the creamy pastas and bread alone. He reasoned that his high metabolism and intense workout schedule would protect him.

The workout thing annoyed Christyn, but Damian supposed she had a good reason. He was present in the hallway the day she caught Alex doing pull-ups from a bar he’d installed in his doorway and asked, “Have you found a job yet?”

“No, why?”

“So you’re up there doing...whatever it is you’re doing...while you could be looking for a job?”

He dropped to the ground so he could more easily talk without getting winded. “Why are you still on this job thing?”

“The house may be paid off, but the grocery bill is still a thing. Look, I know I did you dirty, dropping off the face of the planet like I did, but that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of my hospitality, or, for that matter, Damian and Auralee, who both contribute.”

“I’ve been looking around, okay? It isn’t easy, especially since hiring managers can just search my name now and find dirt.”

“Look harder.”

Even after Christyn pressed him, Alex struggled to find work. It was him and Damian alone in the house one day, Damian off, Alex frustratingly looking for jobs on his computer, when Damian found the DVD.

The ladies were at work and Damian had decided to make himself useful by cleaning the house, which included going into Auralee’s room and collecting all the dirty glassware she had lying around in there so he could wash it. There were so many cups, he had to take a plate and use it as a cocktail tray to get them all. While he worked, he came across a disc labeled ‘High school play’ in permanent marker, and curiosity got the better of him.

He and Auralee had already gone through most of her collection of DVDs while Christyn was at work, but he had never seen this one before. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to take a break while he waited on the dishes and the laundry, he popped the disc into the player in the living room and fixed himself a snack of microwave popcorn, onto which he drizzled some extra melted butter and garlic salt, before curling up on the couch and pressing play.

The video was shot on a camcorder, from a seat in a school auditorium. After a round of loud applause, the curtain on the stage lifted,and a very fat, very happy looking teenage actress popped out of bed to orchestral music and began singing a song about waking up in Baltimore.

Damian already knew Auralee was a good singer, but her performance in her high school musical was really blowing him away. He liked the play in general, too; it was all about body acceptance and racial equality and had such a happy vibe to it. Soon, Alex decided to take a break too, wandering into the living room and joining Damian on the couch. “I know I’m supposed to be looking for a job, but I just had to know what that beautiful sound was.” As Auralee began her next musical number, he said, “That girl has the voice, man. I’ve been a couple bands...all of them failed...but it’s always been my dream to find a frontwoman with a voice like that. If I only could...hey, do you know that girl?”

“Actually, I do. I have her number, you want it?”

“It’s a long shot, but give it to me.”

So he looked it up in his phone and gave it to him. Alex called the number then and there, and Damian heard over the line, “Auralee speaking.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
There was no longer a such thing as a quiet moment when Alex and Auralee were both home. They rehearsed nonstop, filling the house with the sound of heavy metal music. They were pretty good. The problem was, they liked to get drunk and play into the odd hours of the night. Christyn had resorted to using noise-cancelling headphones in her sleep; Damian snuck into the back once or twice at work to nap on top of the meat freezer, but only during Auralee’s shifts, as he knew Sabine wouldn’t be quite so forgiving if she caught him.

They had assembled a band along with a drummer Alex found online and a bassist Auralee had met while standing in line at the liquor store. They called their band The Waitstaff, and soon they began to play shows in local bars. Oftentimes, they would linger at the bars for hours after their set ended. Damian was never there, but he guessed Alex was spending that time filling up on greasy bar food and beer while he and Auralee chatted with their fans, based on the effect his new life with the band had on his body.

Damian didn’t make a habit these days of looking at other men. In the past, he used to find himself looking at fat guys with a twinge of jealousy, wishing he had the funds and the freedom to eat like they did, but now that he had everything in his lap along with a beautiful woman to grant his every wish, it felt kind of gay to be looking at dudes’ bodies. Not that there was anything wrong with gay folks; in fact, it was hot that Christyn swung both ways, but Damian was strictly about the female form.
But the change in Alex was too rapid and too obvious to miss. He was definitely thicker, his slim starting frame making the extra weight all the more noticeable, and his belly was rounding out considerably. Surprisingly, though, all his clothes still seemed to fit right. Even more amazingly, he seemed unaware of his gain.

With Alex earning money from the shows, he finally began to contribute to the household, and one evening, Christyn put his contribution to good use. She went absolutely all-out at dinner, putting together a downright buffet. Tortilla chips and artisan bread with three different kinds of dip for appetizers: her usual green dip, a queso, and a creamy, cajun spiced one with shrimp. Tomato soup and a salad with berries and mandarin orange slices, tossed in a tangy dressing with cucumbers and something called jicama for added crunch. For entrees, she sprung for a whole chicken and bacon-wrapped sausage for the boys, accompanied by mashed potatoes, vegetables sauteed in garlic butter, and flaky biscuits that she served with whipped cinnamon butter on the side. Dessert was a selection of chocolate cake, strawberry mousse, and lemon meringue pie. She had stocked the home bar, too, and spent the duration of dinner mixing everyone drinks while she munched on side dishes. She introduced Damian to a drink called a “white Russian,” which was creamy and sweet and which he guessed packed an impressive caloric punch. Over the course of the meal he asked her for no less than five of them, so that by the time she was clearing, he was blissfully, helplessly stuffed and drunk, his stomach stretched to his limit as he leaned back in his seat just waiting for her to finish cleaning so she could drag him to bed. In the next seat, Alex was in a similar state.

“This been great, babe,” said Damian, copping a feel of her ass as she moved to pick up the spotlessly empty plates in front of him. “You’d think it’s Christmas.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.”


Christyn looked from Auralee to Alex. “You mean you haven’t told him?”

“Told me what?”

Auralee smiled across the table and clapped her hands together. “We’re going on tour!”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019

Alex and Auralee’s tour would have them hitting bars and concert venues in every major city in southeast Texas. They would be gone for a month, and although Damian considered Auralee a friend, there were a lot of obvious benefits to her being absent.

For one thing, the liquor lasted much longer. The house also stayed cleaner, and at last, it was quiet enough for Damian to actually catch some sleep.

The best thing about Auralee being gone was that all the ‘special reservations’ at the bowling alley had been put on hold. She had contacted her clients and told them to postpone coming in until she returned. According to her, the work she did in the back on grills for her high-dollar clients was the dirtiest part of the job, and while she was willing to do it herself, she couldn’t bring herself to force Damian, Zeke, or Sabine to carry it on their conscience.

What a fucking sweetheart, right?

Finally, the empty house gave him and Christyn many more chances than usual to get it on. His new favorite game was slipping a hand down the front of her pants while she was trying to cook. She would start in talking about how many health codes he was violating, but it never took long for him to get her so wet that she was begging him to take her, usually on the counter but sometimes from behind with her bent over the table and once, standing up against the fridge.

In the days leading up to his birthday, she had asked him what he wanted, and he insisted her time was the most precious thing to him. He had a good job, he could buy himself stuff, but it wasn’t every day he got to have her all to himself. So, she had promised to take a day off on the date, which left him a little confused when the morning of the 11th of September rolled around and she returned to the bedroom after breakfast to get dressed in her black dress shirt and slacks.

“Who called you in?” he said, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Nobody. Both Esteban and Abigail know it would be a violation of the Texas health code to make me work while I’m sick with a bad case of diarrhea.” She was obviously fine, but she must have told her bosses that she wasn’t in order to secure the day off. A grin spread across his face.

“Way to finesse! But...why are you dressed as a server?”

“It occurred to me that the one craving of yours I haven’t been satisfying is that for mischief. So I thought we’d go to the art museum...without paying the cover. We’ll say we’re from the agency, which technically, I am, I just won’t be on shift. But security doesn’t get the list of all the temps on the schedule, and neither does the parking guard. Get your server black-on-black on; we’re both about to do some finessing today.”

His grin grew even wider. “My Chrissy wants to break the law?” He waited for her to finish doing her buttons before picking her up bridal style and kissing her deeply.

When the kiss broke, she looked dizzy. Her hands came to a rest on his upper arms and she said, “Impressive.”

“You think? You’re lighter than your average keg of beer,” he said with a smirk. Even though his gain had slowed lately with the rapid pace of work Beans demanded on the clock, his arm muscles were getting seriously huge, and the look on Christyn’s face told him she liked him being able to handle her body with the same careful ease with which he might pick up something as light as a wine bottle. She leaned in to kiss him gently right under his ear, at the base of his softening jawline, and worked her way a few inches down before pulling back in his arms, giving him the most adoring look. “Get dressed, sweet thing.”

He put her down and put on one of the button downs and a pair of dress pants he’d bought on their last shopping trip. Everything still fit with some room: at Christyn’s insistence, he’d bought everything a size over for the sake of being economical, even if she did like to see him in skintight clothes. She drove them to the museum (man, how he didn’t miss Auralee’s reckless driving) and, as promised, they had no trouble getting past the parking guard, or security as she took them through the service entrance.

“What do you want to look at first?”

“I don’t know!”

So they just wandered around for a while, Christyn letting Damian lead as he took in the sights of paintings from ancient to modern, sculptures, dye on cloth and carvings in ivory and jewelry that had been worn by people who had been dead for centuries. After a while, he said, “Maybe we should have paid the ticket entry. Don’t they gotta maintain these places?”

“Trust me, most of the money goes straight into the owners’ pockets. I talk to the workers here, they’re underpaid and treated like dog crap. If the people in charge really cared, they would invest in the staff first.”

For lunch, she took him to the taco truck stationed on the museum’s grounds out by the fountain, where a robust woman appearing to be in her 40s was manning the kitchen and the register by herself. “Whoa, Chef Helen, running understaffed?” said Christyn.

“Oh, you know. We can’t seem to hold onto these cashiers. Honestly, I swore I’d already be out of here by now. You know they denied me that promotion, right?”

“What? No!”

The two women shot the shit for a while before Christyn placed her order. “Let us get a combo platter and two cauliflower tacos, please?”

“Sure, that’ll be $16.68.”

“Oh, we’re here for work with ABC, we’re on our lunch break. I just don’t like the food at the cafe inside.”

“Oh, in that case it’ll be $8.34.”

Christyn handed the chef a $20 and told her to keep the change and “put it in little Andy’s college fund.”

They sat at a picnic table in the courtyard to eat. The tacos were fire; “She said she got turned down for a promotion?”

“It’s an unjust world,” Christyn agreed.

After that, they explored the rest of the exhibits they hadn’t seen yet and left a little before close. Christyn pulled in at a grocery store on the way home. “What do you want for dinner, babe?”

“Surprise me, you always do good.”

They loaded up on a few things they were out of at the house (tomatoes, butter, garlic) before Christyn sent Damian to go look at the magazines while she picked out ingredients for dessert--he had said to surprise him. So, he wandered over to the magazine aisles and perused them with a bored expression. He remembered being little and laughing at the tabloids at the front of the store: obviously fake news articles about Bigfoot sightings and big-headed green men falling out of the sky from spacecrafts. There were no tabloids now. Every piece of media that wasn’t centered on weight loss was full of serious headlines pointing toward the fall of society: war, pollution, natural disasters, mass extinctions, economic collapse. It was enough to depress anyone who didn’t have someone around to be the bright spot (even if Christyn was the most cynical person Damian knew by a longshot.)

After she’d checked out, she came and got him, her eyes glinting with a hint of what she planned to do to him. He couldn’t wait.

They got home around 7, by which time Damian was ready for another good meal. “What do you want me to help you with?” he asked as Christyn worked in the kitchen.

“Nonsense, it’s your birthday.”

He flinched slightly, but he didn’t think she noticed. Nonsense, that had been one of his sister’s favorite words when he was growing up. Needless to say, there was a good reason he left home….

“Right, so it should be about what I want, right? And I want to help.”

“When you put it that way, you do have a point. Here, keep an eye on the roux for me.”

“What’s a roux?”

“It’s what makes the soup thick.” She indicated a pot on the stove where she was cooking a mixture of flour, butter, and garlic. “Now, we don’t want it to burn, so keep stirring it and when it’s bubbling, pour some milk on it.” She handed him the jug of milk before turning to chop some vegetables on the other counter.

“How much milk?”

“A five-count should do it.”

Before too long, they were sitting down to a scrumptious meal: creamy tomato soup, seasoned rice with shellfish and vegetables, and warm, crumbly cornbread. Damian mixed everything together in a bowl so the bread and rice could soak up some of the soup, the combination reminding him of gumbo, but richer and thicker.

“Huh. That’s a good idea,” said Christyn, pouring some soup over her rice and bread, but she only had one small helping before getting up to put the finishing touches on dessert. “And no peeking!”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
As she worked, he put away a second bowl of soup-soaked rice and bread, reaching a point of definite satisfaction by the end of it. He could have had another, but he didn’t know exactly how much dessert she was preparing over there, and she was taking her sweet time.

At last, she finished up, washed her hands in the sink, and made her way back over to the table, where she straddled his lap in his seat, holding a plate between them. On it were six of what he assumed were cake balls, each the size of a golf ball and covered in hot fudge sauce with a burning candle sticking out. “Blow,” she told him.

His breath hitched as it dawned on him that she planned to feed him with her hands. It would be messy, and he’d probably have to lick her fingers clean.

Oh man. He’d just written a blog post about this particular fantasy, too.

He blew the candles out and made a wish that she would always be this good to him.

She placed the plate on the table, plucked off one of the balls, tearing it in half to reveal flaky pastry and a cream-filled center, and placed one half in his mouth. The cream filling was amazing, cold and fluffy to contrast the warm, gooey chocolate. He had barely swallowed before she put the second half in his mouth, and when he finished that, she made him suck the cream and chocolate off the candle and then her fingers.

As she repeated these steps over and over again, she rocked back and forth in his lap. He was getting harder by the minute, but it was hard to undress her while she was stuffing his face and in turn making him even hornier. It was a slow process, but he managed to strip her down to her panties and bra, letting her uniform fall to the kitchen floor. Eventually, mercifully, she opened his pants and sprung his erection, pushing up his shirt and grinding against his lap so his cock was got rubbed between her body and the soft underside of his own gut.

Of course, it wasn’t the same as being inside her, but the sight alone of her pushing him against his own fat was doing things to him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Chrissy,” he said, but she just pushed another bite past his lips.

He decided to retaliate by snaking a hand down the back of her panties to finger her. She was quite wet, but kept on teasing him. “Oh, you’re getting so nice and plump. Even your fingers feel fatter!”

He was so close to blowing his load now. “You don’t play fair!”

She made him suck her fingers clean once more before giving his belly a smack--not hard enough to hurt him by any means, just enough to make his flesh jiggle and quiver against his cock. “Look how much of you there is to play with now!”

He tried to hold back. He really did. But it was all too much for him and pretty soon, he lost control and shot her right in the face.

She laughed, thumbing some jism that dripped from her chin and licking it up. That could have gone a lot worse. At least she wasn’t mad.

“It’s really cute that I can get you off just by teasing you,” she said. “We are going to need to work a little on your stamina though. Maybe I’ll just have to fuck you fourteen times a day until you’re not so sensitive. Of course, I’ll have to stuff you double, too, to make up for lost calories…”

As soon as she said that, he was up again within seconds. Her jaw dropped. Looking from his cock to his eyes, she wiped her face off with a dinner napkin and said, “I think I can work with this.”

Later on, he was spooning her in bed, his thigh draped over her, one hand on her sweet little belly while his pooled against the curve between the bottom of her shoulderblades and the base of her spine. It had been a while since he’d had to sleep with a pillow between his legs for comfort--he had been cushiony enough himself for the last several months--but he liked having Christyn in its place. It was beginning to cool down for the year and Christyn was hogging the blankets, but for once, the cool air felt good on Damian’s skin. God, he loved getting fat, and even more, he loved that his woman was all for making him fatter. “How did I ever get lucky enough to get with you?” he said.

“You really want to know?”

“If you have an answer for me.”

“After I left Paul Slater at Pasture, I thought to myself that I had a really bad habit of going for guys who were fake-nice. Smart, and take-charge, and all seemingly nice at first, but cruel deep down. And then I remembered that I already knew the nicest guy, that he was my best friend and he had a lot of qualities that I liked...he was funny, sensitive, good at art...he was the only one who helped me through the delirium tremens…”

“Sounds like a keeper.” He smiled.

“Oh, yeah. His name was Damian, and he was the best, although when I met him, he was sad and painfully thin, but I’m working every day to fix that.”

He squeezed her close and she sighed in contentment. “Oh, you’re so warm!” she said. “You make me feel like I’m absolutely enveloped in comfort and safety.

“And if you don’t get your dick off my ass, you’re fixing to get fucked again, Damian Mendez.”

She then pressed her ass right up against his dick and it hardened immediately. “I don’t think that’s finna be a problem.”


Auralee and Alex returned much too soon. Christyn lamented the loss of her freedom to undress Damian wherever and whenever she pleased, but she still made a grand affair of the welcome-back dinner out of instinct.

After dinner, Alex pulled her aside into the living room. Standing across from him, she could really see the difference in his frame. His once sagging pants now hugged his butt and thighs and his belly bulged over the waistband beneath his shirt. “Notice anything different?” he asked.

“You...look well,” she said, not wanting to offend him.

“Oh, don’t beat around the bush. I’ve put on twenty pounds on tour, on top of the fifteen pounds I must have put on while living here--the hotel scale confirmed it.”

“You carry it well,” she said nervously.

“Don’t hide your desire; we all know you like your man heavier. Even if it was his idea, you’ve grown accustomed to a growing boy. Look but don’t touch, though. I am happily taken by Ms. Auralee Kingston.”


“After it hit me how much weight I had gained, I freaked out a little,” Alex admitted. “I almost wanted to cancel the tour. But Auralee was so sweet...she came to me, told me she didn’t mind the new pounds...and she touched me, and squeezed my new fat sides and kissed me. She's so wonderful. I’ve told you I've had a crush on her forever, right?”

“At least thirty times.”

“Anyway, she got all shy and asked me how I’d feel about putting on another ten, to see how we like it. I think I’m gonna do it. God, the way she touched me. You know, I always thought I had to be buff and attractive for women to like me--why else would my fat sucker of a cousin have to brainwash them to get them to stay? But there really are women out there who are kind and accepting, and it looks like I bagged me one of them!”

That night, Christyn found Auralee smoking a cigarette on the back patio and smacked her upside the head.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“You lied to him!” Christyn spat. “You made him think you were some bright-eyed ingenue when you’ve been in the feeder game for years!”

“I meant no harm…”

“This whole thing is a powder keg, I’m telling you,” said Christyn before retreating to her own bedroom to cuddle a nice and plump and definitely consenting Damian to sleep.


“And now you’re drugging him to stuff him?”

“Chrissy, no, it isn’t like that!”

Christyn had come home for her lunch break to find Alex on the couch, dazed and unresponsive, and was waiting for Auralee’s explanation. “Alright then, what’s it like?”

“I got him the drugs so we could have sex.”

“So you roofied him!”

“No, no! He was the one who said he wanted it...but he has difficulties in the, uh, downstairs regions. He’s in chronic pain due to a very severe case of hemorrhoids. I offered him painkillers, but he said he’s already built up a tolerance to all the major ones. So I got my brother to draw up a script for Xanax.”

Christyn crossed her arms. “And you swear you didn’t use his state as an opportunity to feed him unwillingly?”

“I never put one bite of food in his mouth. He did that all himself. Albeit, to please me…”

“Under false pretenses, at that.”

“I never lied!”

“You said you didn’t mind the weight. Understatement of the century, if you ask me.”

“And he’s getting much more comfortable with the changes. In fact, just yesterday, he said he liked gaining for me. And before you ask, no, he wasn’t barred out!” she added defensively. “You know, for a friend, you have a very low opinion of me.”

Over on the couch, Alex sat oblivious like a zombie.

“On the contrary, it’s precisely because I know you so well that I fear you. I don’t even know the extent of what you’re capable of, but I know enough. And I know Alex, too. This won’t end well,” Christyn concluded and walked out of the room.
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like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Damian had never seen the appeal of Auralee as a lover, but he supposed that just came down to personal preferences. Alex, however, was head over heels for her, and it was nice to see him happy and her finally enjoying a fulfilling relationship. He imagined it had been hard for her to watch from the sidelines while he and Christyn had all the fun.

Alex was also a lot more easy to be around now that he was playing in the band and enjoying himself instead of spending all day complaining about how hard it was to get a job. He and Damian were quickly building a friendship over popcorn and movies when they were out of band practice and work, respectively. It was a little concerning when he caught Alex clearly barred out once or twice, and he was beginning to worry that he was letting band life get to him and popping pills, but he was satisfied with the explanation Auralee gave him that Alex needed the pills for his horrible chronic butt pain, although it was way more than he would have wanted to know.

One day while Damian was doing a load of dishes, Alex found him in the kitchen and said, “Alright, spill. What’s been the secret to your success?”

“What you mean?” asked Damian, confused.

“C’mon, dude, in less than a year, you’ve blown up. It’s obvious that the fatter I get, the happier Auralee gets...and the freakier she gets in bed.” Alex smirked.

“Auralee’s my manager, I don’t think I should be openly talking about her sex life.”

“No one said you had to do that. Just teach me how to crack my metabolism. C’mon, us big guys need to stick together, right?”

Damian shrugged. “It hasn’t been that hard for me. Chrissy cooks good. And Auralee said my metabolism is already messed up from being so broke for so many years that there were times I was only eating twice or three times a week.”

“So intermittent fasting might just do the trick?”

“Intermittent what now?”

“Hey, wait a minute…” Out of nowhere, Alex narrowed his eyes and said, “Auralee seems to know more about the science of weight gain than she lets on.”

That’s when it hit Damian.

Oh no.

She didn’t tell him.

“Well, yeah, I mean, her brother’s a medical doctor.” Damian hoped that was a good enough save.

That night at dinner, Alex was unusually quiet while Christyn set the table with food. Damian kept an eye on him in equal silence while he loaded his plate, waiting for something to happen. Auralee was the first to speak, helping herself to some of the appetizer, fried gouda rounds with a marinara sauce that had taken Christyn hours to make. “Ooh, little fried cheeses! My favorite. Oh my god, Chrissy, these are fantastic!”

Christyn looked at each of the men as she served herself a shrimp skewer and some creamed spinach. “Doesn’t anyone else have something to say? Or have I messed up this time?” She took a bite of the spinach and said, “Tastes fine to me.”

“It’s good, Chrissy, it’s all really delicious,” said Damian, skewering a roasted potato with his fork, still braced for some kind of explosion from Alex.

“Well, you have to tell me! You know I appreciate your compliments. Alex, what do you think?”

“You know, I did some digging around on the Internet today, and I came across a very peculiar blog. Do any of you know what it had on it?” His tone was flat and he looked at no one in particular. He’d probably popped a Xan or two.

“Damian bombarding the Internet with shirtless selfies and backsassing anons?” Auralee proposed.

Damian turned bright red and glanced at Christyn. “I was gonna tell you…”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m already a follower,” she said, sipping her wine.

“ are?”

“Yeah, I run a climate change activism blog--”


“I’m surprised you haven’t already guessed it was me,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to spy on you, but following your blog has helped me figure out how to please you, kind of like a kinky little wishlist.”

He was glad that was all out in the open, but the crisis wasn’t averted yet.

“Actually,” said Alex, “I was talking about another blog, Aura-Fixation...Auralee, would you like some more wine before we continue this discussion?”

He was holding the bottle wrong. Damian saw what was coming a second before it happened. He pulled Auralee out of her seat and into his own lap just in time for her to miss the spray of broken glass as Alex shattered the bottle against the table, holding it by the neck now, pointy-end out like a weapon. “Tell me, Aura, how long did you think you could hide this ‘feeder’ stuff from me? ‘Oh, Alex, skip your workout, we need to be practicing this chorus! Come to the bar with us after rehearsal, Alex, I want cheese sticks!’ Did you really think deep down I would never catch on? Or that I wouldn’t notice the first fifteen pounds just because my clothes still fit?”

Despite her height, Auralee weighed next to nothing. She was shaking like a little leaf and sniffling with oncoming tears. Through her crying, she admitted, “I replaced them and switched the labels.”

“You deceptive little bitch.” He made a swipe for her with the bottle, but Damian pulled her protectively closer to himself.

“Alex, calm down! Put down the bottle. Can’t you two just talk about this?”

Alex turned around abruptly. “And where the fuck did she go?”

Christyn had slipped out so quietly, Damian hadn’t even noticed her leaving her seat.


Christyn stood frozen with dread in the foyer for minutes on end, wondering what she was supposed to do now. She couldn’t call the cops, not while she was harboring a fugitive. She still had her pistol strapped to her hip from earlier at work, but she didn’t want it to have to come to that.

Then she thought, why shouldn’t she call the cops? Damian could make himself scarce while they made their arrest on Alex, and if he decided to take it out on Christyn by ratting her out, well, who would they believe: the titled owner of the house, who was in good standing with her colleagues, or an unemployed raving lunatic who would test positive for Xanax?

She pulled out her phone and dialed.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I need to order a pepperoni pizza for delivery.”

“Ma’am, this is an emergency line.”

“I understand that. I just need a pepperoni pizza to arrive at--”

An arm hooked around her throat from behind, a bottle held threateningly to her face. She dropped her phone on the ground as Alex squeezed around her neck, lifting her heels an inch off the ground with the force of his chokehold. Just her luck, the 911 operator seemed not to have been trained to recognize a pizza order as a domestic violence call, and now, she’d just been walked in on ordering a pizza by a man who’d gone bezerk after finding out about his girlfriend’s secret double life as a feeder. Christyn tried to pry him off, but as fast as she was losing air, she was too weak.

“I bet you helped Auralee plan all this out, didn’t you? Is that it, are you her little lackey? Did she assign you to Damian, too, huh?”

Just as the edges of her vision began to blur and turn purple, she was released. As she filled her lungs with air, she saw that Damian had disarmed Alex and had him in a hold with his arms locked behind his back. Sometimes she forgot he used to work as a security guard. Even if he had no hope of fitting into his old uniform these days, he seemed to have retained his skill set: though Alex struggled and struggled, he could not break free.

Christyn drew her gun and fired two warning shots into the ground by Alex’s feet. Training the gun on him now, she said, “Ten minutes. You have ten minutes to gather your essentials and figure out somewhere else to sleep. I don’t care if it’s in the goddamn Camaro.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019

Auralee had slipped into a constant state of misery.

It was one of those days when Damian and Auralee got off early while Christyn was at work all day. Usually when this happened, they would order takeout and watch movies together, but anymore, all Auralee did when she wasn’t at work was sit in her room feeling sorry for herself, drinking and listening to the police radio. She said it was to ‘see if that sonofabitch got barred out and crashed his car yet,’ but Damian knew she was trying to reassure herself that he hadn’t been taken in by the cops.

For dinner he made himself a double-stacked BLT with extra tomatoes and a scrambled egg inside, along with some of Christyn’s Vietnamese hot sauce. (He’d always suspected she was Asian; it was especially obvious back when her hair was darker. Turns out, when she’d told him she was ‘from Beaumont,’ she had meant that that was where she was born.) As a second thought, he made a grilled cheese sandwich for Auralee, toasted on the stove with a generous amount of butter on each side and stacked with so many slices of cheese, it should be illegal. She would need some food to hold down all that liquor, and if there was one thing Auralee couldn’t resist, it was cheese.

He knocked on her door quietly. At her choked “Come in,” he stepped inside to find her curled up at the head of her bed with a bottle of vodka.

“I made you food. I thought we could hang out,” he said, placing her plate on the rumpled sheets in front of her.

She looked up at him with red eyes. “Call it what you want, I know you came to comfort me. Thank you, by the way. Chrissy thinks I made my own bed on this one.”

“No offense, Auralee, but this bed looks like it hasn’t been made since the ‘90s.”

“What I mean is, she thinks I’m in the wrong for keeping my fetish from Alex. And I guess she’s right. I am a total hypocrite. All that stuff I told you about being honest with Chrissy--”

“It’s different, though, isn’t it?” said Damian, coming to sit on the side of the bed. He tuned the radio to the country station instead of the police stuff he had it on. “It didn’t take much convincing to get Christyn to try out the feeder role, but she's not the one who has to take the evidence of what we do to work with her every day. If I had asked her to get fat for me, and she didn’t want to, things might have gone a lot different between us. So I get that you were afraid to just come out and say it.”

“You know, I never meant to fall for him,” said Auralee, snatching a tissue off her end-table to wipe the snot off her face before she reached for the plate. Damian had cut her sandwich into four little triangles, and she picked up one of them and took a bite. “Once I knew he was such a workout freak, I had planned to back off. Sure, the fantasy of turning a guy from a jock to a complete butterball is appealing, but I was going to keep it at just that: a fantasy. No fun in fattening up someone who’s just going to resent you for it later. But then we started the band, and he thought his metabolism was so invincible that when we’d hang out in bars after the shows, he’d just eat without a care in the world. He put the weight on himself, you have to know that I never forced him to eat one bite. Then, on tour, he freaked out about it, and I told him I liked it...I was just scared to tell him exactly how much. I’ll admit, switching the labels on his clothes was deceitful of me…”

“A little messed up, yeah.”

“I just wanted to delay the moment of his ego getting dented. He’s so passionate about the music. Onstage, he just...comes alive. It captivated me. And offstage, he was playful, intelligent...he’s the only man who’s ever been able to meet me blow for blow in our game of verbal foreplay. Swordplay! Meant to say swordplay. I just wanted to keep him the way he was for as long as possible, mentally, at least.” She finished one triangle of grilled cheese and reached for another. “This is really good, by the way. You’re shaping up into quite the excellent chef.”

“It’s just grilled cheese.”

“Well, it’s delectable.”

She could speak for herself. The only way you could get him to eat that much cheese was if you put a hefty sum of money on the line.

“If you’re sorry, just tell him.”

“I’m way ahead of you. Here’s my new set list for the show next week. It’s going to be broadcast on the radio...I just hope he’ll be listening.” She handed him a notepad with her selections scribbled down in ballpoint pen. He didn’t recognize any of the songs, but they all had titles like Cara Mia and Only Want to Be With You and I Think I Love You. He guessed this was her way of begging Alex back.

“I was thinking over the phone, but this works too. Maybe I should go with, for security? In case he shows up and flips out again?”

“Oh, Damian, if I feel the need, I have men with guns for that. But thank you.” She reached over and pinched his cheek like one might do to a little brother or a son. “The world needs more of you, and I’m not talking about weight gain.”


That selfish, childish, foolish pair of lunatics!

As Christyn clocked out at the hotel and made her way out to her car, she wondered how she and Damian, who were newbies to the feedist scene entirely (although he had obviously spent a lot of time thinking about it before he came out to her), could put this lifestyle into practice while perfectly preserving one another’s autonomy and get it more or less right on the first try, while Auralee, who was old enough and experienced enough to know better, toyed with Alex like a bratty schoolgirl, and Alex, upon discovering her deceptions, threw tantrums like a toddler?

She would have thought Auralee, who’d had her own bodily autonomy hijacked by her family, would have learned about respect by now. Or that Alex, who had grown up resenting his more successful but abusive cousin, would have taken self-control from the experience. Maybe maturity was less tied to age than one might think.

She knew she was being more judgmental than she had ever been, but she still had the strangulation bruises around her neck and shoulders. In the state of Texas, domestic assault with impediment of breathing and/or circulation was a felony on the same tier as manslaughter, Damian could tell her that much. (Her poor boy, they had thrown him in the intake tank with all the city’s murderers and rapists and other such monsters. And yet, he remained as sweet as ever. This past week he had spent fussing over her: kissing her bruises, fluffing her pillows, holding her extra securely when the jitters and twitches of paranoia overtook her.)

She had just begun the drive home when the call came in from Alex. She already had her earphones in, and when she picked up, all she said was, “This had better be good.”

“Christyn, thank god! I’m so confused. Why did I wake up on a park bench?”

“Oh, don’t try and feign amnesia with me, Mr. Master of Bullshit.”

“Okay, okay, you called me out.” He sighed. “I do remember...but I wasn’t in my right mind. If you could just tell Auralee I’m sorry, I think she and I have a lot to talk about.”

Christyn shook her head in exasperation as she turned onto her street. “If you have something to say to her, you can do it yourself. She’s playing a show at the Hotel Flamenco with some replacement guitarist she found online. You can turn up and apologize if you want, but no funny business. I’ll be there, and I’ll be armed,” she warned him before hanging up.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Auralee’s replacement guitarist was a weedy-looking twenty-something white boy named Stephen who Christyn had met a few times when he came to the house for rehearsal, but never spoken to. She had, however, had passing interactions with him: once, when she offered snacks for the band, he had declined a bit brusquely. Another time, he had laughed at her expense when her butt got stuck between two couches they had to move so they’d have space to practice in the living room. Auralee was already talking about firing him, but for now she needed someone to play the show at the hotel.

Finally, the night of the show came, and 20 minutes before curtains (figuratively speaking, as there was no curtain for the stage that Christyn and the other bartenders had hastily assembled the previous night because Robert and Sylvia didn’t want to pay the bussers for an extra two hours after the bar closed), she had left Topher to watch the counter while she helped Auralee touch up her makeup in the sit-down lounge at the back of the restaurant area. Over by the stage, the rest of the band set up and showed the guys from the radio station where to put their equipment.

“Try not to cry it off this time,” she said, touching up Auralee’s eyeliner, only to have it smudge as her eyes watered continuously. Christyn hadn’t seen her so miserable since she recovered from her first surgery. Posing as her sister so the hospital administrators would let her into the room, she had gone to see Auralee only to find her so haunted by the experience, she couldn’t speak, only whimper. Now, she had reached a level of sulking far past her habit of inappropriately timed laughter, letting a rare display of her true emotions be seen as she let slip tears without warning.

“What you need to do is draw the eye down,” advised Damian, who had come along to support Auralee. He had been especially generous in allowing her to emotionally lean on him lately. Ask Christyn, he was being nicer to her than she deserved. Discreetly nudging a grand total of 35 pounds onto someone’s body without disclosing your motives was, in her opinion, only slightly less deranged than strangling someone who had nothing to do with it all. But she wasn’t going to stop Damian from being kind; it was just who he was, and one of the qualities she most adored in him.

“May I?” he gestured towards Auralee’s bag.

“Sure, have at it.”

He dug through her things until he found a tube of deep purple lipstick. “Here, put this on. It’ll distract from the smudged eyeliner. And see if you can get it to look like you smudged it on purpose, like a smoky thing.”

“Huh,” said Auralee, applying the lipstick in her compact mirror. “You really are quite the artist.”

Just then, Stephen came up to Damian and handed him a plate from the bar. “Here’s the cheese sticks you wanted me to get for Aura. But you’ll finish most of them for her, right? After all, the star of the show needs to keep her figure.”

“She needs to eat, too,” said Damian. “Everyone needs to eat.”

“Really, that what the doctor tell you, Slim?”

“I’m a barback at a bowling alley, you really think I have health insurance?”

Brushing off this rebuttal, Stephen displaced Christyn on the couch and put an arm around Auralee. “How about a kiss for good luck before the show, huh?”

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

“Come on, just one!” he insisted, pulling her close while she tried in vain to shove him away.

Christyn must have mentioned to Alex in passing that she kept the back door propped open with a brick for ease of smoke breaks, because that was where he came in, just in time to see Auralee harassed by his replacement.

“Hey!” He came up behind the couch and placed a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Hey, man, can I talk to you?”

“Well, I usually like to save meet-and-greet with the fans until after the show, but sure, what’s up?”

No sooner had he stood up than Alex punched him square in the face, knocking him out cold. His head bounced off the coffee table before he hit the floor, and Alex smirked with satisfaction. “Nobody violates my girl.”

“Your girl? You want me back?” Auralee stood up and ran around the couch to throw herself into Alex’s arms.

“Babe, I’ve been a wreck without you,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you want, but you just have to tell me. I’ll gain another 50 pounds...hell, I’ll gain a hundred! Just don’t hide things from me!”

“I’m sorry! I should have been open,” said Auralee, finally breaking away. “Maybe we should start over. No more secrets this time.”

“Okay. Hi, I’m Alex. I have eight years’ experience working in the restaurant industry, one in personal fitness, but my real passion is music. I have some anger management issues and I probably shouldn’t be around drugs, but I’m working on my issues every day.” He extended a hand, and she shook it with vigor.

“Hi, I’m Auralee, and I like fat dudes.”

“This is all very sweet,” said Christyn. “But I need to fix your eyeliner, Aura, and Alex!” She thrust the folder of sheet music that had fallen out of Stephen’s hands at him. “You need to learn all this music in the next eight minutes.”

“You think you’ve never seen me bullshit my way through a concert before? Don’t forget, I’m--”

“The ‘master,’ yes, I know! Now get reading!”


“Dinner has been lovely, Chrissy. Time for a nightcap before bed, I think. Alex, honey, how many cc’s of melted butter do you think you can drink?”

Christyn and Damian both shuddered as Christyn got up from the table to get dessert from the fridge. “I hardly think that will be necessary, Aura. I’ve made some lovely carrot cake cupcakes!”

She had really outdone herself, thought Damian as he helped himself to a cupcake. He had helped her draw little carrots on top of each one in green and orange frosting with a piping bag, but other than that, the sinfully thick frosting complimenting dense, moist cake that was a perfect mix of sweet and spicy was all a product of her genius in the kitchen. As he took his last bite, he let feelings of contentment and satisfaction wash over him in waves.

Alex was starting on his second cupcake, at Auralee’s insistence, when he said, “So I talked to Jesse…”

“When was this?” asked Christyn, her hands starting to shake as she worked her own cupcake out of its paper.

It had been such a nice dinner until Alex brought up that man’s name.

“A few days ago. I had gone to see if I could get any money out of my aunt, and I ran into him. He’s a mess, still talking revenge, and that Stella has gotten faaaaaat!”

“That’s unlike Jesse,” said Christyn. “He always wanted me to be thinner.”

“It’s not about liking skinny women or fat women for him,” Damian supplied. “He doesn’t really even like women at all, I think. He just likes power. With you, trying to make you weak was how he planned to take away your power. But you were too smart for him. With Stella, he must think taking away her own control of her thin body is the easiest way to control her.”

“You’re so smart sometimes,” said Christyn.

Auralee looked straight at Alex and said, “I want you to cut off all contact with Jesse.”

“I just want to keep Christyn in the loop.”

“Well, you’re not bringing us any useful information. Jesse might not know of your living arrangement, but he already knows you and Christyn are friends. He’s not going to give away anything vital. If anything, he just intends to use you as a tool to strike fear into her heart. Besides, I feel like a lot of your negative associations with fatness have to do with Jesse being fat, or, more recently, since he’s been losing weight, his involuntary fattening up of this Stella person. I want you to break these negative associations so we can continue to build positive associations, and especially with this Stella business, I don’t want you to have to see that happen and get the idea that feedism is a seedy, deceitful thing. I know I’ve made my mistakes in the past, but every pound you gain for me now, I want to be voluntary. And seeing a young woman gaslit before your eyes doesn’t sound like wholesome encouragement.”

It was nice to see her being so out in the open for once.

“And just look what we’re doing to poor Chrissy! This conversation looks like it’s torturing her.”

Christyn was clutching the table for support, white-knuckled, her dessert uneaten. She was as pale as a ghost and looked like she might throw up. “Damian, why don’t you attend to her?” Auralee suggested.

Damian helped her to standing and led her to their room, where she collapsed against him when he sat her down on the bed. Her arms wrapped around him tight and he could feel her shake with dry sobs as she buried her head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I should be over it, it’s just...I still dream about him. I beat myself up for ever falling into his trap and I wake up from nightmares hating myself and I--”

“It’s okay, Chrissy.” He cuddled her flush against him in the way he had come to know she found comforting. “Do you need a drink?”

“No,” she said, “I only need you.”

He laid her down against the sheets and held her in his arms. “I don’t even remember how I met him, and it fucks me up.”

“It’s not your fault. He messed with your memories.”

“Sorry you have to put up with me. God, I’m so pathetic,” she said.

“No!” He squeezed her tighter. “Listen to me, Christyn! You are not pathetic!”

“S-sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

She breathed hard for a minute or two, but after a while, managed to choke out, “I’m not pathetic.”

“The hell you aren’t. That’s my sweet girl. You are so strong, and I love you so much.”

“Well, that’s your fault, not mine,” she said, but even so, she snuggled against him even closer, and he decided he’d take it, for now.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
[A/n: TW here for implied cannibalism. Summary: Damian finds out the secret ingredient in the meals Auralee prepares for her "VIP clients." Disclaimer: I don't endorse this behavior. Please don't serve human flesh to your bar guests.]

Damian was rotating the air in the beer walk-in at work when Will came into the back and started looking through the meat freezer. “Whatcha looking for?” asked Damian.

“Auralee sent me back here to get her some more ground pork shoulder for the tacos.”

“Liar.” Damian knew full well that Auralee liked to restock the food items herself, and even if she couldn’t, she’d send a cook before a barback. He stopped what he was doing and closed in on Will’s position, causing the other barback to draw back in his place. Damian had always outsized him, but back when he started this job, he’d simply been soft; now that he was getting pretty stacked, he knew he could come across as a downright threat if he wanted to, and he wanted to. “Look, I know you’ve been trying to dig dirt on Auralee.” It had gotten even worse since she got a boyfriend, too. “But you’re not gonna find anything in there. It’s just a meat freezer, there’s nothing in here but meat!” He took out a shrink-wrapped hunk of meat and held it up to demonstrate his point. Will suddenly went very pale and still. “What, William?”

“Call me crazy...but does that look like a foot to you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Damian took a second to examine the piece of meat…

Of course, it was skinned, so it was hard to tell. There were no toes, but the curve of the bone at one end did display a striking resemblance to a human heel and ankle.

Damian dropped it back in the freezer and choked back a scream.

He found Auralee behind the bar and tugged on one of the baggy sleeves of her black dress shirt that she had rolled up to the elbow. “Auralee, I need your help in the back.”

“Damian, whatever it is, if you can’t lift it, what makes you think I can?” Nevertheless, she followed him into the back kitchen, where Will was still standing, looking queasy and awaiting an explanation.

“It’s nothing like that. I just need you to take a look at this,” he popped the freezer back open and pointed out the suspicious cut of meat, “and tell me that it isn’t a human foot.”

“I’m sorry, Damian.”

Will fainted on the spot.

“Great, that’s another one I have to kill.” She gave Will’s unresponsive body a halfhearted nudge with her foot. “Come outside with me, Damian, let’s take a walk and have a smoke.”

“But the bar--”

“There’s a server on, if people want alcohol they can order it in the lanes.”

He followed her outside, suspiciously eyeing the cigarette that she pressed into his hand. “Is this laced with anything?”

“Damian, no! What do you take me for?”

“Well, I just found a foot in your meat freezer,” he reminded her.

She lit up a cigarette out of the same pack, so he assumed it was safe and lit up himself. As she led the way around the perimeter of the building, she said, “You know my special clients, the ones who pay me the big bucks to do their dirty work?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“There’s a rhyme and a reason to how I administer those feedings,” she went on. “The most efficient way to trigger weight gain is to stimulate the body’s production of the stress hormone, cortisol. How do you trigger cortisol? Disrupt someone’s sleeping patterns.”

“Yeah, the sleeping pills. Get them too dependent and they won’t be able to sleep on their own. How does the foot fit into this?”

“The sleeping pills are only half the equation. A longer-term method to induce insomnia is to introduce prions into the bloodstream.”


“Prions,” explained Auralee, “are defective proteins that the body can produce, but can’t break down. Once they make it to the brain, they wreak havoc on your sleep center. But you can’t get prions from eating regular food. You have to consume human flesh.”

Damian shuddered. Now he truly knew why Christyn was a vegetarian. “You ever feed me people?”

“Of course not! I need you in top form, not a sleepless zombie. Of course, Will’s always been pretty’ll be nice, getting to finally replace him.”

Damian winced. “Do you really have to kill him?” He didn’t even like the guy, but he didn’t want him dead, either.

“Hmm...I suppose you’re right. I prefer only to kill the really deserving, anyway. I’ll just keep him doped up on sedatives. If he tries to cry wolf, I’ll have him drug tested.”

“ the customers know?”

“Yes, they know exactly what they’re paying me to do. They pay me for results, not to uphold a moral standard.” As they finished smoking and headed back inside, she said, “Hey, thanks for taking this so well.”

“It was Christyn who taught me the first rule of the service industry: I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine,” he said. “And even before you got me this job, you helped me figure myself out. You’ve always been there as a mentor...sometimes I wish you were my older sister. Nothing’s changed, except now I know, I guess.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
[A/n: Okay wow, when I originally started writing this story last year I had no idea we would one day be under actual lockdown. I had to rework this chapter a lot now that I know what an actual lockdown feels like. That said, sorry bout the delay and I hope everyone is staying safe!]


Zeke and Beans wanted a drink after work, so Damian invited them home. He knew either of them would be willing to buy him a drink from a nearby bar; he also knew that once he started drinking, he wouldn’t want to stop until he had no hope of making it out of the bar on his own two feet.

He had been dwelling on what he now thought of to himself as ‘the foot incident’ for a few days and thought he was that long overdue to get as blasted as possible. So, once Auralee took over the bar for the night with Will on expo and Girard in the kitchen, they piled into Zeke’s car and made for the house in Richmond, arriving just as Christyn started dinner.

Alex was out at band practice at the drummer’s dad’s house, so it was just Christyn and the ‘three musketeers,’ as she sometimes called them. While she cooked, Damian the others sat on the back porch with a two-liter of cola and a handle of vodka. He was pouring his strong, with more liquor than he could legally serve a customer and just enough soda to dull the burn as he chucked each one back. By the time Christyn called them in for dinner, he was stumbling.

“Alright, who pissed you off? Spill,” said Christyn halfway through dinner.

“What gave me away?”

“You’ve barely touched your food and you’re wasted.”

“Be honest, I’m a little pissed off at all y’all right now,” he admitted.

“Us? What did we do?” asked Zeke.

“How come none of y’all told me we straight up serving human at the bowling alley?”

“Give you plausible deniability,” Zeke stated plainly.

“Protect your innocence?” offered Sabine.

“Innocence? I ain’t no small child, Beans! I’d have been fine knowing the worst about that place if it meant I didn’t have to touch a chopped off foot with my own hand.”

Christyn paused over her plate, her face falling with remorse. “Oh, Damian...I’m so sorry...I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t think you’d believe me. Plus, you and Aura have become such good friends. I didn’t want to sabotage your friendship.”

“It’s Auralee, she’s unpredictable! I’d believe she literally had sex with elephants if you told me! And as far as our friendship goes, it’s a little late now to turn my back on her just for being a serial killer,” he said. “My boy Weezy sling crystal, and I don’t really agree with that, but that still my boy. We all gotta make a living. And Auralee not even making her own living with this operation, she got money. She redistributing most of it back to our pockets.”

“Hear, hear,” agreed Sabine.

“Why have I never met this Weezy person?” asked Christyn.

“Probably in the lockup. That’s usually why it is when he won’t take my calls.”

Talking about it helped quell his anger, and he was able to hold down dinner as his buzz faded. By the time he and Zeke were clearing while the women had gone to smoke on the patio, he was calm again.

“So, why do you stay?” he asked Zeke. For Christyn and Sabine, it made sense. Christyn had stayed as long as she had to avoid homelessness, and Sabine would be hard-pressed to find another job with a charge on her. But Zeke? With his (as far as Damian knew) squeaky-clean record and his pursuit of higher education?

“Our Aura paying my whole tuition, on top of my check,” said Zeke. “My parents teach middle school, they don’t get paid a whole lot. And I want to save their support for my baby sister, she out here waiting tables to pay for going to school to be a medical technician. My brother got a good job teaching at Rice, but he got his own two kids to put through college. Besides, be nice to get out without any student debt. Even if I gotta have some blood on my hands.”

“I never knew you were a uncle,” said Damian. “Least we got each other.”

“Yeah...well, correction: you and Beans finna have each other.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Mhmm. Graduating a semester early. I got offered an internship at Ellis, Ellis and Rockford, with a possibility of being promoted to associate depending on performance.”

Damian’s heart sank. “That’s great news, brother, bring it in!” he said, but he knew he was really gonna miss that guy.

Later on, after Zeke and Sabine had left, Damian was reading a book in bed, propped up on pillows against the headboard while waiting for Christyn to join him. (They still needed to replace the frame, or maybe they’d just leave the box spring on the floor for now.) When she came in, she was holding a bowl of ice cream.

“I thought we could share this,” she said, moving to the bed to straddle his hips. “I was in the mood for something sweet. I think it’s about to be that time of the month. And as for you, well, you never eat your fill when you’re in a mood, and I didn’t want you to have to go to bed hungry.”

Oh, she was good at playing innocent. But that glint in her eyes gave her away.

“You sure that’s your only motive?” He put his book down on the nightstand, took her free hand, and guided it to his belly.

Instinctively, she started to knead and squeeze the soft flesh there. “Can I help it if I want to keep you cute and chubby?” she said. “You did this to me, Damian. You turned me into a deviant. This is all your fault.” She spooned a bite of ice cream into his mouth, helped herself to a smaller spoonful, and ground her crotch against his middle. “Is 230 still the goal?”

“I think so.” He was insanely turned on by the idea of her fattening him up by another 30 pounds. After that...he didn’t know. Maybe he’d want to work out and get back down to 220 or 215...he definitely didn’t see dieting in his future. He liked food way too much. Or, who knew? Maybe he’d reach his goal and want to keep on gaining? He’d set himself smaller goals...235, then 240, then 245...take it in small increments, so he could have gratification from the numbers without impacting his mobility or work performance too much. He knew he wanted to keep working and keep being good at it.

Christyn seemed to pick up on his inner debate. “Hey, it’s okay not to be sure,” she said, sticking the spoon into the ice cream. “You know I’ve come to really enjoy watching you grow...but I will support you, no matter what. Do you want any more?”

“I want more, Chrissy, I’m still kind of hungry.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” She fed him another mouthful and for a moment, nothing mattered. He was able to forget about all the nasty business at the bowling alley.

“Make me fatter, Chrissy,” he sighed.

“I will, sweetheart. I promise.” Everything was bliss and happiness, and the feeling of Christyn’s lovely body on top of his, and the sweet taste of butter pecan ice cream, and the pleasant weight of each bite as it hit his stomach. He never wanted the night to end.
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