Chapter 2 - part 2

I wake you up later, claim you fell asleep midway through the ride and I turned around since the store was closed.

It's been longer. It's been enough time to take you to my boss and get your body upgrades.

You are the same weight, maybe a little lighter even. But I had proven I could prepare you and now you have been processed. The real fun can begin.

We walk in and you bitch to me about how I should have to drive you to the mall tomorrow, and should have to pay for your new clothes since its all my fault.

Then you mention "And I mean, if I HAVE put on some weight, it's because you are always cooking for yourself and I have to eat what you eat so it's your fault for making bad choices"

I grin and when we are in the house I lock the door behind us and turn on you reaching around to grab that rounded gut and shake it

"Really tubby, I got you fat?"

You pale and turn on me, a bit wobbly, your center of gravity is not what you are used to, and it harder then expected to walk ALLL the way from the car to the house.

"I'm not fat" You say angrily

"Really?" I grab your arm and wobble it "This looks like fat" and grab at those heavy fatty breasts in their ill fitting bra and heft them "so heavy, are they perky like they used to? What size are you? F for fat?"

You slap me away

"I mean look at this, your shirt can't even stay down" you tug it down but it rolls up, your belly is hanging over the waist band

I begin to back you up to the wall "You know it's true. Even though you know that you are fat, I'll bet you're hungry right now."

Your face betrays your concern "I've seen you, you know... stuffing your face, touching yourself, when you think I'm not looking. Heard you sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a midnight 'snack'. Did you think the kitchen elves cleaned up the messes you left? Or kept refilling the fridge and pantry? I know exactly what you have been eating, and it's not just the stuff I make. "

"I would like a thank you." I grab your face, the cheeks are getting delightfully chipmunk like, and squeeze "Say it"

"Th...thank you" you manage to squeeze out.

"I've been a very gracious host, and you have been a very ungrateful guest. So now we are going to make up for that, by you being grateful for everything I have fed you."

I've grabbed onto your arm, it's starting to fatten so nicely that my fingers sink in ,and drag you to the living room.

"You are going to eat whatever I bring you, all of it. Every last bite."

That shocked look, that sudden paleness as all the blood seems to leave your face.

The table next to the sofa is full. Loaded down with food and drinks.

You are getting heavy, but so weak, it doesn't take much for me to drag you and shove you on the sofa.

"Dig in" is all I have to say. You try to sit defiantly, your face turned away, but the smell of all that food. Your mouth is watering, your stomach rumbling.

First it's mashed potatoes heaped with gravy and butter. It's in a giant mixing bowl. I grab it and put it in your hands. "Now"

You start. The spoon is large but you are managing to shove each heaping spoonful in. Each bite is better then the last. You don't speed up much, but you are definitely gorging. Spoonful after heaping spoonful. Gravy splatters on your face and clothes, you are scrapping the bottom of the bowl before you know it. You groan, not from fullness, but because it's empty.

Never fear, there is more.

I had selected mostly soft foods to be spooned or gulped, or easy to eat with your hands. Anything that needed to be cut was already prepared in bite sized chunks.

You eat. And you eat.

Chicken nuggets smothered in a cheese sauce with ketchup and extra salt. A bowl of tomato soup with a huge pile of fried bites of mac and cheese. Stuffing, milkshakes, french toast, boxes of donuts, powdered sugar drench monte cristo sliders, oreos rolled in peanut butter fried and dipped in chocolate... piles of food.

You don't eat it ALL at once of course. It's all there, with more buried under it, and more to come when its gone.

You might have blamed me, but you never even fought me. You just tucked in. I left the room and came back in to find you shoving two of the sliders into your mouth with one hand, the other trying to squeeze under your belly and into your too tight shorts. You were having such a hard time that your face turned red under the powdered sugar. I took pity on you and helped remove them (its an effort to get you up and I make sure you keep eating). There is shame and a hint of anger on your face when you realize what I'm doing, but I shove something into your mouth and you are too busy chewing to remember to be angry.

As long as there was food on the table (and there was ALWAYS food on the table) you didn't seem able to leave. You would pass out on the sofa and wake up and start again. The sudden change to not having to get p took it's toll and piled the pounds on faster now.

You never paid rent, but now the feeds from your videos are. The camera around the house, making time lapse, recording special feedings, all those moments you thought I never saw, and the ones that you now carry on in front of me since you don't care anymore. You eat and sleep and occasionally I help you climax. You can't do it on your own since you can't reach anymore. It's the rare moments when you aren't doing these three things that you might speak, might beg me to undo things. You have cried and called me horrible things. You blame me.

And when your arms get too fat and heavy to lift food to your mouth, when you can't feed yourself fast enough and when you get so big they have to take you to my bosses facility, I have no doubt you'll blame me again.

-Fin-