chapter 16

Wendy and I settled into the farmhouse on the moors. I missed the beautiful sea views from my Whitby apartment. The wild, windy moors were picturesque, but, not as familiar to me. It would take a bit of getting used to.
I was glad we did not move into a ruin with no electricity in the end. Wendy would have had to head into town on almost a daily basis to get food. It was not fair on her. I didn't want her running around too much. The electric light was much more convenient and efficient than using candles and I had to admit the gas central heating was good to have. I remember from my younger days before such luxuries when I had to scrape ice off the inside of my windows in cold weather. I certainly did not miss having to go to bed wearing more clothes than I did during the day and still feeling cold.

Wendy ate for two of us. She had settled into a routine of having extra large meals. I would sit down with her, watch her eat, but I would not partake. For breakfast, she would start with a large bowl of sweet sugary cereal and whole milk with an extra dollop of cream and extra sugar. Then she'd have a large dinner plate of fried sausages, egg, bacon, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread, black pudding, white pudding and baked beans. Then she'd consume a large stack of American style pancakes Dixon had introduced to her. She sandwiched between them scoops of cool vanilla ice cream and poured over lots of maple syrup. After this, she'd get through a large stack of hot toast with thick layers of butter and a variety of jams and marmalade. Then she'd eat four or five sweet Danish pastries with whipped cream on the side.
Her stomach bulged so much after all that food she looked nine months pregnant! Sometimes, I had to help her stand up and go and lie down. She became so sleepy after such a large meal. I would rub and caress her large mound of a belly, thinking of all the food insider her that would soon be converting to the most delicious fat.
As she dozed, I would clear away the breakfast plates and make the beds. Wendy was my employee, but if she helped me, I didn't see anything wrong with helping her out.
By ten or eleven she would be up again, her belly size reduced, but not enough that she could wear her corset. She'd do a little bit of light cleaning, perhaps running over the living room floor with the vacuum cleaner or tidying up a bit. Then she'd sit down to rest for her morning coffee, served with cream of course... and a large slice of cake, half a packet of biscuits and... another slice of cake.
Feeling more satisfied, she'd start preparing her lunch, which was often a cold buffet of sausage rolls, quiche, cold meats, cheeses, sandwiches, crisps, dips, corned beef pie, cheese pasty, followed by more cake.
After another short nap, she'd go out, if she was going out then. Her gothic clothing struggled to contain her thickened waist and bulging belly.
On her return, she'd sit down for her afternoon tea. This was not just a cup of tea, it was accompanied by sandwiches, savoury scones, sweet scones with jam and cream, jellies, pastries with thick layers of creme patisserie, fruit and cream.
Dinner would follow a few hours later. This would be another five course extravaganza. I was astonished by how much she could pack inside of her! But she did!
By the end of the week, she'd put on an amazing three stones! She had outgrown her original tight gothic clothes midweek and replaced them with flowing gothic gowns that were much more comfortable. By the end of the week, these too had been abandoned in favour of stretch loungewear that were more comfortable, but showed up every single lump and bump. By now, she was so full and lethargic all the time, she barely had the energy to cook for herself, let alone do her daily chores.
By Saturday, she was deliciously fat and was pleading for me to help her.
On Saturday afternoon, I would move in. I would start my massaging her belly in an effort to loosen some of the fat. Then I'd sink my teeth into her, create a significant hole where I could suck, slurp and eat. Most of the fat came away as a greasy thick liquid, gliding down my throat. Sometimes, pieces would break off and I'd receive a delicious bead of liquid lard enclosed in a delicate fleshy sac. I loved the way these beads burst on my tongue and released their greasy fluid inside. They were probably my favourite thing about Wendy.
After sucking my fill from one site, I'd move on to another. I'd knead and suck on her buttocks or her thighs.
At first, Wendy was uncomfortable with me doing this, but as she grew used to it, she could ignore the pain and found it sensually pleasurable. She would lean in to me, pleading me to suck harder for longer.

When I'd finally had my fill, her fat was gone. Her stomach was flat, her buttocks firm, yet still round. They were marked to the telltale puncture marks and bruises from my sucking, but they would soon fade. Next week, I'd try a different site, maybe on the other side.
Whenever Wendy was slim, I was just that little bit fatter. I was content because I had finally found a regular source of food that was not going to get me into trouble. I loved Wendy and she loved me back. It was the ideal situation.

A year after moving into the farmhouse, our mutual admiration was unabated. I was reading the local paper as Wendy tucked into her massive breakfast when an article caught my eye.
There were pictures of Dixon fattened and helpless, being removed from a house by the fire brigade. They'd had to pull down a wall and remove the window to extricate him from the property. There was another picture of him in a bariatric ambulance. Dixon had never learned how much was too much. Now he was paying the price.

The end