Chapter 4

“Dear, if I had my way, you’d never exercise again in your life. In fact,” she said, “I’ll eventually want you to say just that. I’ll want you to vow to spend the rest of your life being lazy.”

I gaped. “I can’t promise that. I couldn’t possibly!”

She rolled her eyes. “Silly, of course you can’t. Anything could happen down the road to force you to break your promise. It’s like pillow talk. I’ll want to hear you say it, whether you believe in it or not. But not yet, though. Not until you’re in worse shape and the reality of it has had time to sink in. And, in time, perhaps you’ll even mean it when you say it. At those moments, anyway. Doesn’t it feel good to think of making a promise like that?”

I couldn’t believe it, but it did. I briefly imagined myself vowing to her – on my knees, even – that I’d never try to exercise again. My heart’s pace quickened.

She seemed to be caught up in imagining it, as well. After a few moments, she sat up. “By the way, do you smoke?”

“Uh, I quit?”

“Hmm. Too bad. Would you consider starting again?” she asked sweetly.

“Huh?”

“It would do wonders for your fitness. You could always quit again later. You did it once already.”

“Um... uh...”

She waved her hand. “We’ll discuss it later. Where were we? Oh yes, the other rules. First of all, your appearance.”

“What? What’s wrong with my appearance,” I asked defensively.

She laughed. “Nothing, not right now. But I’ll soon want your appearance to, well, fit in better with your new lifestyle. As you outgrow your old clothes, I’ll want you to replace them with clothes that are more suitable. A lot more casual. And, for instance, I don’t want you getting clothes with buttons and zippers, when that’s at all possible. Buttons are for people far less lazy than you. Just elastic waists and the like, things that are quick and easy to put on. Besides, they’ll feel better as you grow.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s... thorough.”

“Well, it’s a mind set. It’s about making things a tiny bit simpler in all aspects of your life, even stuff like getting dressed. And I’ll want you in things like thin, stretchy knits. You know, to hug your fatty curves. Nothing too tight, though. I wouldn’t want to impede your jiggling.” She grinned. “Maybe some of those snug, velour tracksuits on cool days. And this may sound odd–”

“What hasn’t?”

“Don’t be a smartass. No, what I’d like to see you in sometimes is workout clothes. Leotards, tights, yoga pants. I’d get a real kick out of you looking like you’re about to head to the gym when all you’ll really be doing is sitting in front of the tv and stuffing your face. I like the contrast. Same sort of thing might go for swimsuits and bikinis, to be worn just around the house. Just wait until you see your hanging belly fat showing through the leg holes of some high cut swimsuit.”

I blushed at the thought.

“Oh! And we can set aside some days, maybe weekends – maybe whole weeks – when you’re not allowed to change out of your nightgown. Just a nightgown and a housecoat to lounge in all day, ‘cause you’re just too laaazy to get dressed in the morning.” She smiled dreamily.

Well, I could certainly wear what she liked if it made her happy. Letting her dress me was the least controversial proposal of the evening. Though it was strange to think of switching out my wardrobe entirely and not being allowed to change clothes without permission. I shook my head in wonderment and reached for my glass. She seemed to wait until I was taking a drink before announcing, “Oh, and I’ll be confiscating your bras.”

I sputtered into the glass, which turned into a short coughing fit. “Wha?”

She eyed my chest. “You’re not that big. It shouldn’t be a problem for you to go without. I want to see the girls wobbling freely under your clothes. I want them to sag along with the rest of your body. You’re too lazy to bother with bras now, anyway.”

“Holy cow.”

“Aw, you’ll look lovely. To me, at least,” she said.

“But... wow. Okay, this is all going kind of fast,” I said. “Where is this going? Is there a goal? I mean, just how out of shape do I have to get before you’re happy?”

“Mmm, very,” she purred. “I’ll be happy the whole time, though, don’t you worry about that. As long as you stick with the rules, I’ll be very happy. But I know what you’re asking.” She pondered a moment. “You’re pretty unfit, but no where near as much as you need to be. You’ve got a ways to go. First of all, I want you to be weak. I can’t tell you how much that excites me. So weak and soft and languid. I want your muscles to be as soft and flabby as the fat that surrounds them. I’d love it if you were unable to do a single sit-up.”

“I’d be surprised if I could one now,” I said with a nervous laugh.

She smiled. “Then that’s a great start. And I want you to get fatigued from the simplest things. Physical endurance just gone. I want all the little daily things you normally do without a thought to take more effort, wear you out quickly. I want that effort to remind you just how out of shape you’ve let yourself become all throughout the day, and I want it to excite you. I like to picture you climbing a flight stairs slowly, laboriously, with your new fat weighing you down. And when you get to the top you want to stop for a breather, all huffing and puffing. That would be beautiful.”