Chapter 8

The rest of the night passed in a drunken blur, and we ubered home to sleep like rocks until late in the next morning.

I firmly believe hangovers only start when you stand up, so I lay as deadly still as I could. Rylee snored softly in the bed next to me, turning and softly pressing herself into her pillow, before quickly falling back asleep in an infuriatingly short few seconds.

Then I felt it. She’d turned into me, and the flesh that hit my own was soft. Really soft. Leaning out from under her chest was a genuine belly, big enough to be the furthest protruding part of her body.

Soaked. Instantly. Fuck, it was too easy.

The day passed in a flurry of recovery, lots of fluids, and gentle, lazy sex. The day was nearly gone before we’d gathered some semblance of sanity and felt sufficiently alive again.

And as the haze of too much tequila faded in me, so did any hindrance of the memories from last night. Sure, towards the end of the night, events where difficult to order chronologically, as were the people I’d talked to, but no, I was sure of everything Rylee had done last night. Positive.

‘To get fat.’

The words came back to me, as did the emotions tied to them. I took some alone time to work through those.

Then, it struck me. I was sick of losing, sick of her innocence, sick pretending as if nothing was the matter. Okay, maybe it was sexy as hell. Okay, it was definitely sexy as all hell, but I needed to do something, anything.

I grabbed two of my favorite toys and grabbed an outfit for my girlfriend: tight, tighter than anything she should probably be wearing right now. Jeans that I knew she still fit into (but barely,) a cute crop top that I hadn’t seen her wear in a while, and a lacy black bra to match the black, vibrating panties we’d used many times before.

I got dressed myself in a dark, powerful combination of black ripped jeans and a ripped top, one that showed parts of my bra beneath.

I lay her clothes on the bed and called my girlfriend’s name. She arrived a moment later, smiling, scrolling on her phone.

She sobered up immediately. My face showed just how serious, how mischievous I could be. I lazily clicked the on button to her panties, whose vibrations were suddenly the only sound in the room.

Then her coy smile returned. “We going some place?”

“Yes,” I said, voice cutting with sharpness. I hadn’t played this card outside of bed in a while. “Get dressed.”

This card being the Princess card. The take control card, the respect card, the mistress card. The one who didn’t take no for an answer.

She did, and we got into my car and took off down the road. I traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, my nails pressing into the denim just enough to remind her of what I was capable of doing. I noticed she had to unbutton the jeans to sit down, something that distracted me a little too much. The short ride passed in apprehensive silence.

I’d seen this place dozens of times on my way home from school and fantasized about it constantly, especially in these last few weeks. When we pulled into its parking lot, Rylee looked almost nervously to me.


It was the first break in her perfect exterior this entire time. This was going to work. The look was gone almost as quickly as it came, but we stepped out of the car.

“Callie, are you sure?” Rylee asked sweetly. “This place, I––”

“Go.” I replied. Quietly, sharply, without remorse or room for negotiation. It was the tone I now had to set.

She buttoned up her jeans and we walked into Louisa’s, a southern homestyle all-you-can-eat buffet. I’d never been, but one glance was enough to affirm I’d made a perfect choice. The buffet bar was enormous, different sections, and way too much gravy and carbs and everything fattening. It was quiet, still relatively early in the dinner hours, so we almost had the place to ourselves. Pity.

The young, skinny high-school aged girl sat us at a table, one I didn’t like.

“No, back booth.”

She caught whatever iciness was in my words and nodded, swallowing, and sat us in the back before returning to the front. It was darker back here and one edge of the booth faced directly towards the ridiculous amount of food that sat just a few yards from the table.

“Sit.”

She did, her eyes playing at the excitement of where we were. “Yes, Princess.”

I nodded in approval, pausing, gathering myself. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

She smiled, but I could see a gathering in her, a preparation of some kind. “I was pretty drunk, did I say anything crazy?”

Her eyes couldn’t hide the lie from me. I smiled, and so did she. Our game didn’t have to stop.

“It was a fun night, that’s for sure. Hope you’re hungry.”

She reached across the table, her fingers curling into mine. She lowered her voice, just barely audible.

“If it pleases you, your Grace. I have a proposition.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe you are in a position to be bargaining right now?”

She paused, eyes darting to the food behind her. “You might find the terms to be…more than agreeable.”

I nodded consent. “I’m listening.”

“Two plates for one. Every one you finish, I have to finish two. But if i finish first, you have to finish yours.”

I scoffed at the thought. Two plates for one? This was her play? This was the easiest win a feeder’s ever had, especially me. She’s always ate healthier than I have, always smaller portions, never splurging, and I never shied away from any of those things, yet my metabolism was way too good not to deal with whatever I ate. She obviously didn’t know her girlfriend well enough.

“Same portions, same foods, and it's a deal,” I said in agreement.

“Of course,” Rylee replied, standing from the table. “I’ll get us started, then.”

She returned a few minutes later, three plates neatly balanced on her arms, all piled high with the greasiest comfort foods I could think of––cinnamon rolls, okra, cornbread and chili, biscuits and gravy. Just looking across the table nearly made me laugh. There was no way she could finish just two plates, so maybe if I could finish two––that would teach her a lesson, then I would win––she’d be so stuffed, she won’t be able to move.

I tore into my food without a word––it was easy when everything tasted so goddamn good. A mix of fried and sweet and savory, Rylee had truly prepared an incredible plate. Still glamoring in this inevitable victory, I tore through my first plate in under a few minutes.

She hadn’t even come close to finishing her first plate as I pushed mine away. She looked down, as if scared, puppy dog eyes now reconsidering if she’d made a mistake. It made me smile.

“Not so tough now, huh?” I asked as she finished up a bite. She just continued eating steadily.

In my excitement I’d forgotten about my toy, and soon she began taking bigger bites, and each time she did, I’d radiate a bit of pleasure down south. Her moans became louder as bite by bite she was able to finish the two plates. Her distended belly already stuck out from underneath her top, her bra being revealed as her top’s rigidity made hiding both her chest and belly impossible, a thought that played over and over in my mind.

She was breathing heavily by the time the second plate was done. Each bite was a little slower than the last. She was struggling already - the thought crossed my mind to play nice. It was quickly pushed away.

I pushed my plate back to her. “Again. Don’t skimp out, either.”

She groaned, eyes pleading with me.

“Now,” I demanded.

She gulped, and nodded. With my spot in the booth, I could watch as she approached the buffet, each section she looked at, each calorie she was inevitably debating would be the easiest. When she glanced at the fried chicken section, a smattering of wings and breaded goodness she never indulged in, I sent a pulsating buzz to her center. I saw her knees buckle slightly. She got the message, and piled our plates high with mashed potatoes, gravy, and more fried chicken than a KFC family meal.

I couldn’t help the smile that grew across my face. Gone was the uncertainty of Rylee and her games––so I’d thought.

She set the plates down and sat in a huff. Her face was a bit red, her eyes a bit glossy. Good. She’d had her fun, it was time for just one night of mine.

She was being quite good tonight, that was certain. I’d always made sure that when she played nice, she was rewarded, that was how our relationship in the bedroom had always gone. She was certainly going to be rewarded tonight, over and over again, if her food coma wasn’t overpowering.

My mind drifted for a while, thinking of the different things I’d do to her, the way her skin would stretch tight against how much food would be packed in there, that I almost didn’t notice her push the first plate away from her.

She’d finished it. Already.

When I’d been daydreaming, lost in my own world, I didn’t see the glossy look disappear from her eyes as she picked up her fork and knife. I didn’t see how she checked to see if I was paying attention, see if I would notice all feigned fullness disappear as she scooped enormous portions of food into her mouth, chewing in overdrive, chewing as fast as she could––chewing like she needed this food to be fatter.