Chapter 1

You both had too much to drink that night, and you spilled the beans.

“So…you like fat girls?” She had said, her eyes blurry with booze and confusion.

You remember how your ears had flushed with heat and embarrassment. “I mean, I like girls of all sizes,” you spluttered in reply. “But I just…really like watching girls get fat.”

“Why?” Your soon to be wife asked.

“There’s just so much more to look at. And to touch. Girls who watch what they eat are so…annoying.”

“Are you going to make me fat?”

You got very anxious very quickly, stumbling over your words. The blood was rushing below your belt line, and you felt your head spinning. She crossed her legs and leaned back, an eyebrow cocked and an unreadable expression on her lips.

Then, you felt the animal inside you. This expansion beyond experience, a dark and deep eruption of control and power. You looked at her with cold eyes and a throbbing crotch, rising from the couch in your apartment, you towered over her.

“I’m going to try.”

Your wife drained a very full wine glass and dropped it on the table. Uncrossing her legs and sliding her panties down her ankles, she lifted her miniskirt up to her toned waistline and showed you what lay underneath. With one foot on the coffee table and one rested on the cushion of the sofa, she licked her lips, looked at you, then her groin, and whispered:

“Do your worst.”

When you had finished eating her to completion and pure exhaustion, you rose from the floor and strode off to the bedroom, the zipper of your jeans being tested with every step. Returning with a bag of edibles, you held her slight jawline between your wide, broad hands, and tipped three of the dummies into her mouth and down her throat. She smiled and poured herself another glass of wine.

You disappeared into the kitchen and you heard her put on her favourite sitcom quietly in the background. Through the alcove, you could see your beautiful, young, svelte bride to be. Her dirty blonde hair, her lean arms, petite, A-cup breasts, and long figure skater legs. Her lips were pink and her face was still flushed. The miniskirt sat above her belly button with ease, her midriff devoid of any excess fat, just elastically tight skin.

You placed the order on your phone - enough Chinese food to feed the two of you for a week. The blender was lifted down above the stovetop and placed onto the counter top: into it went the entire family size Breyer’s ice cream, then half a jar of peanut butter, three scoops of her protein powder; a bag of chocolate chips, and a stick of butter. She didn’t jump when you turned on the machine, the edibles slowly lulling her into a place of complete ease.

When you came back into the living room, she was zoned directly into the television, and didn’t notice your tall, lumbering frame above her. Taking great care not to obstruct her view, you held the back of her neck with on hand and tiled her mouth open just slightly: you poured the liquid slowly and surely into her mouth, a small moan of surprise summoning up from the bottom of her throat.
Her hands raised to hold the large sized blender, but you kept your fingers wrapped around the handle. As she drank, breathing desperately from her nose, your hands slid to her clitoris and you pleased her while she gulped down thousands of excess calories.

She paused once, slipping the smallest of burps from her 111lb frame. She then tied her hair back up, stuck her tongue out, and asked for more without saying a word. Her hand found your crotch, the outline of your excitement pressed well along the inside of your thigh.

Your beautiful wife got through the entire blender in just a few minutes. She gasped at the end, her face sour from the clear concoction of rich ingredients. She leaned back and slid her miniskirt off completely, showing you the tiniest, most pathetic food baby you’d ever seen.

“I’m so full,” she hiccuped. Her eyes were red and her mouth was open. You rubbed her midsection with care, kissing her stomach with tenderness and comfort. She slowly starts to slip off to sleep when…

Your phone erupts with the apartment’s buzzer code. In confusion, she opens one eye and burps again. “Who’s that?”

Without saying a word, you stand up and place two fingers in her mouth to silence her. She sucks with obligation and deep need.

You buzz them in and open the door, watching the delivery man carry to full bags down the hallway and into your strong forearms. You are an imposing man in this moment, an ancient power of control and desire.

Her eyes widen and she barely musters, “What’s that?”

With deep gravel in your voice, you kiss her cheek and breathe into her ear, “It’s for you.”

And with that, you grab her by her waist and sit her up properly, lifting the the tight tube top off her thin frame and onto the floor. You leave her bra on, so that you can memorize its dimensions for later.

You sit yourself down on the couch, legs spread wide open, and you place her between your thighs facing the television. You feel her lean back against your chest, and you crack into the first of the eleven takeaway containers of thick, gooey, noodle goodness.

She breathes your name and grabs your wrist as you raise the first bite to her lips. Your chin rests on her shoulder, and she opens her mouth.

For the next fifty five minutes, you spoon feed your wife every ounce of that Chinese takeaway from behind. You hold her thin midsection in one hand, feeling the pressure grow.

She starts to hiccup and complain of sickness, but you slide another deep friend chicken ball bast her lips and down her throat.

“You will finish all of this.” You tell her.

She does, and with red sauce all along her lips, and discarded bags along the floor, she collapses sideways onto the couch, groaning in discomfort and extreme satiation. You stand and finish the bottle of wine in one large swig. You stare down at your handiwork, your arousal dizzying you beyond compare.

She opens her eyes, flutteringly, holds her stomach, swallows, and looks at you. “That…was…”

“I know,” You stop her. “It was a lot. But you did so well —“

“No, no,” she manages to say. “That was…so good.”