Chapter 1

A point guard darted across the court on screen, weaving through defenders with a low dribble, his eyes scanning the floor. He snapped a pass to a teammate on the wing, who feinted a shot before driving hard toward the basket. The crowd roared as the defense collapsed, arms raised in a desperate attempt to block the shot. At the last second, the ball was passed out to the perimeter, where a sharpshooter caught it cleanly, his body coiling into perfect form.

The shot went up, forming a graceful arc, and the camera followed its path. A clean swish through the net sent the scoreboard flashing, and the home team’s bench erupted in celebration. Noah could feel the energy in the room surge as his friends clapped and whooped, though his own reaction lagged behind, subdued. His eyes flicked toward the kitchen, the thought of the snack spread creeping back into his mind.

The break was announced, and Noah pushed himself up from the couch, the effort accompanied by a soft groan he tried to stifle. His stomach, heavy and bloated from a steady stream of wings, chips, and sliders, shifted with the motion. He tugged at the hem of his shirt reflexively, though it did little to hide the soft curve of his belly pressing against the fabric.

The kitchen was quieter, though the faint hum of the TV and his friends' voices filtered through. He grabbed a plate, eyes scanning the spread. A platter of mozzarella sticks gleamed under the pendant light above, next to a bowl of cheesy dips and a mountain of mini pretzels. He knew he didn’t need more—his jeans were already digging uncomfortably into his waist—but the sight of it all was irresistible.

Ryan’s voice broke through the stillness, casual and teasing. “Getting more, huh? Pretty sure you’ve had the most out of all of us.”

Noah froze, his hand halfway to the pretzels, the warmth of embarrassment spreading up his neck. He glanced over his shoulder at Ryan, who was leaning against the fridge with a drink in hand, a smirk playing on his face.

“Someone’s gotta eat it,” Noah muttered, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Ryan chuckled, but the comment lingered, sticking to Noah. He turned back to the food, the flutter of self-consciousness already dissipating. It wasn’t like Ryan was wrong. The past several months had seen his weight balloon in a way it’d be hard for anyone to ignore. Pretty chubby had turned into outright fat, and the evidence was everywhere—in the way his shirts rode up, the way his friends teased, and most of all, the way he felt: heavy and slow. But it wasn’t completely his own fault.

He loaded his plate methodically, piling it with mozzarella sticks, pigs in blankets, and a generous scoop of chips and pretzels. The plate felt heavy in his hands as he made his way back to the living room, each step punctuated by the faint jiggle of his stomach. He could feel it wobble with every movement, a constant reminder of just how much he had gained, how much he’d let go.

His friends were still engrossed in their animated banter when Noah sat down, the couch dipping noticeably under his weight. He settled in with a sigh, letting the plate balance on his lap as he grabbed a mozzarella stick. The cheese didn’t stretch as he bit into it, the center set after sitting for a while, but the salty flavor was still just as good as it was with his first snack plate. And his second.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket brought him back, and he reached for it, swiping it open. Justine’s name popped up, accompanied by a photo. His girlfriend was in a tight pajama set, the fabric clinging to her curves, her cleavage front and center. His face burned as he glanced quickly around the room, ensuring no one had seen.

A second buzz. Another text.

‘Come over. I want to feed my pig.’

Noah swallowed hard, his stomach tightening as a surge of heat spread from his chest to his ears. His thumbs hovered over the screen as his mind raced. He looked at his friends, still laughing and jeering at the screen, then down at his plate and the TV. He really didn’t want to miss the game, and his friends would surely be annoyed. They’d already given him grief for up and leaving so many times before.

But Justine.

She was everything he wanted in a feeder, everything he craved. Saying no to her felt impossible.

His gaze flicked back to the screen, his hand tightening slightly around his phone. He had already had quite a bit to eat, and he couldn’t keep ditching his friends. Hopefully, she’d understand.

Noah’s thumb long-pressed Justine’s photo, reacting with a heart-eyes emoji. He hesitated for a bit, feeling a strange mix of guilt and longing. He’d never turned her down before—not once in the eight months since they’d met. For months, every request, every flirtatious tease, every command had been met with an eager yes. This was new territory, and it didn’t feel good.

He followed the reaction with a text, his fingers moving slower than usual. ‘As much as I’d love to, but I’m a bit busy tonight.’

The little gray bubble appeared and then quickly disappeared. A single sad-face emoji came back.

Noah felt his stomach flip, a different kind of weight settling there than the fullness from his plate. He rushed to reply. ‘Tomorrow?’

The seconds dragged. Nothing came back.

Noah stuffed another mozzarella stick into his mouth, chewing mechanically as his thoughts swirled. He glanced at his friends, still engrossed in the game, their shouts and laughter blending into background noise.

He wanted to go over. A night with Justine—her teasing, her soft touches, her overwhelming focus on him—was always better than anything he and his friends got up to. Infinitely better. His friends’ jokes and the game on screen felt pale in comparison. But he could still hear the comments from last time: “You’re leaving again?” “Dude, just bring her here for once.”

They’d never met her. Justine was…affectionate, to say the least. And Noah often worried what she might do in front of them. Hand feed him, rub his belly in front of everyone. The thought was thrilling and scary all at once, he wasn’t ready for that yet. He shifted in his seat, his jeans pulling uncomfortably tight across his hips. He checked his phone again. Still nothing.

The game resumed, the commentators’ voices rising with excitement as the players took the court again for the second half. Noah tried to focus, his eyes tracking the ball as it passed from hand to hand. But the tension in his chest grew, spreading to his throat, his jaw. He couldn’t stop imagining Justine. The way her hands would glide over his belly as she fed him bite after bite, her voice low and sweet, coaxing him to take just one more. The fullness, the heat, the bliss of it all.

His friends cheered as a three-pointer swished through the net, but Noah barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere, his body restless, his fingers fidgeting against the phone in his pocket. He checked it again. Still no reply.

He could see her so clearly in his mind: the way her lips would curl into a smile when she saw him, her hand pressing just slightly too hard against his stuffed middle, her words dripping with affection and praise. The thought sent a rush through him, his pulse quickening. He wondered what food she'd feed him, how stuffed he'd end up, how well he'd get off by the end of the night. Suddenly he wasn’t interested in the game anymore.

Before he could think it through, his phone was back in his hand. His thumbs moved fast this time, typing out the words he should’ve sent earlier.

‘I’ll be there in 20.’

Her reply came almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting. A grinning emoji, followed by a kissing face.

‘See you soon!!’

Noah felt his heart leap and then sink just as quickly from the weight of what he had to do next. Telling his friends he was leaving wasn’t going to go over well—he already knew that. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to stay.

Clearing his throat, he set his plate aside and pushed himself off the couch, his stomach jostling with the effort. His friends looked up briefly, one of them raising an eyebrow. “Uh, hey, guys. I kinda gotta go...”

The room went quiet for a moment, save for the sound of the game on TV. Jack was the first to respond, his brow furrowing as he twisted to look at Noah. “What the hell, dude? The game’s not over.”

Noah shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, I know, but I—”

“Let me guess,” Matt interrupted, his tone sharp with mock annoyance as he reached lazily for the bowl of chips. “You’re going to see Justine.”

Noah froze, unsure of what to say. He didn’t need to confirm it; his silence spoke volumes.

Matt shook his head and laughed, turning back to the TV. “You’re so fucking whipped, bro.”

The comment stung more than Noah expected, though he forced himself to chuckle as if it didn’t. Before he could think of a response, Ryan stood, dramatically sashaying in front of the TV, his hands on his hips.

He turned to Jack with an exaggerated pout and a high-pitched voice. “Oh, Noah, I need you,” he whined, batting his eyelashes.

Jack grinned and immediately dropped to his knees, crawling toward Ryan with a ridiculous, servile expression. “Coming, my mistress!”

The room erupted into laughter, Noah included, though his laugh felt strained and hollow. His cheeks burned, and he looked down at his shoes, trying to will away the embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“***,” he said, his tone light but edged with discomfort.

Ryan and Jack collapsed back onto the couch, still laughing, while Matt smirked at Noah. “Have fun with your girlfriend,” he said, waving him off dismissively.

Noah nodded, brushing off the teasing as best he could. It bothered him, but only a little, not enough to dampen the anticipation he felt. They could laugh all they wanted—nothing they said could ruin the night he had ahead of him.

After a few more laughs and vague plans to hang out later in the week, Noah slipped on his jacket and headed for the door. His friends barely looked up, already engrossed in the game again.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy warmth of the living room. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew without looking that it was Justine, probably checking to make sure he was on his way. He climbed into his car, the faint sting of his friends’ teasing fading as he pulled out of the driveway.