Food for Thoughtlessness

Chapter 1 massive memories

I’m horny almost constantly now. I looked down at my, unfathomably heavy, wife, who slept on her side, her stomach and chest moved in and out slightly with each breath she took, lightly tugging on the sheets of our bed. Meghan wasn’t quite immobile, she could stand and walk when motivated to do so, but it was extremely hard for her to lift her, six hundred pound body, and she couldn’t stand for long when she did. Meghan’s body was almost entirely soft, warm, and inviting. She had rolls on her rolls, and had the largest stomach I’d ever seen, the largest butt too. Meghan had a chest to match these. It would be quicker to point out the parts of her that weren’t made gigantic by a thick layer of fat. It would only be things like her eyes and hair, places that literally never got fat. Still, I knew this was the smallest that she would ever be. It seemed like Meg ate more every day, slept more, grew fatter, and somehow did it faster. I should feel guilty about just how hard I am enabling this behavior. I should feel terrible. I ought to mourn the loss of her curious and glistening eyes, now dully lit by desire, and nothing else. But instead I just want to *** more badly with each moment I am in her presence. No amount of sex ever seemed to dampen my desire, in the same way that no amount of food would shrink Meg’s hunger in the slightest. Yet neither would ever stop if I had my way with things. My wife spoke in her sleep, quietly mumbling “Ice cream.” And, on reflex, I stood and started going to the freezer. Meg only talks in her sleep just before she wakes, and she is always overjoyed to wake up to whatever food she was dreaming about. She’d awaken to eat as much as she could possibly fit in her tremendous stomach. As she did so I would take her from behind. Meghan hardly seemed to care about the sex though. In fact she didn’t seem to care about anything but eating anymore. She was a desperate glutton who lived only to be filled. To be filled fuller and fuller until she would pass out again in her brief moment of satiation. Then she would sleep until she was ready to eat again My wife would then start the cycle over again, and again, and again. I admit I have mixed feelings about this, it was a huge turn on, but I was still concerned about her. This was our life now, and I feel like I should hate it, but all I want is to do it better, to make her happier, hungrier, heavier, and hornier when she’s awake, then, yes, to have more sex. So, once again I got up to get her another tub of ice cream and a spoon, wondering how many times I would get off today. As I went to the freezer I thought back to how things got this way.

Fifteen years ago

A honeymoon got its name from an ancient tradition of giving newlyweds all the mead that they could drink for a month, since mead is made from honey, and a lunar cycle lasts about a month. But I honestly think food would be better than drinks for Meghan. We decided to go with the old tradition in one way though. We have a month, a month where we can do nothing but eat, sleep, and each other. For the location, we did a much more modern tradition and went to a tropical island resort in Hawaii. An all expenses paid trip too. I don’t know how much it cost, all of our wedding guests pitched in for it, and Meghan’s parents arranged it for us as a wedding gift.

Now, to talk about things I would never bring up in the presence of my in laws. Meg always had an incredibly high libido. I know that nobody I’d spoken to wanted to go at it every day anymore once they were past their mid-twenties or so. But my new wife seems like she always has sex on the mind. Always. I can hardly imagine her as anything but a voracious sexpot, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Meg likes it when I talk dirty, she turns red whenever I called her a s**t, but she loves it. Then she always says “I am, but I’m all yours.” Like it’s a rehearsed line. It never seems like she gets tired of it though. I am positive that we won’t ever cool off. But we’re in our early twenties, so if our libidos do deteriorate like all the rest then we’ve got about a decade of marathon sex still to come, and I know that we’ll make the most of our time while we have it. An old adage comes to mind whenever I think of my wife’s libido. That one wants it every day, and twice on Sundays. But that doesn’t even sum it up anymore now. Meghan and I each knew that her eating was a turn on for ourselves, but it wasn’t until day two of our honeymoon that we each realized that the other liked it too. Since then Meghan hasn’t stopped eating except to fuck, and she hasn’t stopped doing that except to eat. But our happiest moments were usually when both happened at once. I was broken out of my thoughts by my wife speaking up.

“I’m gonna get so fat.” Meghan said between bites of a roast pig at a luau that the hotel set up for their guests. I think it’s just to awe tourists to be honest. But the moment I saw Meghan's reaction to the idea of a luau with a roast pig I knew it had to be done. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and starlight at the thought of an entire barbecued pig being served. Despite her complaints about it, Meghan didn’t seem to dislike the idea of gaining weight one bit. Which is good, I thought as I watched her eating, she’d probably end up there sooner or later with the way she ate. It’s a good thing that I like the idea of Meghan gaining weight too, it means I’ll never want to try and make her stop. Regardless, I leaned over and said “I don’t know if it’s the way yore eating that pig, or that grass skirt you got from the gift shop, but I can’t wait to get back to our room.” Then she turned her face to me and said “me neither. But I can’t just leave all this food.” And she gently kissed me on the lobe of my ear, whispering “Let’s consider this foreplay,” and turning to attack her food once again.

As Meghan ate I became more and more certain that it was her eating that had me so excited. It’s just so sexy to watch her eat. Meg had a sense of recklessness to her eating, it was like she was desperately trying to swallow as much food as she could before she was stopped. She even moaned occasionally, making the whole thing seem even more like it was something sexual to her. I remembered last night, when she told me that eating was a turn on, and wandered if this was why. It was such a wanton display of desire that it would be a turn on for me even if I didn’t have a thing for her eating. It gave me an odd thought. I wanted to see her eschew the silverware and the staff that sliced the pork for guests entirely. I wanted to see Meghan able to let every last semblance of propriety fade away, and attack an entire pig with her hands and teeth. I wanted to see just how much odd a pig that Meghan could be. Unrealistic as it was, a big part of me wanted to see her eat the whole thing herself. To eat it and then ask for more. By the time Meg finished her food her hands were covered in gristle. I don’t know why, but that was as much of a turn on as seeing her naked. My mind returned to the present

As I pulled the ice cream out of the freezer, I thought that, in hindsight, that day was when it all began. That was where food and sex started to be linked together in Meghan’s mind and my own. We had spoken about it the night before. But that was when it became more than just a theory. We spent the entire meal teasing each other, as she swallowed bite after bite of that luau pig. In the end I had two slices of ham. Meghan had at least four, probably more. Then she joked about how you are what you eat. So, since she would eat an entire pig over the course of our honeymoon, I would have to call her one.

I was sure that I couldn’t have been any harder than I was by the time we finished that meal. Then I was proven wrong, as I watched my wife waddle her overstuffed self back to our room. That evening in bed and Meg begged me to call her a fat pig when I tried our normal dirty talk. She ate like eating was her only purpose in life, then we fucked like we’d just realize that no, that was our real purpose. I had always loved the look of Meg’s chest bouncing when we did either missionary or cowgirl. But now I felt like I was given permission to enjoy her stomach as well as her chest, since I was no longer afraid that she’d be weirded out by it.

“Tell me I’m too skinny.” Meg asked as she bounced on top of me. I bucked my hips as I replied “You need to be told?” before licking my lips, as we both grinned, I continued, “You’re like, an emaciated waif.” It wasn’t true. Meghan certainly wasn’t heavy, but she was a healthy weight. Still, I said “I’m gonna have to feed you twenty-four seven for years before you’re even close to normal.” My beautiful bouncing bride continued to live up to that title. I said “Good thing you’re an insatiable hog when you eat. We’ll have to hope that you really are what you eat. Then we can get you more pigs to swallow up. Then you won’t be A pig, you’ll be an entire herd of them.” Meghan bounced like she was actively trying to make me finish, and now. So, I passed the point of no return as I noticed something. Meg barely breathed the word “Yes.” As she bbounced. It was enough to take my attention off of my wife’s body bouncing before me. I knew that whispered word meant a lot, my beautiful, bouncing bride would get loud when she liked what was going on, but she dropped her volume down to a near whisper when she LOVED it. It was like she was so focused on the sensation of what we were doing that she had no wherewithal left to speak with. So I reached up and felt her belly with one hand as I said “Skinny, Skinny, Skinny.” Enjoying this almost as much as my wife was. I said “People are gonna think I’m starving you or something.” She gasped the word yes outing as I realized it. We would both finish soon regardless of what I did. So I decided to turn up the heat even more for the finale. I continued, “Unless you pork up real hard. But we’ve got mothing to worry about, I know you will. You’ve got a month with nothing to do but eat. You’ll have no exercise but sex either.” And I put a hand on her belly, saying “Don’t worry my dear, I won’t leave you this skinny for long.” I felt myself starting to finish as I bounced my wife up and down in time with her own motions. I said, “If you can’t gain enough in a month then we’ve got all the time in the world. I’ll just have to keep you sedentary and stuffed in the house at all times. You won’t even move except to eat, bathe, and fuck.” Before I could speak more Meghan began to shake slightly as she grinned and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I knew from experience that this mesnt she was finishing. It was good timing too, as the pulsing of my member began to die down. I knew I could keep goingong enough that we could ride out the end of this together, if nothing more.

Shortly after this we found ourselves lying in bed, I was on my back, with my arm wrapped around my beautiful bride as she lay on me. Meghan had an arm draped across my body as her head rested on my chest. I held her in an embrace with one arm, and pet her hair with my other hand. A beam of moonlight shone in through the open window, illuminating the room in a soft light, and making Meghan’s skin nearly glow with a soft, white appearance. Eventually Meghan spoke, saying “So, was that just talking dirty, or did you mean it?” I replied “That you’re too skinny? No, I didn’t mean that.” to which she laughed, and said “No, that you-“ and let the words trail off there as she squeezed my chest. I asked her what and Meg said “That you’d, Uumm, you’d want to keep me locked up and stationary, doing nothing but eating and having sex with you. I chuckled slightly and said “Don’t worry Meg, I’m not gonna chain you to a wall and make you my pig if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Meghan's voice dropped to a far more somber one and she said “Yeah, right, afraid.” Then she pulled it together and said “That’s good. I mean, can you even imagine it? I would get so fat,” and her voice started to become something wistful and sad as she continued, “just so fat, doing nothing but eating and having sex. All of my worries would melt away, as my needs were handled for me. I would have nothing else in life, I would just rest, relax, and.” At this point she was smiling, yet, my wife was near tears as she said “I’d never be hungry again, never be tired or desperate. I’d never want for anything at all.” And clearly forced out the words, “That would be terrible.” Before falling silent. I held her in my arms for what felt like years before I couldn’t take the silence any longer, I said “Be honest with me Meg. We’re married now. Is that what you’d want?” Meghan sighed and said “Yes, but it’s a dream, a fantasy and nothing more. I know it’s better to be an entire person, with thoughts and feelings beyond wanting to eat and screw. But it is one hell of a fantasy. One I think I like more than is healthy.” She sighed deeply and buried her face in my chest, squeezing me tightly. I asked her “Do you know why you want that so much? It feels like it’s more than just hedonism.” For her to respond “Yeah, my therapist says it’s from my childhood. From when I went hungry. Like, it’s my mind trying to push me as far as possible in the other direction.”

Meg had mentioned this part of her life before. She hated talking about it, but it wasn’t a secret either. She was born in a small town on the border between Germany and the Czech Republic. Her dad abandoned her and her mom when she was an infant. Meghan’s mother went into a deep depression and ended up on some sort of drug that I don’t remember the name of and am not so callous as to ask right now. While on drugs her mom regularly vanished with the other addicts in town for days on end, leaving her daughter alone, and often with nothing to eat. It wasn’t out of malice so much as a focus on getting high that eclipsed all other thought. So I said “You mean being neglected?” and Meghan nodded sadly, saying “Yeah, I know times are better now. I know mom got clean, moved here, and started a business, and I know that she married a wealthy man on top of all that. Between all of that and you, I logically know it’s practically impossible for me to ever go hungry again. But I still feel more comfortable when I’m eating. It always makes me feel safe and warm, like I can turn off my mind and just rest, really rest. I feel like every moment of my life I’m running myself ragged constanly reminding myself that I’m safe. When I’m eating is the one time the feelings go away and I can rest my mind.”

I had expected a lot of things in my honeymoon with Meg, but that was not one of them. “I’m impressed.” I said honestly, “You’re so,” and I took a moment to think of the words, before settling on “self aware.” Then Meg said “So, this may sound a little weird, but you know how I always feel down in the dumps after that topic.” I nodded and she continued, “I wasn’t kidding, eating always makes me feel better. I know we just got back from a huge meal, but-“ and I interrupted her, saying “Don’t worry. I’ll go get us some dessert. Oh, and even if eating literally every waking moment of your life is unrealistic, I can make sure you always have snacks on hand to feel better when you’re anxious.” Meg said “Thank you Aaron, thank you so much. You really are reminding me why I love you.” I got up to get my wife some ice cream to soothe her mind. My wife couldn't stop her mind from spinning without eating something. I'd make sure it never happened again.