Chapter 3 - "blind man's stuffed" game

"Here's to you and your future growth," Nancy says, making a toast as she takes a small sip from her glass, then pushes my glass onto my lips with the clear expectation that I would drink it all in one slurp which I do, first filling my mouth, then swallowing. She sets my empty glass down, then fills it again before asking, "Shall we begin?"

I nod in agreement, and she glances with fascination at my face. "Your cheeks wobble so wonderfully when you nod," she says, again smiling and obviously enjoying all she sees. "And your chins too," she says, reaching out and tickling my chins, her thin fingers probing the creases between them

"Thanks," I mutter as I laugh, little knowing what to say in response to this strange compliment. I know that most women would be turned off by a fat man like me, and yet here is Nancy who clearly likes what she sees. I feel myself blush with embarrassment.

I reach for a piece of chicken, but she slaps my hand. "Remember, I'm here to serve you!" she says, and she slowly feeds me the chicken by hand, pushing my plate out of the way and replacing it with the huge meat platter piled high with fried chicken. She then pulls the mashed potato bowl in close, and starts feeding me the creamy potatoes right out of the bowl after she drenches them in country gravy. Soon, she's alternating the potatoes with green beans and rolls. Then, more chicken. More potatoes and gravy. More green beans. Another roll. She pats some gravy from my chins with her napkin. She pours another large drink of champagne into me.

"Is it good?" she asks. When I begin to answer, she sticks another piece of chicken into my open mouth. Her laughter is like music, and I realize the jazz records have long since stopped playing. Their music has been replaced now with the syncopation of Nancy's laugh and the clinking of silverware against plates and the swallowing of so much food, the grumbling of my belly, as well as my own deep groans providing a bass line to our own jazzy version of hedonistic feasting.

"I asked is it good?"

Again, I try to speak, but a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy is pushed into my mouth. My cheeks filled, I can only nod my head, moaning "Ummm umm."

When I finally swallow this huge bite, she shoves half a roll in my mouth. I feel the butter dripping from the corner of my lips and into the creases of my chins. I try to chew slowly, certain that some food might fall out of my mouth if I eat more quickly. But Nancy is relentless in pushing food into me. No sooner do I finish one huge bite and swallow, than she is shoveling in more chicken or potatoes. I'm chewing faster, my appetite growing with her pushy urgency and the taste of the crispy seasoned chicken skin she's feeding me now.

"Can I give you a little kiss?" she asks, leaning over toward me. I lean forward in acceptance as she plants a kiss on my chin, licking the butter from it. "Mmmm, you are sooooo delicious, hun!"

"I'm also getting pretty full," I announce as she piles up another forkful of potatoes and gravy.

"You are?" she asks in mock disbelief. "You've only eaten six pieces of chicken, about four servings of beans and bacon, four buttered rolls and three servings of potatoes with gravy. "Don't you think you can eat a little more?" she asks, her eyes twinkling. "Please? For me?"

I nod and reposition myself in my chair.

Happily, she leans over again and kisses me deep on the mouth, this time without even asking. I feel her soft active tongue exploring my mouth, savoring the taste of all that food. After what seems like five minutes or more, she leans back, a satisfied look on her face as if she herself has enjoyed a five-course meal. I sit dumbly, uncertain what to say or do and unable to move, held in the spell of her beauty.

"Let's play a little game," she announces, and I see her tie two linen napkins together. "You've heard of blind man's bluff? I call this game 'blind man's stuffed.'" She giggles wildly as she ties the napkins over my eyes so I can' see.

"Have you played this game before?" I ask, suddenly curious at her worldliness.

"No," I hear her sweet voice all of a sudden taking on some vulnerability. "No, I haven't. I only read about it on one of those FFA feederism websites." I hear her breath stop and her silence.

I don't know what to say. I suddenly realize that I may not be alone in this being a first-time thing. I had just assumed that she had probably had all kinds of experience with fat guys. In the silence, I hear her finally breath, and she recovers with a little humming as she tightens my blindfold.

(continued)