Domestication

Chapter 1 - Evolution is Lazy

When you first started dating Emma, she was slim, fit, and wild. She was hot off the heels of college, where four years of ferocious eating, drinking, and partying were checked only by her recreational activities. Emma hadn’t worked out since she was a volleyball and soccer player in high school, but she had been active throughout college. She played beach volleyball with her friends, danced at parties, went swimming, and was generally always on the go. Sure, maybe she’d been full of beer and snacks while she did most of that, and maybe her diet wasn’t exactly “health food,” but years of sports had trained her body to turn calories into energy rather than fat. While those around her packed on more and more pounds over the four years of college, Emma never gained an ounce. She just couldn’t sit still long enough for anything to stick. Emma was electric, she was intense, a little chaotic even… nearly a force of nature. She was a wild animal that couldn’t be tamed, driven by instinct and kept in condition by necessity.


That is, until you came along. Like a fierce wolf slowly becoming the adorable little lapdogs we know today, your relationship gradually domesticated Emma. She began as an uncontrolled whirlwind of energy, sprinting through life in frenzied days and reckless nights, eating, drinking, dancing, running, jumping, and hooking up constantly. Now? She’s evolved into a completely different being. She’s still impulsive, driven by the same instincts to eat, drink, fuck, etc., but now with a consistent partner to cater to her needs. Her ecological niche has changed.


Emma no longer has to hunt, she has you for that. She depends on you for food, drink, sex, and nearly everything else. She’s naturally slowed down, subconsciously realizing that she doesn’t have to expend any more energy than it takes to keep you attracted and invested. That goal has become her pleasure as well as her means of survival. You barely even encouraged her, you just made her feel comfortable and she took care of the rest all by herself. Emma is living proof that evolution takes the laziest course. Wolves survive because they have the tools to spend every day fighting to stay alive. Lapdogs thrive in luxury simply because they’re cute and we like to have them as company. Emma doesn’t have to be a wolf anymore, so she’s become a pampered lapdog. And, just like our real life pets, it was her instincts fault that she started down that path. You didn’t domesticate her, she’s domesticated herself.


It happened so fast you didn’t really have time to process it. Of course you noticed Emma’s uncontrolled appetite and impulsivity, that was part of what endeared you to her so much. It was adorable and hot as hell to see her face light up as she crammed herself full of food and drinks on the daily, then ran out onto dance floors, volleyball courts, or to the bedroom as if there was nothing at all in her belly to weigh her down. She’d seemed so untouchable that even if you’d have liked it, you just couldn’t imagine her gaining any weight until it happened. …And when it happened, it quickly snowballed out of control.


First there were lifestyle changes. Emma traded more and more nights of going out with you or her girlfriends and dancing for staying in with you and cuddling up on the couch (though she could never cuddle long before taking it further). She was also always at your apartment almost immediately, inviting herself in and coming and going as she pleased. You noticed that she thrived on your attention, and you gave it to her.


Food was now easier to come by for Emma. While she’d always eaten like a pig the whole time you knew her, she’d quickly realized that you’d make or buy her food whenever she wanted. She also began to help herself to anything edible in your apartment. This allowed her to be eating and drinking essentially the whole time she was awake. She’d wake up hungry and playfully demand sex and food, gorge herself at breakfast, and then carry armfuls of snacks to your room to eat as she worked on her online job. Emma would eat until she was all bloated up and sloshy in the gut before you even left for work in the morning. Even back then she liked to press that taut, smooth, gurgling bloated tummy up against you as you left.


The two of you began meeting for lunch more and more often too. You could always tell she’d been eating before lunch, yet Emma would still impress you with the sheer volume of food she could pack away. At some point she began to eat more and more on purpose, relishing in your praise and bewilderment. Somehow she always looked even more stuffed by the time you got home from work. Sometimes she was still feeling up to going out despite the mountain of food digesting within her, but as the relationship went on you began to see her reach her limit far more often. It had taken months for you to see her push that belly too far for the first time. You had finally learned that her stomach wasn’t bottomless and that she couldn’t eat forever with no consequences. However, while you’d been concerned for her the first time she stuffed herself into such extreme discomfort, it slowly became all the more normal. On those days when she lost control, she was far too full to do anything when you were done with work, so, perhaps counterproductively, she always ended up staying home with you and packing herself with even more food as she drank to ease the ache in her belly.


Emma would always get horny when she ate too much, and you found her swollen, bloated food belly extremely attractive, so you had taken to leaving extra food lying around during the day. You knew that once she started eating, she’d inevitably lose control of herself and get all worked up, leading her to cram herself full of anything and everything she could get her hands on. She was an overstuffed, desperately horny, burpy mess by the time you got home.


While it took a while for the two of you to settle into this routine, it didn’t take long at all to have an effect once underway. Emma barely moved anymore outside of wild sex and trips from your bed or couch to your fridge or pantry. Even if she had still moved like she used to, even Emma’s once impressive metabolism wouldn’t have lasted long against the constant onslaught of greasy junk food, soda, beer, and desserts that she was subjecting her body to. You had come to expect to feed her a breakfast for three every morning, watch her gorge herself silly at lunch, and find her completely overwhelmed by the amount of junk in her belly every day after work. The girl never stopped eating. Your fridge and pantry emptied out so fast you weren’t sure when she had time to work during the day between all her snacking. It’s no wonder at all what’s become of your girlfriend’s slim, lithe, sexy little body.


Less than two weeks from the last time you saw Emma play volleyball, a little layer of pudge had started to pool around her belly. She didn’t seem to notice, still gorging herself with abandon and pressing the warm, distended mass of her overfilled belly into your skin. It felt even better with a little jiggly chub all over the outside, and you liked to squeeze the little fluff around her belly button and love handles.


Less than a month after beginning this lifestyle in earnest, you noticed her thighs spreading out more when she sat. Back then, she still went out some nights, but you know she did a lot more eating and drinking than dancing. You’ll never forget watching her swollen beer gut jiggle and wobble as she drunkenly danced around after pounding down 3 burgers, a plate of fries, and no less than 9 beers in two hours. You knew she had to be gaining fast to already have a healthy beer belly so soon.


No more than two days after that you remember noticing how much her fat tummy bulged towards you in bed as she slept, hanging nearly 10 inches off of the rest of her body and pooling like a chubby water balloon on your mattress. You couldn’t stop yourself from giving that tum a gentle little poke.


A week later you’d thought she wasn’t wearing any bottoms when you got home from work, but in fact her belly had gotten so big and tubby that it sat out on her thighs far enough to cover her underwear. Emma was increasingly gut-heavy, but the rest of her body was starting to follow her tummy’s lead. When she stood up, you could see that her growing hips would soon be the end of those bottoms anyway.


As she ate more and wore less clothes around your apartment, you marveled at the way her thighs and ass jiggled more and more, wobbling when she so much as took a step.


A month and a half later, you were about to rub her belly after she’d overdone it at lunch again (she constantly needed belly rubs by this point, and they often led to much more). You’d no more than told her to relax when your girlfriend’s overstuffed tummy popped the button off of her shorts for the first time. They were already two sizes up from the biggest pants she’d ever worn before meeting you.


Only half a year into Emma’s weight gain she’d packed on 56 pounds of blubber, and there was no doubt that she’d lost a decent amount of weight in muscle too. She’d reached a very chubby 189 pounds at 5’6, and no longer carried herself like a fit girl. When she moved at all she was almost always shuffling around your apartment in an overfed stupor, her thighs, tits, ass, and gut all wobbling as she belched and moaned and clutched her overfed potbelly. She looked like nearly half of the extra weight she’d put on had settled right onto her gut, pushing it out into a large, rounded tanker of lard that bulged out much farther than her boobs. While they’d gotten quite chubby as well, her wide, bulbous beer gut made them look a little small by comparison. Supporting such a massive belly, as well as the thick, meaty love handles she’d grown, were her widened hips and extremely thick thighs. Once toned and muscular, Emma’s volleyball player thighs had gone completely soft. They’d become so squishy and fleshy that they looked downright juicy. Emma was so underexercised and out of shape that she couldn’t run or dance for very long at all, besides, she’d rather be eating or drinking anyway. This was around the last time you saw her go for a night out. She now spent every night stuffing herself stupid on your couch or in your bed. Your slim, quick, active girlfriend had turned herself into a soft, weak, lazy little glutton.


Emma never stopped gorging herself. A few more months of uncontrolled binging and she was even getting out of breath in bed. That’s not to say she wanted it any less, she just couldn’t be quite as wild as she used to. Sex was becoming much more work for you as Emma only got hornier with every pound added to her body, and she was nearly helpless when she’d just eaten (which was basically all the time). You didn’t mind, of course. You were more than happy to put in a little extra work if it meant she got to enthusiastically cram herself full of food until she could barely breathe. Your girlfriend’s rapidly expanding body turned you on just as much as it did her, and as time went on you were getting used to taking care of her. You tended to her every need: food, sex, belly rubs, constant attention— you even helped squeeze the extra burps out of her aching gut when she ate too much too fast. Aside from showering, getting half dressed, and shoveling unhealthy slop into her gullet, she’d come to depend on you for most everything.


Emma was still getting fatter and fatter. Her gargantuan belly anchored her down, round and heavy and always tight and hard on the inside despite the ever thickening layer of porky gutblubber on top. She usually kept it so full that even with the astounding amount of belly fat she’d grown, it couldn’t jiggle and only managed a weighed-down, subdued wobble. Neither of you could keep your hands off of it. She’d slap it and pat it and wobble it around as she packed it full of fat, grease, and carbs. She knew that with how little she moved her tubby, weakened, unfit body, every single bite of junk food would end up settling onto her frame, yet she never seemed to stop and consider anything else. It was simple instinct. About nine months into her gain, Emma tipped the scale at 208 pounds. While 208 was already a far cry from the sexy and athletic 133 pounds she weighed when you met her, only three months later she weighed 243. It was clear her body had completely given in, and she knew it.


It was about this time that Emma lost any pretense of politeness or social norms. The girl barely ever wore anything more than her underwear and sometimes a tiny cropped tank top that fit her 60 pounds ago. She belched and moaned constantly at whatever volume she pleased, always slapping and playing with her huge fat-tanker of a gut as she begged you to watch her eat. She liked it when you were rough with her gut, despite how full she always was, so you got used to smacking it around and calling her names.


Emma was more demanding too. She’d wake up from a food coma, waddle into the kitchen from your bedroom, PLOP her hefty belly down on the counter, and playfully (yet expectantly, as she’d grown accustomed to being spoiled rotten) ask, “So why the fuck haven’t you put out any food for me yet?? Are you trying to starve me? You wouldn’t want me to go hungry, would you?” She’d gotten far too good at being both spoiled and bratty as well as cute and vulnerable at the same time. You just couldn’t tell her no even when you knew that if she ate any more, you’d have to help her haul her swollen gut back to bed again. She was too out of shape to move very fast, and when she was extra full she always complained that it was “just too harddddd.” to carry her own engorged belly for only as long as it took her to waddle from your couch to your bedroom. You tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, I mean, her thighs were so thick and doughy now that it clearly took more effort than ever for her to walk, but you knew she was just being lazy. Still, she was so cute and you found that fattened body of hers so damn sexy that you couldn’t bear to deny her. Every time she asked, you’d walk behind and reach around her back, proudly hefting up that bulging blubber belly you let her grow as she moaned all the way back to bed.


And it wasn’t like you didn’t get anything out of it. The more Emma ate the hornier she got. The very act of eating had become sexual to her. The more she had in her belly and the fatter she was, the more unhinged, uncontrolled, and insatiable her sexuality became. Every time she topped off her belly, she needed you to satisfy her before she allowed herself to fall into the inevitable food coma. She couldn’t get through 2 sentences without mentioning her “useless ***ing tanker belly,” “pathetic blubbery excuse for a body,” “stupid greedy piggy brain,” “fat heavy beer tits,” “wobbling lard-covered ass,” or something of the like. At first you were worried that she was being hard on herself and had grown insecure about her massive weight gain, but you quickly learned the truth behind her harsh words.


Emma was absolutely transfixed by both the food in front of her and the fattened body she used to house it. She knew you were too. She made sure if you sat next to her to rub her belly, she’d push her massive gut into you as hard as she could. She’d take your hand and stick it under her lard tanker, sink it into the soft flesh of her doughy inner thighs, or squeeze it onto one of her fat, meaty tits. Whenever you got her more to eat, she’d warn you that “You’re only gonna make this big jiggly piggy get even fatter if you keep feeding me so much.” and grind up against you if she wasn’t too full to move. She wanted your hands and mouth (and more) all over her 24/7. You spent nearly all of your time outside of work feeling up your fat girlfriend’s body while you watched her swoon over it and eat herself fatter and fatter.