Chapter 1

Jacob first noticed her in the laundry room — the soft hum of machines, the scent of detergent mingling with something sweeter, warmer. She was older, perhaps in her mid-40s, but carried herself with a sultry confidence that made her ageless. Silky black hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face of high cheekbones, almond eyes lined just enough to give them a sly, feline edge. She wore a fitted, plum-colored dress that clung to her figure, curves ripened by time and indulgence.

“Need help?” she asked, her voice low and velvety, accented with a faint Chinese lilt that made Jacob's skin tingle.

He stammered something about a broken coin slot. She chuckled softly, brushing a hand over his forearm — delicate fingers, but her touch lingered.

Her name was Liang. She was his neighbor, and soon their casual encounters in the hallway or lobby turned into something more deliberate. One evening, after a few weeks of subtle flirtation, she invited him over for dinner.

Jacob expected takeout — maybe noodles or dumplings — but what he found was a feast spread across her table: whole roasted duck, sticky rice studded with Chinese sausage, pork belly braised in soy sauce and sugar until it gleamed dark and sweet.

“I hope you brought an appetite,” Liang purred, standing close enough that he could smell the perfume at the hollow of her throat.

He ate — at first to be polite — but with every bite, she kept refilling his plate, her smile growing sharper the more he consumed. He noticed how her eyes roamed his frame, from his jawline to the slight curve of his stomach.

“You'd look good with a little more… substance,” she whispered, pressing a dumpling to his lips with her fingers, making him take a bite. “Men should be soft… well-fed. Don’t you agree?”

Jacob's pulse quickened — not just from the richness of the meal, but from the way her voice curled around the words.

The dinners became a regular thing — first once a week, then twice, then nearly every night. She cooked with decadent abandon, always something sizzling in her kitchen — char siu pork lacquered with honey, whole fish fried in bubbling oil, noodles slick with thick, buttery sauces. She teased him when his belt needed letting out, her hand tracing the growing curve of his belly through his shirt, a glimmer of dark hunger in her eyes.

“See?” she murmured one night, sliding into his lap after dessert. “I told you… I like my men hearty.”

Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingers skating over the softness he hadn’t realized had crept onto his frame — and the way her breathing quickened told Jacob this was far from a casual preference.

It didn’t take long for Jacob’s life to orbit Liang.

Nights bled into each other, each evening a lavish dinner at her apartment — though “dinner” didn’t feel like the right word anymore. Maybe "ritual" was more appropriate. Liang would greet him at the door in something slinky and luxurious — satin robes that clung to her hips, low-cut dresses that made his throat dry. She smelled like spiced vanilla and jasmine, a scent that lingered on his skin long after he stumbled back to his place, full and dazed.

Her cooking was relentless. Fatty pork ribs glazed in hoisin, mountains of golden dumplings oozing broth with every bite, sesame balls stuffed with thick lotus paste. Liang would watch him eat, resting her chin in her palm.

"You eat so well for me, Jacob," she'd purr, leaning forward just enough for him to glimpse the soft curve of her cleavage. "I love a man with an appetite… not one of those skinny little boys."

He tried to laugh it off at first, but her fingers would slide under his chin, tipping his head back as she pressed another bite of something savory to his lips — refusing to let him say no.

As the months passed, Jacob began to notice the changes in his body — or rather, he noticed the way she noticed them.

"Look at you," Liang whispered one evening, her hand sliding over his stomach, now rounding out beneath his shirt. "Getting so soft for me… so full."

Her fingers dipped lower, tracing the curve of his belly through the fabric — a belly that hadn't been there a couple months ago. His jeans strained a little more every time she undid them, the waistband digging in just a bit deeper after each decadent meal.

"Does it turn you on?" she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of his ear, "knowing I'm feeding you like this… making you bigger, filling you out?"

Jacob’s heart pounded, but it wasn’t just embarrassment — it was desire. The way she spoke, the way her hand lingered just a moment too long on his growing softness… it thrilled him.

Liang began to escalate her game.

She started making him midnight snacks — dropping by his apartment with bowls of thick, buttery noodles or steamed buns still warm from her kitchen. She'd sit on his couch, tucked close beside him, her fingers slowly teasing apart the soft bread before slipping a piece into his mouth.

"Good boy," she'd whisper when he obediently took the bite.

And when he groaned from being too full, stuffed beyond comfort, she’d just smile and stroke his stomach, now pushing firmly against his shirt.

"You can take a little more," she’d coo, slipping another dumpling past his lips. "For me."

---

It crept up on him slowly at first: the tightness in his clothes, the way his belly would press into his lap when he sat down. But Liang kept feeding him, kept encouraging him with those dark, smoldering eyes and teasing whispers. But then, it came on faster and faster. 200. 225. 250. And then 275. By the time the scale groaned past 300 pounds, Jacob barely recognized himself.

His gut spilled out in front of him, a heavy, round mass that jiggled with the slightest movement. His thighs were thick and wide, rubbing together when he tried to walk. His chest, once firm, had softened into plush mounds that Liang loved to run her fingers over — a wicked smile tugging at her lips every time he flinched at her touch.

"You look so… indulgent," she would purr, straddling his lap, grinding herself against the vast softness of his belly. "Like a man who’s been well taken care of."

He couldn’t move the way he used to. Stairs were a struggle — his breath coming short, his legs burning. Even getting up from her couch took effort, Liang often watching him with a flicker of amusement as he heaved himself upright.

But something was shifting.

She still fed him, still stroked his belly, still teased him about how "huge" he was getting — but Jacob noticed how her touches began to feel… lighter. More distant.

She didn’t sit in his lap as much anymore — not that there was much lap left. She started excusing herself after dinner more often, leaving him alone in her apartment, bloated and drowsy, with barely a kiss on the cheek.

And then came the glances.

He caught her in the lobby one evening, talking to a man — younger than him, lean, athletic. She laughed softly at something he said, her hand resting just a little too long on the man’s arm. When Jacob shifted his weight, his belly jiggling with the motion, Liang’s gaze flicked toward him — a flash of something almost… disgusted.

That night, she barely touched him during dinner.

“Eat up, Jacob,” she murmured absently, piling more sesame chicken onto his plate.

But the spark in her voice was fading. The heat in her eyes wasn’t for him anymore.

Lying in his bed later that night, his gut a heavy dome on his frame, Jacob couldn’t shake the sick feeling gnawing at him — and it wasn’t just from overeating.

Was he… too much for her now? Had he gone from her soft yet charming man to something bloated and burdensome?

And worse — was Liang already searching for her next project?

The distance between them grew.

Liang still fed him — still invited him over, though not as often as she once did — but the electricity was gone. Her touch, once lingering and sultry, now felt clinical, almost obligatory. She’d place a dumpling at his lips, but her fingers no longer grazed his chin. She’d stroke his belly absently, but her nails didn’t dig in the way they used to.

And Jacob… Jacob just kept growing.

He passed 320 pounds before he even noticed the numbers anymore. His belly sprawled across his lap like a heavy dome, his thighs spread wide to accommodate its bulk. His chest sagged, soft and pillowy. Simple tasks — standing up, bending over to tie his shoes — were now monumental efforts. His breathing was labored after even the shortest walk, and Liang’s apartment might as well have been a mile away.

Worse still was the way she looked at him now.

Gone was the gleam in her eye when his body had started to soften. Now, her gaze flickered over his bloated form like she was irritated by his presence.

Too much.

Too far.

One evening, Jacob found himself stranded on Liang’s couch — too stuffed to move. She’d outdone herself with a spread of roast pork belly, thick garlic noodles, and sweet buns dripping with custard. His gut ached, tight and distended, his skin flushed and stretched as he tried in vain to shift into a more comfortable position.

Liang barely looked at him.

She stood by the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone — her silk robe clinging to her still-perfect figure. She laughed softly at something on the screen.

Jacob’s heart twisted.

He thought of the man he saw her with in the lobby — younger, leaner, stronger. The way she had touched the man’s arm, the way her voice had lilted in a way Jacob hadn’t heard in weeks.

He wanted to ask her — to demand to know who he was — but Jacob couldn't. His tongue felt thick, his body too heavy and slow. All he could do was sit there, gut resting between his legs, panting softly from the mere effort of breathing under the weight of his own body.

Liang finally looked up from her phone and smiled — not the sultry smile Jacob used to know, but something softer, almost pitying.

She didn’t touch him that night. Didn’t kiss him, didn’t slide onto his lap. She simply helped him waddle to the door — a hand on his elbow as though guiding a clumsy, overfed pet — and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

Jacob stood there for a moment, belly pressing against the doorknob, feeling the weight of himself and the emptiness of her absence.

He didn’t sleep that night.

In the morning, he checked his phone obsessively — but there was no text from Liang.

Just silence.

Jacob stood outside Liang’s door the next evening, his heart pounding louder than his knuckles against the wood. His shirt clung to his stomach, the bottom hem barely able to cover the full curve of his gut. Sweat pooled at the small of his back, not just from the short walk upstairs — which now felt like climbing a mountain — but from the gnawing fear twisting in his chest.

She took longer than usual to answer.

When the door finally opened, Liang stood there in a sleek black silk robe, loosely tied at the waist, the plunging neckline offering a cruel glimpse of the body Jacob had worshiped for months. She looked flawless — and utterly unimpressed.

“Jacob,” she said, her lips forming a polite smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Can I come in?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed her face — just for a second — before she stepped aside. “Of course.”

The apartment smelled like ginger and garlic, but the table was empty. No lavish spread waiting for him. No bottles of dark soy sauce or sticky rice glistening in bowls.

No feast.

He lowered himself onto the couch — a task that now required both hands braced against the armrests — his gut spreading between his thighs. He noticed how Liang’s gaze drifted over him, a flicker of something unreadable in her dark eyes.

Not desire.

Not anymore.

The silence was unbearable. His breathing was heavier than the quiet between them.

"Is there someone else?" he finally asked, his voice cracking at the edges.

Liang arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Someone else?" she echoed softly, as though the very idea was amusing.

He shifted uncomfortably, his belly quivering with the motion. "I saw you in the lobby… with that guy."

Her lips curled into a faint smile. "A neighbor," she said simply. "We were just talking. Are you... jealous, Jacob?"

But the way she said it — the casual dismissiveness of it — made Jacob's stomach churn.

His heart thudded in his chest, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them:

"I'll get bigger."

Liang blinked slowly. "What?"

His face burned, but the desperation kept him going. "If… if I’m not enough for you now… if I’m too…" He searched for the word but couldn’t find it. "Too much—too far gone—I'll get bigger. I can… I can be more for you. Four hundred pounds. I’ll get there. I’ll grow even more."

A long silence followed.

Then Liang laughed softly — not a cruel laugh, but not a kind one either. It was the sound of someone amused by a silly promise, the way you’d react to a child declaring they’d run away from home.

“Jacob,” she murmured, stepping closer — her fingers lightly grazing the side of his swollen belly. “You think this is about numbers?”

Her touch was a ghost of what it used to be — just a slow, almost clinical drag of her fingers across the overfed curve of his gut.

“It’s not how much you weigh,” she whispered, her lips so close to his ear he could feel the brush of her breath. “It’s the… journey.”

Her hand gave his belly the lightest squeeze — a squeeze that used to make his heart race. Now, it just made him feel… ridiculous.

“Watching you grow… making you grow… that was the thrill.” She smiled, a distant, fond sort of smile. “But you're already… finished.”

The word sliced through him.

Finished.

Like a meal she had devoured and now pushed away.

“But if I keep going—” His voice cracked. “If I get even bigger—”

Liang pulled back, running a hand through her dark hair with a soft sigh, as though he was a problem she didn't quite know how to solve. “Jacob… there’s nowhere left for you to go.”

He felt a sudden shortness of breath.

Finished.

A project completed.

A pig fattened past its prime.

And all Jacob could do was sit there, stomach heaving with every breath, as Liang's eyes drifted back toward her phone… like she was already thinking about what — or who — came next.

Jacob didn’t remember how he got back to his apartment.

His mind was a fog, a sick swirl of her words:

You’re finished.

They echoed in his head louder than his own labored breathing as he slumped onto his couch — the cushions groaning beneath his weight, his gut settling heavy between his legs. He stared at the blank TV screen, seeing nothing but the cool yet distant smile on Liang’s face.

Something curdled inside him — something desperate.

If she thought he was done… he’d prove her wrong.

She loved watching him grow — making him grow — and maybe he’d gone too far too fast, but there was still a way to get her attention back. He just needed to push himself further. Bigger. Softer. Heavier than ever before.

If she wanted a man who would let her mold him, he’d become a monument to her work.

He began ordering food that night — more than ever.

Pizza, burgers, greasy cartons of Chinese takeout that reminded him of the meals Liang used to lovingly spoon onto his plate. He ate in silence, barely tasting the salt and grease, his gut stretching tighter with every swallow.

By the time he finished, he was too stuffed to move — his belly a taut, aching dome in front of him. His shirt had ridden up again, exposing the red stretch marks that streaked across his skin like cracks in a dam. He gasped for air, sweat beading along his forehead, but the pain didn’t matter.

This was for her.

He’d get bigger. He’d force her to notice him again.

Days blurred into weeks.

Jacob's life became a relentless cycle of eating, resting, and eating again. Liang’s distance only seemed to fuel him — every ignored text, every polite-but-cool conversation in the hallway made him double down.

He didn’t stop at dinner anymore — now it was midnight snacks, early-morning binges. He kept his fridge packed with leftovers and his cabinets stocked with calorie-dense snacks. Bags of chips, boxes of pastries — all within arm’s reach.

The scale crept higher.

He could feel it every time he moved — the way his belly swayed with even the smallest shift, the way his thighs rubbed together when he waddled to the kitchen. His breathing grew heavier, his shirts all but useless now — either straining across his chest or abandoned altogether when they no longer fit.

He noticed how sitting down had become an ordeal. Getting off the couch took a slow, careful heave. His gut pressed harder against the table when he ate, and his legs would tingle if he sat too long — pinned beneath the growing weight of his own body.

But none of it mattered.

Because she would notice. She had to.

One night — past 370 pounds now — Jacob caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. His face was rounder, cheeks soft and plush, a thick double chin pooling beneath his jaw. His belly, swollen and sagging, jutted so far out that he could barely see his feet. His arms hung heavy at his sides, thick and padded, even his fingers looking plumper than they used to.

He looked… unrecognizable.

But this was for her.

This was all for Liang.

He thought about knocking on her door — making her see what he'd become — but something stopped him. The last thing she had said still rang in his ears: There’s nowhere left for you to go.

Not yet.

Not until he reached 400.

And then — then — she’d have no choice but to want him again.

Jacob didn’t plan to see her that night.

He was too full — too heavy. His gut ached, stretched tight and red from the feast he’d devoured hours ago: an entire roasted chicken, a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes, and a dozen donuts he'd eaten one by one until the box was empty and the grease stained his fingers.