Feed me, melanie

chapter 1: annie

I pleasantly woke to the sweet, buttery aroma of pancakes filling the air. Melanie makes the best pancakes. Perfectly golden brown on either side and fluffy like you wouldn’t believe. When I’ve been good she adds chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, and as much whipped cream as I want. My mouth watered at the mere thought of them, their scent wafting about made me crave them even more. Despite my grogginess and fullness from last night’s stuffing, all I could think was, “EAT.”
I used to just ignore that voice. It was easier to dismiss when it was just a faint whisper in the back of my head. Now it has power over me. I have to listen to it, I want to listen to it. I couldn’t ignore it now even if I tried. I lost that ability hundreds of pounds ago. With each passing day, each added pound, stretch mark, and roll, I miss it less and less. I do miss getting up with relative ease, walking to the kitchen, and eating breakfast with her in the mornings. I don’t remember the last time I was physically able to get up by myself. It’s not impossible…our bedroom accommodates the increasing limitations to my mobility. Even with the technical additions, pulling myself up is difficult. Once a belly gets too big it just gets in the way. Plus, it’s just so much effort! Well, it’s more effort than I’m willing to expend when that same energy could go into maintaining my figure.

I have better days when I somehow manage to get on my feet. As I grew, my steps became more laborious and audible. I think being able to hear me coming before even entering the kitchen amused Melanie. I know how much she loved seeing me waddle in before I sat down, waiting for the feast she prepared. She would sit across from me, sipping her coffee, and just watch me eat plate after plate. Melanie would nibble on a piece of bacon or toast and sit back for the show. I never pushed my plate away, but she has this amazing sixth sense – she just knows when I reach my limit. Yet she senses when I still want more...when I need more. That feeling of fullness no longer bothers me. The sweet satisfaction after a hearty meal is never enough though. I always want more. I can never eat enough. When I think I can’t fit another morsel, her delicate hand reaches my mouth and I never hesitate to open it for her. She’ll whisper in my ear, “Just one more bite, baby. Just one more for me,” softly kiss my forehead or cheek...and I’m powerless to stop myself. She spoils me like a queen, but without a doubt, she’s my empress and I’m subject to her every whim and desire. God knows I’m more than happy to oblige.

The moment of reminiscence abruptly ended with my stomach aggressively grumbling. Still in the process of digesting last night’s dinner and subsequent snacks, my stomach was pained with more than enough food yet I still ached for more. I heaved my corpulent torso up and scooted back to get in the only seated position I could manage. My belly jutted out, looking even bigger with the comforter spread over it. I let my chubby fingers caress the sides of the rising and falling dome as I caught my breath.

Melanie hovered in the doorway, with her signature breakfast tray in hand. “Good morning, beautiful,” she said.

“Morning, love,” I said with a smile. She walked over and set the tray on the bed before giving me a kiss. “Mel, thank goodness you’re here, I’m absolutely starving.” Without warning my stomach groaned loudly.

“Oh-ho I can tell! You’re practically wasting away,” she teased, “and we certainly wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Melanie cupped my hands and leaned in for another kiss. She made up a plate and handed it over. The plate rested on my belly and I eagerly dug in. Melanie grabbed her steaming cup of coffee from the side table and climbed back into bed. Between sips, she replenished my helpings whenever the plate’s white ceramic could be seen. She played with my hair as I ate, when I felt the slightest bit full she inched closer and tenderly stroked my distended belly. I would keep eating just to stay this way all day. I knew our morning cuddles would come to an end sooner or later, either because Melanie had to get ready for work or the food ran out. The former was a usual suspect and day-to-day repeat offender. On the far less frequent chance we found our culinary coffers emptied, Melanie went about the day with an extra hop in her step. I would ask if there was any more and her face would light up with unbridled pride. She loves how helplessly gluttonous I can be. On days like that, she’d come home from work with bags and bags of groceries, as if she bought out the whole damn store. Those nights she’d stuff me till I couldn’t move. Splayed out like a beached whale on the couch or bed, she’d tell me how proud she is of her piggy and her piggy’s insatiable appetite. I always get that warm and fuzzy feeling when she calls me her piggy; it makes me melt and I’m like putty in her hands. I want to be a good piggy and I desperately want to please her. I used to ask her if I could ever get too big for her. She’d smirk oh so coyly as she spread my legs, stroked my thighs, and squeezed handfuls of fat. Between slow, deliberate kisses on my inner thighs, she’d say, “Oh baby...there’s no such thing.”

The first time she said that I knew my fate was sealed. I wanted nothing more than to eat and grow for her. I wanted to balloon into the helpless fatty she’d been searching for. I’d be her fat wife who stays home, sitting on an ever-widening ass munching on whatever junk food or sugary snacks left around the house if she so wanted. I hadn’t really admitted to myself how much I actually wanted that before Melanie.




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Thanks so much for reading! Pic creds to overweightpaula on tumblr.