Female Feeder Buffet

Chapter 1

"You're eating my fries again," Ana said, nudging the takeout container toward Max with a smirk. He didn't hesitate, scooping up another handful before she could change her mind. Six months ago, she would've stabbed his hand with a fork for stealing her food—back when she obsessively counted every calorie, pinching the softness of her thighs in the mirror with a grimace. But now? Now she watched the way his t-shirt stretched tight over his rounded belly as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.


The shift had been accidental at first. Ana started handing him her leftovers—half-eaten sandwiches, the last few bites of dessert—partly because she couldn't stand waste, partly because she hated the guilt of eating them herself. Max never refused. He'd grin, pop the lid off whatever she offered, and devour it without hesitation. She noticed the way his jeans grew snugger first. Then the way his face softened, the way his laughter made his stomach shake. And god, she liked it.


One night, after Max polished off her untouched slice of cheesecake, Ana caught herself staring at the way his belt dug into the soft swell of his waist. That was the moment she realized—this wasn’t just about avoiding temptation anymore. The flutter in her chest wasn’t guilt. It was hunger of a different kind.


Now here they were: Ana, lighter than she'd been in years, her old jeans baggy on her hips. Max, heavier than he'd ever been, his belly pressing against the edge of the table as he licked salt from his fingers. She reached over, thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of his mouth. "Still hungry?" she asked, voice low. His answering grin was all the reply she needed.


Then came the weigh in.


The scale sat between them, cold metal catching the afternoon light. Ana stepped on first—125. She'd stopped counting calories weeks ago, trading them for the satisfaction of watching Max loosen his belt another notch. Max followed, wincing as the numbers climbed past 190, settling at 212. "Jesus," he muttered. Ana bit her lip. “You look good,” she said. The words tasted dangerous, exhilarating.


Max paused, fingers hesitating over the buckle of his belt—looser now, but still digging in. He studied her face, the way her pupils dilated when his shirt rode up. "You like this?" he asked, voice rough. Ana exhaled, her pulse fluttering. "Yeah," she admitted. "A lot." The confession hung between them, thick as syrup.


Something shifted in his expression—not embarrassment, but recognition. He ran a hand over his rounded stomach, testing the give of flesh beneath his fingers. A slow grin spread across his face. "Fuck," he murmured. "I like it too." The realization hit him like warm grease sliding down his throat: the indulgence, the surrender, the way her hunger for him had reshaped his body.


Ana traced the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to expose the soft shelf of his belly folding over his waistband. "More?" she asked, pressing her palm flat against him. The word was a whisper, a confession, a dare. Max inhaled sharply. "Yeah," he exhaled, gripping her wrist to keep her hand there. "Yeah, keep feeding me."


The email notification buzzed against her thigh three days later, interrupting breakfast—Max demolishing a stack of pancakes she'd deliberately ordered too large. The subject line—*Slim&Stuffed Buffet: All You Can Eat, Half the Price*—made her fork clatter against her plate. She pictured him at one of those long, gleaming tables, plates piled high with butter-drenched rolls, carving stations dripping with roast beef, dessert towers wobbling under cream. Her thighs pressed together under the table.


That evening, Ana leaned against the doorframe watching Max struggle with the buttons of his once-loose navy shirt. The fabric strained across his shoulders, the hem refusing to stay tucked into pants that now left angry red lines on his hips. "Need help?" she teased, popping the last button free with a flick of her fingers. His belly pushed forward, warm and heavy against her knuckles. The choked sound he made vibrated through her.


She stepped back to admire the contrast—her own toned midriff exposed in a cropped black top, her mini skirt showed off her slender thighs. Max's gaze lingered on the strip of bare skin as she spun slowly, deliberately. "Like what you see?" Ana purred, running her hands down her sides. His fingers twitched toward her before curling into his own softness, as if comparing. The hunger in his eyes wasn't just for food anymore. Neither had ever heard of Slim&Stuffed Buffet, or knew what the future held.