Lydia

Chapter 1

Friday night—her favorite night. Milkshake night! Man, how she loves those milkshakes . . .

Barbara was an intelligent woman who had been through some rough times in her life, but “lived to tell about it,” so to speak. She had been divorced when she met Jim online. They did not have a whirlwind romance, but rather took their time at getting to know each other. They eventually met in person, and the rest is history.

She always dreamed about a man like Jim, and little did she realize that she would actually marry one! It was too good to be true: she saw his nick on a website about feeders and feedees, she wrote him, and now she was living the dream! Jim owns a donut shop—or at least, he does now. Because Jim is the owner of a very successful one, he can make whatever rules his heart desires. He is a conscientious man who cares about his wife, his employees, and his community. That is why he tells the girls at his shop to eat whatever they want (can’t have starving workers, right?) and he donates leftover donuts and pastries and the like to a homeless shelter.

. . . well, almost all the leftovers . . .

Jim always, always brought home goodies for his lovely wife. He brought home boxes of donuts and muffins and pastries. Sometimes, he brought home several boxes and left a bunch in the trunk of the car. When Barbara woke up in the morning, she was surrounded by all those boxes of fattening goodies and her husband standing over her.

“Lydia, I want these gone by the time I get home. Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Barbara replied, trying to stifle a smile as her eyes turned downward. She immediately felt a little twinge. She always got that way when he called her that name.

The name Lydia was their keyword or signal to each other, going from normal to master/slave mode. She loved being submissive to him. It excited her—particularly when it came to food. This had become a frequent ritual, although they did not do this every day. Jim would form a ring of boxes around Barbara. She could eat all she wanted, with the intent of relieving the boredom of being home that day and adding to her ever-growing softness. However, if he used a firm tone of voice and called her Lydia, she was definitely expected to do whatever he said.

As Barbara heard the front door shut, she sat up in bed, reached for the remote, and turned on the television. Ah yes, nothing better than breakfast in bed—and a mid-morning snack, and a late-morning snack, and lunch, if necessary. She giggled to herself. She broke open the box of glazed donuts, her favorite. Without thinking, she started to eat them, all of them. She became engrossed in her morning shows and failed to even note that Jim had left her a gallon of milk next to the bed, with an already-filled tall glass on the bedside table. She stared at the television, paying little attention to the amount of fattening breakfast food she was consuming. It would not be until she moved to go to the bathroom before she realized how much she must have eaten, or how full she felt. A wry smile flashed on her face. She was getting fatter and loving every minute of it.

As the morning progressed, she realized something (aside from the fact that she had finished every single chocolate donut): he didn’t call her Lydia on the way out. This was a special day. She was expected to still be his willing servant, to still play the role of fattening love slave when he returned. She was to stay in character all day, even when he wasn’t home, which meant that—

*Rrrrringg! Rrrrrringggg!*

Oh, my gawd! Is he here already? Cool. Barbara jumped up to put her robe on and quickly searched for her purse. She could feel herself jiggle—even though her tummy was full from the morning’s feast—while she jumped up, slipped on her robe, and tied the belt. Hm. This belt seems shorter than it used to be. She fumbled with her wallet as she ran (and her thighs, belly, and love handles bounced) out of the bedroom. She reached the front door, flung it open, rays of bright sunshine streaming in, the smell of the outdoors flooding her senses.

“Uh, you ordered pizza, ma’am?” The gangly delivery boy seemed to think it was a bit too early to be chowing down on pizza, but hey, it was money. He heard the team at the pizza shop say something about a regular and always at lunchtime and usually the first order of the day, but didn’t think about it.

“Yes, yes I did,” she fibbed. Barbara was too intent on the smell of the Meat Lovers pizza to notice the incredulous look on the boy’s face as she handed him his money and tip. She flung the door shut.

The stood there, dumbfounded, for a few seconds. She must be the regular they talked about. She sure was fat enough. He shrugged his shoulders and turned to plop back into his beat-up Dodge. To each his own.

Barbara quickly plopped herself on the couch. Damn, I love being Lydia, she chuckled to herself. “Omigawd!” she exclaimed aloud. She sat on the couch with her mouth open in shock. She was so excited about being Lydia all day that she wasn’t even thinking when she paid the pizza delivery boy. Her heart raced, even though she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She was dumbfounded, excited, amazed, and totally turned on all at once. Jim always ordered the pizza from work, so that each time pizza was delivered, the kind of pizza was a surprise to Barbara. This time, however, he out-did himself. Jim didn’t order her a Meat Lover’s pizza. He didn’t order her Hawaiian pizza with extra cheese. He didn’t even order her large “the Works.” He ordered her all three!!

“I’m gonna be a whale,” she said slowly. What an exciting idea. She suddenly came to life at the thought that Jim was really pouring it on. Today was a special day. If he wants a big, blubbery wife . . . he’s gonna get one! While she attacked the pizzas with vigor, she imagined herself being so fat, she took up the entire love seat. She imagined eating 15 pizzas non-stop, and being one huge mountain of fat. She was so turned on, she could hardly stand it. Lydia led a great life.

Oh! That’s right! she thought to herself as she stuff her mouth with more pizza. I’m not Barbara, I’m Lydia. Jimmy boy’s not gonna get a big, blubbery wife. Nope! He’s coming home to his mistress. He’s got a huge tub of lard that he’s fattening up, a sex slave that lives to make him hard and go wild with lust, a wanton slut named Lydia that lives to do his bidding and get him off. Well, let’s give him more than he asked for.

Barbara got into a rhythm of eating, so she mindlessly could watch her TV shows. She was fat and lazy, and she enjoyed every minute of it. After she finished the second pizza, she was incredibly stuffed. She didn’t usually get so stuffed because she was more of a nibbler. Jim had convinced (and proved to her over time) that nibbling constantly produced more fat all over, rather than simply stretched her belly by stuffing. However, it sure was fun to eat way too much at once. A girl has to have a little fun, y’know. Besides, she has to be able to eat more as she gets fatter, right? She amazed herself with her astute logic.

Barbara hefted her impressive mass from the couch and walked over towards her bathroom. Wait a minute, she wasn’t walking. She was waddling! She was actually waddling, shifting her weight back and forth in order to walk. This is an incredible day! She’s reach a milestone and is now (in her mind) a definite fatty. She reached the bathroom and could barely get through the doorway. My next milestone is to get so fat, I can’t make it through a normal door, she thought to herself as she smiled.

Barbara admired herself in the full-length mirror. Jim had bought her an oversized mirror for her bathroom: one that would allow her to see her growing girth as she expanded in all directions. It was an prized investment, as well as her heavyweight scale that went well beyond the skimpy scales that assumed no one got over 300 pounds.

“Lydia, darling, you sure do look sexy with more flab,” Barbara said aloud, admiring her girth and soft rolls. She always loved how big her thighs were, and they just seem to keep growing. Her belly had finally formed an apron after having a cute “pooch” for what seemed like eternity. Her body seemed to expand everywhere else for quite a while, but now her tummy has been catching up. She squeezed and lifted her belly, letting it drop and bounce several times. She could hardly believe that was her tummy. She loved how it dropped, not mention spread way out on either side of her underwear. Her belly was too big to contain. “That’s what happens when you’re only 5'2" and you get to be over 325 pounds. My, my, my, Lydia, you sure are going to get satisfied tonight, you fat, sexy thing, you.”

Barbara imagined herself much, much fatter in her mind’s eye. She imagined her apron reaching to her knees, her huge upper arms swelling to the size of normal people’s thighs, and her breasts twice as big and twice as jiggly as they were now (not that GG cups weren’t big already). Between looking at her new size, as well as imagining what she’d look like in the future, as well as the obvious overture from Jim that he wants her fatter, not to mention she was Lydia all day, which meant she had to eat and make a pig of herself—or a cow, at the rate she was going. This whole day was turning her on so much, she was nearing orgasm already. She wanted to continue to imagine how wide she’d end up some day, and how huge her ass cheeks would be, but she couldn’t take it any longer. She just had to get some cupcakes and a special little device and celebrate her new lard.

_____oOo_____

Over an hour later, Barbara woke up. She drifted off into blissful sleep after she reached an incredible orgasm. Realizing how fat she was getting had that affect on her. As she rolled her growing blubber around so she could sit up, she noticed all the wrappers from the cupcakes she consumed while she got herself off. Funny, she never seems to remember eating after she recovers from a “session.” It obviously must intensify her experience. This amused her greatly.

As Barbara slid off the bed and waddled (she giggled over that idea) into the living room, she knew she was on a mission. She had to finish that pizza before Jim made it back home. Lydia did everything she could to please her master, so she had to be a good little sub and do what was expected. She could swear she felt the weight of her stomach weigh her down more as she leaned over in the fridge to get herself a full 2-liter bottle of Pepsi. (A girl has to be able to wash down all that pizza, y’know.) She felt herself wiggle and undulate with every step towards the couch. She absolutely loved feeling her fat jiggle all over, especially since she was now jiggling all over. She once only felt her tummy jiggle when she walked, but over time, all that changed. If she concentrated, she could feel individual part bounce uncontrollably, whether it was her butt, her love handles, her massive tummy, her upper arms, or her boobs that were overflowing her bra. “The girls,” as she called them, definitely loved to gain beyond the rest of her . . . and how Jim loved “the girls.”

It was late in the afternoon when Barbara—er, Lydia, that is—was sitting on the couch with her fat legs up, sipping her half-empty bottle of Pepsi, feeling rather full again. Life was good. Drinking soda is a wonderful thing, almost as good as those . . .

“Milkshakes!” she exploded. “Oooooh, noooooo, I forgot about the milkshakes. How am I ever going to be able to drink those down when I’m this full?” This was truly something to lament. Barbara loved Jim’s special milkshakes. He made them the most fattening and potent milkshakes ever known. Not only did he include vanilla ice cream, heavy cream, weight gain powder, and chocolate syrup, he also included the “secret weapons” to help Lydia be the slut he wanted her to be. Jim not only loved Lydia the feedee, he also loved another side of her that was more immediately gratifying. He loved Lydia the drunk chick.

Yes, Jim loaded up those fattening, size-explosive milkshakes with Kahlua and Bailey’s Irish Cream. He went absolutely bonkers over watching her go from sober to tipsy to drunk to completely “smashed.” It was another incredible turn-on for him, and it was all the better when Lydia couldn’t control how much she wiggled and jiggled as she stumbled and weaved her fat, delicious body around the house. Some nights he faked being angry at her and put her on a liquid diet: beer. Beer was definitely a good way to fatten up. But, somehow to Barbara, having Lydia drink a fattening ice cream drink seemed so much more decadent.

Barbara decided to take a shower before Jim came home, and was still down in the dumps when the doorbell rang yet again. Twice in one day was not unheard of, but it was unusual. She waddled over in her robe and toweled hair to the door and opened it up to see a young man with two armfuls of brown paper bags that were obviously full and heavy. “Delivery from Bartles!” he chimed in.

“Ah, yes, put them over on the table right over here,” Barbara said as she escorted the young lad to the nearby table.

“Havin’ a party, eh?” the boy asked, sounding an awful lot like he wanted to be invited. After all, look at all the booze he was delivering from the nearby liquor store.

“Oh, yes, a big one,” Barbara smiled back. She was a little embarassed that she looking like she had just come out of the shower. “Well, here’s your tip. I have to finish dressing and getting the place ready for company!” She hated lying, but at the same time, she felt so naughty because she had a feeling what was happening.

After the boy left, Barbara read the note from Jim that someone at the liquor store obviously wrote when the order was called in. It simply stated, “Don’t wait for me. Serve drinks as soon as you’re ready and I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Barbara was overwhelmed. This day just couldn’t be any more fun. She knew perfectly well that they weren’t expecting company. It was a cover so that the liquor store people would wonder why he ordered so much liquor to be delivered, as well as all the chips that were included. No, the message meant something totally different, totally wicked, totally naughty: “As soon as you get this, start making drinks and keep drinking until I come home.” She wasn’t going to be just a fatter cow tonight, she was also going to be a sloppy lush.

Barbara carried the contents in several trips to the kitchen. She saw that Jim had picked out the really good stuff: all the makings for Long Island Iced Tea. They already had the Bailey’s and Kahlua stocked, but now she could make her favorite potent drink. If she does it just right, it doesn’t even taste alcoholic—just the way she likes it. She won’t feel like she’s drinking booze, so she’ll just slip into an intoxicated state of bliss without realizing it (until it’s “too late,” that is).

She pulled out the bottles and lined them up: tequila, vodka, rum, gin, triple sec, sweet & sour mix, and Coke. She knew what to do: mix 1 part of each of the liquors, 1.5 parts of the sweet & sour, and a little more than a splash of some Coke over ice. She had a special shaker for this that allowed a good amount of ice. She gave the mixture a good shake, which caused her enormous upper arms to wobble, reminding her of how fat she’s gotten. Every sharp movement reminder her, and it always sent a chill of excitement through her. Over time, more of her seems to wiggle and bounce with movements that are less sharp. She can’t wait for the day when all of her will undulate with the slightest movement!

“I’ll drink to that!” she exclaimed and she held up a glass full of party-in-disguise. She took a sip. Mmmm, that was good. She grabbed the shaker that still had some “tea” in it in her other hand, waddled over to a chair in the kitchen, and plopped down. She didn’t try to sit gracefully, unless she and Jim were in company. It was too much fun to feel her flabby figure jostle around when she sat down hard. She looked at her drink, thinking it was getting sufficiently chilled with all the ice. It helped mask the “kick” in the alcohol. She took a long drink this time. It went down just like a glass of real iced tea. Perfect.

_____oOo_____

Jim approached his front door with a great deal of excitement. He had been turned on all day long, knowing that he left Barbara in Lydia mode all day. He wanted to go all out, so he also ordered the booze, knowing that her fatter body stumbling around would turn him into an animal. His hand shook as he reached for the doorknob. Showtime!

“Lydiaaaa!” he called out. “I’m hooooome!” No answer. Hmmmm, this is interesting. “Lydia? Where are you?”

He wandered into the living room. Empty pizza boxes lay opened near the couch, along with a half-finished bottle of Pepsi. Good job, baby, he chuckled to himself. He heard noises from the kitchen, so he took his time wandering over to the room where his fat lover obviously was. He wanted to determine how drunk she was at this point, so he called out again, “Lydiaaa, are you in the kitchen?”

“Yeeesh, I’mmm . . . I’mmmm inna kischen! [giggle]” was the sloppy response. Before he even turned the corner, Jim knew she was already very drunk. This was gonna be fun.


(More to come . . . ?)