Chapter 1

I. FAVORITE JEANS

Jackson grinned down at his hands as he fastened his favorite jeans for the first time in almost a year. The well-worn denim felt like the embrace of a long-lost friend. He still carried a bit of a paunch, but it was nothing compared to how fat he’d gotten when he was the target of Chelsea’s newly discovered feeder tendencies.

Conversely, Chelsea was at his feet slipping into a blouse that she’d had to buy after gaining some weight, and she found that it now swallowed her. She had gotten back to her normal petite figure as well, but just hadn’t found the time yet to swap out her wardrobe.

Jackson and Chelsea Rosen dressed for work by the early light of dawn. They dressed silently so as not to disturb the girl in their bed, who did not have to go to get up. Their unspoken agreement seemed to be that after last night, she’d earned another lazy day of lounging around their comfortable suburban home. Soft snoring sounds emitted from the rotund lump under the sheets.

This recent episode had been remarkable, even for a couple with their broad-ranging sexual history. In almost ten years of their open marriage, they had sampled delights from all across the spectrum of human behavior. Certainly a threesome was nothing new; neither was dabbling in a fetish. But something about this fetish had threatened the delicate balance of enlightened debauchery that they’d always maintained before.


II. THE GLUTTON AND HIS CAKE

It all started when Chelsea stumbled across a YouTube video of an anonymous fat man in a hotel room, devouring a slice of frosted layer cake and a tall glass of milk. She replayed the short video again and again. The draperies, the room service, and even the warm golden glow of the lamps hinted at luxury. Wearing nothing but briefs, his huge belly hung between his thighs as he scooped up each forkful of the rich cake and lifted it to his lips. Then he chugged a tall glass of whole milk to wash it down, and she was mesmerized by the gentle undulation of his thick double chin. Finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, he lifted up his heavy gut and gave it a bounce. He had to be hundreds of pounds overweight. Magnificent.

Chelsea tried to imagine how it felt to be that obese and still gorging with abandon. She tried to imagine how all that soft warm fat would feel pressed against her own thin figure in bed. Had she ever enjoyed cake and milk like that? Had Jackson?

Being quite open-minded and fond of diversity, she’d never had anything against fat bodies, but she’d never felt anything for them either... until now. Her body was insistent: she was aroused by this glutton, with his cake and his milk and his round massive belly, which bore witness to countless similar binges.

After a few hours of following links and visiting various websites, Chelsea found herself with a new kink. She remembered how, just before their brief foray into leather, Jack had dryly recited that line from Thoreau’s Walden, “Beware of all enterprises requiring new clothes.” She wondered if she’d ever manage to fatten him into a new wardrobe. If she hoped to, she’d probably have to keep him unaware of her intentions.

Time would tell. With secret intentions throbbing between her thighs, she picked up her car keys and went grocery shopping.


III. THE WAR OF THE ROSENS

“But this is not what I had in mind,” Chelsea sighed into the empty breakfast nook. She looked at the stack of six chocolate-chip pancakes slathered in butter and whipped cream which Jackson had left untouched when he slammed out to go to work moments earlier. Tension lingered, and she unthinkingly started eating his leftovers... again. The pancakes were sweet and delicious and comforting. She had thoroughly enjoyed her stack. Why couldn’t he?

“I said only oatmeal this morning, Chelsea, and I meant it. I’m done getting fat for you.”

She had been only marginally successful. It had taken her almost six months of subtle encouragement and plotting to add just thirty pounds to Jackson’s slim frame -- so sexy! So painstakingly slow! -- and then he had finally caught on to what she was doing. She wasn’t even sure what gave her away, but it didn’t matter. He’d always been the smart one. And he had been infuriated.

“After all these years I never thought I’d have to remind you that open means honest. As in full-fucking-disclosure! Damn it, Chelsea, I’ve never said no to anything you wanted to do, so how dare you play me like this?”

That was two weeks ago, and such a chill had fallen between them since. She continued to stock the kitchen and cook the way she’d grown accustomed to... but he wasn’t having any of it. He decided he was going to lose that weight, simply cut back on his intake, and it was already working. Jackson made it look effortless. Furthermore, it seemed that every pound he was losing, she was finding.

“Lucky men with your fast metabolisms,” she grumbled through a mouthful of pancake.

Chelsea didn’t know what to do with her guilt. Her apologies fell to the floor rebuffed. It was as if her Jack had disappeared that day. Now she lived with this cool shadow who ate oatmeal before work and who laid down each night and went to sleep beside her without a kiss or a touch. Of course, her melancholy was punctuated by sexual frustration. They weren’t making love, and somehow his refusal intensified her fantasies. She wanted to feed someone who made love to food like the glutton had with his cake.

“Too bad I don’t know anyone like that,” she mused, as she finished off the last of the pancakes. She sprayed the rest of the can of whipped cream directly into her mouth, tilting her head back to swallow it all down. After tossing the spent can in the bin and cleaning up the kitchen, she put the remaining chocolate chips in a bowl to melt in the microwave. The melted chocolate did make her feel much better for a few moments. Then she went back to bed, called in sick to work, and cried herself to sleep.


IV. RETURN TO ME

They carried on like this for a few weeks, Chelsea eating her guilt while Jackson continued to drop weight. But something had to give. One morning as he watched his wife near tears, trying to squeeze her soft, flabby belly into an unforgiving pencil skirt, Jackson simply found all traces of his anger gone. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her neck, and whispered, “Come back to bed, beautiful.”

She let him to lay her down on the bed, afraid that if she moved or spoke she’d break the spell. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as her husband tenderly undressed her, unzipping the tight skirt and easing it over her wide hips.

She stroked the nape of his neck. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhhh,” he murmured. Taking his time, he seemed determined to cover every inch of her pale, soft skin with kisses, lingering especially on the swell of her well-fed belly and her newly voluptuous breasts. Jackson made love to Chelsea tenderly, though something felt different: it was the soft pillow of her tummy pressed between their bodies as he moved within her, as if they were buffered by a cloud. Just as he felt himself going over the edge, he suddenly saw it all from her point of view: the decadence of indulgence, the appeal of the extra pounds... it was simply another doorway to their favorite destination, hedonistic bliss. Almost as soon as he’d become willing to forgive, he was able to understand.

Chelsea’s hand flailed as she joined him in orgasm and scattered the contents of a bag of chocolate kisses from her nightstand. It didn’t matter. Reunited with her soulmate, she would no longer reach for their sugary comfort in the middle of the night.