Tara sits at the end of our bed, her toned legs seductively crossed. Pink lingerie hugs her tight 160lbs body and she wears fluffy high heel boudoir slippers. Her jet black hair lustrously contrasts her tanned skin, her golden brown eyes piercing me in that effortlessly smoky way only Tara has. Her face betrays a seductive, cruel, eastern European tint. Through a mouthful of peanut butter M&M’s she imperiously orders me to attend her.
“NYUUYUUMM Com ere SLUUUUURRP an GLLLRPPP fuck me!! CHEEEW”
I gravitate to her and kneel. Tara insists a man treat her literally like a queen. Our foreplay always starts with a back and forth between me feeding her and eating her out. She likes to be choked, but not in the traditional way, instead I shove food down her gullet as we fuck. She devours at least 10 trays of desserts before I nut every night. Sometimes she’ll demand as much as twice her weight in food before we ever get to have sex. Fortunately she’s 5’1” so with her eating pace it's never long before we get down to business. Tonight she’s demanding 200 mini chocolate cheesecakes of sex food and devours every last one. To be honest, she never chokes. She’s too good at eating, my girl just loves food. I’m pretty sure she enjoys the eating more than the fucking but if she's happy I'm happy. Tara’s always had an incredible appetite, beyond any broad I’ve dated. Usually I go for bigger chicks but Tara is so hot. I actually met Tara because I was interested in her friend Brooke, this huge chick who really knew how to put it away. She already had a couple of guys on the go though and was hard to approach since she was always eating. Plus even now I could not afford that chick, even with all the other guys paying in. However I was immediately attracted to Tara’s narcissism, honesty and of course her gluttony. Every time I take her out to dinner she eats like a black hole and she can keep up with any kitchen. She’s totally immodest about her eating habits and definitely doesn’t suffer the shame other women do. She’s never been that girl who just orders the salad, or says she doesn’t want fries then eats half of mine. Don’t get me wrong she will eat my fries, all of them, in fact I usually have to order about $200 worth of fries for ‘myself’ every meal. She goes through dessert menus like they’re a starter and always leaves a restaurant unsatisfied. Getting home from dates she’ll eat even more! Our kitchen is full with cakes and cookies and ice cream and all sorts of sweets (now so more than ever) and she’ll piggishly finish everything and anything I bring her. The amazing thing is no matter how much she gluts she doesn’t gain a pound. Her metabolism is a medical miracle, I’ve never seen anyone put away as much as she does and maintain. Some weeks she even makes losses! I know a fair bit about body mass since I’m training to be a UFC fighter. That’s kinda what keeps me in this relationship, her dominance, I could kick pretty much any guys ass yet here I am doing everything this tiny little spoiled princess demands. Is that fucked up? Ah well.
Suddenly I'm awake. My alarm clock tells me it's 3 in the morning just as I feel bae give me another sharp nudge in the shoulder. I guess I passed out, exhausted from working 10 hours on the site then hitting the gym for 3 hours before another 2 hours watching Tara. She passed out after day-drinking since 1pm and cumming for the 7th time. I lean over to kiss Tara gently but now she kicks me, her bedroom heel digging sharply into my ankle. Oww!! My hand travels delicately over her breast and down towards her puss, that’s usually why she wakes me up in the middle of the night. My touch lingers, something’s different. Her usually flat tummy feels softer, a little bloated even, warm dough, like its expanded in the past few hours of sleep. The tummy growls at me and my sleepy sweetheart repeats the sentiment.
"What’s wrong, kitten?"
"Can't sleep… hungry."
I lean in to kiss her again but she shoves my face away harshly with an agitated moan. She always gets grumpy when she’s wants food. "I mean it, I'm starving like an African orphan! Go. Drive-thru. I want two-dozen raspberry muffins… no, three."
She doesn’t think twice (or even once) about making such unreasonable demands. She’s been thoroughly spoiled by a very rich father and until she was 10 was an only child. Unable ever to deny her anything I dress and go out into the snow and drive to Tim Hortons for her 3 boxes of treats. By the time I get back (not long, she doesn't like waiting) she's asleep again. I turn the lights on, noticing that she does look a little pudgier. Her breasts push firmly against the cups of her pink lingerie now and her belly definitely presses. She stirs, irritated by the intruding light, I dim it so as not to hurt her eyes.
"Baby, I have your raspberry muffins…"
She looks at me with her familiar irritated valley girl expression.
"What the FUCK are you talking about? I told you to get me BLUEBERRY you retarded asshole FAGGOT!!"
She starts to cry for having been woken up without the right muffins. Genuinely sorry, I lavish her with ignored apologies. I leave her the raspberry muffins and head back out to fetch her correct order. This time when she wakes up she's pleased I got her commands right and instead of berating me (too much) lets me feed her. She polishes off all the muffins as well as a couple boxes of apology donuts before nodding off again.
The next day I get home from work about 5:30pm, just as she's waking up. I bring through her first meal of the day (Taco Bell, including 20 beef chalupas) in bed as always. She starts eating without so much as acknowledging me. It must be my imagination, or perhaps wishful thinking, but she looks like she gained even more weight since I saw her last night. Maybe another 5lbs. She just had her period last week so I know she can't be pregnant.
"Babygirl, are you feeling okay?"
Tara sucks the innards from a quesarito before answering through her chewed up breakfast.
"GLLMMMPP I fee fine I SHLUUUURRPP juss fuggin hungy LLRRRPPP all the time cod you CCHMMMPP nebber take care of me NUMMNUMM enymore!!"
Her phone chimes. It’s always going off, usually one of her guy friends. She says there’s nothing going on but she makes barely any effort to hide her cheating. I hear stuff from my boys all the time and I caught her in bed with a dude at one of our parties. I don’t confront her about it, I know she can and will ditch me for another guy who won’t question her. I know they’re not gay dudes either as Tara “can’t stand queers.”
“Oooh my Insta” Tara perks up, the only thing closely resembling an aspiration in Tara’s life is her ambition to be a top influencer on social media. She believes being paid to be beautiful is her calling, which is why her sudden chub might be a problem.
"It’s just, you're gaining weight REALLY fast"
She lets out an unapologetic BURP, ignoring my voice as she stuffs more faux Mexican junk food into her mouth. She’s focused on her phone, greasy thumb dances across cracked screen. “Baby,” she starts to ask, “how much is forty-thousand?”
I know that sounds like a retarded question, but in Tara’s defense, she’s retarded. Apparently in high school they called her reTaraded (not to her face, they were all scared of her). I find it adorable how stupid she is, she’s such a bimbo about everything because she doesn’t give a shit about anything other than herself. Apparently “books are for virgins” and “history is full of foreigners!” Sometimes she just asks the sweetest dumb questions like a little kid. I understand her, we love each other. Right now she’s trying to determine how close she is to having a million Instagram followers.
“That’s nearly half, right? I only have twenty-hundred more to go?”
I explain to her and she huffs, throwing her phone across the room. I say maybe her rapid weight gain is something to do with it. I mean, I like her getting fatter but her happiness is more important and being worshipped online is all that matters to her.
"NUUMNUUM yeah da doggdor said GLOMPP my med-ab-o-ism BLLURRRPP mide catch ub widd me NYOMMNYOMM one day,"
She’s right. Over the next few weeks her lifestyle of constant greed and laziness starts to show itself. By the end of that first week she’s gained 8lbs! She denies it, telling me I’m being stupid.
After a month she’s up 22lbs and none of her clothes fit anymore but damn if she doesn’t look better than ever. Her short-shorts look practically painted on and most days she’s just in her underwear. Tara always dressed like a whore but now even her most modest shirts are stretched so thin you can see right through them.
Three months pass and her chin has a chubby little playmate with one more well on the way. Her stomach is starting to distend towards her knees, her thigh gap is gone and her titties have grown from a B cup to an F. She’s bloated 50lbs and the other day said to me “I think I’m starting to gain weight.” I never dreamed my baby could weigh 210lbs but here she is, looking even rounder due to her tiny frame. I was worried, but her growing has made her more popular online. She’s gone up to 60,000 followers.
By month six she’s embracing it, loving every squishy inch of her beautiful 275lbs and telling anyone who will listen that she’s curvaceous and plus-sized and has a classical figure. She’ll shame skinny bitches and talk about how real womenhave more ass. As her size expands so does her appetite. The bigger she gets the hungrier, and as she gets hungrier she gets meaner. She’ll scream if pizza deliveries take too long or if her ice cream isn’t warm enough, telling me I’m domestically abusing her worse than her cousin was (her cousin who was raped).
It’s been a year since I first noticed Tara’s change. I feel like I made a wish or something because now she weighs 348lbs! The way it sits on her little body is so exciting, it’s mainly belly but she’s also spread outwards into amazing hips. I can’t even reach my arms around her whole body anymore. Her melons are massive but that’s nothing compared to her thighs which are like garbage bags of soft flesh. The way it’s affected her face though, almost like it was designed. Her lips are bloated with blubber-botox making her resemble a bimbo sex doll even more than she did before. Now she has a perennial porn pout. The chubbiness of her cheeks gives her eyes a narrower appearance, making her look more dangerous. It’s turned her sweet kitten nose outwards ever so slightly, upping the cute factor. All round her face is, well, all round, with her cheeks and chins merging into one another like ice cream for me to lick and kiss all over. Getting dressed is now “too much effort” for Tara so most days she lounges around the apartment completely naked (except her sable-lined purple Uggs). Usually she’s slopped in the forgotten discards of idly munched meals so it's my job to give her sponge baths while she naps, typically two or three a day. We still have sex every night, only now there’s no lingerie that fits her anymore. I’ll fuck her when she’s on all fours, obscene gut pressing her thick legs apart. As I shunt my stiff cock in and out of her she’ll eat from the assortment of treats like an animal while moaning “oh fuck” through mouthfuls of cake. Lately her being on top makes it difficult for me to breathe so she’s been demanding that position a lot more. As she binges crumbs and powdered sugar and meatball marinara will spill all over me. Tara thinks I don’t know but she’ll choose reverse cowgirl whenever she’s texting another guy. The foreplay feeding is getting longer and longer, she’ll eat for at least 2 hours now while I finger her and stimulate her clit, massage her, eat her out, lick out her ass, suck her titties. She gets very turned on watching me go untouched for so long, growing more desperate for her body.
“Most importantly” her 184lbs gain over the last year has finally got her to 150,000 followers on Instagram. It turns out there are a lot of guys like me into fat chicks. It’s kind of degrading how she makes me take sexy pictures of her and write posts for her about needing a real man to take care of her, but I know that’s how she captures her audience. To celebrate the milestone she demands I take her where we had our first date. It’s a restaurant-slash-sports type bar that serves pizza and wings and she loves the greasy food. It’s pretty busy, but chatter audibly dies down as Tara enters. It used to be because she’s so attractive, now it’s because she’s the size of a cow and dressed like a whore. She’s in a low-cut red velvet slip dress by Balenciaga with ultra-thin spaghetti straps and a provocative M-slit. Her thick thighs are on display, squelching and sweat soaked together with the heavy effort of having to walk. The dress is backless so her sirloin water wings are exposed, the flesh blobs creeping over the hem and bouncing with each thumping lumber. Because of the straps Tara says she doesn’t need to wear a bra and her boobs (each as big as my head) sag languorously in the velvet bust like a $1400 hammock. Her nipples are pert diamonds (appropriately for her) under the insanely expensive, thin fabric. The dress is so short it stops just as her two pumpkin sized ass globes start to curve down towards her thigh-bulk. The underside of her behind teasingly revealed in one of Tara’s sluttiest flexes to date. If it weren’t for how fat her legs were you’d definitely be able to see her pussy, she never wears underwear unless that’s all she’s wearing. Her double-gut of course is so huge it makes the dress tight all over her, she did buy it 30lbs ago after all. It hugs like bodycon, as if it’s soaked onto her, defining every roll and shelve of flab. Her waves of side blubber shift as she waddles and are intimately visible from every angle. Already, the painfully costly garment has donut sugar powdered all down the front (from her face and cleavage) as well as sweat stains around her armpits and crotch. On her delicate piggy trotters are a pair of black and gold strappy stilettos from Dolce & Gabbana worth $600. They’re tailored perfectly to her, she needs new shoes every other week now. She jangles, a couple of Cartier love bracelets with diamonds custom made for her adorn a fat wrist, nearly tight as pudge expands everywhere on her. Each of those is $8200. She also has a Van Cleef & Arpels perleé bracelet worth $40,000 she won’t stop bragging about, all of it stacked up with more expensive accoutrements. On her fingers are a number of Tiffany and co diamond rings, Tara does not fuck around. Her throat hosts a solid gold choker but it’s getting lost under her triple chins. A $3,000 gold drop necklace bounces between her titties, coated in slopped snacks. With all her huffing and complaining and jewelry rattling Tara makes one heck of an entrance.
She barely makes it into our booth and is already barking orders at a nearby server girl. “HEY! You! Here! I want TWENTY baskets of the extra spicy wings, FIVE plates of fish and chips with EXTRA tartar sauce, FOUR large meat lover’s pizzas, THREE-DOZEN baskets of poutine, FOUR chicken on the bun, TWO-HUNDRED jalapeno poppers, FIVE of every type of quesadilla you have aaaaaaand… ALL your garlic bread.” The poor girl who was actually meant to be going home for the night looks amazed at the order, “anything to drink, miss?”
“Nooooo! I want to come to a bar and not get trashed! Don’t waste my precious time with your ignorant idiot questions. I want TWO pitchers of Molson and a bottle of red wine, and could you MAYBE cut the fucking attitude?!”
The server girl scurries off, shaken from Tara’s incredibly forward personality. Tara’s already decided she’ll get no tip. The food arrives quick which is a blessing and I get to watch the hockey while stuffing Tara’s face with wedge fries. She ignores me most of the night, texting her slutty friends.
“Oh my god,” she gulps back half a pitcher, “Madison caught Chloe screwing her boyfriend again.” She laughs at her friends’ misfortune, “they’re both the biggest sluts, I love them.”
As she eats throughout the night I notice Tara’s attention focus somewhere on the other side of the room. “What is it, princess? Is everything ok?” She turns to me and starts kissing me, her tongue dancing passionately with mine. I know what this means instantly, but I don’t dwell on it. She runs her fingernails through my thick hair, kissing my rough stubble.
“You are SO sexy…” she tells me.
Trouble. When Tara loves me, it means trouble.
“See that fugly chick over there? With the stupid hair.” I glance. There’s a girl about Tara’s age, but she definitely does not look like her. The girl is razor thin, it looks painful. I can count the ribs under her sweater she’s so skinny. Her hair is slightly greasy, her skin is sallow and her lips are cracked. She has a black eye and is meekly balled up.
“Her name’s Jennifer or Jessica or something. I hated that bitch in middle school, she was fat so me and my girls would make her life hell. We told everyone she was pregnant, we put a dead pig from biology in her locker. She would cut herself and now she’s bulimic because of me” she laughs heartlessly. That’s why Tara’s getting all lovey dovey, she likes having a little victim to torment, a little pet person she can inflict her cruel intentions upon. It excites her, I can smell her pussy from here.
The chick looks over at us and I see she suddenly recognizes Tara. Her eyes are terrified. Vindictively, Tara responds by throwing her arms around me and announces “I can’t WAIT to marry you, baby!” loud enough for neighboring tables to hear. She doesn’t properly mean that, Tara’s just making her life look as perfect as possible to highlight how much better she has it. Still, the look in Tara’s eyes is enough to make me fall in love with her all over. Whasterface looks like her life is miserable, her fat dwarf boyfriend obviously beats her. Tara just loves rubbing in how even now, years after high school, Tara is still queen bee. She’s horny for the rest of the night, running her nails up my inside thigh. Things come to a head when the girl goes to the bathroom and has to pass our table.
“Wooooow, Jennifer, how’s it going?”
“Actually, it’s Sonia--“
“Sooooo sorry to see you gained the weight back” Tara smirks venomously while flicking hair behind her fat shoulder like a glamour shot, “still at least your dad doesn’t beat you anymore.”
“Actually he passed away.”
“That sucks,” Tara offers aloofly, “my daddy just bought me a cottage and he gets me the entire new Gucci ranges every season before they even come out, plus he’s still alive.”
Tears are welling in Jessica’s eyes, she’s squirming, clearly nervous, Tara’s bragged to me about some of the things she did to her peers, I wouldn’t be surprised if this chick has PTSD, she obviously wants to leave. “Cool. I have to--”
“You can still lose that disgusting weight though, you don’t have to be an unlovable whale your whole life!” Now Tara’s openly laughing at this pitiful bitch. She’s mean enough at her most sober but by now she’s drunk at least 5 pitchers of terrible Canadian beer.
“I-- umm… I have to go to the bathroom, please--”
“WHY?!” Tara is revving up, I’ve seen this before, she gets hornier as she’s allowed to get away with cruelty, “Need to stick your fingers down your throat?” She makes sure everyone in the restaurant can hear her, the music turns down. Tara loves an audience for her bullying. “You know I actually think it’s DISGUSTING you go in there to DELIBERATELY puke when we’re trying to eat!”
People start agreeing.
“Tara, I’m sorry I--“
Tara won’t let her finish a sentence. “Shut UP when I am talking, do you understand that? I am the Queen and YOU are the rat, that’s just how it is. That’s why MY boyfriend is a hot athlete and YOURS is trailer trash. It’s why I’m beautiful and skinny and why you’re so fat.” Tara’s SCREAMING now. “Don’t you DARE interrupt me, ever, CUNT! I’m fucking BEAUTIFUL, do you know how many fucking followers I have?? A quarter of a million (I don’t correct her) and you’ve got a boyfriend who beats the shit out of you because you miss daddy. Pathetic, serves you right!”
Now the squat vest-wearing boyfriend comes over to see why his girlfriend is embarrassing him in public. “Hey, Sonia, hurry the hell up!” Tara is still ranting about Jessica’s many foibles as the boyfriend sees what’s going on, he tries to defend his woman and points his finger at Tara.
“Listen, bitch--“
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Tara SCREAMS as loud and high pitched as she can. Her protect me signal. I step in and without holding back punch the guy straight in the throat. I’ve been training extra hard lately since I have a trial coming up so the guy goes down like a sack of shit. Those fights are one of the only things Tara leaves the house for anymore. She loves to see me fight and gets really turned on afterwards when I’m all bruised and beaten. Anyway, to cut a long story short we got barred but that guy got sent to the hospital and now Tara is threatening to sue her victim for harassment. We go home. After a particularly vicious feeding session of Royle’s Pizza, King Chung, McDonald's and Dairy Queen she demands I carry her to the en suit bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, she can still walk, but I’ve noticed it getting harder and harder for her lately. She’ll sweat, get out of breath, it got so bad I’ve moved the fridge from the kitchen to her bedside. Lifting her might be a problem, though I am pretty strong. I dig my arms under her and she giggles. It hurts but I manage to do it, although the job is made harder by Tara dictating exactly where I place my arms to be most comfortable for her. My knees feel like they’re going to shatter and my back quivers, yet still I get her to the bathroom faster than if she’d been walking. Once she's on the shitter relieving herself with complete immodesty she orders me to feed her all the leftovers from her last dinner. I fearfully inform her that there weren't, nor have there ever been, any leftovers.
"Well for FUCKS SAKE bring me SOMETHING!!! Anything!! Before I STARVE to death, maybe?"
Like a flash I return with a hostess cart buried under different pies and cheesecakes. I hand one to her, but instead of taking it from me she buries her whole face into the cream cheese filling and gorges through like a burrowing piglet. In less than a minute the cake has disappeared and I’m quick to replace it with another in front of her crumb-smothered face. Tara hasn’t used her hands in the last few days, the idea of feeding herself suddenly abhorrent to my obese queen. My life is like clockwork, I work all day and feed her all night, catching sleep whenever I can. Finished on the toilet I carry her back to the bedroom, slopping three cakes on her naked chest so she has a snack for the trip. Then I lay her on the bed on her gut, a pile of pies in front of her so she won't get bored while I clean out her ass. Finally I help her onto her back and start supplying her with pastries. Her face, hair and breasts are already completely smeared in lost foodstuffs but she carries on indiscriminately devouring whatever I serve to her impatiently, waiting lips.
She drifts off just as she's finishing the 5th cart, taking up almost the entire mattress. Any space not occupied by her is littered with lost crumbs and hunks of cake insignificant enough to escape her greed. The floor around her is a graveyard of decimated chicken bones and mashed potato containers. Quietly, I turn off the lights. I return to our bed and snuggle close to my lover’s soft warmth, a steady stream of sleepy drool seeping from her chubby countenance. In love, I pull her close and sink into her softness where I fall asleep, giving my dreams, as everything, to my hippo Princess.