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"Obsession" A Short Story
🕑 Added 2018-09-05 13:48:20 +0000 UTC Betty had done it. With only two days left until Jared's return, she had kept her surprise just that — a carefully guarded secret that she knew would make her husband's eyes wide and blood rush.It hadn't been easy. During their weekly talks, Betty had wanted nothing more than to share her progress with her beloved: she wanted to gush about her late night binging sessions, where she powered through box after box of pepperoni and mushroom thick-crust pizza; to brag about the gallons of ice cream she devoured each week, and the vats of oil and mayonnaise she had managed to incorporate Into every meal she ate.
Meals... When was the last time she had simply eaten a meal? Three meals a day applied to other girls, she thought, but to her. For just under a year, her whole life had been a meal, the short gaps between gorging occupied with family-sized bags of potato chips and regular trips to the constantly replenished stockpile of fast food burgers and burritos she hoarded in the top shelf of her fridge. It hadn't been easy, but she could scarcely recall an hour since her husband departed during which she wasn't absolutely stuffed.
A whole year, she thought. One whole year since they sent him to that arid wasteland to put his life on the line. When Jared had joined the Army, neither of them thought that he would be sent to war. But her mind returned again to that awful day, when the towers came down. They both knew that their young marriage would be interrupted as he stepped into active duty. Tears were shed, but they both knew they had jobs that needed to be done. In Jared's case, it involved a uniform, and a gun, and being far, far away from home. For Betty, it involved living her life, and making sure he had something to look forward to when he returned. But he would never expect this...
Betty had never been a small girl. The zaftig padding on her petite frame was a source of endless pleasure for Jared: how many hours had he spent burying his face between her substantial breasts? How many times had he stroked her soft little paunch, and how many times, in a fit of passion, had he pressed his strong hands into her flaring hips and bubbled rear end? Betty had always known he had wanted more. More or her. He had hinted every now and then. A comment here or a whispered nothing there. They had even gone so far to act out some elaborate role-playing, where Betty assumed the role of the helpless growing gainer to Jared's domineering feeder. At first, she didn't know what to make of this kink to which she was introduced. But something about it made her feel... vital. Womanly. A swollen, immobilized being at the beck and call of her stern but benevolent caretaker. It's a shame Jared was deployed when he was — their little show of imagination was just starting to get Interesting...
Whether Jared was a master manipulator who had planned for her to find them all long, or was simply not very good at guarding his own secrets, Betty didn't guess. But it hadn't been difficult for her to find the magazines he kept on the top shelf of their closet. Maybe he had counted on this hiding spot as being too far out of arms' reach for her to access. At a hair under five feet tall, Betty had a hard enough time retrieving a mixing bowl from a high shelf In the pantry, let alone the top shelf behind the winter clothes and old boxes of holiday decorations. But she had found them, nonetheless: Soft and Thick, BBW Monthly, Mega Curves, a collection of dog-eared, crumpled periodicals boasting hundreds of images of women who were, at first glance, shocking. A collection of women who ranged from overweight, to obese, to the very few who verged on being simply titanic: unmovable masses of flesh that obscured the women beneath, confined for life to a bedbound existence. At first, the sheer size of these women baffled Betty. Scared her, to be honest. How could these poor things function In the world? What hope was there for a person existing entirely at the behest of her own body?
But some ideas take on new form. Betty stashed the magazines where she found them, content to keep their existence a secret. But she was haunted. She returned once, twice, three times to the stack of magazines. One sequence showed a woman being stuffed by an obscene amount of food. Her eyes were closed in rapture as her body became filled by the smorgasbord her partner had carried to her bedside. This was her life. This was her pleasure. And then, the epiphany came.
During that first feast — an enormous bucket of fried chicken that fed her for almost a day — Betty toyed with the idea of emulating the women who had grown to Intrigue her. Maybe, while Jared was gone, she would experiment. A few more pounds would certainly not be unwelcome, for her, or for Jared. She could stop when she wanted to, after all, and besides: filling her stomach had a way of reminding her of the intimacy she and her husband had begun to share before he was shipped off. The occasional binge-fest, she determined, might be kind of fun. She had always gained weight in the right places. Jared would get his wish: a little more of his darling wife to return to after his long period of forced abstinence.
Her periodic evenings of indulgence started out as simple fun, and if she was to be honest with herself, came with the same erotic benefit she and her husband had shared. It wasn't until she was a month in that she realized, halfway through an enormous family dinner of Chinese delivery, that she may be developing a habit. Friday's Chinese gave way to Saturday's stack of grilled cheese, which in turn, gave way to Sunday's nacho mega plate. The world of food was no longer an occasional splurge: it was becoming, she felt with an even mixture of trepidation and anticipation, an obsession.
Betty gazed at herself in the bedroom mirror. The garment that preserved what little modestly she was able to maintain sloped down from her neck, covering the twin mounds that cascaded down a swollen sack of an abdomen, resting on the level of her cavernous belly button. Her butt, too, had ballooned: frequently, Betty was so preoccupied with the new girth in front of her, that she neglected her backside. She couldn't count on two hands the number of times she had toppled an errant book or ill-placed glass of wine. In her garment, a tailored bolt or fabric with a neck hole, she took a moment to marvel at how certain parts of her body had exploded in size, while others had been untouched by her gain. Her face was still leftover from her slimmer past, and her arms, never muscular but always fairly lean, had not kept pace. Therefore, the only parts of her that were covered were her enhanced features. She regarded herself. Her overall appearance reminded her of a ball. A pair or arms and a slender, attractive head attached to a collection of flesh that caused her to be round. A girl attached to a ball of flesh. A ball girl. A Betty-Ball. Betty-Ball ... Betty felt a pang of anticipation. He'll love to call me his Betty-Ball ...
Slowly, carefully, removing each bunch of fabric from the cascading folds of soft flesh in which her garments always became inadvertently tucked, she stripped off her favored housedress. She had practically lived in the flowing green muumuu for the last four months, since that freezing day in February when she realized that even the baggiest of sweaters she owned was no match for her growing form. Around the house, one of Jared's old tee shirts would suffice, but outside or her home, she had found it difficult to protect her modesty. Clothing, she discovered, was something they just didn't make in her size.
She examined her body, a ritual that had become habit each night. A grin came to her lips as she angled from side to side, straining her neck to examine the curve of each bulge that protruded from her body. When she had started this quest to emulate her husband's collection of dream girls, she had a scant notion of what her body would become. Before her first binge, the scale had read a healthy 110 pounds on her curvy but petite frame. But as the weeks turned into months, she became fascinated and excited by precisely where she was gaining. By the time she tipped In at 150, her thighs had become noticeably thicker, and her humble paunch was beginning to hang a little lower over her waistband. But the real change, since the beginning, came to her chest. Sy the time her progress was well on track, she had decided to celebrate the big 2-0-0 by investing in a new bra — a task that proved a little more difficult than she first thought. Stuffing her swelling bosom in an ill-fitting 40N got the job done, but before too long, even such lofty cups were no match for the twins. By the time she had reached 260 pounds, all the way back In January, she discovered that no support garment on the market could contain her comfortably. With a small amount of shock and no shortage of giddiness, she ditched the idea of bras altogether. Freedom never felt so good.
When Betty abandoned the restrictions of 'regular clothes' altogether, her body took heed. Her ravenous appetite had been compounded by, what she thought, was a vastly expanded stomach capacity. She would never have been able to devour three bowls of pasta when she started down this road, but now, such a feast was a regular occurrence. The months leading up to Jared's return had seen her lifestyle become an addiction. Frequently, she played games with herself, striving each evening to top the previous day's calorie count. She seldom failed.
The smile on her face spread as she looked at the Polaroid In her hand. Who was that tiny girl In the red nighty? One of Jared's naughty photos that had been accidentally left behind before his departure. Betty looked back into the mirror, and back to the picture again. 310 pounds, she thought. There was a small amount of disappointment in the back of her mind — she had really wanted to tip the scales at 325. But. An even gain of 200 pounds, and In less than a year? That was still a badge of honor. She couldn't complain. She studied the mirror again and continued to evaluate her naked form.
The woman staring back at her was a far cry from the one in the instant photo taken the year before. Her thighs had continued to swell as her weight increased, and insisted on pressing together nearly to her knees. Her ass ballooned, with only fair wisps of cellulite vislble, as her skin struggled to keep up with the sudden surge.
And her breasts. Pride and Joy, she named them. They had made her so proud. Hefty, bra-defying, engorged masses of flesh, fat and loose, tugging on her body as she twisted from side to side, seductively, at her own reflection. She was proud of her nipples, too: even as her breasts hung more and more heavily, they had kept up, becoming a pair of champagne corks isolated In the centers of deep, brown areola.
Bending forward a little, Betty slid her arms underneath her breasts, relishing the warming sensation on her hands In the chilly room. She hoisted her girls up, framing her face as she rested the majority of their weight on her shoulders. How many girls can do this, she thought as she closed her eyes, relishing the moment. She snuck another look at her reflection. The bulging flesh dwarfed her head in comparison, but could still not lay a claim to the mighty weight of her body below. She pressed her legs together as she dug an elbow into her distended stomach. 310 ... She couldn't imagine that with Jared back in town, she would have any trouble hitting 350 before long. And from there? They would have a lot of fun finding out.
Betty still felt bad about her decision to throw the old magazines out, but she knew Jared would forgive her — it's not like he would be needing them anymore.
