You're my stay at home feedee, whose only job is to eat and gain weight. No other obligations. Your existence is only gluttony, lust and hedonism. While I'm working, you're stuffing your face for me, so that I have a fat, warm body to play with in the evenings. In return, you're given all the food you can eat, hands to rub your belly and feed you in the evenings, an ever-growing wardrobe, a bed to sleep in and an environment to compensate your obese body. You could go all out, because who would judge you for gaining weight? You're not working, so there's no embarrassment fueled by coworkers witnessing your ever-expanding belly popping dress shirts. There's no embarrassment about what or how much you eat, because I'm doing the grocery shopping. You'd be in your own little bubble, praised for growing fat, constantly adored for habits that other people would find disgusting. There would be no shame, only praise and pampering. And when you're too big to do things on your own, that's no issue. I'm already taking care of you, and you're still fulfilling your duties; You're becoming softer, becoming cuddlier, getting fatter for me. Would there ever be an end? A stopping point? I don't think you'd even want that for yourself, to go back to the life you had before.
romaincrisis
amandla
kianamaiart
gracieabrams
