bagelmaker

Recently obsessed with the idea of taking her to the county fair and dragging her overfed, overspoiled, and overweight body from stall to stall, making her waddle heavier and slower with every single stop. First it’ll be the deep fried oreos, then the funnel cake piled high with powdered sugar, then the corn dogs and the fried cheese, after that the chicken wings dripping with grease, and with each bite her belly getting tighter, her thighs rub closer together, her breathing gets a little more labored and it’s starting to be a genuine question of whether she can make it back to the car on her own two feet. People will start to glance our way, watching this waddling blob struggle from one booth to the next, and she’ll feel their eyes on her taking in every little ounce of lard the same way she’s inhaling every bite and she’ll feel a flush creeping up her neck, settling into a permanent blush that stays there the whole night like she’s completely drunk and subdued by the ecstasy of it all~

By the fourth stall I’ll have her in a flow state, a beautiful trance where her mouth just opens and her jaw just works and she swallows whatever I put in front of her without thinking, without hesitating, without even processing how full she’s getting. She’ll know her only job is to keep eating and keep waddling and keep trying not to let the sheer weight of her own growing, stuffed body get her off too soon in front of all these strangers. But I’ll see it, the little shivers when her belly bumps against a table, the sharp breaths when she feels how hard it is to get moving after standing still… how excitingly impossible it feels to get up off her ass when she’s done gorging at a picnic table like she’s gained 100 pounds since we walked in~