FatHappyLarge

Here is an update of one of my favorite videos of me…

(nothing wrong with a little conditioning. CW: weight gain, encouragement, manipulation)

I want to fuck up your sense of reward for good.

Surely you’ve noticed that every time you finish a shake I make for you I grab your love handle and give you a deep, passionate kiss? How I tell you how cute you are just as you clean your plate, or how when you can’t help but let out a guttural belch when you lay back, I’m right there to rub your belly and not-so-teasingly ask if you made room for more?

I really mean it too, every time.

You’re never more attractive to me than when you’re doing those shallow breaths of over-fullness, like you’re worried you’re gonna explode if you breathe too hard. Heck, sometimes I’m worried too.

Or that desperate, exhausted, satisfied look on your face, somewhere between achievement and nausea, that tells me I’ve made you hit your limit again. (And then I quietly revel in the satisfaction of knowing that limit is a bit further than last time.)

I wouldn’t quite call it manipulation, per se, I just like rewarding you when you give in to indulgence, and you’ve gotten so good at that with my encouragement.

So what if I only make sure to get you off once you’re at your absolute capacity, when you can’t do much but lay back and grunt and moan, idly rubbing your fat, distended gut? It’s not like you’d notice anyway, since you’ve been doing such a great job of ending every day at your capacity lately, haven’t you?

I promise that every ‘oof, I think I overdid it’ will be met with a genuine ‘aww’ of sympathy, a gentle physical comforting, and an empty promise to stop you before you go too far next time.

But that’s the deal we made together. I’ll be there to comfort and pamper you, and you eat everything that’s put in front of you. Oh, you never agreed to that aloud, but you’ve actually done a wonderful job of sticking to it anyway, I think, so I’m willing to forgive it if my eyes ever end up too big for your stomach…I just doubt that time will come.

I know your limits. I know just how to tease them, stretch them, wear them down, bit by bit. I know those wordless indicators that tell me you’re slowing down, that you need a little push to finish your food. I know the grunt that tells me we should skip dessert, or the satisfied huff that tells me I should have extras ready. If you’re learning my love language, it’s only fair to tell you that I already learned yours.

That’s not to say that it’s easy. Tracking your preferences down to the last detail, determining what makes your stomach too upset to be worth the calories, making sure I have enough food around….honestly, the last one is kind of satisfying in it’s own way, knowing that we grew your appetite enough to create a new logistical problem.

All that effort is worth it, though.

It’s worth it to see you bust out that satisfied grin when you waddle into the room to show me how poorly your pants fit on you now. Or when I trace your stretch marks with my fingers, finding new ones every time. Or when you surprise me by eating through the feast I prepared for you, and we simply have to go out for a second or third late night dinner for you.

The shape of things to come?