fat lesbian enjoyer

Kinks you’ll see on this blog:

•Stuffing, including forcefeeding

•Weight gain, including extreme/immobility

•Mild health issues

•Burping

•Body worship

•”Soft” feedism/feedism as healing

•Praise

•Degradation/dehumanization/fat-shaming*

“This is… excessive… my love.”

“Nonsense,” Rosalie replied sweetly. “Was it not you who said you should maintain your mobility?” She patted Devon’s arm where it was linked with hers.

It was a warm day in early spring, and the courtyard of Daring Woods was shaded and fragrant. Only the birds nested in the fruit trees were there to observe their afternoon walk, a casual jaunt of a few laps around the enclosed area. Casual for Rosalie, at least. 

Devon’s cheeks were pink from exertion, a few loose strands of hair stuck to her face with sweat. Although she was in the lightest clothing she could wear within decency, she was clearly overheated. Unsurprising, Rosalie thought, considering the bulk of her. Each pillowy bicep was as big around as Rosalie’s waist; the same with her thighs, just barely tapering into thick calves beneath which no ankle could be seen. Trying to slide her enormous legs past each other to walk must have been difficult enough, and that was without having to fight her sagging belly with every step. Her gut, protruding proudly ahead of her and large enough to enter each room before she did, now hung almost to her knees, swaying pendulously whenever she moved. Rosalie had tried to lift it before, just to feel its weight, and found it nearly impossible. She couldn’t fathom how Devon’s frame could support her size, especially strolling through the courtyard like this. But then, that was the game. 

Devon tugged her in the direction of a lovely bench, reinforced, that they had installed earlier that year, after the untimely death of its predecessor. “I need to sit.” She panted. “Catch my breath.” She bent over, resting her hand on her knee. 

“Oh, that won’t do.” Rosalie tutted, fluttering her lashes. “Come now. Once more around. Then we’ll sit.” She covered her grin with her hand at Devon’s appalled face. “I was perfectly content to have you a permanent fixture in our bed. Exercise was your fancy. I’m only making sure you see it through.” She took a step forward, pulling lightly on Devon’s arm, not that she could move the other woman with all her strength.

Devon swallowed hard, her pupils swallowing her blue irises. “Rosie, please. Please let me sit down.” Her voice was breaking into a whine. 

Rosalie’s entire body went hot, struck like lighting with arousal. Her eyes raked over Devon’s debauched form, chest heaving with breath, leaning ever so slightly towards her, her eyes impossibly dark and deep and stormy.

“No.” 

Slowly, Devon rose back to her full height, still fighting to regulate her breathing. Without further comment, she took one labored step forward. Then another. And another. 

Rosalie beamed, smacking a kiss onto her cheek as a reward, and resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder. “You’ve made a very good choice, my darling.” Her voice trembled ever so faintly with overwhelmed arousal.

Devon grumbled, but leaned her head on Rosalie’s. She could feel her wife leaning on her with all of her might, lumbering back and forth, her enormous hip practically knocking her over with each step. Devon was certainly struggling more and more as the days went by. It seemed as though her plan to maintain some semblance of mobility was falling short, although her efforts had been honorable. 

They turned, halfway through their final lap. Devon’s steps were becoming slower, more plodding, swaying heavily side to side. Rosalie slid her arm from where it was intertwined with her wife’s and attempted to wrap it around her back, providing the limited support she could with her much smaller frame. Devon’s next step ended with a huff; the next began with a grunt. Still, she faced determinedly forward, ever the obedient wife, who had grown so very well under Rosalie’s care. In the year since they had wed she had easily doubled in size, her growth picking up even further after they confessed their mutual affection. Devon spent most of her day grazing, working through plate after plate supplied by Rosalie as she continued work on her memoirs, which were very nearly fully drafted. Rosalie had been assured she would be the first to read them once they were complete. 

Although Devon continued to prefer the comforts of home, she would occasionally join Rosalie on her various outings around town. She had quickly taken over running errands and had become friendly with the people there, including the tailor, who was teaching her more of his trade at her request. She had learned embroidery as a girl, but now was focused on the design and construction of garments; a necessary skill to support her ever-growing wife. 

They had even managed to have the King and the Princess to dinner, their royal carriage disguised. Aster’s eyes had bulged out to see how large Devon had grown in only six months, by which Rosalie could tell Devon was both embarrassed and pleased. The King had only made a pleasant remark about what he called “relationship weight”, and that had been the end of it.

“So close, my love,” Rosalie assured the woman beside her, her hair entirely fallen from its neat bun. Devon only grunted, her eyes fixated on the bench a few meters away. Step after labored step, she heaved herself forward, her belly slapping audibly against her thighs as she did so. Rosalie rubbed her sweaty back comfortingly.

“Hah… can’t,” Devon gasped.

“You can, you can. We are so very close.” Rosalie attempted to pull her forward, obviously to no effect. But she kept moving, her darling wife, lumbering forward until finally she practically collapsed onto the bench, a massive hand on her chest as she caught her breath. Rosalie kissed her across her face, murmuring praises that kept the flush high on her cheeks, beyond satisfied with her performance. They sat together contentedly as Devon regulated her breathing and Rosalie helped to fix her hair. 

“I believe we shall need to hire a few extra attendants soon.” 

“What for?”

Rosalie glanced at Devon out of the corner of her eye. “I doubt I shall be able to bathe you myself for much longer. It is simply too time consuming.”

“Darling.” Devon complained. “I have no need for hired bathers. I’m not the King.”

Rosalie laughed. “You may not be the King, but I fear between the two of us we lack the hands necessary to properly clean and dry you.”

Devon sighed in a way that indicated the conversation was temporarily closed. “It’s been nearly a year since we wed, you know.”

“It has, hasn’t it? How much has changed, how quickly. How will we celebrate?”

Devon grinned mischievously. “I’ve been envisioning a very large cake.” 

Rosalie smiled back. “Well, that would be for you. What shall I get out of it?” “A very, very large wife?”