Fuzzy, Feedism Enthusiast

There was a Princess. We’re going to call her Princess, at least. She might have been a Burghers daughter that he called Princess. She might have been the child of a Lord (first letter capitalized, a proper genealogical aristocrat) but not a Royal. Or she might have been rightly titled as a Princess. She was expected, for all intents and purposes, to be a Princess; to act like one, appear like one, to be an ornament and a pawn in the polite games of her wealthy and powerful family.

And she hated it. Being a Princess is not an enviable thing to be.

There was also a Witch. We’re going to call her Witch, for that is what everyone expected her to be. She was blind since birth but looked like she navigated house as if she could see. In truth this was just practiced familiarity with her home and showmanship, and the Witch was very good at the showmanship part. She also knew things. She knew all manner of normal things about livestock, the human body, and life in the forest. You can’t get called a Witch if you don’t know about life in the forest, and it helps if that’s where you’re living.

Also she was an actual Witch who knew magic, which also helps.

It was very dangerous to seek out the Witch. She didn’t make finding her easy on people. The Princess had a whole adventure with a foolish talking goose wandering and nearly getting eaten everywhere it went. There was a Dragon (again, first letter capitalized, a proper dangerous old Wyrm) that dreamed of eating a Princess. Fortunately, the Dragon was convinced that she was too skinny. And there were Warnings. Yes, the Princess was Warned. She was Warned about dealing with the Witch. She was Warned that the price would be high for whatever she asked, and that there were almost certainly better ways to escape being a Princess.

The Princess asked the Witch for three things, and the Witch set out a price for each.

First, the Princess asked to be free from all those people who would make her be a Princess. She asked to live a life that she would have been denied otherwise. She asked to learn things that only a Witch could teach her.

The Witch explained that she was a Witch, not a King. She had no army, no castle. She would shelter the Princess, but only if the Princess remained with the Witch at her cottage. She would give an interesting life to the Princess, but only if she obeyed the Witch as her Servant. Last, she would teach the Princess things that only the Witch could teach, but the Princess would only know the price when she’d learned all that the Witch had to teach her.

The Princess learned that living deep in the woods is no easy thing. There was so much to do daily, and no servants, other than herself now. She knew the aches of perfect Princess posture and the hole in her heart of a restrictive Princess life, but now she learned the aches of a long day’s work.

The best thing she learned was the food.

“Eat up, Skinny Thing.” The Witch often said after setting a heaping plate in front of the Princess.

“A Princess must be slim and dainty.” She would reply.

“You’re not living a Princess’ life anymore.” The Witch would say. “So eat up, Skinny Thing.”

Each meal of every day was a special feast. For breakfast, often there very large, rich eggs fluffed and scrambled. There were fat potatoes with butter. There were sweetbreads with cinnamon and endless frosting.

For lunch there were often savory stews with onion and spice. There were hearty breads with many different cheeses. Often there were jams and jellies.

Dinner was the only time that meats would be served. Often fat little roast birds, venison, or fresh fish from nearby streams would form the centerpiece. The meat would be sauced with the broth from the lunch stew and paired with the potatoes or breads from earlier that day.

Then there would be sweet dessert.

The Witch knew more sweets than she knew about livestock, the human body, or the woods. She knew more sweets than she knew magic. She sometimes said that sweets were her magic. She made ribbons of candy, peppermint sticks, bread pockets with honey, candied ginger, caramels, cakes, pies, on and on.

The sweets weren’t just for dessert, they were on hand throughout the day whenever the Princess’ eager sweet tooth felt the desire.

After a few weeks of feeding the Princess complained to the Witch.

“Why do you still call me ‘Skinny Thing’?” All your cooking is making me a bit plump.” Said the Princess.

“A bit plump? How do you mean?” Asked the Witch.

“I’m softer than I ever was before. I feel like a have a little layer of butter under my skin, all over.  I had to let out my dresses more than once since you took me in.” Answered the Princess.

“Are you quite sure?” Asked the Witch.

“I’m quite sure that I’m getting a bit plump.” Replied the Princess.

“If you’re only a bit plumper, then you’re still just a Skinny Thing.” Said the Witch.

“Where does all the food come from?” Asked the Princess.

“From the Farmers, Millers, Herders, and Hunters. From Merchants, Travelers, and Guildmasters.” Answered the Witch. “It is their Tithe exchanged for my help.”

“But you said you’re a Witch, not a King. How can you collect a Tithe?” Asked the Princess.

“Oh but I am a Witch. I make the crops grow, the grain keep fresh in the silos, the game in the forest plentiful. I bless success in business, safety upon the roads, and mastery over ones’ lessers. In return I ask for only so much as I need to live here comfortably.” Answered the Witch. “A King takes far more than I do and gives much less back in return.”

When weeks turned into months the Princess complained to the Witch again.

“Why do you keep me so much better fed than you feed yourself?” Asked the Princess.

“It pleases me to have a young Skinny Thing like you to enjoy my cooking.” Answered the Witch.

“You’re not much older than I am, and your cooking is making me a bit fat.” Asserted the Princess.

“A bit fat? How do you mean?” Asked the Witch.

“I find myself bumping things with my hips and bottom. For the first time in my life I have a belly. Your pastry rolls have given me rolls around my waist and down my back. My bosom has become a pair of proper pillows.” Claimed the Princess.

“If you’re only a bit fatter, then you still need all the feeding you can get.” Said the Witch.

The next day the Witch led the Princess from the cottage a ways further into the forest. There was clear, clean spring in a small clearing. The Witch tapped her cane on the stones around the spring and the water bubbled with refreshing warmth.

“How did you manage that?” Asked the Princess.

“You met the Dragon of the forest on your way to my cottage, didn’t you?” Answered the Witch. “Everything in the forest pays me a Tithe for my help.”

The Witch bade the Princess bathe and enjoy herself in the spring. It was a reward for being such a good servant, she claimed. The Princess undressed sheepishly even though she knew the Witch couldn’t see her, naked or otherwise. The water soothed and mended, eased and brought tenderness back into the Princess’ body. Though she’d grown much heavier, she had many aches from all the work.

“If your service continues to please me, next time I’ll bathe you myself.” Said the Witch to the Princess’ blushing bewilderment.

When months turned into seasons the Witch served a special feast to the Princess. The main course was an especially fat goose, roasted to perfection and decadently sauced. The Witch went further than usual, feeding bite after bite to the Princess herself. The round girl didn’t lift her hands from the armrests of her chair as she savored one succulent mouthful after another. She made no effort except to smile when the Witch fed her samples of each of her favorite sweets for dessert.

“After feeding you for a few seasons, have you grown nice and fat?” Asked the Witch, when the Princess was reclining and rubbing her full belly.

“Quite nice and fat, I should think.” Answered the Princess, giving herself a squeeze.

“Quite nice? How do you mean?” Asked the Witch, slinking up beside her.

“I don’t just have a belly, I have two. I don’t just bump into things with my big bottom and wide hips, I make even your sturdy furniture creak beneath me. My everywhere is pillowy and plush.” Answered the Princess.

“You’re quite sure?” Asked the Witch.

“I’m quite sure that I’m quite nice and fat.” Asserted the Princess, proud and content.

“I’m not quite sure I quite believe you.” Said the Witch. “May I feel for myself?”

The Princess guided the blind Witch’s hands with her own. She enjoyed the tenderness of such a chaste thing for a moment, the Witch rubbing and squeezing her hands alone. Then she led those hands up her arm, which was itself as fat as a small chicken. The Witch massaged there and the Princess had to admit the touching was getting anything but chaste. She guided her hands next to her face, where the Witch tickled the Princess’ extra chin and round cheeks. She led her hands down to her chest, ripe and soft. Then down to the rolls of her middle where the Witch lingered, pinching, teasing, and jiggling. Then down to the Princess’ hips and ham-thighs.

The Witch led the blushing, panting Princess out of the cottage and into the forest. She led the girl to the spring, where she undressed the girl and bathed her in the waters that warmed at the Witch’s command. Then she taught the Princess all the things she knew about the human body.

As the Princess rested, her body alive and sated in ways that she never knew before, the Witch rose from the spring. Amongst the trees a vast and terrible form slithered, rising up to loom over the frightened Princess, naked and exposed in the water.

“I have paid my Tithe to you for a long time, Witch.” Growled the Dragon. “And this Princess is finally fat enough for my liking.”

Cuddle Time

Emily had made herself comfortable. She'd slipped out of her over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, slipped into her nightgown and a relaxing old night-shirt, and tidied up her little solo dorm room for her guest. She cleared the mattress of her chemistry texts, she had another kind of chemistry on her mind. The wine from dinner was wearing off, she should have been more and more sober by the minute. Instead her head swam from an entirely different intoxication. The knock at the door came not a moment too soon.

Emily's heart was pounding out of her chest when she let Annabelle in for their first "sleep over". Annabelle stood almost a full head taller than Emily, not the only contrast between the two. Emily was short, round and bottom heavy, well endowed, with nearly black hair and the darkest brown eyes. Annabelle was tall, lean and petite, with auburn hair and blue eyes. Emily was a bookworm and STEM grad, Annabelle was a dancer and an English grad. The girls held apart for only a moment after the door closed, then fell into each others arms like the young sweethearts they were.

They placed their hands on each other carefully, tentatively, afraid of going a step too far. Emily settled on burying her face in Annabelle's upper chest and neck, her hands finding the southern girl's toned mid back. Annabelle laid her cheek on the top of Emily's head, catching the scent of her lavender shampoo and wrapping her arms and hands around the northwestern girl's shoulders. They pried themselves apart, under duress, long enough for Annabelle to slip out of her jacket and jeans, revealing her own comfortable sleepwear.

"Is it okay if we sit down?" Asked the taller girl. Emily nodded and led her by the hand to the foot of the mattress where they settled, arms around each other.

It was only a few moments before they let themselves lay down together. ...And only another moment before they realized how awkward cuddling would be with their legs hanging off the end of the bed. They crawled and shifted, slid, and otherwise inelegantly scootched themselves up till their heads touched the pillows. Then Annabelle made a face, smacked her own forehead, and jumped off the bed to retrieve a parcel from her jacket. When finally the two were settled in together... again... Annabelle presented her rolypoly snuggle-buddy with a little box of caramels.

Emily didn't have to say anything. She smiled and giggled, thinking: 'the candies from the campus convenience store?'

"These are your favorite, right?" Asked Annabelle, nervously.

"They might be." Teased Emily. "I won't know until I try them."

Annabelle plucked one from the box and prepared to hand it over, but quickly figured out that Emily's hands were busy pawing her. So she unwrapped the caramel and slowly, pausing twice to see how the other girl would react, placed the sweet in Emily's mouth. Emily's lips lingered on Annabelle's fingertips for an extra second before she let herself enjoy the candy.

"So you weren't kidding at dinner about keeping me well fed?" Asked the plush girl when she finished. "First all of that, at the restaurant, and now you're giving me sugar?"

"May I?" Asked Annabelle, breathless. "May I give you... a little sugar?"

Emily blinked, smiled, blushed, and leaned in. The two eased into their first kiss. Then they touched foreheads, then cheeks, and soon they were enjoying each others' lips again. Emily was the first to kiss neck. Annabelle the first to nibble on an earlobe. They had fits of giggling and their hands started to roam.

Emily's fingers found the tops of her lover's sleep pants. She stopped and asked, waiting for Annabelle's gentle 'please' before she cupped the tight dancer's behind with both hands. Annabelle found a different handhold first in Emily's supple love handles.

"Is this okay?" Annabelle asked.

"That depends..." Whispered Emily. "... Do you... like it? Like... my..."

"Yes...!" Annabelle answered. "I like how... soft you feel... I love how... plump... you are."

They kissed again, and again, for a long while. Taking a chance, Annabelle unwrapped another caramel for her full-figured bed-friend. Emily accepted it, then kissed her before she started to enjoy the sweet.

"Would you say that again? As you feed me?" Asked Emily, shyly.

"Soft?" Asked Annabelle.

"The other word..." Said Emily.

Annabelle delicately placed the caramel on Emily's lips and leaned in to whisper directly into her ear: "plump..." Emily squeezed her in response, her breath deepened, and a little moan escaped her.

"Plump." Whispered Annabelle, seizing the moment. "You're going to be my... plump... girlfriend."

The Countess:

The Countess had many exceptional qualities: her graceful manner, her subtle humor, her appetite for music, dance, and literature, her alertness and alacrity of mind. If these were not enough, she could be regarded well for her bright hazel eyes, her warm smile, and her glorious chestnut brown hair. She was generally known amongst her peers for other qualities though: her appetite for food, her ample figure, and the rumors surrounding how her dowry was somehow tied to her weight.

The notoriously abundant Countess deftly evaded her chaperones, her ladies in waiting, through the busy market and ducked out of sight. A lifetime of tutoring from a former  ballerina meant that the Countess could move with surprising ease and grace for a young woman of her size. Admittedly, her robust figure danced as much in the process as she herself had. The chill of early winter licked at her cheeks. A breeze blew her hair ever so slightly out of its earlier carefully arranged elegance.

A proper rosy blush bloomed in her cheeks when she spotted the Duke, her fiancee. He appeared from a quaint bookstore into the little side street where she waited for him. They'd arranged this little rendezvous by code: he'd sent her a compilation of stories along with an invitation to today's local festvities. The note inside the front cover mentioned the bookstore, which led her to this spot. The during the dinner after their engagement had been made official, she mentioned a particular game at the festival that she could do without, setting the time. This was, she knew, the only chance she'd have to speak candidly, unsupervised, to her future husband before their wedding.

He was tall and dark, but thankfully not brooding. Where she was clad in royal blue and pastel red, he seemed to prefer navy and silver in his wardrobe. His hair and eyes were darker than hers, and he had a healthy tan from his tour of duty with the fleet. His build wasn't as trim as was popular amongst many young ladies, but his shoulders were suitably broad. His spectacles emphasized his bookishness, the quality she'd learned of when they were first introduced in his family's library. She was amused to note the numerous yellow ribbons and bows tied haphazardly onto his coat buttons, prizes from the games in the festival. Her own dress was similarly ornamented.

They exchanged an understated curtsy for a dramatic bow. She watched a matching blush spread across his face as she offered a sweet chortle. She seated herself amongst a few crates of mixed textiles and tried her best to ignore the creaking of the box beneath her. He chose to forego a counter chuckle and instead offered a gentle smile. He knelt to one knee and offered her a wrapped box of chocolates.

"A jest, my dear Duke?" She asked, coyly. "Or aren't you concerned about the price my parents will exact for our nuptials? My weight in gold, or so the popular stories claim."

"So little a price?" He replied calmly. "For the privilege of your hand? I shall have to supply you with more chocolate then, else you may feel offence at a paltry sum."

It was a terrible line, but she felt her heart skip a beat all the same.

"You won't encourage me to miss any desserts for the sake of your treasury?" She joked.

"For my sake, I hope you won't miss even a single dessert." He responded, his face and hers reddening further.

"So you mean to feed my mind with books, my vanity with flattery, and my waistline with sweets?" She pressed.

"I shall feed your happiness however I may." He answered.

Something terrible smiled.

Something that was once a person, who had lingered in isolation for ages, lurked at the far side of the room. The Thing, the Beast, the Evil that lured the two women into this prison looked on in amusement. It had been consigned to this cell in which one could have anything one wanted, although nothing real or truly alive. It had given its humanity away, lost it, and existed as the Essence of the person it had once been. It was the Truth of itself, a Dark God.

The Beast might have decided to be enraged, or frightened, at being denied the spectacle it had worked for. It might have been disappointed that it didn't get to witness the betrayal and murder of one lover by another. It wasn't, though… This was entertainment! The women had come to terms with themselves and each other, reconciled to both their higher and low, carnal selves. It honestly hadn't seen that coming.

The Beast still intended to kill them anyway.

A wave of heat washed hatefully over the room. The oven which had been menacing enough before, all polished steel and freakishly massive enough to encompass a person, became cast iron and filled with Hellish burning coals. The open maw showed roaring tongues of red-hot flame longer than a human arm. The Beast stood in front of it, perfectly dark and devoid of color or human form. Its figure writhed with monstrous limbs and the tortured echoes of past victims.

Once again, the evil Thing was confronted by the Goddess that was Miriam. Her silhouette was filled with starlight and graceful nebulae, a magical and magnificent self-realized Witch. Her hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, a Lady Godiva naked with resolution and the need to preserve herself and her beloved Gabrielle. The illusion of the fairytale cottage with the modern kitchen vanished in her presence, all that remained around her was a dark void.

Gabrielle seated herself purposefully. The bonds around her wrists and ankles vanished. She was no longer flesh or mere human, but a cherub of moving, shifting colors. She was a round, plush dollop of living art; a modern Venus. She was fat and bursting with imagination and determination; she banished the storybook fantasy in which she’d been trapped and it melted away. All that remained were the two divine girls, the impossibly slow vision of the outside world, the Beast, and the Oven. She looked on her perfect Miriam with pride and gratitude, then turned her gaze on the Evil before them.

If it had just been one on one, there would have been no contest.

The Beast had dwelt in the prison for so long that it didn’t remember its own name. It commanded the reality of the room with ease; in there, reality was what the Beast decided it was because it could be no other way. Miriam felt the distance to the Oven disappear, not so much being pulled or drawn in as willed into it. She tried to believe the opposite, to send herself away from the dry, scorching heat… but the heat clawed at her as she drew closer… closer… closer…

Gabrielle decided that her girlfriend wasn’t going into any ovens, and since Miriam also believed this, it was true.

The Thing rounded on Gabrielle, stretching impossible arms towards her throat. Real hate bubbled up from within it, the mad violence of someone who just then realized that they were in danger. Gabrielle felt her airway closing, her heart pounding when its hands were still feet away. Closer… closer… closer… a strangling death inched towards her despite all her will to make it stop.

Miriam refused to believe that anyone would lay a hand on her perfect Gabrielle, and because Gabrielle agreed, it was true.

The Beast insisted that the Oven was a weapon for it to use; it was the pyre in which its victims would scream and die. The divine women insisted otherwise. The Evil was inside the fire before it could understand; not pulled, drawn, or pushed, but willed into the Oven with the cast iron grate shut tight. The Beast insisted that the heat was nothing to it. The girls decided otherwise. It screamed…

Gabrielle and Miriam believed that the Beast would burn.

Miriam and Gabrielle insisted that the Thing would burn.

The young women demanded that the Evil would burn and die.

And because they willed it together, it was the Truth.

The Oven vanished. The Essences of Gabrielle and Miriam stood in an inky black abyss, nothing as far as the eye could see in any direction, except for a little window into the real world and a puff of dead ash drifting away into the distance.

They were alone. They were together. They were alive. They were safe. Miriam scooped up Gabrielle in her arms…

They kissed. Eyes closed. Bodies entwined. In the darkness of the abyss they didn’t need to see each other, because in that moment their awareness enveloped each other. The moment stretched on. A day? A week? Maybe longer, it’s impossible to say. Each moment their passion and triumph impossibly grew until all at once and completely suddenly they smacked their lips and opened their eyes and plopped down on their backsides on the sidewalk, in the raw dawn light of November 1st. Gabi plopped significantly harder, but a moment later they were both laughing in tandem and rolling on their backs, hands pressed against their faces.

They heard birdsong, and the wind in the trees, a car or two drove by. The air was crisp and damp. For the first time in they had no clue how long everything felt perfectly normal.

Which is saying quite a bit, because everything was not normal. The two laughing girls on the sidewalk, each dressed in tattered Halloween costumes - one bulging and clinging to its seams by the power of what was surely the last merciful remnants of magic - were not the same women who entered the diner the night before. True, one was now tremendously plump, but entirely aside from that the two women who slowly stopped their laughter, helped each other up, brushed each other off and began their walk home, were not Miriam and Gabi, or at least not entirely. They’d opened up a new part of themselves, and as they walked home, they stretched and felt themselves out, like curious baby deer learning to prance with new legs.

“You know, I think we’d better hurry home, you’re about to burst out of this thing.” Miri walked close at Gabi’s side, and gave a playful swat to her barely confined rear.

“Oh my god, yes, I can’t wait to get out of this thing.”

“What, you’re tired of being my Gretel? You know you play the part pretty well...”

“No, I just feel like I’m suffocating in this thing, not to mention a bit indecent…” Miri snorted at that - the fat girl did look a bit indecent, with her curves barely covered by the straining fabric “You know I thought you’d be excited to get me stripped down again?”

“Oh I definitely am” they rounded the corner and stepped into their apartment, and no sooner were they inside than Miri was pulling her plump friend’s clothes off, letting them tear (she’ll never fit in them anyways) and pushing her backwards towards the kitchen.

“You know, I’ve got a brown sugar glaze in the fridge” Gabi’s cheeks flushed pink as Miri pressed up against her. “Why don’t you hop up on the counter while I get it” Gabi moved obediently, out of breath and awkward as she waddled herself over and heaved her plump form onto the counter.

“Don’t forget to preheat the oven” she winked from the counter, holding out her plump wrists for tying, already thrilled at the thought of being helpless again in Miri’s hands, at seeing the desire in her face, the hunger.

Miri awoke up with Gabi in her arms. It was dark out. She couldn’t say how long they’d been together in the cottage/restaurant, as she’d started to think of it - although she was fairly certain this place wasn’t really either. Outside it was still Halloween night, but it had gotten late. The streets were cleared of families, only a few drunk revelers streamed by in slow motion outside the window. By the look of it, it could be nearing midnight.

Gabi stirred, pulled Miris arm tighter around her, sighed contentedly. Miri’s heart swelled; this moment was perfect. But then her hand moved. It stroked down Gabi’s chest, pinching and poking over the thick fatty padding over her ribs and tummy, and so Miri realized she wasn’t alone. The Witch was here as well, and apparently in control.

“My my my…” her voice was cold as ice, but Gabi stretched and smiled, basking in it. “What a fat little piggy you’ve become”

Gabi awoke to the feeling of Miri’s arms around her. She smiled, pulled them tighter. She wanted to doze like this forever. Maybe they could, neither of them truly knew the rules of this place. But then she felt a pinch, and then a poke, Miri’s hand was prodding at her, hefting her, sizing up all the unwelcome fat that had piled up on her breasts and gut. Her mouth dropped open, but instead of an releasing an indignant protest she gasped with delight, her body warmed with pleasure. And so she knew she wasn’t alone either. Gretel was here as well.

And there was someone else there with them as well. The girl’s couldn’t see it, not this time, but they felt it’s cold presence. It whispered something, and then was gone.

“Wake up my little Gretel”

“Mmm…. its early” Gretel rubbed her eyes sleepily. The witch rolled her onto her back and looked down at her hungrily.

“Well we have a big day ahead of us!” Internally, Gabi and Miri’s hearts sank. These were the worst days. When Gretel and the Witch were free to play with each other without restraint. Gabi watching with dread as her body fattened up, Miri horrified but unable to look away as the Witch sized her up, feeling all the hunger and giddy cruelty of the Witch inside herself.

“Oh?” Gretel sat up, the sleepiness on her face slowly fading into a greedy smile, like a child expecting a treat.

“Yes, my little piggy, today you’re going into the oven!” The jolt of horror from Gabi and Miri was enough to stun Gretel and the Witch, but only for a fraction of a moment. Their eyes widened, went glassy, goosebumps prickled, but then they relaxed again, the Witch’s smile returned, Gretel wore a nervous pout but offered no protest.

“Get out of bed my little suckling piglet, it’s a lot of work getting a fat roast like you prepared, it’ll take all morning!”

Gretel’s face twisted up with worry, but she obediently pulled back the covers, swung her plump legs to the floor, and took the Witch’s hand as she led her to the kitchen.

They walked through the hall and into the kitchen where everything was prepared for them. The oven was warm, on the counter sat a massive roasting pan, and all around it cooking implements and ingredients.

The witch looked back at Gretel and saw the fear on her chubby face. She hesitated for a moment. Inside, an earthquake was raging. Miri was screaming, thrashing, her fury deafening. She WOULD NOT let this happen. The witch’s smile broadened.

“Aww, my little piglet, don’t worry, I’ll get you something to snack on while I get ready.”

Gretel hopped up onto the counter, sitting herself with her plump legs dangling off the side and her tummy resting heavily in her lap like a soft round pillow, in between the roasting pan and a bowl filled with an amber liquid. The witch handed her a plate of cookies and she began at once eating them, her nervousness making her pudgy hands shake as she lifted them to her lips.

“If I finish all of these can we go back to bed?” Gretel asked hopefully “I can please you, the way you like. Or I could even eat more!” The witch laughed.

“No no my little piglet. We’re done fattening you up” She stepped closer and gripped the fat girl on both sides of her midriff. “You’ve become a nice well-fed roaster, and now it’s time for you to cook in the oven, and for me to have my meal. And that will please me very well.”

Gretel could see the pleasure on the Witch’s face, and her feelings stirred, a swell of pride beating back the fear. She nodded obediently. Inside Gabi was panicking. Screaming, sobbing, sick with terror. Her lover was laying her back now on the counter. The soft strong hands that had held her, loved her, that she had yearned for so long, they were spreading a honey baste over her swollen body.

“I think a honey glaze goes well with ham, don’t you?” the Witch asked. She smeared the baste up and down Gretel with her bare hands. Using the rub down as a chance to tenderize the meat as well, her fingers pressing deep into the pillowy girl, kneading and probing, leaving tracks of pink flush in the buttermilk pale skin across Gretel’s belly, hips, and thighs.

It was obscene. Miri couldn’t stand it. Gabi laying there helplessly. The woman she loved, happily submitting to this, a fattened sow laying on her back for the butcher. And her own hands… her own hands basting her like meat. Her stomach rumbled. The pale skin pinkened as she rubbed it, then glistened as she smeared it with the thin honey glaze. Her mouth was dry, or was it watering? Her heart was pounding in her chest. She rubbed her hands over Gretel’s wobbling dome of a belly, over the plush dimpled expanse of her hips, her stocky legs, reaching deep to smear every crease and crevice, even over the fatty swell of her pussy almost hidden between two plush thighs and the crest of her tummy. Lastly, she basted her fatty perky breasts, even over her round cheeks. She begged her to sit up, to scream in horror, to swat her away, to do ANYTHING.

She didn’t. She lay flat and watched nervously as she was basted like a pig. And Miri… loved it. Despite herself. Despite her raging, her terror, her protests, she felt the Witch’s hunger and lust, and she loved it. Smart, capable, silly lovely Gabi, fat as a hog, lying flat on her fattened ass, just letting Miri prep her for the oven. It was perfect. She was perfect.

“Alright piggy, hold out your hands” Miri’s hands trembled as she bound Gretel’s plump wrists together, pulling the butcher’s twine tight enough to indent slightly into the pudge on her arms.

“And now hop up into the pan”

Gabi’s mind churned. Her stomach roiled. Oh god, these are my last sensations?! She rose awkwardly, the counter and her skin slippery with glaze. She rolled onto her knees, her body wobbling, every curve of her form bulging, extra meat hanging and swaying with her motion as she padded her extra thick thighs over towards the pan, rolls of pudge laying firmly against the front of her thighs as she crawled, looking like an overfilled meat pie spilling out onto its crust. What did I let her do to me?!

She settled into the pan and internally began to sob. Outwardly Gretel maintained a nervous smile as the witch tied up her ankles as well, and then pulled her thighs apart and lifted her ankles up to tie them to her wrists, binding her up not unlike a turkey before Thanksgiving. Gabi wanted to scream, wanted to kick out at the witch, wanted to… but she didn’t. She didn’t move a muscle. She just trembled while she was tied up, and then it was too late, she was truly helpless. She was fat, and basted, and trussed like a hog in the bottom of a pan. She was going to roast…. and she loved it.

Miri’s touch. Her strong but gentle grip as she repositioned Gretel’s plush form, adjusting her pose, filling in the spaces around her with chopped potatoes and onions. The look of lust and hunger on Miri’s face. The feeling of helplessness, of giving herself up to Miri, of pleasing her… it was everything she wanted.

She let out a gasp in surprise as the witch pressed a long orange carrot between her thighs, and then up into her, wriggling and tensing for a moment as she adjusted to the sudden pressure. Before she could get comfortable again the pan was moving, the witch had slid it into a metal cart and was wheeling her over towards the oven.

The red filaments were already glowing inside. Gretel tugged listlessly on her bindings as the first wave of heat washed over her, pouring out of the door of the oven, prickling her skin. She was going to be in there soon. Inside that oven, roasting. Her thighs pulsed, her tummy twisting and tensing, the sensation of the carrot distracting her.

“I’m sorry Gabi” the tenderly spoken name surprised her, she looked up at the witch, opened her mouth to correct her - ‘Gretel’ - but the words didn’t come.

“I can’t fight her.” there were tears on the Witch’s face “You’re just too perfect. I told you that, right? That you’re perfect?” she bit her lip, her chest was heaving as if she was about to cry, or maybe like she was in the thrall of pure excitement. And then Gabi saw it, the shadow on her shoulder, whispering into her ear.

“So perfect that… I have to have you. I can’t resist, I love you my porky little roast” and then she pushed the pan off the cart, sliding her onto the tray of the oven.

Gabi’s heart swelled to bursting. At the same time the heat screamed over her, drowning out any protest, her skin instantly began to prickle, and then sting. Her body began to pour out sweat. Even the air in her lungs was hot, her breaths became heavy. This was it. She was going to cook. She was a Miri’s pig, and she was going to roast. She stared up at the witch, and her hunger was everything, her lust, her pleasure. She saw Miri there too, her kindness, her love. In that moment the two were almost indistinguishable, my Miri, my witch.

All those nights together, in college, as roommates, as lovers, Miri, the witch, Gretel. Had she wanted this? Hadn’t she teased Miri, complaining incessantly about every gained pound, calling in Miri to pout with her when her rear strained a dress, sticking with her all these years, watching the desire smolder in her eyes, that neither of them were willing to admit...

And then it dawned on her.

“Stop!” she meant to yell, but the air was too hot, it was a gasp, a croak. But nevertheless, the witch’s hand stopped, a gleaming red apple in her fingers, destined to be crammed into her piglet’s mouth.

“Why?” Miri’s voice was pleading

“Because...” Gabi’s heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t take much more of this heat, and her legs were beginning to burn and shake from her pose. “Because I don’t want tonight to be the last night you roast me!”

Miri looked down at her uncomprehending.

“Because I love letting you fatten me up. I love it when you drool over me, when you hold me down, when you call me your piglet and butter me up like a ham, when you… push me into the oven. But I don’t want it to end tonight! I know you don’t either. Because you love all of me, not just my meat. You love my smile, and how I make you laugh during movies, and how I feel in your arms while you fall asleep, and -” she trailed off because Miri was lowering her hand, pulling the apple away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Hey Gabi” her voice cracked, half laughter, half sob.

“Hey Miri” Miri grasped the edges of the pan and pulled it back out of the oven, onto the cart, and then leaned down and kissed Gabi on the mouth. A long, slow kiss, flavored like honey and butter.

“I… I think I’ve figured out what this place is. It’s giving us what we want…” Gabi spoke slowly, taking deep cool breaths between sentences, lightheaded from the sudden shift in temperature.

“I think you’re right” Miri didn’t untie her, but she rolled her away from the oven.

“So… you don’t want to roast me anymore?”

“No…” Miri placed a hand on her cheek “Actually I really really do” she choked back a sob, half from lingering horror half from relief “But I realized… I’ll never be able to fight the witch, so I stopped trying. Instead I let her see why I loved you, how smart and brave you are… and why that makes you all the more delicious…. As play next time of course”

Both girls laughed weakly, their happiness real, but layered with exhaustion. Miri took a knife and snipped the twine on Gabi’s wrists, freeing them, and then her ankles next.