Toasted

This pie tastes funny

Manipulation isn't about forcing you fatter, not really. It's about shifting the blame. It's about absolving you of misplaced guilt.

After all, I ordered the food. I made all those dinners. I brought home sweet treats. Doubled up portions. Suggested you skip the gym for a movie...but you could have said no. You didn't. You ate, you lazed, you let me bring you just a little more. You opened your mouth for one last bite every time I asked. You let me rub your full belly, reward your overeating, keep you sedentary night after night.

You wanted this. Every extra inch. Every labored breath and lost button. You just couldn't commit on your own. Of course you couldn't. We have all been trained to view excess as sinful, fat as failure. Who could fault you for sublimating your real desires? No one would give you permission to let yourself go. No one would coax you into the kind of desperate, helpless gluttony necessary to redraw the contours of your body.

And then I did.

And I made it all about me. You eat for me. You lounge for me. You lean back and drink melted ice cream - something that barely existed in your fantasies - because you know I want you to. And you grow. You balloon. You come almost unrecognizable. You allow me to make you impossibly, deliciously obese. No blame, no fault, because I did this to you. You ate, but I fed you.

So when I stand you in front of a mirror, show you all the ways you've expanded, when I tell you that you've turned yourself into a hopeless pig...you have plausible deniability.

Shane: Yeah, I think my body’s just adjusting to the new routine.

The scene cuts briefly to a close-up shot of Shane and his fiancé, Ilya Rozanov, in bed, Ilya’s hand pushing cream cake into Shane’s mouth.

The scene cuts back to the doctor’s office.

Shane: I’m keeping an eye on it.

Another cut, this time to Shane alone in the shower, his naked torso, one hand gripping his soft stomach and the other his erection.

The doctor’s office again.

Shane: But I’m not very concerned right now.

Ilya’s teeth on Shane’s tender inner thigh.

A full plate set heavily on a table.

Shane’s throat moving as he drinks deeply from a glass, a thin rivulet of milk running down the side of his neck.

Ilya thrusts once into Shane from behind.

Yours Truly, the Swelling Coach

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Make sure to tease tf out of him for becoming this fat pig, DM if you have content ideas you wanna see him do 😈🐷