a fat lazy bear :)

Like finding only the best quality clothes in their size instead because such corpulence deserves only the best, instead of getting whatever because “they’ll only outgrow it”.

It’s hot out and everyone’s expecting the big guy/girl to sweat up a storm and reek but no, they smell like pure lavender (example) because their feeder spent a good 60-90 minutes in making sure they were nice and clean after a bubble bath or shower and then every inch of them has been covered in only the best products. Body butters, foot creams, face masks and hair care, special sprays– “jajoba & cashmere” branded shit.

It’s all very expensive upkeep, especially when they keep getting bigger and their body becomes even more expensive in every aspect. Doesn’t matter if the feeder is the service sub or the dom or whatever the fuck either, this is just a necessity.

The embrace of your stuffed partner’s body held tightly against your own, the warm soft feel of their skin as you gently graze your fingers against their taut belly, their head laid against your chest as they gently drift to sleep feeling safe, secure, and content, their every desire sated.

And so, I have always tried to use food to solve everything. Bad day? Dinner out, or takeout in. Great news? A cake and a bottle of bubbly. Accomplishments are rewarded with wonderful meals and small inconveniences are salved with treats. Food to help when you are busy and food to apologise when I screwed up. I can't think of a landmark or milestone that wasn't celebrated with an extravagant meal, never in my life.

Of course it is always too much. How embarassing would it be to show up with too little, how cheap would it make me look? And what if there are unexpected guests or there's something you don't like? You can always leave food you don't want, but you can't eat food you don't have. There should always be extra.

Of course my partners gained weight. Every one of them, since I was 16. Even without trying to push them, even without a thought for my sexuality, I turn to food for everything. I want it to make you happy and for it to fix your problems. I expect it to delight and distract you. I don't think I have many more tools in my repertoire. It's all food.

But that's how you know I have been there. It's my mark. Being around me means being well-fed.

And wine, of course, racks of it; or beer or sparkling tea if you don't partake. The food is the activity, if you are there, it is to indulge. Nothing gets put away, or runs out.

But there's a second board too, for desserts, after. You need chocolate and cream after all that savoury. Dozens more bites, nothing more than a sample, but altogether, another full meal. Dessert wines with it, icewine and honey mead, or apertifs if that's too syrupy. Let people try ouzo and arak, or just your best cognac. You might not get another chance for fernet and sambuca anytime soon. Clutter another table with bottles.

Everyone goes home happy and glowing and groaning, but there's so much left anyway. I will need the help cleaning up. One for the tupperware, one for your mouth. Not enough of this left to save, open up. You were restrained in front of guests, but you know you don't have to be with me. I prefer you are not.

By the last load of dishes, you are struggling to stay on your feet, so I send you to the couch to decompress. And decompress you do, like an inflatable raft, unbuttoning your shirt, stripping down to your boxers, releasing slow breaths as your muscles unknot and you let it all hang out. You are unimaginably full, flushed, and finished.

How did we end up stuck in this not so little predicament? All because of sweet overindulgence, you were greedy and way too eager to please. It's definitely not easy to say no when a feeder is praising you every other bite, not when you can see the sparkle in their eyes telling you how much they are enjoying this.

So you push yourself, you lose what little self control you had and you give into gluttony. After that, we both only push you to your limits, the experience feels intoxicating, too much, but it's never overwhelming, a pleasure and desire like this could never be overwhelming.

Well it does overwhelm your belly eventually, but it is most beautiful sight that only fuels the need in me to pamper and take care. Maybe I will tease a little on how you've let yourself go, but I'll make sure to tell you how much you are spoiling me with such a sight of greed and how much I like it.

Later, he'll brave the weather to run some errands so I can sit at my laptop and write and plan and record and respond, so that by the time it is time to make dinner, I need a glass of wine or three, and we chat and listen to music and chop and mix and peel, and somehow two bottles of wine disappear instead of the one, and it seems like a good day to open the ice wine, and it is surprising (or maybe it isn't) that by the time food is ready, he has any room for it at all, but he houses two servings handily before we retire to the couch.

And he pries off his belt and whoofs about overdoing it, and we decide to watch a weird movie that I'm enthusiastic and he's skeptical about, but it barely matters anyway because we're both half drunk and handsy and sooner or later, we stagger off to bed to focus on something more pressing. Maybe the rain will have stopped. Maybe not.

"I had a terrible day. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to eat," while cracking a beer and guzzling it straight from the can.

You hate seeing them unhappy, so you fry up a platter of dumplings and start browning onions, you get food in front of them before they have got their coat off. As you put together of cauldron of pasta, a salad, and garlic bread, he is already unknotting, visibly sinking into himself as the beer takes the edges off, and food starts warming him up.

He doesn't want to think, he just eats, and it is like magic, watching the world lift off his shoulders. He doesn't try to help you, or give opinions on what's happening. Fork to mouth, bottle to lips, he just follows the path to redemption. He puts up his feet, slouches in place, and his belly expands like the rising sun in front of him. He doesn't notice or care.

Everything is forgotten. He's just heavy and blurry, entirely focused on his body and whatever you are doing now that feels so good, soft fingers up his shirt and down his pants. He doesn't even have to move if he doesn't want to, he can doze off right where he is, knowing when he wakes up, you'll still be there to help him up.