You asked how I met James Fieder. That question isn't as easy to answer as it sounds. Bear with me here.

One morning, I was a healthy young frog. I performed laps in a pool. I brought one arm out of the water behind me, over my head, and I sliced it down in front of me. My webbed hand caught the crystal clear liquid and propelled me forward. Cool, refreshing fluid coursed around my sleek middle.

Then, an alarm sounded. A loud blaring, "BRRRT BRRRT BRRRT," ripped me out of the pool.

I opened my eyes. I'd had another swimming dream.

My eyes peered out over two swollen hills the color of limes. The hills--my cheeks--were so thick that they bulged up into my vision.

My bedroom's pale blue walls were lit by early sunlight. They seemed to get closer and closer every day.

Frogs naturally have oblong, wide faces, but mine... on mine, my cheeks locked against the plump coils of my neck. I tried to turn my head right, but I didn't get far. It was too hard to fight against the swells of my own neck. My mouth parted to yawn, and my bottom lip dipped below my extra chins.

I flexed my hands. Their chunky digits were more difficult to bend than just a week before, and the webbing between them grew smaller every day.

An itch crept onto on my stomach.

I summoned the muscles buried inside my right arm. My forearm rose easily, since it was only as thick as as it was long. My bicep, being much wider, tugged downward with gravid lard.

I searched for the itch. My mind hadn't yet completely sloughed its sleep, so I was blessed with groggy ignorance of my own state. My arm moved forward. All I could feel was my breast. Its flesh dipped into a valley below my neck, then rose again to form a rolling hill of adipose. I stretched forward as far as I could, but all I could feel was more breast. Even my areola was out of my range. I could barely reach the peak of my chest.

My breasts rose in two soft mountains that sprawled vast laterally, almost as far as I could see to my sides. I put my hands to my cleavage and dug down through my own fat crevice. I clutched a tiny fraction of my flesh in each hand. I grunted, and with some effort, I tugged my breasts apart. I opened a tiny sliver of a window down to my stomach. It billowed out a few feet from me. I pushed one arm into the opening, shoving my lardaceous arm down between my colossal breasts. Finally, my fingers met my abs. Unfortunately, they fell far short of my itch.

That's when I remembered how big I was. It had felt like the itch was right there, like I could casually reach down and scratch it. In reality, the itch was far beyond my grasp. I hadn't touched the underside of my stomach in years.

My arms lumped together irritably. My bicep blubber bunched against my chest. I hauled my arms apart and laid them over my sides. My biceps weighed down on my sideboobs, and my forearms draped along my scrunched waist rolls. My paws fell on my hips. My arms rest at gentle inclines over my wide, wide body.

My back flesh formed another slight slope of rolls down to my immense backside. My ass cheeks mushroomed out behind me, giving my butt a crack even longer than my breasts. My legs sat flat on the carpet under me. They splayed farther to my sides than my arm span. My webbed feet barely poked out of my cankles, hovering inches below the bottom lip of my gut. And my itch, well, my itch was somewhere between them.

Immobility is a terrible thing.

Eddie called out with a yawn. "Ahhh... morning, Freya."

The alarm clock stopped buzzing.

Eddie waddled into my view. He was a german shepherd standing on two thick, black legs of blubber. His tan-furred middle blimped out before him, curving far to his sides and low over his thighs. Round breasts plopped on his rotund gut. His snout was softened by layers of pudge. He lifted a chubby arm and rubbed his eye with his forepaw. His sleepy ears drooped. "Let's get you ready."

Years ago, Eddie had been a little husky. But it used to be in a hunky way. Now, he was just fat.

My weight skyrocketed after we got married. And then, I think I pulled him down with me. I felt responsible for his own weight gain. I always wanted to ask if he resented me.

He walked around me, keeping a distance from my equator. I couldn't see where he went. A few seconds later, he came back into my vision holding a massive cloth tarp. It was white with a pink floral print on it. "How do you like this one for today?"

A voracious need clawed through my middle. My stomach roared a ferocious growl.

I hunched forward, clenching my abs. "Um... good."

Eddie nodded. "Alright. Now don't forget, the doctor wants you on intermittent fasting, so no eating until after your appointment."

I had an appointment that day to pick up a mobility scooter. I don't know why we couldn't have just gotten it delivered. Instead, I had to ride out to the bariatric clinic.

Eddie tossed the tarp in the air over me while holding onto one end.

The tarp fell over me, and my head poked up through a hole in its middle.

Eddie tugged the tarp, smoothing it out. "You said you could eat at the clinic, right?"

I patted down the tarp, getting as comfortable as I could. "Yeah, they have a dining room with salads and stuff. Hey, before you get dressed, could you get an itch?"

Eddie's plump face winced for a split second. He replaced it quickly with drowsy nonchalance. "Where is it?"

I focused on my undercarriage, trying to read the sensation on my huge gut. "Should be like, on my stomach, just between my legs."

Eddie got down on his hands and knees. His fat rump jut out behind him. He crawled closer, going under my vision. He scratched the front of my belly.

I still itched. "Lower, I think."

His paw went lower, and his forearm brushed against my calves. His claws shredded my itch with amazing gratification. But, more than that, he sparked infinitesimal twinges of arousal.

Eddie never touched me unless he had to. This was as far as he had gone between my legs in a long time. Well, not counting sanitary care.

I moaned.

Eddie stopped. "Was that it?" He kneeled up, poking his face up into my line of sight.

I felt a swell of shame. It was like I'd taken advantage of him. "Umm, yeah. Thank you."

Eddie left to dress himself.

It wasn't long before the movers arrived. Or, that's what I think of them as, anyway. They were there to take me to my appointment at the clinic.

Eddie waddled into my bedroom, wearing a tight polo with slacks. "Here she is."

Behind Eddie were four muscular people: a fierce jaguar woman, a meatheaded lion man, a sweet shark woman, and a serious crocodile man. They all had popping muscles, donning khaki pants and green polos. Each one had the abbreviation "BULC" embroidered over the left breast of their shirt.

The jaguar stepped forward. She carried a large canvas stretcher under her arm. "Will she fit through the front doorway?"

Eddie stood by. "Yep."

The jaguar laid the stretcher out on the floor in front of me. "Understood. Is she clean?"

Eddie shrugged. "Clean? Sure."

The jaguar huffed. "Is she sanitary? I don't want my people to reach under her and encounter a surprise mess."

Eddie stepped back. "Oh--oh!!" His brows clenched in anger. "Of course she's clean!"

The jaguar rolled her eyes. "It's not personal." She waved her crew on. "C'mon, help me roll her."

Everybody was talking about me like I wasn't there. I was a problem to solve, not a person to help. They couldn't even ask me about... that. I was completely humiliated.

The lion and jaguar put their paws under my left leg. The shark and crocodile put their flippers and paws under my right leg. They grunted and pumped upward. Their grip cut into my doughy bulk. They slowly tilted me, pushing me up onto my huge gut.

My belly sprawled onto the canvas, and I jostled into place on top of it. My limbs pressed out to my sides. My chin sat in my breasts. My ass wagged over me, rebounding with fatty momentum.

The jaguar grabbed the head of the stretcher on my left. "Let's get moving."

They lifted me up and hauled me outside.

I caught a momentary glimpse of the outdoors. The sky was overcast, and a bitter chill blew through the trees.

All too soon, the movers carried me into the back of a truck.

My big belly cushioned me on the hard truck bed. I faced forward, staring at a blank wall. Blank walls surrounded me on both sides. I was marooned on my gut and smothered in my fat, so I couldn't turn far enough to see behind me.

Disembodied voices chattered back there.

"Is she secure?"

"Ayup."

"Alright, close it up."

The sunlight inside the truck blacked out with a rumble and a click. Moments later, the truck's engine grumbled to life. The ground under me shook and jostled. It wobbled my massive pudge like a dome of gelatin.

I rode in darkness. I bounced and bobbed in my own overflowing corpulence. Tiny ripples rebounded and collided along my swollen gut.

Gnawing pangs rolled through my stomach like a Dust Bowl wind.

I thought to the clinic. "I'll have food once my appointment is over." But I didn't believe it. "It's good for my metabolism, at least." But that seemed trivial in comparison to my need.

My teeth grinded on their own, chewing breakfast that wasn't there. After a while, my jaws ached. I don't know how long I rode like that.

At some point, the truck stopped. Sunlight broke into my dark, mobile chamber.

Two movers walked in front of me and grabbed the head of the stretcher. With the other two movers behind me, they hefted me up and hauled me out into a parking lot. 

To one side was a busy road. A large sign overlooked it. In big letters, it read, "BULC." In small letters below, it said, "Bariatric Utilities and Leading Care."

To the other side was my destination. The white, single story building was a little wider than my house. A vast glass door dominated its facade.

The movers placed me on a raised surface. They moved me with unusual smoothness.

I realized I was on a gurney.

They pulled me up to the clinic's doors.

The glass portal parted automatically. Inside, white tile with gray specks lined the floors, and a gleaming pearl white coated the walls.

The movers walked me through to a front desk.

A chubby husky sat at the desk with a computer monitor. He lent a chipper tone to his voice and looked to me. "Who do we have today?"

The jaguar mover spoke over me curtly. "Berger."

The receptionist scanned his monitor. "Berger, Berger... got it. You'll be in room 102."

The movers led me to a hallway on the left. They marched swiftly, jouncing my blobby belly. They spun quickly into the second room on the left.

Centrifugal force shoved my body, surfing my back outward from the curved path that the movers followed. I was buffered in my own corpulence, though, holding me down on the gurney.

We stopped just inside the room.

The only thing in there was a sofa. Faux leather upholstered its seat and back. Curiously, two wheels were affixed to each side: one small wheel near the front and one large wheel near the back.

The jaguar looked around. "Doc?"

A squat mole poked up from behind the couch. Her squeaky voice cheered out through a gleeful smile. "Aha! Our first subject." Large, round glasses perched on her nose, and her lab coat draped to the floor. She trundled around to the jaguar. "Pull her backside adjacent to the chair."

The movers whirled me around so that I faced the doorway.

My back swished in circles over my abdominal heap, and my ass wagged in the air. The liquid momentum of my own flesh dizzied me.

The two movers in front of me angled my stretcher up from the gurney. Their muscles stayed steady even as they grunted.

A seat plugged onto my rump.

I fell slowly. Strange vertigo overtook me as gravity tugged my tilting blubber. Something held me up. And then, I was sitting. I felt faux leather under my butt. I sat on the sofa.

The mole orbited around me. "Good, good. It's a perfect fit." Her eyes traced my right hip.

While I was being inspected, I watched the hallway. Nothing better to do, anyway. Unexpectedly, someone caught my eye.

He was a slender gecko walking by. He looked into my room with a defeated, hopeless expression. His pace lingered a moment by the doorway.

Our eyes crossed.

He shook his head and moved on.

I had no time to reflect, because then, I started moving forward. Or, more accurately, the sofa moved forward with me in it. My blubber rocked side to side. I croaked in surprise. Then, I stopped.

The mole pat my hip. "I can hear your excitement!" She reached over my hip to my hand and deposited a flat, palm-sized device. "Here's the remote control for your wheelchair. It seems to be in perfect working order."

I looked over the dark gray control device. A few buttons on it were labelled with arrows in cardinal directions. "Thanks... do you need anything else from me?"

The mole shook her head. "No, no." She walked to a computer by the wall.

The movers were already gone, along with the gurney and stretcher.

It seemed abrupt. Not so much as a "have a good day."

On the other hand, now that my appointment was over, I could finally appease my horrifying appetite. I pressed the up arrow on my remote, and the wheelchair drove forward into the hallway. I pressed the left arrow, and the wheelchair spun in place.

The hallway ended in a cafeteria.

I salivated like a wild dog. I pressed up on my remote and ventured onward.

In the cafeteria, shelves along one wall held packaged food. The higher shelves offered heavier fare, like meatball subs and pudding cups. The lower shelves stored lighter options, such as salads and fruit. A cashier operated beside the shelves.

Two long tables sat in the middle of the room. They were each a little smaller than me. A few obese patrons occupied each.

One chicken there had a backside wider than a doorway. She would have engulfed any normal chair, but in this dining room, her rump fit just fine on a quadruple-wide chair. Her stomach nearly reached the floor, and her breasts smooshed between her plump wings. She munched a salad with plenty of greens, some tofu, and no dressing. She was an inspiring example.

Another patron, a rooster, sat at the other table. His rear wasn't quite as thick, but he made up for it with a gut that sprawled to the floor. He enjoyed a banana split with ten scoops of ice cream and way too much fudge sauce. He would never lose weight eating like that.

I went to the shelves to examine their offerings. Up close, my breasts obscured the lower shelves. I could only see the junk food. Burgers, donuts, mozarella sticks, candy bars, and more tantalized me. "Sheesh... Why is all of this crap at eye level?"

A dejected voice spoke up. "Well, that's what some people want when they come here."

I turned my head, squashing my cheek against my neck.

There stood the gecko from earlier. He slouched in a long, white coat, and his scales were bright green. A key card hung from a lanyard around his neck.

I frowned. "Doesn't that seem irresponsible, to offer all these fatty foods in a weight loss clinic?"

The gecko crossed his arms. "It's more of a weight management clinic than a weight loss clinic. I guess some people want to lose weight, and we're here to help. Others want to gain weight, and of course, we're there for them, too. We make sure they're aware of the risks, and if they still choose that lifestyle, we do our best to serve them. A lot of people are really content living that way."

I couldn't hold back my grimace. "...Oh."

The gecko kneeled out of my vision and came back up holding a packaged salad. "But it sounded like you were looking for something like this. It's a chef salad with hardboiled egg whites and turkey."

I frowned. "Yeah. Thank you."

He handed me the salad. "I hope it makes you happy."

I sighed. "It won't."

I drove to the checkout counter and held the salad forward.

A capybara stood behind the counter with his head in his hand. Next to him was a touch screen. When he saw me, he stood up straight. He raised a remote price checker and scanned a label on the salad. "Do you want this charged to your account?"

I rest my arm. "Yes, it should be under 'Berger'."

The cashier punched in something on his touch screen. "Got it. Enjoy your meal."

I turned around and surveyed the cafeteria.

Nobody looked my way, but they could at any moment.

I was bigger than the tables, so I was impossible to miss. I was frozen. I had no safe place to eat. My breathing accelerated. My breasts normally felt heavy on my chest, but now they threatened to cave my lungs in.

The gecko stepped into my sight. "Are you okay?"

I had the compulsion to push him away. If only my arms could have reached beyond my chest. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He cocked an eyebrow. "If you're having trouble picking a spot to eat, I can help."

Words spilled out of me. "No. I'm fine. I mean... wait. What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Sounds like you're having a bad day. Well, me too. Maybe you could take your lunch with me. Misery loves company, after all." He trudged towards the far wall of the cafeteria.

I watched him for a moment, trying to decide. I found his sadness disarming and relatable. I was comfortable with it, at least. I followed him.

He reached the wall and stood before an extra wide pair of double doors. He slid his key card through a panel beside the door. They swung open. He gestured in and looked to me. "After you."

I drove into the new room. Inside, I occupied the majority of its space.

A desk with a computer sat adjacent to the wall. A fully stocked bookshelf towered behind it. A few diplomas hung on the walls, reading "James Fieder" in calligraphy.

The doors behind me whirred and clicked shut.

I wet my lips. "So, I guess you're James Fieder?"

The gecko stepped to my front. "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you, uh...?" He held forward a forepaw.

I held up a hand, too, but I couldn't reach his. "Freya. Freya Berger."

He leaned to take my hand, and his stomach bumped mine. His elbow glanced against my voluminous breast. He shook my hand quickly and stood straight again. "Err, sorry."

I lingered on the memory of that feeling: the sensation of his body pressed into mine. After a moment, I spoke. "No, it's fine."

I opened my salad. A plastic fork laid atop the bed of unappetizing fare. I plucked the fork in my chunky fingers and stabbed some turkey. "Anyway, you were right. I've had a bad day." I shoved the turkey into my maw. Its dry, bland flavor tasted as sterile as the clinic's decor. At least its preservatives granted it a salty edge. I ingested the sustenance. "Only, it's not just today. It's every day, day after day, when I wake up in this body. I need to eat with my health in mind, but my stomach yells at me to binge. I need to exercise, but my muscles scream until I stop. I'm hopeless."

James sat at his desk. He rest his elbow on the desktop and his chin in his forepaw. He looked at me, but not really at me, if you get what I mean. "It's like you know exactly what to do. But you simply can't do it. The drive to do the wrong thing is just imprinted in you."

I chewed down some lettuce. "Yeah." The fresh, leafy lettuce went down my gullet, but I didn't feel the slightest dent in my gut. I tried to trust that it nourished me.

James sighed. His face was sullen, but his eyes never left me. He held back a certain longing behind those eyes.

I ate the rest of my salad in silence. It wasn't my favorite food, but if I had someone staring at me, I was glad to be eating something healthy. After I finished the last piece of lettuce, I spoke up. "So, what's eating you?"

James leaned back in his chair. "Ohh, relationships. I've met lots of wonderful, interesting women. But I still haven't met THE ONE. No matter what, there's always this thing or that thing, and I can't make it work. I'm just tired of the rigamarole, you know? So, I'm getting ready to give up. I'm gonna suck it up and compromise."

My stomach grumbled ferociously. Its inner gnashing was unbearable, like it was going to devour my stomach lining. I took a deep breath in and out.

James looked with concern. "Jeez. Do you want more to eat?"

I shook my head. "Yeah, but I can't. I really can't."

James' expression drooped. "Not even one thing? You just sound like you're in agony."

I rubbed my waist. "No, you don't understand. If my husband sees anything extra on my bill, he'll know I overate."

James caught my eyes. "Doesn't your husband want you to be happy? Wouldn't he understand?"

I looked aside. "He would understand, to a degree. I mean, he wouldn't hate me or anything. But I can't bear to think that he'd know."

James stood and walked to me. "Well, I could put it on my account. No reason he has to know."

I faced him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

My stomach growled again. It felt huge, and hunger sliced along its wide walls. "Ngh... I dunno though. It would take a million of those salads to fill me up."

James craned his head. "You know, everybody needs SOME fat. And you could stand to get more protein. You don't have to get a salad."

My mouth watered. "Could... could I have... a meatball sub?"

James put a friendly paw on my wide bicep. "Sure. I'll be right back."

When James left the room, I was all nerves. I was sure this was wrong. James said everyone needed fat, though. My problem was that I didn't stop when I got what I needed. Just the thought of a meatball put me on the cliff's edge of a binge. I saw myself falling into a pit of junk food. I wanted it so bad, though, and I thought James could help rein me in.

Before I could catch up to my racing thoughts, James entered the room. He brought a paper plate with a steaming foot-long meatball sub lathered in marinara sauce and melted provolone.

I sniffed deep, gorging my nostrils on the aroma. The scent was divine. My lungs puffed out, pushing my heavy breasts even further over my gut. "Mmm... they serve hot food, too?"

James rest the plate on my chest. "Oh, there's a microwave. Sorry if the bread got a little stiff." He backed off casually and plopped into his chair.

In that moment, the sandwich on my chest was worth my weight in gold. Never should I ever have eaten something like that. It was evil. It was forbidden. So, I had to eat it, because there was no telling when I would have the chance again.

I grasped it in both hands and shoved it into my gaping maw. I got a quarter of it into my mouth. It was so big and, more importantly, so long. With one hand holding the sandwich up, I stroked its length. The sub roll had firmed up like James said, but I didn't mind. It was kind of nice, how sturdy it made the sub. I bit down, crunching through the roll. Thick, hot sauce gushed into my mouth. Large, meaty balls swam in the goopy mix, and I ran my tongue along their salty exterior. I swallowed in one hefty gulp. Sauce splattered my lips, and I lapped them clean.

My eyelids fluttered. "Oogh... fuck."

James watched from his desk. His face bore a visible misery. He moaned longingly.

I assumed he wanted some, but it was too good. I couldn't share. I crammed another segment of the sub into my mouth. I gulped it down with a deep, satisfying ribbit. I munched on the sandwich to claim more of its delectable flavors. I also loved the feel of its hot, meaty mass passing down my gullet. The problem was, that left me with an empty mouth. I chased every chomp with a swallow and every swallow with a chomp. Soon, I had nothing but a chest sprinkled with microwaved bread crumbs.

After that, I felt like I woke up. Like reality suddenly turned on. "Ugh... did I really just eat an entire footlong meatball sub?"

James responded in a light, hopeful tone. "Yeah. Was it good?"

I threw my head back in frustration, bouncing it off of my swollen neck lard. "Was it good? Was it good?! No, it was a mistake! That's the kind of behavior that got me in this wheelchair in the first place. I need to get out of here." I held an arrow on my controls, spinning my wheelchair to face the doors.

James cautiously toed over to the doorway. "You sound pretty distraught. Can I get you anything?"

I choked back tears. Pressurized shame struck a crack in the dam holding back my sorrow's deluge. "Out of here."

James pressed a button on the wall, and the doors slowly opened. They presented a vista to the food shelf in the cafeteria. The cornucopia of delectable, fattening delights promised a semblance of joy, however fleeting.

I had already broken my diet. Now I was stuck with the pain. And I knew how to deal with pain. "Actually, (sniff), could you get me some mozzarella sticks?"

James raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? I'd be glad to, it's just--"

I struggled to hold my tears inside. "Please."

James wheeled around and left.

I sobbed and rubbed my wrists under my eyes. Hot streams flowed down my flabby face. "Who cares anymore?"

In short order, he returned with a bucket of piping hot mozzarella sticks. "I wasn't sure how many to get, so I got the biggest we have." The doors shut behind him.

The bucket looked like the perfect size for burying my shame.

He approached me with the bucket. He took out a stick and held it up to my lips.

I craned my head back, fighting against my aft-side neck rolls. "Ummm... Thanks. Can I just have the bucket, though?" I sniffled, and the remainder of my tears dried on my cheeks.

His eyes popped open with a terrible shock. "Oh, shit!! Yeah, yeah, of course." He plunked the stick in the bucket and dropped it on my stomach.

I reached forward for the bucket. I felt my sweeping breasts nudge into it. "Can you put that a little higher? I don't want to knock it over by accident."

He nodded timidly with his lips sealed shut. He lifted the bucket, brushing his forearms against the heavy inside curves of my large tits. His rushed behavior was more abashed than disgusted. Most people avoid touching me out of revulsion, but his avoidance was more coy and flirtatious.

He placed the bucket on my right breast. Then, he scurried back to his desk and pretended to work.

I plunged right into the mozzarella sticks. They plumped thick, wider than my fat-caked thumb. They stretched long, too, longer than my hand. I plucked one up. Its breaded exterior made it firm. I fit about half of it in my mouth. It was so warm and savory that I could have sucked on it. I bit right into it, though, and viscous, white cheese ran along my tongue. I popped the end of the sausage-sized mozzarella stick into my mouth and swallowed.

I steadily worked my way through the bucket. The oblong sticks etched an interesting shape that compelled me to toy with them. I took one, put it to my pouting lips, and slowly pushed it inside. When its tip reached the back of my mouth, I pulled it forward again, caressing it with my plump lips. I pushed it back in. I chewed and swallowed every inch of the sinful rod until it disappeared down my throat.

James stared at me with a forepaw on his head. He breathed deep, pushing his chest out against his shirt. Once he realized I saw him, he shook his head and steered his eyes to his computer monitor.

I crunched and chewed through the pile of grease and fat. I stuffed my mouth so full of the rich, salty tang that nothing else mattered. The heavy, warm food soothed my gut, filling it and heating it. My gluttonous appetite allowed me to indulge in a huge excess of calories, which granted me more physical pleasure than otherwise possible. Euphoria emanated from my stomach. My binge turned my overflowing flesh from a depressing burden into a source of joy.

I ran out of mozzarella sticks too soon. The bucket was empty. I upturned it over my head and drank down a smattering of stray crumbs. Thoughts of Eddie drifted back into my focus. Without food in my mouth, I was missing a key sensation for dulling my anguish. "Mmmhore..." My mouth felt sluggish.

James stood sharply. "I'm on my way."

He opened the doors and left empty-handed. They closed behind him. When they reopened, there he stood, holding a white box with both arms. His chin rest on the top of the box.

He placed the box on my breast.

The box was too tall, so I couldn't see into it. I hefted my large arm up and reached inside. My fingers touched something dry but spongy. I picked it out to discover a Little Debu snack cake. It was a yellow cake the length of a candy bar, although it was substantially thicker than one. Inside was luscious, sweet marshmallow cream. I popped it whole in my mouth.

James looked to me with a melancholic brow. "You'll eat them all, right?"

I swallowed it down. The answer was "yes," but I didn't want to say it. I avoided his question by clutching a handful of cakes. I opened wide and stuffed them in. They filled out the corners of my lips and poked out of my mouth. I sucked and tore open the cakes. Squishy crumbs and smooth cream flowed down my gullet. I vacuumed the ends of the cakes into my mouth, and those went down, too.

James stood there, somber. He focused on me.

I've never felt comfortable binging in front of someone. It's always something you have to hide.

But James didn't count, somehow. 

I sucked down snack after snack. The cake was pleasantly sweet, but the cream was abhorrently saccharine, and I loved every drop of it. I inhaled cakes as fast as I could just to guzzle more of that white, sugary paste. I pumped my mouth full of it and bloated my cheeks with it. I forced the long, thick snacks between my lips, even when my maw was bursting with cream.

It all flowed right into my belly, weighing it down. The food filled out my cavernous insides. My gut rest heavy on my legs and squashed down against my pliant thigh flab. My stomach crushed down between my legs and pushed them apart against the opposite sides of my wheelchair. Most of all, I felt my stomach's weight right between my legs. It bore a tantalizing pressure on my most intimate lily pad.

The pressure felt good, of course. But if I paid attention to my more salacious needs, I would have lost focus on my binge. That binge was the only protection I had against my tormenting guilt.

So, when my hand hit the bottom of the box, I panicked. I upturned the box, and nothing came out.

However, James had already gotten more food without my realization. One tray sat on his desk with a pyramid of eclairs. He held another tray with a spread of freshly microwaved calzones. "I thought you might need these."

I threw the empty cake box to the floor. "I do." Rich, sweet paste lined my mouth and gullet, and I couldn't wait to tear into something savory.

James set the tray right over my cleavage. He took a calzone. They were those frozen, microwaveable calzones, the ones shaped like burritos. He stood directly in front of me, so that his legs brushed against my belly. His expression sagged, and he took up a calzone with listless torpor. Suddenly, he jammed it forward into my mouth. His face bore the same sad frown while his palm shoved an entire calzone in my face.

I chewed. The calzone had a variety of contents, but they were all fatty and leaden. Cheese, beef, sausage, pepperoni, and ham clogged my mouth. They sludged down my gullet and plopped into my gut. My swelling stomach gurgled in response.

James thrust another calzone into me.

I choked it down.

We worked together as an unthinking machine.

I received a constant flow of calzones, one after the other. All I had to do was chew and swallow. Now that the food arrived right in my mouth without any effort, my attention honed in on the flavors and feelings. The rich calzones sang in dense, savory notes that defied my ability to perceive. My taste buds ping ponged from spicy pepperoni to tangy cheese to sweet ham and more. My rapid gulps made the rush of flavors all the more taste-boggling.

And yet, as overwhelming as that was, my stomach demanded just as much attention. I hurtled past satiety. My insides stretched and expanded, ballooning harder and harder with food. My spherical abs inflated wider and wider. My expanding bulk crooned with a soft, dull pain that was almost soothing. I felt cool air brush my lower belly rolls as my solid bloat pulled my dress higher.

But the wheelchair didn't creak, and it didn't groan. I had never sat on a more stable chair.

James pushed the last calzone inside me. "Now, you probably want some dessert. I got a few eclairs, too."

My expanding gut pushed harder on his legs now. I felt an intimacy even from the simple pressure of his legs standing by my midsection.

I was definitely full by this point, but I didn't want it to end. I had forgotten my fear of my own thoughts. Instead, I didn't want to lose his touch. If that meant eating a few extra pastries, then so be it. My words stuttered out breathy. "Yeahh, th-that soundss (hrngh) g-ghood."

James turned away to grab the tray of eclairs.

I sat there, motionless. My stomach buffered me within layers and layers of food and flesh on my sides and front. My hands, like always, couldn't reach anything other than my own body. My only sensation was myself: soft, heavy, and dense. It was like I had cocooned myself in a weighted blanket of my own adipose. My mind was blissed out on binging. My only awareness was of my burbling digestion and my increasingly entrenched bulk.

James put the tray on my cleavage. One forepaw caressed my blimped abs. The other took an eclair. "Open wide."

I did.

James slid the eclair into my waiting mouth. His other hand carefully stroked side to side on my tender belly.

I chomped each inch as it came in. Chocolate icing and egg custard splotched my lips, but I was too busy eating to care. I inhaled bite after bite of eclair until it was all gone.

James wiped his index finger along my messy lips, collecting the leftover icing and custard. "Don't forget this." He put his finger in my mouth.

I sucked the food from his digit. Afterwards, I kept sucking, and I wrapped my long tongue around his feeding finger.

He pulled his finger out with a wet pop. He took the next eclair. "For this one, I want you to lick off all of the icing before eating it."

I extended my tongue slowly. I scraped it along the top of the pastry. My tongue stroked against the top of the long, cylindrical treat. I scooped a pile of chocolate icing, and I pulled that into my mouth greedily. I extended my tongue again and wiped off more chocolate. I caught James' eyes.

He looked more solemn than sad.

I whipped the icing into my mouth and moaned. The eclair was now bare.

James cracked a small grin. He pushed the eclair into me.

As he pushed, I bit, and I finished it off with a few swift bites.

James got the next one. "On this one, bite open the tip. Then, suck out all of the filling."

I nibbled off the end of the eclair. Then, I wrapped my full lips around it, nice and tight. I inhaled, and custard slurped out of the eclair. It was viscous but smooth, filling up my gullet but sliding down quickly. I gorged on the off-white load. I drained the eclair with one last, damp drag. I popped my lips off. "Ahll... dhone..." I let my mouth droop open.

He slid the lengthy remains into me.

I bit through it. I pumped more and more pastry into my ever tense stomach. Focused and determined, I polished it off.

James licked his lips. He readied another eclair. "Kiss the tip and slowly clamp your lips around it."

I pouted my lips, pressing them together and rolling their obesity outward. I held them to the eclair and smooched. It was my long, thick joy rod, and I couldn't wait to fill up with its cream. I expanded my lips and took in the head of the pastry. I massaged the tip with my lips.

James' mouth sagged open. His rubbing grew firmer against my packed gut.

I bit down slowly while leaving my lips locked on the eclair.

James eased the pastry into me. He leaned further forward.

I sensually sucked down more of it. I breathed heavy through my nostrils. My heaving lungs puffed my breasts out, and they brushed James' chest. I could have almost hugged him with my tits, if I was just a bit larger. Imagine that--me, wanting to be even fatter... I gulped down the end of the eclair. With half-lidded eyes, my mouth hung open, and I panted for air.

James' voice lowered, now deep and hush. "I'm going to push this one as deep into your mouth as I can. Do your best to take it." He got the second-to-last eclair.

My stomach quaked and rumbled. It burbled and groaned. It stretched and creaked.

James' legs felt like needles, ready to pop my overfed gut.

I opened my mouth.

He held the eclair to my lower lip. He slid it inward gently.

I closed my mouth around the eclair's width. I snaked my tongue outward and twisted it around the pastry in a corkscrew pattern. My tongue's tip met James' feeding hand. I wrapped it around his wrist. The eclair approached the back of my mouth, so I used my tongue to push against James.

James stopped pushing. "You've got quite a versatile tongue." He slowly pulled the eclair outward.

My lips held their lock on the eclair's circumference, and my tongue held its grip on James' wrist. My tongue's corkscrew elongated as the eclair came further out of my mouth.

Just as the inner tip of the eclair came to my lips, I pulled my tongue on James' wrist. I drew his hand inward, pushing his pastry into me. Using the back of my tongue, I cinched off the eclair as it entered my mouth, essentially chewing it with my tongue. I stocked my cheeks full of it.

I pulled James' hand to my lips with a mouth full of eclair. I swallowed my dessert and pecked his hand. Then, I retracted my tongue. "That's... it. I'm... (wheeeze)... full. I... can't... (hufff)... eat... the... (nnngh)... last... one."

James rubbed my gut in both hands. "You're incredible." He set the tray on his desk. It held one, lonely eclair.

I passed an uneasy belch. "Urgh... look at me. What a glutton." My stomach was full to bursting. The physical pain in my gut was pointed but pervasive. I had no room for emotional pain.

This was my goal. My despair was gaping, consuming, endless. The tactile hurt struck sharp enough to distract me.

James rubbed my stomach side to side, easing it. He heaved a sigh. "If only..."

I strained to talk. The food within me was piled too high, making it hard to breathe. "If, (huff), only, (puff), what?" My digestion burbled loudly, fighting with my speech for attention.

James looked into my eyes. "Promise not to laugh?"

I looked into his. "Sure... (hrrnk)... yeah. What is it?"

He blushed. "I wish this felt the same to you as it did to me."

I spread my arms to my sides, rubbing my hips. I swept forward, passing over my big, broad breasts. "I think... maybe it does. It's so lonely, being locked in this body. Nobody wants to get anywhere near me. You're the first person in so long to just... touch me. I mean, I get some touches out of obligation. Yours aren't obligatory. Instead, they're..." I couldn't find the next word.

I reached forward, but James was still beyond me.

He leaned over my breasts. He brought his face close to mine. "So, you like it?"

I gulped. My heart raced. "Mm-hmm."

His lips pecked mine. His mouth opened.

I opened mine and received him.

His mouth spread wide along my thick, bulbous lips. His long, thin tongue stretched along my own long, thin tongue. His tongue wrapped around mine in an intimate embrace. His left forepaw steadied himself against my bloated gut, while his other forepaw drifted upward to my chest. He cradled my breast and rubbed its wide breadth.

My breasts were so huge and ungainly that I hated them. In James' grip, though, they felt sensuous from end to end. I was the soft recipient of his loving touch. I wanted him to make me his bed.

A voice bellowed. "Jimmy?!"

The doors of his office were open. A hippopotamus stood in the doorway. She was petite; she couldn't have been heavier than 750 pounds. Her feet spread wide on the floor under her thick cankles. Her apron belly covered the front of her thighs and dangled just below her knees. She wore a form-fitting black skirt that hugged her belly and pinched her bulging waist. She had a cute red halter top that accentuated her plump breasts. Her fat snout screwed into a pitiful frown.

James ripped out of our kiss and looked over his shoulder. "Jessica? How did you--"

The hippo whirled around and waddled away quickly. Her urgent stomps were off-balance and jiggled her backside.

James backed away from me and chased her. "Jessica, wait!"

I was stunned. I was a homewrecker. It was incredible. I couldn't register the anger at first. I was just confused. Were they in a relationship? That's what it seemed like, right? But why would he be interested in me when she was so much smaller?

And then, the guilt came. I thought about Edward. I thought about his loyalty to me through thin and, now, thick. I missed the romance, but I still had his love. And I had just sullied that.