Kinktober Day 24: Bratty/Spoiled Feedee

Sarah-Anne liked things the way she liked them. Her home was kept just so, everything in its place, exactly where she wanted it. She once got her nails done three times in a week because the polish chipped and she couldn’t stand that her hands looked anything less than perfect.

Her perfectionism extended to every part of her life. When she’d been in school, she had often had “draft” versions of her own notes, which she then re-did with color-coding, meticulous art and charts, and perfect handwriting. At work, she was the same. She planned parties (her specialty being weddings) and was meticulous in her work, every last detail planned just so.

Others might argue that Sarah-Anne was less than perfect. She was fat, for one thing. Thick around the middle, with big tits and a double belly that made them look small, it was clear Sarah-Anne had an indulgent side. But this was, in fact, part and parcel with her desire to make the ideal become real. She had never wanted to be thin. Between her natural proclivity for calorie-rich foods and some crossed wiring in her brain, she proudly labeled herself a feedee and a gainer as soon as she learned the words. Where others wished for nipped-in waists and well-muscled arms, Sarah-Anne longed only for softness and heaviness.

She fed herself, at first, monitoring her own intake and keeping detailed notes. She weighed and measured herself weekly, tracking her own progress toward her goals—goals like “fifty-inch hips” and “275 pounds.” And when she met them, she set new ones. She had big dreams. At a certain point, she realized she would need help achieving them.

Sarah-Anne had dated plenty in her lifetime, though she had found men didn’t much like her for a multitude of reasons. These reasons didn’t particularly matter to her; if they didn’t like her, there was always someone else. She was exacting, expecting the same kind of perfection and dedication from them that she brought to everything. That sort of man was rare, and it was even rarer to find one who saw her softness and agreed that the world needed more of it.

When she met Van, she was sure he would crumble in the face of her personality like all the others eventually had. He was steadfast, though, and just as dedicated to his goals as she was. He owned the catering company she hired for one of her parties, and when he saw her barking out orders, jiggling as she clicked around in her heels, he wanted to know everything about her.

She spent the first month or so testing him, and it would be a lie to say it wasn’t grueling. Sarah-Anne figured she would either burn him out (at which point he would leave and she could move on), break him to her will, or he would take all her punishing demands in stride and smile while he did it. It ended up being the latter. Van was a strong personality in his own way, but there was something about pleasing someone as picky as Sarah-Anne that satisfied something deep inside him.

When he would show up at her place on date night with all the food she’d requested and she looked him in the eye and said she’d changed her mind and had a few more things she wanted him to get, he was already heading for the door and telling her to text him the details. When she ate until she could barely speak and somehow still ordered him to feed her until every bite was gone, he ensured it all ended up inside her. When she was too lazy to get up and go to the kitchen for a snack but still wanted something, he would go for her.

Sarah-Anne would say she’d trained him well, but they both knew he liked that she was bossy and that he could feed into both her appetite and her desire to sit on her wide ass and do nothing when she was at home.

Around six months after they met, he put an engagement ring on her chubby little finger, right on the day she crossed off “325 pounds” on her weight gain goal list. Over the next six months, she planned their wedding, getting all the details just so. She wanted a big, expensive blowout and she got it. It would be the last party she would plan professionally, after all. One of her demands of her fiance was that he provide for her so she could stay home and (in her words) “focus on being fat and pretty.”

By the time they were married another six months after that, she’d just passed the 350 pound milestone and her wedding dress showed off every curve and bulge. Sarah-Anne was delighted by the wedding photos when the photographer emailed the files over during the honeymoon, squealing with joy over how round she looked. But being the perfectionist she was, she was already looking forward to the day when she could look back on her wedding photos and bemoan how dreadfully skinny she looked in them.

It wouldn’t take long, if either half of the couple had anything to say about it. With Sarah-Anne now a happy housewife who did absolutely no housework—that was what housekeepers and maids were for—she was destined for ever-increasing rotundity. Van’s money kept her in pretty clothes and mani-pedis, her belly always full of whatever she could think to ask for. To Van, this felt like a perfectly fair deal. Every day when he came home from work, there was more Sarah-Anne to come home to, and every inch of her polished and primped just the way they both liked. She still liked to bark orders, especially when they were in bed together, and his most cherished moments were the ones where she was too out of breath to issue her commands, too full or flushed to get the words out.

By the time their first wedding anniversary arrived, she was a luscious 425 pounds, and most of the inches she’d gained had gone right to that perfect double belly. Spoiled Sarah-Anne had nearly everything she wanted, and Van was happy as ever to help her grow.