Eulogy for a Twin Bed (Patreon)

A fun little one-shot inspired by an actual sleep meditation that I listened to where the narrator really said the words, "I promise the mattress will hold you." That phrasing was just begging to be put into a kink story!

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There’s nothing quite like lying in her childhood bed to make a girl realize just how fat she’d gotten. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know. You couldn’t be as big as she was and not know you were fat. She’d crested 300 pounds in her early twenties, and as thirty approached she’d only gotten bigger, 400 pounds sticking to her like an inevitability and then disappearing into her rear view, with 500 pounds likely in her not-so-distant future.

Even at her now prodigious size, she’d grown used to being comfortable. At home, all her furniture was designed with the hefty in mind. She rarely ever heard so much as a creak from her couch or bed. At work, she’d demanded accommodations, earning herself adjustable desks with curved edges that didn’t get in the way of her rotund middle even after the most lavish of lunches and cushy chairs with suitably high weight limits.

Being so comfortable only made it easier for her to blimp up, which was just fine with her. Her weight gain had been far from accidental. As a skinny kid, she’d dreamt of getting absolutely huge, and she’d spent her college years purposely slowing her metabolism and glutting herself until she had the belly hang and fat backside she’d always wanted. When she looked in the mirror, she was delighted to see the overfed piglet she’d become staring back at her.

Squeezed onto her old twin bed, though, it was hard to feel quite so happy with her figure. It was just so small, to the point that bits of her were actually hanging off the edges of it no matter which way she turned. When she rolled over to try and get more comfortable, the whole thing creaked and shifted horribly underneath her, squeaking out a warning telling her not to move too fast or the whole thing might collapse. She grabbed her phone from her old nightstand—the one she’d covered with faded stickers designed to look like all her favorite desserts; she’d told people she was just really into baking and making sweets when they’d asked about them—and checked the time. Nearly two in the morning.

She knew her parents had a full day of activities planned for them. Her mother would probably be banging down her door right at 6:30 asking why she wasn’t already up. Maybe if they’d invested in a decent bed, I’d be able to get enough sleep to wake up early, she thought with a grumble. But she couldn’t magically fix the bed, so instead she opened up her favorite meditation app and put on a sleep meditation that she hoped would help her relax enough to get at least a few hours of shuteye.

It was normal enough at first: telling her to breathe deeply, then instructing her to relax her toes, feet, legs, asking her to sink fully into the mattress—the same sort of thing one might expect in every meditation. At least, right up until the person in the recording said, “I promise the mattress will hold you.” She gave a sleepy snort of laughter. Sleep meditations could be weird (she’d listened to one that had told her to “feel your teeth in your mouth,” which was frankly horrifying), but insisting that her mattress would be stable enough to hold her was frankly comical given the night she was having.

She giggled a little more, then shifted in bed, slowly heaving herself around so she went from sleeping on her right side to her left. The bed creaked and swayed beneath her, then grew still as she finally settled in again. She tried to get back to following the meditation, stopping her quiet laughter and slowing her breathing—and then made the fatal error of adjusting one plump leg just the wrong way. That was the last straw for her old twin bed, which gave a loud crack before depositing the mattress haphazardly on the floor.

She sat up, swearing and breathing a little heavily. It had been a while since she’d broken something like this. She’d forgotten how hot it could be to feel furniture give way beneath her.

Ironically, now that the mattress was on the floor, she was far more comfortable. No more creaky bed frame to keep her awake, after all. And, surprisingly, even after she waited a few minutes, neither of her parents seemed to have been woken up by the incident.

Her hands drifted down the soft swell of her body. She bit her bottom lip as she marveled over just how huge she’d gotten. So big she couldn’t see much over the apogee of her stomach now that she was flat on her back. So massive she was having to push her belly to the side to reach between her wobbly thighs. So huge you broke a bed, she thought as she stifled a moan against her soft palm. So fat you’re going to have a hard time picking yourself up off the floor in the morning, she told herself, her heels pressing hard into the mattress. So fat you’re only going to get bigger, she thought with a little cry in her throat.

Almost immediately after she finished, she felt her eyes fluttering closed, sleep clouding her mind.

She really needed to come home more often.