Hardly Much Company (Patreon)

Full details at the bottom if you’d like to go in blind, but just a heads up, this one alludes to a few darker tones, given it’s a twist on some older wg story tropes I remember reading back in the day, while written in the second person as the feeder essentially. If you’re concerned about that, maybe check the notes before diving in.

|||

She’s reached that bittersweet point where she’s hardly much company now. It’s kind of a shame, since you were enjoying the banter that led you both here.

But you’re almost impressed with yourself. The way she talked originally? The way she carried herself so confidently? Defiantly? You never would’ve expected such a smart, self-assured woman to give in so easily. And yet getting her here, to this point, was far easier than you had ever anticipated. Not that there was any doubt things wouldn’t ultimately come to this eventually. They always do. No one can resist forever. But in the back of your mind, you start to wonder, has your conjuring really progressed all that much further from the last time, or on some level, did she just simply want this?

With a monstrously overstuffed, yet half-eaten eclair in hand, she lets out another guttural, humming moan, denoting her satisfaction. But you realize that in this current state, that satisfaction is entirely conditional. Ever-fleeting. It must be constantly maintained. And so that moan becomes your cue to act.

With a wave of your hand, the table once again starts to replenish itself. You know from experience, simply by virtue of her being but a mortal, she is unable to see it happen. That what you’ve done is something just vaguely happening in the peripheral of her vision, where recently cleaned plates set to the side suddenly become no longer empty, renewing this cycle.

The futility of it’s a little funny to you. The sense that whether she’s been driven by compulsion or not, she’s spent nearly an hour diligently attempting to clear the table that was creaking under the weight of all the decadent confections you set out for her, & yet with the simple wave of your hand, all of that progress she made is just wiped away. And “dessert” starts anew.

It’s usually at this point where it always became abundantly, crushingly clear to the other volunteers that they had been had. That something was up. While they might be naive to all the magicks at play, the simple reality of the never-ceasing hunger driving them to act more & more on base impulse, & the reset of a nigh-infinite table of sugary-sweet goodies set before them both lent to a sense of being hopelessly trapped. Destined to continue gorging themselves & completely powerless to do anything about it. Which would in turn cause a palpable, unspoken melancholy, or shame to strike them as they continued to consume. But this woman was different.

With the dark curls she had pulled back tightly into a puffy ponytail in preparation for this meal bouncing, she continues to maintain an eager gleam in her eyes. A sort of gusto. Her soft, round cheeks seem to almost dimple in a gleeful way as she shoves cookie after cookie past her lips. Had she somehow just not yet realized the conundrum she has found herself in? No. Given your exchange, she seems, or at least seemed, far too clever to overlook something so glaringly obvious. No, that reality should’ve been obvious to her by now, even mindlessly eating. No, it was becoming clearer to you now that she was enjoying this. She wanted this. And you oblige by refilling another plate, seven layers of delectably iced cake rising out of what was a previously cleared dish, in her honor. Without turning, she reaches out to paw for it with an unabashed feral fervor, just to have another messy mouthful of food at the ready. At this point, she unshakably has no reservations about wearing its frosting or looking like a mess. She’s far too hungry & far, far too concerned with getting more.

For all the progress she wasn’t making when it came to clearing the table, her body was starting to tell a much different story. For one, it was becoming dominated by a round, swollen gut that seemed to protrude further & further out in all directions which each bite. It pokes out between the lower buttons, either pulled or popped, of her white button down, which had started off much whiter before she lost all sense of control. As her belly grows, it reddens & starts to look a bit strained itself. You almost question how she could possibly be enjoying this, given how uncomfortably full it looks. Almost painful. A lesser woman might be trying to tap out at this point. At least if they had all of their faculties.

Luckily for her, the confections you’ve conjured are optimized for her mortal metabolism. Faintly, you’re already beginning to see the contents of her stomach start to break down, almost in real time. Her once twig-like arms seem to be softening as they flail wildly for her next bite. Her perky breasts seem to sit heavier upon her new belly. Even her formerly defined chin seems to be fading behind puffier cheeks & slowly rounding, disappearing jawline.

But you know her type. You can tell she’s the type of woman that puts her weight on lower. Given her belly, & the chair, it’s hard to make out the true effect all these desserts are having on her. But it’s definitely happening. For one, the chair is starting to creak beneath her each time she reaches. And its arms seem to be holding her back. Keeping her from reaching as easily as she wants, or seems accustomed to. Is she becoming stuck perhaps? You just hope that the softening keeps pace with how fervent her eating is. Not just out of your own predilections, but because if her belly gets any bigger, things might start to get messy. Well, messier anyway. Maybe you can provide a little assistance in that regard. Just to take the edge off.

You reach out. At first, she reacts with a snap, almost instinctually, fearing you might be trying to take her food or stop her. You’re half-scared she’s ready to take a finger. But slowly, you extend a hand & lay it on her firm belly. It’s very firm. And she doesn’t struggle or even shift in her seat. But it’s not so much that she lets you, so much as she has more important concerns in this moment. Like eating more cake. You make a soft rubbing motion, in a circle. Almost instantly you feel her belly start to relent. The swelling goes down, the firmness fading as room is made, only to watch her arms & breasts thicken to a degree. Almost like by speeding up the process, all you’re really doing is displacing the growth. You inevitably pull away as she suddenly lurches forward to grab a strawberry that rolled off a crème brûlée she inhaled earlier. From this proximity you look to see that her hips have indeed grown between the arms of the chair. Grown to fill out the chair in fact. Her ass seems almost double the size it was since you started. And you snicker as you think to yourself that’s the smallest it’s probably ever going to be from this point forward given her pace.

“Unnngh,” She winces, dropping back into the chair with a creak. Her register has become much less chirpy since the start of this, more animalistic. Throaty. Her attention turns back to the messy remains of the seven layer cake. She takes a deep lick of frosting, trying to clean her left hand before smooshing another fist of cake into her face with her right. A few wet dabs of frosting fall to her belly. She eyes them but resigns herself to getting them later, all while her free, clean hand scoops up more, becoming messy again. Her eyes almost roll to the back of her head as she tastes this next handful.

Usually, you tend to enjoy chiding the other volunteers. Teasing them for their gluttony while knowing full well they’re helpless to do anything about it. A way to lighten the mood given their often dour vibes. At least for you. But now, faced with a true glutton, you’re a bit gobsmacked. Awestruck by her more than anything. While you may have started this under false pretenses with a mischievous intent, you’re instead helping facilitate a deep-seeded fantasy of hers. And instead of disappointment, you feel this overwhelming urge to see just how far both of you can take it. How much she can take, ultimately. Because you can practically go on forever. Can she? And that’s not a kind of veiled threat. In a way, you’re rooting for her, this new, long term project of yours.

|||

Just a warm up vignette I did a little bit ago. Done mostly in one sitting with another quick pass today. 

Maybe it’s just me but I remember a couple of older weight gain stories with a darker tone where there was like a taste tester or a potential employee applying to a magic bakery & it results in the applicant basically begrudgingly turning into an eating machine? Does me remembering that set up as a thing qualify it as a trope?

Anyway they’re usually from the perspective of the feedee slowly becoming aware of what they’ve gotten themselves into. I wanted to take that idea & turn it around so it’s from the feeder’s point of view, just after the feedee’s kind of become too overwhelmed with their hunger to engage (usually where a lot of stories will stop, or just jump ahead before showing them huge later), & it’s the feeder discovering they’re giving feedee exactly what they want. So ultimately it isn’t as dark, but the set up is still maybe questionable. Just figured it’s best to warn folks before they dive too far into something that might not be for them.

Anyway back to writing & bigger projects folks have been asking for…