Chapter Text
Abigail had never meant for things to go so far. If she was being honest, she hadn’t imagined anything would happen at all. Sure, she’d been scheming and actively sabotaging someone’s life for months, but she had always figured something would stop her. The world couldn’t be so unkind as to let her have this much control.
But here she was, with Bethany, her high school crush, sprawled out on her couch, her eye makeup smeared from hours of crying over her boring husband, the buttons of her shirt straining with all they were worth to keep pounds of excess flesh from heaving outward for all (or at least Abigail) to see.
All her petty plotting had worked, and though she didn’t feel right about it, she couldn’t help but indulge in some smug satisfaction.
***
Abigail’s crush on Bethany started on the first day of Abigail’s freshman year of high school. She hadn’t even known Bethany’s name at first. They had the same PE period but were in different classes since Bethany was a year older.
Bethany was pretty in a way that stood out from everyone else at school. She was a head taller than most of the boys, and she looked more like she belonged on the local community college campus than at their high school. She had thick black hair that hung nearly to her waist that she always left loose, even when they all had to run laps around the track. Abigail had never seen a girl look so confident without even trying. She was starstruck.
Her obsession with Bethany was also the reason Abigail started to suspect she might be gay. She thought about Bethany constantly, and often found herself doodling the older girl’s name in looping script on scraps of paper like something out of an ‘80s high school rom-com. But she was too scared to ever ask her out, especially since Bethany was a year older and only seemed to date boys. And was Abigail even really gay, anyway? Maybe she just really wanted to be friends with her. (But friends didn’t want to kiss each other, did they?)
So Abigail admired her from afar, never daring to get to know the other girl all that well for fear she might accidentally confess her feelings.
Bottled up tight, those feelings only got stranger over time. Because of course Bethany would help Abigail come to not just one realization about her sexuality, but two.
The second revelation came when they both attended the same party. Someone had ordered pizza, and after many rounds of beer pong, a group of kids decided to have an eating contest. Bethany joined in, of course. She was always game. Abigail was hidden in the crowd, watching intently, cheering for Bethany to win.
Slice after slice of cheap, greasy pizza disappeared down drunken teenage gullets. Bethany ate messily and with gusto, licking grease from fingers as she went. Every kid stuffed themselves, but Bethany went above and beyond. She unbuttoned her jeans after her sixth slice, food-rounded belly pooching out above the barest peek of floral underwear. Abigail nearly fainted when she noticed the small stick-and-poke tattoo in the spot that would normally be above Bethany’s pelvic bone, but instead was now stretched ever so slightly along the bottom curve of her stomach. In the end, Bethany won, having finished two entire extra large pizzas all on her own. She lifted up her shirt and patted her distended midsection, laughing as the crowd of high schoolers cheered for her.
Abigail went home shortly afterward. She had no words for what she’d seen or how it made her feel. All she knew was that the thought of Bethany stuffing her face was the catalyst for her first orgasm.
After that, instead of secretly doodling Bethany’s name, she began filling sketchbooks with crude drawings of her crush, food baby and all. Over time, she started drawing other girls, and other fantasies: a girl with a funnel in her mouth being bloated up with water; a girl who had eaten so much the button on her pants popped off, her expression surprised and embarrassed; girls with different body parts expanded to distorted proportions—breasts that were several feet in diameter, or comically wide hips, or asses that were larger than their entire bodies.
But she wasn’t satisfied with her own doodles. She poked around the internet, hoping someone out there felt the same way, and was shocked to find a treasure trove of content. To her absolute delight, there were a whole lot of people who drew art like hers, and she found entire communities dedicated to different types of expanded bodies. There were slim girls with food babies, all different types of inflation art, impossibly muscular women, and… fat women. Fat women of all shapes and sizes, from alluringly chubby to immobile, drawn in a thousand different art styles and positions. Abigail felt something short-circuit in her brain. Because she hadn’t just liked seeing Bethany’s body rounded—she’d liked seeing it rounded with food. She’d watched her crush eat and eat and eat and had only wanted to see her do it more, do it forever.
She’d wanted to watch Bethany get fat.
Once she admitted that to herself, it was like she’d unlocked something. She drew constantly, finding ways to fatten her crush up on paper since she knew it could never happen in real life. She borrowed books on anatomy from the library and studied photos of the fattest models she could find online. Her art improved by leaps and bounds. She even started thinking about applying for art school and began drawing things that she could actually put into a portfolio without raising odd questions.
The art took on a purpose of its own. The importance of her crush faded as she dove into her love for art, and she stopped drawing versions of Bethany. The older girl graduated and Abigail applied to art school across the country. To her surprise, she even got in.
College was a vivifying experience. There seemed to be no shortage of queer fat girls on campus for Abigail to sink her teeth into. She’d come to terms with her sexuality by the time she graduated high school, but it still surprised her that anyone—and most especially people she found mind-bendingly hot—would want to be with her. Some of the girls she met even shared her proclivities, and she actually got to live out some of her fantasies, helping women stuff themselves in real life.
When she lost her feeder virginity, it was to a bubbly brunette who was in her life drawing class. The girl toed the line somewhere between chubby and fat. She asked Abigail out for ice cream one afternoon, and Abigail had watched, stunned, as she packed away two massive waffle cones before Abigail had even managed to finish her single-scoop sugar cone. They eventually wound up in the brunette’s dorm, where she practically demanded that Abigail worship her belly. She didn’t need to ask twice. And when she pulled a pack of Oreos out from her bedside table, she didn’t even need to tell Abigail to feed her.
They didn’t have much in common otherwise, so they were never exclusive, and their semi-regular feeding sessions ended after a few months once the once-chubby-now-fat brunette ended up with an actual girlfriend.
It was a little bit of a bummer, but not a huge blow. Abigail was busy building up a following as a fetish artist. Her skills were constantly improving thanks to her genuine dedication to her coursework. She’d even started getting paid to do commissions, which she could hardly believe. She’d come so far since those first doodles of Bethany with a belly rounded with pizza and beer.
Abigail also discovered a darker side of herself. She found that as much as she enjoyed consensual feeding sessions, she also found pleasure in tempting those who wouldn’t have otherwise agreed to being fattened up. She was always ready to encourage someone’s appetite, or bring buttery baked goods to a study session. Sometimes she went further, interrupting friends’ workouts on purpose, or finding ways to sneak excess calories into treats she made for them. She may have also taken advantage of people at their low points, always swooping in right after a breakup with gallons of ice cream and pounds of chocolate.
No one could be friends with her without putting on at least a few pounds (and usually much more than a few). But no one really seemed to notice or care. She knew it was wrong, but it was so fucking hot to watch an unsuspecting girl pack on twenty pounds in a semester that she kept doing it anyway, funding her friends’ growing appetites with commission money. She didn’t dwell on the ethics of it much. She was too busy having fun.
By the end of her college career, she was known for throwing near-orgiastic dinner parties that inevitably became impromptu slumber parties because everyone was too full to waddle home.
But all good things must come to an end eventually. In this case, it ended with her and her college friends graduating and scattering across the country. Abigail ended up moving back to her hometown. She found an office job, and while it didn’t utilize her degree in the least, it did mean she had some energy to draw in the evenings.
Entirely by chance, Bethany happened to work in that same office. When Abigail first ran into her in the breakroom, she did a double take, unable to believe her high school crush had not long since moved on to bigger and better things. She still looked exactly the same (it had only been five years, after all). Now that Abigail had developed a proper taste for big girls who were getting bigger, though, Bethany’s slim figure didn’t do much for her. She still had the toned, athletic build of a runner even though she hadn’t actually exercised since high school P.E. Some girls were just like that, Abigail had realized. How funny that her first crush and the object of so many of her earliest weight gain fantasies was so naturally slim.
Yes, Abigail was definitely over Bethany, and knew deep down that the real-life Bethany wasn’t her type anyway.
Or at least, that was what she thought until she noticed the ring on Bethany’s left hand as she showed off the little speck of a diamond to another coworker.
Abigail couldn’t believe that Bethany was married, and so soon after high school. Some internet sleuthing told her she’d gotten married only a year after she’d graduated. And it hadn’t even been because she got knocked up! The guy, “Porter,” seemed completely charmless, too. If you had asked Abigail to draw “the most average man,” he was who she would’ve come up with. From the info she could find, he worked at some dull office job in the next town over. His online presence was deeply boring. He didn’t post much, and when he did, it was cold takes about Marvel movies and memes with Minions on them that had been reposted so many times the images had begun to distort. Had Abigail not known and gone to school with a dozen guys exactly like him, she wouldn’t have believed a man so devoid of personality and attractiveness could even exist.
Looking at pictures of them together turned Abigail’s stomach. There was Bethany, so beautiful and charismatic that she really could’ve gone on to do something interesting, yoked to some complete schlub. Every photo of her hanging on to her dishwater-dull husband felt like the twist of a knife in Abigail’s gut.
The logical part of Abigail’s brain knew that Bethany, who had apparently never left their state, had no aspirations to anything exciting, and whose belly was still astonishingly flat after several years of marriage, was not a great fit for her. She didn’t even know if Bethany had any interest in women. But that didn’t stop jealousy from burning through Abigail’s chest and making her feel as if something had been stolen from her.
Abigail would sit in her apartment, scrolling through Facebook and Instagram, seething. Here was a photo of Bethany “out with the girls!!!” at the more upscale bar in town. There was a video of Bethany, still a party girl who liked to outdo everyone, doing a keg stand. Here a photo of her kissing her husband’s cheek (ugh), and another, and another. She couldn’t even explain why all of it made her so upset. She’d never dated Bethany. To be honest, she barely knew her. They didn’t seem to share any interests. But the fact that Bethany was married, and to someone so bland, rankled.
One day, a few weeks into her new job, she ran into Bethany in the breakroom. They chatted for a bit, and Bethany fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. A vicious thought poked at Abigail’s brain: What if you got her so fat her wedding ring didn’t fit anymore? Abigail was surprised at herself. It had been one thing to fuck around in college and fatten up the people in her orbit, but to do it at work? To someone she’d known for years?
The thought occupied her mind for days, needling at her again and again. Unwanted questions popped into her brain: If Bethany got too fat for her wedding ring, would she be too fat for her husband? What if Abigail was there, ready with a shoulder to cry on and a plateful of soft, fresh chocolate chip cookies to soothe Bethany’s pain? What if Bethany could be hers?
Ridiculous. Abigail wasn’t exactly a great person, but she wasn’t so horrible that she would attempt to break up a woman’s marriage, and especially not by fattening her up against her will.
Old habits die harder than one might like, however, and a few days later, she found herself leaving the house early to pick up a few dozen donuts “for the office.” A nice treat for her coworkers, to boost morale and whatever. When she arrived at work with the massive box of pastries, she found herself making the rounds at people’s desks, greeting them cheerfully and letting them get “first dibs” before she put the box in the breakroom. When she got to Bethany’s desk, she was surprised that her crush chose an apple fritter—probably the most calorie-dense option of the bunch. Abigail rode the high of seeing her high school crush take a huge bite of fried pastry before 9 a.m. for days.
She tried to let that be it. Promised herself bringing in donuts would just be a one-time thing. And she kept that promise at first. But then there was a deal on breakfast sandwiches, and she convinced herself that they were okay to bring those in since they weren’t pure sugar. Nevermind that each sandwich was slathered in butter and stuffed with greasy, fatty meats and cheese. A week later, she felt an uncontrollable urge to practice her cake frosting technique, and of course the result ended up at the office. A week after that, she went on a cookie-baking binge, baking a new flavor each day to her coworkers’ delight.
Her promise not to bring donuts in again was irrelevant in the end; there were so many other delicious things to share with her new coworkers that did not happen to be donuts.
As she brought various treats in, other coworkers took it as a cue to show off their own culinary talents. It was a rare day when there wasn’t something sitting in the breakroom to tempt everyone who walked in for their morning coffee. Abigail definitely took note of who partook most often, and got more pleasure than she should have when people were clearly beginning to outgrow their clothes.
The one person who would’ve been most satisfying to see blimp up was, of course, immune to the calorically dense breakroom treat bonanza. Bethany tried things here and there, her figure as resilient in her late twenties as it had been in high school. The one positive for Abigail was that the food gave them an excuse to chat more often in the breakroom. (Abigail refused to admit to herself how fast her heart would start beating every time they spoke.) Bethany often talked about how much she admired everyone’s cooking abilities, and Abigail’s in particular. “I’m so glad we never got close in high school,” she teased one day. “They’d have had to roll me across the stage at graduation.” They’d both laughed and then headed back to their desks. Abigail may or may not have worked that concept into a comic not long after.
A few months passed and those chats with Bethany eventually led to them exchanging phone numbers after Bethany asked for Abigail to share some of her recipes. “I’m not the best cook, and I know my hubby would love some of the stuff you’ve made!” Abigail chose not to say anything about how much the word “hubby” set her teeth on edge and shared the recipes, indulging for a moment in thinking of Bethany’s belly packed full of cheesy baked pasta, fried fish, and peach cobbler.
The day after, Bethany walked up to her desk, looking sheepish. “This is so silly, but… I totally burned that pasta recipe you sent me. My hubby was so bummed! He’s heard me raving about what a good cook you are and really wanted to try it.”
“Aw, that’s too bad!” Abigail said sympathetically, inwardly kicking herself for how adorable she found Bethany’s ineptitude in the kitchen.
“It’s so embarrassing! I just never really cooked growing up, and usually Porter cooks, but he’s been working a ton of overtime so we can buy a house, and now it’s on me.”
Abigail nodded, internally rolling her eyes. Seriously? Porter couldn’t spare some time to meal prep for his ridiculously hot wife who couldn’t cook to save her life?
“Do you… do you think you could… teach me?” Bethany cast her eyes down. She was clearly ashamed, and Abigail was having none of that. Who cared if Bethany could cook? Porter probably couldn’t tell the difference between a microwaved Salisbury steak and filet mignon if it poked him in the eye.
Abigail had never taught anyone to cook, but she figured it couldn’t be that hard. And besides, that would mean Bethany would have to do a whole lot of taste-testing… “I’d be happy to teach you!” she said, with maybe too much enthusiasm.
“It doesn’t have to be like, super fancy or anything, but even if I could just make a few things, it would make him so happy.” Her big brown eyes were so earnest, and her lower lip pouted out slightly, like she was about to cry. Damn, she must’ve really fucked up that pasta bake.
“No worries at all. Cooking doesn’t come naturally to everyone. When should I come over? I can—”
Bethany grimaced a little. “Um, I know it’s super short notice, but… would you be willing to come over today after work? I don’t have anything made and I don’t really know what to do.”
“O-oh.” Abigail hadn’t prepared for that. She’d expected at least a few days to mentally prepare, but now she’d only have a few hours. “Uh, sure. Totally. I didn’t have plans.” She’d said that way too fast. “I’ll think of some recipes and make a list since I’ve got a pretty light workload today. We can stop at the grocery store and get the ingredients, and then head to your place.”
The relief rolling off of Bethany’s shoulders was palpable, and her smile was radiant. “You’re a life-saver!”