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“It's about damn time,” Ryan grumbled as the door to his bedroom swung open. James smiled pleasantly and stepped into the room, brandishing his tray of food like a shield.
“Good morning, Ryan,” he said. “Sounds like you're ready for breakfast?”
“And it…sounds like…you're late,” he huffed. “How am I supposed to game on an -” he paused to let out a rattling burp, “-empty stomach?”
“I'm sorry,” James said instead of pointing out the crumpled chip bags lying on Ryan's chest. His moobs were covered in crumbs and his nightshirt from yesterday was rucked up to his neck- at least, where his neck used to be before it was swallowed by his chins. As of now, it was wedged underneath a thick layer of fat and visibly wet from being tucked into the dark, humid crevice.
“Walk faster,” Ryan snapped. “I'm starving.” Ryan always swore the snacks James left him at night weren't nearly enough. James had tried giving him more, but at some point, he realized Ryan wouldn't sleep until all the snacks were gone, and if you gave him the chance, he would gorge himself until dawn and demand breakfast anyway. It was better to limit the snacks and make sure he got some sleep - he was always less cranky that way.
This
was less cranky - Ryan's piggish face was already red with anger, his fat cheeks puffed out and his jowls quivering with anger. James quickened his pace and set the tray of food down on the bedside table.
“I've got some breakfast for you right here,” James assured. “What would you like to start with?” Before Ryan could complain, James held the plates up in the slim area where Ryan’s field of vision hadn't been obscured by his fat. He could only really see in front of him due to the size of his cheeks and how his neck fat prevented him from looking down - in fact, he heard more than saw James enter the room each morning, waiting for the creak of the door to begin his tirade.
“The pancakes,” Ryan said at last. “They've got-”
“-bacon in them, yes,” James said. “And chocolate chips, and butter pats, and those little syrup crystals like in the McGriddle, just like you asked.”
Ryan grumbled. “Better have extra whipped cream on top, too.”
James shook the empty can of whipped cream on the tray and picked up a fork full of pancakes. Ryan ate steadily and messily, chewing open-mouthed and letting food drop onto his chins. He hated it when James tried to wipe him down while he was eating - called it a ‘damn distraction’ - so James just watched as he became messier and messier, consuming pancakes and full packages of sausage and bacon.
“Next time, you-” Ryan paused to burp again. His cheeks wobbled as he did and James had to move the fork before a bite of sausage and gravy got knocked off by them. “You should make more,” he continued. “Barely any hash browns. Fucking stingy.” ‘Barely any’ was twelve triangle-shaped hash browns, pan
and
deep-fried as requested. James, who had long since outgrown the desire to gripe back at Ryan for his less-than-pleasant bedside manner, smiled again.
“Of course. I'll make sure to bring you extra snacks to compensate.”
Feeding Ryan breakfast usually took about an hour, with another half hour after that to try and clean him up, and then another half hour to set up his snacks. By then, Ryan was fuming about being late to his discord call with his ‘kitten’ - some girl from Alaska who thought he was a wealthy businessman with a niche gaming hobby. How she missed the reality that Ryan was an unemployed land whale who needed an assistant to help him wipe his face, James couldn't say. Ryan was practically incapable of getting through a sentence without stopping to wheeze, and he burped without restraint or excuse constantly. James supposed he might have tried to pull it together for his ‘kitten’, but really- how together could he get?
“Get out of here,” Ryan snapped when James was still in the middle of setting out his snacks. It took a while because Ryan made him unwrap each Twinkie or Zebra Cake and set them within reach before leaving. The only place in Ryan's reach were his expansive breasts and stomach, the same place where his extra-wide keyboard sat, meaning James had to perform a bit of careful food-based architecture to make sure Ryan wasn't smashing oatmeal cream pies into it.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
“Yes!” Ryan snapped. His pendulous arm fat was swinging wildly as he tried to cram on his headset. The microphone was stuck in his cheek fat and his sausage-like fingers were struggling to free it. “Help me with this…hah, fuck - mic and get
out
!”
James finally looked towards Ryan’s mounted computer screen and saw his (really rather pretty) discord kitten calling him. No wonder he was in such a hurry. James adjusted the headset and wiped Ryan’s mouth a final time before scurrying outside of the room.
Once he was outside, there really wasn't much to do. As Ryan's live-in assistant - and oh, how Ryan
loved
to brag about having a personal assistant to his kitten - his day revolved around the man. Hourly snack refreshes, three large meals a day, twice daily bed baths. All of these were things done while Ryan released a constant stream of vitriol at him and sat on his ass playing League of Legends. James knew that if he was anyone else, he probably would have quit ages ago. To anyone else, there would have been nothing in it for them, nothing that could make it worth it. But to him…well, Ryan was special. Three years ago, back when Ryan was just beginning to tip into immobility, they had met on a rinky dink website that matched people with similar fetishes. Ryan had admitted openly that while he didn't have a fat fetish, he did need a live-in assistant who was fine with not being paid.
All my money goes to food, rent, and games
, he said,
but I'll let you fuck me or whatever if you're cool with paying your own way.
The offer had been lying dormant until James - who had a sizable inheritance, a humiliation fetish, and abysmal luck finding mean feedees - had stumbled upon it.
James wandered into the kitchen to throw away the hostess packages and jolted when his phone buzzed in his pocket. On the screen was a notification- a reminder titled ‘weigh-in day’. A combination of lust and dread shot through him as he read it. Ryan was always the worst on weigh-in day. Weighing Ryan pulled him away from his two stabilizing forces - food and games - and when those were gone, he became irate. He had to get out of bed, too, and stand because he had outgrown his last wheelchair and James hadn't bought a replacement. Still…it was exciting to see how big he had grown. How much his gluttony was affecting him. To force him to confront how much of a pig he had become.
James tidied up for another hour and then knocked on the door.
“Hold up, kitten,” Ryan said. His voice was more muffled than usual through the door - how did the girl not know he was eating? “It's my assistant. Come in, James.”
James stepped into the room and put on his ‘good assistant’ voice. “Mr. Fields, do you have a moment?”
“Yes,” Ryan replied. His face and keyboard were both smeared with chocolate. “Just let me mute for a moment.” He pressed a button and then released a long, wet burp. “Fuck, I was…hah, tired of holding that in. Do you,” he burped again, “have more snacks?”
James shook his head. “It's weigh-in day. Make up an excuse for your girlfriend.”
“Fuck off,” Ryan grumbled. “We'll do it tomorrow.”
“We'll do it today,” James refuted pleasantly. He didn't get to be like this often - forcing his way on Ryan instead of the other way around - but that was part of the thrill of weigh-in day.
“Fuck you,” Ryan sighed, but he started typing out a reply to his girlfriend. When he finished, he shoved his keyboard further down his stomach and waited for James to collect it. “Just make it quick.”
It was never quick. James knew it, Ryan knew it, but it was like he couldn't admit the truth of the matter - that he had sold himself, mind and body, for the opportunity to get fatter. He was hugely, ridiculously fat now, so fat that
nothing
was quick, not even the constant, inexorable march of food into his mouth. Weigh-in would take as long as Ryan made everything take, and neither of them could do a thing about it.
“Let's start with your shirt,” James said. He walked towards the bed and unstuck Ryan's sweaty nightshirt from his neck. “Do you want a new one or do you want me to fix this one?” A new one would entail a bed bath, which meant longer without food. James knew the answer before Ryan said it.
“Just pull it down.” James smiled at him and started working the tight fabric over his chest. Ryan's face flushed as James pulled the shirt down and it stuck by his chest. All of Ryan's shirts were too small by this point - buying him new ones was yet another task James had been putting off, hoping that Ryan would accept the idea of going shirtless. James tugged again, harder, and managed to get the shirt around the crest of his stomach before he heard a loud
rip.
“That's as far as we'll get it, I think,” James said.
“I could have told you that,” Ryan snapped. “You ruined my favorite fucking shirt.”
“I'm going to get the lift now, okay?” James continued, ignoring Ryan. He moved towards the closet and pulled out the lift. He brought it to the side of Ryan's bed and then fiddled with the remote of Ryan's bariatric until he was pushed up into a sitting position. Like this, his wheezy gasps were even louder. The fat of his stomach pushed his moobs and chin fat up, compressing his chest until he must have felt like he was choking. Usually, James never sat him up very far, but he needed Ryan to be ready to stand. He wrapped the sling around Ryan's lower back, watching his back fat ooze out of the top of it. He lifted each gargantuan leg and placed the sling under them too, then reached under the soft, pillowy overhang of Ryan's stomach to grab at the straps of the sling. He attached them, ignoring that they, too, were soaked in sweat already.
“I hate this thing,” Ryan puffed. “It chafes, and I-” he paused to suck in a breath, “can’t breathe.”
“It chafes because your shirt doesn't fit,” James responded. “And I'll get you out of it soon- we're only using it to get you standing.” James maneuvered Ryan with the lift until he was upright, then held it still as Ryan took two shuffling steps forward and staggered onto his feet. Ryan gasped in relief when the pressure from sitting was gone, then moaned as the pain in his legs registered.
“Fuck,” he spat. “Do we…hah, have to do this? Why don't you buy the- the-”
“The bed scale?” James finished. Ryan nodded. His arms were gripping the lift for dear life, the fat of his upper arms trembling wildly as he tried to get a decent grip with his chubby hands. (James was surprised that Ryan could even type, most days. His fingers were so large they forced his hands to spread out into a pudgy star.) “The bed scale is too expensive right now. I'll buy it when you really can't move anymore.”
Ryan fell into a mutinous silence, clearly caught between wanting the scale and a refusal to admit he was entirely bedbound now. James maneuvered the lift away from the bed and towards Ryan's bedroom door, noting with pleasure that Ryan's fat sides scraped against the doorway as he was wheeled through. His clothes, his wheelchair, the door - Ryan was outgrowing everything. Maybe next year, on weighing day, they
would
be using a bed-scale, in a bigger house with an open floor plan. For now, though, James focused on wheeling Ryan across the living room - ignoring the burp that was jostled out of him when they ran over a jump in the carpet - and up to the scale.
“Ready for the dismount?” James asked.
Ryan shook his head petulantly. “Wanna…hah…sit down. My legs…”
“In a moment, Ryan, alright? You just have to get on the scale.” The scale was a wide, industrial behemoth that was a solid two feet across. James leaned down to turn it on and watched the screen flicker to life. The maximum on this one was a thousand pounds - if they had any luck, Ryan would step on and receive an error message like he had with the six previous scales they had over the years. James was feeling lucky, so he turned to Ryan. “Hold on tight. I'm going to take off the sling.” Ryan did his best imitation of a nod - his topmost chin burrowed into his neck fat and then sprung back up a moment later - and clenched his chubby fists tighter. James turned the lift so that Ryan could stumble backward onto the scale and up against the wall, then undid the sling. Ryan took a step back. When he bumped into the wall, he burped again, and his stomach followed that with a sonorous rumble. They waited with bated breath until the scale beeped and James helped Ryan back onto the lift. “What do you think it says?” James asked.
“I don't care,” Ryan snapped. “Take me back to bed.”
“In a minute.” James looked down at the scale and saw a big, round, 950 staring back at him. “Almost,” he murmured.
“What'd you say?” Ryan asked.
“Nothing,” James responded. As he pushed Ryan back to the bedroom, he decided that he would go back to letting Ryan eat all night.
Ryan was no less irate when he got back in bed. They had missed lunch because of the weigh-in, and since James hadn't prepared it in advance, he had to wait for another hour and a half for the food to finish. He spat muffled insults as James leveled forkful after forkful of lasagna into his mouth and rejected the meager salad James suggested immediately. “I'm not a- hurp - fucking rabbit. Give me more garlic bread.” James gave it to him. He gave him everything- the lasagna and garlic bread, a gallon of ice cream when he demanded it half an hour later, a pot of spaghetti for a pre-dinner snack, 3 family sized KFC boneless wings buckets with extra-large sides for dinner. Ryan and James both knew that after his weigh-in, Ryan got to eat whatever he wanted. It was tradition because his stomach was so much sweeter to play with when it was drum-tight. And why wouldn't James want it to be fullest on weigh-in day - he only got to fuck Ryan once a month, after all.
Ryan let out a rumbling burp and hummed happily when James set his keyboard back on his chest.
“Don't go crazy,” Ryan warned. “I told Chrissy I'd call her back.”
“Sure, whatever,” James said. The huge, pale mound of his stomach was irresistible - he couldn't be held responsible for the noises he made while fucking it.
“I mean it,” Ryan hissed. “
Gentle.
I don't want to burp on vc.”
“Then don't do vc,” James growled. His patience was growing short the closer and closer he got to fucking Ryan. He was so nice all the time, brought him food, and cleaned him up day in and day out, all so he could let loose on this one night. He wasn't being fucking
gentle.
Ryan opened his mouth to complain but switched tracks abruptly when the tinny voice of his girlfriend came through his headphone speakers. James ignored them and undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. He climbed onto the bed - jostling a smothered burp out of Ryan - and spread his thighs wide over Ryan's fat thigh. Already, the wet tip of his cock brushed against the deep crevice of Ryan's belly button. James pushed in and groaned gutturally; inside was all hot, firm pressure and fatty softness. It was better than normal sex for him, the feeling of slipping into the softness
he
had made.
“That noise?” Ryan said above him. He shot James a venomous glare. “Just my desk groaning. I think my PC is too heavy for it.”
Something's heavy
, James thought. He thrust in again, stopping now and then to smear his pre-cum down his cock and ease the glide. Slippery, wet noises echoed in the room as James picked up his pace, sinking deeper and deeper until his cock was nearly swallowed by the depths of Ryan's belly button. “Stupid plumber left a leak,” Ryan stuttered into his mic. “Yeah, it d-does kind of sound sticky.” He grabbed at James’ hair with a fat fist and tried to stop him from thrusting. James ignored him, letting the sting drive him forward harder, faster. Ryan's body moved everywhere except for the hard, red crest at the very top of his belly, where he'd eaten so much that his stomach was still swollen and full. It was like a pond of pale skin, moved only by James throwing stones. James thrust in again and heard Ryan smother a burp. One chubby fist closed tighter around James’ hair and the other reached down to try and grab at his shoulder. Ryan couldn't reach over his stomach, though, his arm fat getting tangled with his moobs and the spare tires by his armpit. Struck with a sudden, mean-spirited inspiration, James reached up past Ryan’s flailing hand and grabbed Ryan's moobs, so thick they spilled out between his fingers. Ryan rumbled up another burp and blamed the noise on a discord glitch. James thrust harder, harder, until-
Ryan belched, a sound so long and loud that it was unmistakable. The lies he'd been spreading throughout the conversation- that his mic was cutting in and out, that his computer was muting randomly - exposed themselves in an instant. Still fucking him, panting like a racehorse, not even bothering to be quiet, James heard the girl say “
Um, Ryan, was that you?”
“I've, uh - ouarp, shit - gotta - urp - go, babe,” Ryan wheezed. He ended the call and slapped James. “Fuck, hah, you!” He yelled. “You always-” he stopped here to moan as James tweaked at his nipples, already peaked and ridiculously sensitive. “-always do this!”
“This one wasn't that into you,” James said dismissively. “You should have made up with -
fuck
- Sara.”
“Sara blocked me!” Ryan huffed. “After
you
…hah, turned my camera on…hah, without telling me!”
James shrugged and pressed his hands around Ryan's belly button, condensing the hot, wet flesh even closer around himself.
“Her loss,” he panted. He was close now. Ryan's belly button was so wet, and Ryan was red and sweaty from all the movement, more than Ryan could ever manage on his own. It was
James
moving him,
James
who could reach up and shift his moobs, slap his stomach, fumble a hand under Ryan's fupa, and grab at his dripping cock. It was James who could lean up and bite into the flesh of his chins, leaving hickeys that Ryan wouldn't even be able to see, much less cover. And, James thought as he came into Ryan's belly button and jerked Ryan off until he came with him, it was James who was going to make him break that scale.
James flopped over on top of Ryan's stomach and Ryan gave another, exhausted
urp
.
“Get off,” he wheezed. “Can't breathe with you on top of me.”
“In a minute.”
“James-”
“Shut up,” James groaned. He rolled off of Ryan and slapped around blindly until he found a Twinkie on the bedside table. He unwrapped it and flung it vaguely in the direction of Ryan's mouth. “Eat that. I'll wipe you down when I wake up.” James could imagine the look of wrinkled disgust puckering on Ryan's face, but all he
heard
was the sound of chewing. Today, like every day, James thanked the heavens that Ryan was such a pig.