The Boyfriend Effect (Patreon)

Author's Note:  I did a free write today, to try and put together a (4,300 word) one-off and here is what I came up with, I hope you enjoy!  Recall I moved my posts from Sunday to Monday this month, so this post is a late post for last Monday, I'll try to get another substantive post done tomorrow.  I've got the time tomorrow since I'm calling in sick for a much needed mental health day, so all should be good in that regard.  I hope you enjoy this one-off!  Thanks for all the support!

-Polaris

Description: Elliot’s new boyfriend has an expansive effect on her waistline.

The Boyfriend Effect

By Polarisdreamer

“How long is the wait for a table?” I groaned, as I tilted my sunglasses a little lower so I could get a clearer view of just how busy my favorite Sunday brunch joint really was. My head was pounding, and my spirits were dropping, every table I could see appeared regrettably occupied.

“For two?” The young hostess chirped looking off behind me in vain to see if I had a man lagging behind in my wake. I wish.

“For one.” I sighed willing to stomach eating alone for the chance to consume my typical greasy hangover-cure a little bit faster.

“Hmm… Twenty minutes?” She replied, as I ignored her for a moment.

In the distance, hope flickered in the depths of my stomach, once my eyes spotted you. My attractive new coworker, eating alone while reading something on your phone, probably work related. Hired not even a month ago, I could sense you had a bright future ahead of you in the company. You were already making waves with your productivity, making the rest of us look bad by comparison, but I didn’t hold it against you. After all, I could tell you had eyes for me, and I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Still, to you, I was basically a stranger, but you probably could figure out a little bit about me just from looking at me. A former college party girl, now in my late 20s, I’m more of a wallflower around the office than an actual integral part of any project. Yes, I do my work, meet my deadlines, but I never go above and beyond for my job. What can I say? Unlike you, I’m a little apathetic towards the monotony of office work, so I prefer to spend my time around the office avoiding it as best I can. I derive my joy from more exciting social pursuits, like dancing and drinking at bars and nightclubs with my friends on the weekends. Although, drinking is becoming progressively less fun than it had been in my early 20s.

Subconsciously running my hand through my hair, I pondered spontaneously joining you. It was certainly better than waiting 20 minutes for a chance to order the food I was craving, but I hesitated.  I normally put more effort into my appearance, like makeup, pretty clothes, pricy heels, the whole nine yards, yet here I was, dressed like I was going to the gym… I was worried you might be less than impressed with me.

“Miss?” A voice squeaked, breaking my internal decision-making process. It was the young hostess, “Did you hear me?”

“20 minutes. Thanks. Actually, I think I see a friend from work, it’s fine if I join them, right?” I replied, as I didn’t wait for a response. Putting one foot in front of the other, I just swayed over to you as quickly as I could not caring to listen to anything the hostess might have said to try and stop me.

As I approached, I reminded myself that while I wasn’t as super fit as I was back when I was a college field hockey player, I was still approximately the same weight. Sure, I’d lost some muscle in my arms and legs, and gained a little extra fat upon my plump derriere, but I was still perky and slim where it mattered. Even without makeup, my conventional attractiveness was undeniable.

The moment I arrived beside you, I grinned as your eyes drifted away from your phone and over to my hips, and then upward to my face. Before I could say anything, you beat me to the punch, “Elliot? Nice to see you.”

“Right back at you.” I smiled, deciding to just skip the small talk and cut to the chase, “Mind if I join you? I’m starving.”

“Sure, what are you in the mood for?” You said smoothly returning my smile much to my relief.

Sitting down, I let slip my secret hangover cure, “Bacon Mac & Cheese. It’s literally so good here.”

“Wow, not what I was expecting.” You hummed looking a little caught off guard, but certainly not disappointed. Quite the opposite actually. I guess you liked a girl with a healthy appetite.

“What were you expecting?” I wondered, leaning forward, putting my elbows on the table, and resting my chin upon my hands.

“I don’t know, a salad or something.” You shrugged.

“I hate salads.” I snarled once again noticing your apparent approval in response to what I was saying.

“Hmm,” You hummed thinking about something for a second before continuing, “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal, if you can answer my next question correctly, I’ll cover the cost of your Mac & Cheese.”

“Okay! What’s the question?” I cheerfully replied without hesitating. Potential free food was always too good for me to pass up. I could never hide my gluttonous side, but lucky for me, it seemed you didn’t mind at all.

Chuckling to yourself, apparently pleased with my excitement, you replied sincerely, “What’s your phone number? I’d love to take you out sometime.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a cheesy pickup line, but like my soon to be breakfast, I couldn’t resist. Nodding my head, I gave you my number without any regrets.

Our first little informal date led to another the following evening, and then another a few days later. When we were together, you gave me your full undivided attention, treated me like I was the only girl in the whole wide world, and spoiled me rotten. Before I knew it, we were officially dating, and I had myself a genuine boyfriend for the first time in three years.

The first stage of most relationships is the honeymoon stage, and ours was no different. When we weren’t flirting at work, we were exploring famous buffets around the city every other day, beachside drinks and cocktails on the weekends, and indulging in rich desserts after sex. You paid for everything always, and I definitely took advantage of all the free food you offered me. You even invited me over to your family’s house for Thanksgiving, so I knew you were serious about dating me.

As our sleepovers increased, my visits to the gym decreased. As our infatuation for each other grew, so did your commitment to making me happy. I was always someone committed to doing the bare minimum at my job, but thanks to your kindness I could entrust a portion of my duties to you and spend even less time frying my brain on mondain office activities. Then you started bringing coffee and donuts to work for me every morning, because I hinted that something like that might be nice.

A month into our relationship, I was going through more donuts than paperwork each day. Unlike you, I loved being lazy, but you loved and supported me in my laziness in a way that nobody ever had before. We were a great match emotionally and physically. Even our kinks fit together flawlessly. You were perfect, so perfect in fact I began to question if I was in a coma or something and you were just a figment of my imagination, but alas the way you loved and ravished my body convinced me otherwise.

Although, I often wondered, if perhaps there might have been something about you lingering just under the surface that you preferred to keep hidden.  I wasn’t certain.

But two months into our relationship I was certain about something. I was gaining weight, the unavoidable love chub that came with finding yourself in a healthy and comfortable relationship. I first noticed the consequences of my gluttony with my bras. Bigger boobs were a change I welcomed, but bustier tits were soon followed by a softer tummy, fuller thighs, and a ballooning ass.

My entire adult life I’d been 5’5 and approximately 115lbs, yet now the morning of my 30th birthday, I suddenly found myself at 130lbs out of nowhere.  I didn’t blame you; I blamed my metabolism slowing down. I couldn’t stop myself from examining the damage in the reflection of your full-length bathroom mirror.

In truth, my weight was far from out of control, but when I looked at myself, I couldn’t help but notice my newfound flaws – the subtle ring of pudge around my middle, the way my butt stuck out just a little too far for my liking, the very faint thickness around my cheeks and chin that hinted at my resent history of overeating.

As I left the bathroom, I reflected on my situation.  Of course, I was gaining weight.  How could I not be?  For the last two months, I’d exercised the bare minimum and feasted practically every day like my life depended on it. I knew it was time to make a change. I promised myself that I’d get back in shape. I promised myself that today, instead of lazing about, I was going to make a change. Instead of vegging out on the couch, I was going to go to the gym and get some much-needed exercise in. I was going to park my plump butt on a treadmill and watch the extra pounds that had found their way onto my figure melt away before my very eyes.

Leaving the bathroom, I rummaged through your drawers and found some old gym clothes of mine that you’d let me leave over at your place in case I felt inclined to head from your apartment to the gym. This was actually the first time I attempted to squeeze into them since we started dating.  I hoped they still fit…

The spandex shorts were a little snugger than I would have liked, but they still fit. So did my sports bra, although I could feel it digging into my midsection much more than it used to. I was feeling a little insecure when I joined you in the kitchen for breakfast, but the way you looked at me made me feel a little bit better. Rather than spying my newfound little belly and judging me negatively, when you saw my newly thicker figure, you were speechless, in a good way, trying not to stare, but clearly interested in eye-f*cking me as best you could. You always seemed so calm, cool and in control, it was interesting seeing you a little flustered.

“Heading to the gym? You look amazing.” You complemented me, making me blush.

“Yeahhh… As much as I’d love to sit around all day snacking to my heart’s content and watching TV, it’s not exactly healthy.” I bemoaned feigning like I was pouting.

“At least have some breakfast before you go.” You tempted me, as I could smell you’d cooked me my favorite, bacon mac & cheese.

“How could I say no?” I hummed while I sat down at your kitchen table, and you served me a big plate of my hangover cure. As I ate, we talked, and I noticed your eyes watching me carefully. For whatever reason, you loved it when I indulged like this, and a part of me craved the undivided attention you gave me when I was stuffing my face. When I finished my plate, I was so invested in our conversation I didn’t even notice you fill up another and put it in front of me. Absentmindedly, as we chatted and laughed, I ate more and more, until I’d finished the entire pot of mac and cheese you’d cooked up, probably four servings worth. Looking down, my stomach bulged outward, firm and taught to the touch. I couldn’t help commenting, “Ugh… That hit the spot. I feel sooo full… I need a nap to sleep this off…”

“Wanna cuddle?” You optimistically offered, knowing I was too much of a glutton for your affection to pass it up.

“Sure do. I guess I’ll make it to the gym later.” I hummed, as you helped me up and led me into the bedroom where we got under the covers and started cuddling. You were the big spoon, and I was the little spoon. I loved feeling you press up against my butt, and I even loved the way your hands softly caressed my full aching stomach because I knew what would happen next. It turned me on, feeling you get hard pressed so close against me.

Before I new it, we were making out. Your hands were all over me and I was on cloud nine. The sex, as usual, was so seamless and fulfilling that both of us got our rocks off pretty soon after we started. It was quick but satisfying. The perfect prelude to a relaxing little nap.

When we woke up, it was past noon. I rolled around in bed to discover you’d grabbed me something sweet as a snack.

“In the mood for some dessert?” You purred, using the spoon in your hand to bring some vanilla ice cream tantalizingly close to my salivating mouth.

I accepted it into my mouth without question and hummed with delight before muttering one complaint with my mouth full, “Dessert after breakfast? Do you want a fat girlfriend? This is how you get a fat girlfriend.”

“Haha, as long as you’re my girlfriend, I could care less what you weighed.” You replied so calmly and coolly, it almost sounded like a rehearsed response.

Then I thought back to the pictures I’d seen of your exes in college, all were thicker women than I was. I recalled months ago a drunken friend of mine explaining her run-in with a chubby chaser eager to encourage her to put on some weight. She’d called him a feeder.  I couldn’t help but pick up that you might indeed have the same preference lurking there for me to slowly piece together. Although, unlike my friend, such a thing wasn’t going to scare me away.

As you fed me another scoop of ice cream and I accepted it, my curiosity grew. Rubbing my stuffed stomach to lure your eyes lower, I could tell my fullness was turning you on all over again. So, as you kept feeding me, my hand ventured under the waistband of your shorts and began to play with what you had going on down there.

When I’d finished my dessert, you laid me down, threw off my covers, and dove right in between my thighs and started going down on me with the enthusiasm I had come to expect. The kind of enthusiasm I’d grown addicted to during our short time together so far.

When you got me to the point that I couldn’t stop myself from cumming, I didn’t take a break, I wanted more. I pulled you onto the bed and stripped your clothes clean off you. You were rock hard, and I didn’t waste any time climbing on top of you and riding you. My stomach must have looked pretty big from your angle, I was so stuffed I needed to keep my hands on my belly to control how much it was jiggling up and down. Enthralled with my display, your hands moved to caress my swollen gut, doing so pushed you over the edge. I wasn’t far behind you.

Finally finished, we cuddled again, and you rubbed my belly until I was lulled into a brief slumber yet again. I never did make it to the gym. Later that day over dinner, we discussed the morning’s festivities. You were a little shy about my questions concerning your fixation with my stuffed stomach, but eventually the truth came out.

My perfect boyfriend was a feeder. All things considered, I think I took it pretty well in the moment, although I did freak out a little bit when I had some time alone.

My best friend told me to break up with you, but my heart knew she just didn’t understand. Neither did I fully, but I didn’t see your odd preference as a bad thing. I had a boyfriend who would love me no matter what I weighed, that was a blessing in my eyes. It took the pressure off, allowed me to cut myself some long-deserved slack. We continued our relationship, and I never once regretted it.

Over the next few months, we moved in together, and started incorporating more of your preferences into our sexual escapades. You introduced me to funnel feeding (in small doses), bondage feedings, and weight gain roleplaying. I loved getting to briefly explore your kinky imagination, but somehow you always left me wanting more.

I’ve always been a sub.  I love to be told what to do in sexual situations.  When you would whisper in my ear to eat more at dinner, or in the bedroom, I couldn’t resist. Nothing was better than having you grope and feel my softening figure and tell me that I’ve been doing a good job because I know that as I gain weight you find me sexier and sexier each passing day.

By the time summer rolled around, I’d gone from a thicker 130lbs to a pudgier 160lbs. When wearing jeans or tight pants, my tummy now formed a slight muffing top. The gap between my thighs is a thing of the past. My boobs and butt were getting bigger and bigger along with the rest of me. Even my arms and face appeared to be softening.

Upon returning home for a pool party at my parents’ house, they were silently horrified I’d let myself go so much. It probably didn’t help that you’d convinced me that I looked divine in a tight bikini. The rest of my family was less silent about the changes my once trim body had gone through in such a short time. A few family members even thought I might be pregnant. I found these comments amusing for the fact that they seemed to embarrass you far more than they embarrassed me. I was shy at work, and you were shy outside of work, it was a funny little contrast we had going on.

Thanks to you, I was able to replace my wardrobe as I outgrew it. Which made sense. It was your fault after all that I was putting on so much weight. Well, mostly your fault. I had to admit that I did enjoy indulging to my heart’s content day after day.

That summer we agreed on a few vacations to some east coast beaches, gulf coast beaches, and even west coach beaches. All the traveling was great fun, my motto was:

“Vacation calories don’t count!”

But in truth they certainly did. While the pace of my gain had been steady over the last year, over the summer it was much faster. So much so, that by the time fall rolled around and our one-year anniversary came and went, I wasn’t dealing with a moderate weight gain anymore. And although I was feeling great about our relationship, I wasn’t feeling great about my growing waistline.

Thanksgiving morning, my inability to button up my latest replacement pair of fat jeans prompted me to make an all-too-common mistake. I ventured upon my bathroom scale to access the damage. I knew in my heart what my brain was too sensitive to accept, so I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut before I could summon the courage to look down. Instead of facing my fears and opening my eyes, I just listened to the dial spinning back and forth as I shifted my newly considerable weight side to side.

A knock on the bathroom door from you, my loving boyfriend, was enough of a shock to snap me out of my fear induced paralysis. As you muttered something about wanting me to hurry up, I opened my eyes and looked down, past my inflated breasts and swollen potbelly at the numerical consequences of my recent feastings.

203lbs!

It was official, I wasn’t just overweight, according to my BMI, I was obese… In a little over a year since we started dating, I’d gone from 115lbs to 203lbs. I’d fattened up 88 pounds over the course of one year and I couldn’t believe it. 88 pounds in one year was unacceptable, graduating to obesity was unacceptable! At least it would have been if you hadn’t made gaining the weight and occupying a considerably fatter body so d*mn enjoyable.

At 203lbs, I was finding it slightly harder to walk around, my clothes, even new ones felt tight in places, my problem areas were my boobs, butt, and belly. I was chubby now, undeniably, I’d developed a double chin, and my thighs constantly rubbed together when I walked. There wasn’t a flight of stairs I could conquer without needing to take a five minute breather afterward.

Of course, you were there to ease my nerves and build up my self-esteem enough that I felt comfortable heading to your family’s place for thanksgiving yet again. Unlike my family, yours was much more accepting of my change in size. The only teasing comment I got was from your younger sister Brynn, when nobody else was around.

"Wow Elliot, you’ve filled out a bit.” She mercifully teased with a poke to my newly mushy torso. Her fingers sunk into my newfound belly fat. Her efforts prompted little creases and bulges of fat to appear around my chubby midsection.

I was her older brother’s formerly flawless girlfriend, and it was obvious that I had filled out quite a lot since I started dating you. Last thanksgiving when you’d first brought me home to meet your family, I’d been the center of attention dressed in a tightfitting belted dress, now I looked profoundly pudgy in a pair of supremely tight looking jeans and an undersized tank top that fit me much better 10 pounds ago.

“Unfortunately, Brynn… It happens…” I sighed trying to sound nonchalant, as I looked down upon her finger pressed into my doughy gut with disappointment, “When you start dating someone seriously, you’ll understand.”

“What do you mean?” Brynn questioned, not sure how to take my blunt sounding statement.

“Once you start dating someone for more than a year, you’ll know what I mean. My sister calls it the boyfriend effect.” I explained a little reluctantly.

“The boyfriend effect?” Brynn echoed doubtfully.

“Y’know, when you spend all your time with your boyfriend eating and drinking until even your fat pants are too tight to button.” I conveyed, as I drew her attention, to the fact that the only thing holding the waistband of my unbuttoned jeans together was a hair tie I’d latched around the button.

“No, I don’t know.” She laughed before walking away and putting the conversation behind her.

Being almost 10 years Brynn’s senior, I knew better than to get upset by her remarks. In 10 years, she’d probably find herself in my situation anyway. Instead of lingering on the conversation, my attention turned to your mother’s amazing cooking.

I couldn’t help making a pig of myself, and you couldn’t resist encouraging me. By the time we said our goodbyes you had to practically roll me to the car. I don’t know what was more stuffed, me or the turkey.

With the feeder genie out of the bottle this thanksgiving, you didn’t hold back with feeding me the leftovers when we got back home. You always kept me well fed but this was something else. The more you stuffed me, the harder it was to keep your hands off me. I loved the way you teased me:

“Wow, your belly is so round and taut, you've been such a greedy girl.  Just couldn't stop, could you?"

Although my sore swollen stomach wanted me to beg for mercy, these antics had become an indispensable part of our foreplay that turned me on to no end. Seeing you lose control only made me more eager to please. And please I did.

Stuffed to the limit, I couldn’t move much during sex, but that didn’t stop us from having a great time.

As the second year of our relationship progressed, the pace of my expansion didn’t slow down. Not one bit. Where once I was the undeniable most desirable among my group of friends, my social status had decreased as my weight increased. Around the time my weight eclipsed 250lbs over the summer, my friends grew more vocal regarding their disapproval of my weight problem. To my chubby face they said things like:

“Elliot, you better cut back on the overeating, otherwise you’ll be next up on my 600-pound life.”

“Who’s the father Elliot? Burger King??”

“When’s the last time you said no to dessert Elliot? You’re really getting fat.”

It wasn’t always easy to endure this kind of catty abuse, but thanks to you, I found a way. It was true after all that I was much fatter than I’d been only a year and a half before. My breasts had gotten so huge they were immensely sensitive to your touch. My booty jiggled when I walked, my belly formed five or six distinct rolls when I sat down, and exercise had become nearly impossible for me. My walk had turned into a waddle, and I stopped wasting my money on athletic clothes.

It was around the summer that I realized something.  I’d basically accepted my substantial weight gain even though I didn’t quite enjoy the social side of being so fat now 24/7. I loved eating, and I loved being fed. My appetite was out of control, you conditioned me to almost always be hungry, but you also conditioned me to associate fullness with sex. So much so that feeling well and truly stuffed now actually made me wet down there.

I guess you could say that I’ve officially become your feedee. The way you worship me now, I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to. I constantly want more. More food, more feedings, more sex, more attention, and yes, even more fat for you to adore. My sister was right, you’ve had quite the effect on me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.