A young BBW discovers the thrill of being fed by her professional chef and feeder boyfriend
at a romantic cottage the mountains. Will she make his fantasy her reality?
More Than Enough
a story by L.J. Rock
at a romantic cottage the mountains. Will she make his fantasy her reality?
More Than Enough
a story by L.J. Rock
“I love the way you look at me when I’m eating,” Alyssa said, her voice soft yet teasing as she reclined on the quilt we’d spread out in front of the fireplace. The flames crackled gently, their light flickering across her face, making her hazel eyes shimmer with a warm, mischievous glow.
“Do you really?” I asked with a grin, brushing a strand of her light brown hair from her face. The cool spring air outside made the warmth of the fire even more inviting, and the scent of wood smoke mingled with the sweet aromas of dessert filling the room.
“I really do,” she said, her cheeks flushing, the soft pink of her skin mirroring the blush of the wine in her glass. “You make me feel beautiful, even when I’m at my messiest and fullest.”
My heart swelled at her words. Alyssa wasn’t just beautiful—she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in all my life. She was big, boisterous and full of life. She had a passion for food, almost as much as I did, and she was unapologetic in her love for savoring all the pleasures and flavors that life had to offer. We’d only been talking for a couple of months when she decided to come visit me for a week, far from her fast-paced life she lived in New York City, the city where we’d met.
My name is Lucas Bradford. I’m twenty nine years old, and I live in the same little sleepy town in southern Vermont that I’ve lived in all my life. The only time that I’ve left my hometown for any significant amount of time is when I spent two years at a culinary school down in Boston. Now I’m the head chef and manager of a three star restaurant at one of the top ski resorts in this area. It’s more than just a job, it’s a passion.
I guess I always knew I’d end up in the restaurant business. Ever since I was very young, I’ve had a fascination with feeding people. I was raised by my grandmother, who was an excellent cook. Her food was like magic, bringing people together, warming their hearts as it filled their stomachs. She took so much pleasure in cooking for people and feeding people. She would make people laugh when she’d threaten to “fatten them up” with her rich and decadent cooking. Soon enough they would find out that she wasn’t kidding; she lived to fatten people up, and she rarely missed her mark.
Despite her trying, she was never able to fatten me up. Not that I didn’t eat. I have a ravenous appetite, at least as much as Alyssa does, if not more so. I guess I’ve always just had a high metabolism; the weight just doesn’t stick to me like it does some other people. I’m sure one day my appetite will catch up with my metabolism and I’ll end up getting fat too. Being surrounded by food all the time, I figure it’s bound to happen eventually. I honestly don’t mind the thought at all—it seems inevitable, like it’s my destiny or something.
Truth be told, the real thrill of running a busy restaurant for me comes from feeding people. I finally understand why my grandmother loved fattening people up. There’s something about watching someone savor every bite, their eyes rolling back as the flavors hit them, then seeing them lean back, holding their stuffed bellies, groaning with delight. It’s almost wicked, the way I enjoy witnessing people’s gluttony, their inability to resist the temptation of my delicious cooking.
I don’t exactly go around advertising this, of course, but deep down, I want everyone who comes into my restaurant to leave so full they can barely walk out the door, stuffed to the gills, fat and happy and with no regrets. The thought of folks walking away from my place a few pounds heavier than when they came in, and knowing that it was my food that made them that way—I just love it!
Anyway, that’s my little secret. I’ve always dreamed of finding a woman who not only gets this about me, but one who would willingly allow me to spoil her endlessly, indulging in every bite I could offer her. I’ve always had this idea in the back of my mind of meeting a woman who loved food as much as I do, a woman I could feed, indulge, and fatten up.
It should come as no surprise that I love a woman with some meat on her bones, some extra rolls of soft and plushy fat on their body. To me there is truly nothing more beautiful than a big beautiful lady who knows that she’s hot and has the confidence to let it all hang out. So finding a woman I can fatten up is imperative for me, not just for the sake of making them get fatter, but because it makes her happy and brings her joy. I want to be able to sate an insatiable hunger, to satisfy a yearning for indulgence and a passion for decadence. There’s just something magical about watching someone you care about enjoy something that you’ve made for them with your own two hands. It’s a kind of connection I’ve always wanted.
“Well, you are,” I said, my hand instinctively finding her soft, round belly, “ You’re a truly beautiful woman, both inside and out, Alyssa.”
“Oh, Lucas,” she said to me, looking at me with soft doe-eyes, “that’s so sweet.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t absolutely love this,” I added, my massaging of her soft and plushy belly intensifying.
“I know you do!” Alyssa giggled, gently placing her hand on top of mine. “I used to hate this, you know. Growing up, I’d stare in the mirror and wish I could just shrink myself down to nothing.”
I paused, sensing the shift in her tone. “Did you really feel that way?”
Alyssa nodded, her eyes fixed on the flickering fire. “When you’re a fat girl, especially in a place like New York, sometimes you feel like you’re invisible.”
She sighed then, tracing her fingers absentmindedly along the rim of her wine glass. “You know,” she began, her tone softer now, “there are days when I just want to pack up and leave the whole rat-race of New York behind me.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised to hear her talking this way.
“I just get tired of feeling like I constantly have to prove myself at my job,” she said with a sigh, “like nothing I do is good enough.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning in to catch the flicker of emotion in her hazel eyes.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the fireplace. “There was this promotion I was up for at work a few months ago—a position I’d been busting my ass for. All my coworkers said that I was a shoo-in for it, and I truly believed that I was. I had the seniority, the experience, the track record, but they ended up going with someone else.”
“That’s too bad,” I said as I frowned. “Someone more qualified?”
Her laugh was short and bitter. “Not even close. She’s fresh out of college, has no idea what she’s doing half the time, and I’ve had to clean up more of her mistakes than I can count—but she’s young, and she’s thin. It’s as if that’s all that really matters. I couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t even see me as an option, like I wasn’t the right ‘look’ for the role.”
“That’s bullshit, Alyssa,” I said to her as I took her hand and gripped it tightly. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You really do deserve better than that.”
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile as her eyes closed for a moment, her voice carrying both resignation and resolve. “After that, I started seeing things differently. Like maybe it didn’t matter how hard I worked or how good I was at my job. Maybe this city that I’ve loved for so long just isn’t my place anymore.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I was sorry to hear about Alyssa getting turned down for that promotion, but if I was being honest, the idea of her being willing to leave the city was kind of exciting to me.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Alyssa. I was at a culinary convention in the city—a sprawling event where chefs, restaurateurs, and food enthusiasts gathered to sample the best and boldest creations the industry had to offer. I’d been there for work, trying to secure a new supplier for the restaurant, and the air was filled with the clinking of glasses and the hum of a hundred conversations.
That’s when I saw her.
She was weaving her way through the booths, her eyes sparkling with delight as she sampled dish after dish. A bite of truffle risotto here, a sliver of wagyu beef there. She wasn’t just eating; she was savoring every morsel, completely present in the moment, like she was falling in love with each bite. There was something magnetic about her—her confidence, her sheer joy in what she was doing. It was as though the rest of the world had dimmed, and she was the only bright thing in the room.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I told myself to focus on my work, but every time I glanced up, there she was, her laughter ringing out as she chatted with the vendors or closed her eyes in pure bliss after a particularly decadent bite.
I don’t know how long I hesitated before I finally built up the nerve to approach her. Long enough to feel like a fool, probably, but when I did, it was like the easiest thing in the world. I asked if she’d like to go out to dinner after the convention. She looked at me, her cheeks flushed from the wine tasting she’d just come from, and smiled.
"Sure," she said, as casually as if she’d been expecting me to ask all along.
We ended up at this little Italian place just off the beaten path, the kind of restaurant where the tablecloths are checkered and the wine comes in carafes. I remember watching her tuck into the meal—ravenous, even after all she’d eaten that day—and feeling completely enchanted. She talked about her work, how she managed distribution for specialty food products, and her favorite meals growing up. I think I fell in love with her right there over a plate of lasagna and tiramisu for two.
It didn’t matter that we lived miles apart. From that night on, there was no question in my mind: I’d move heaven and earth just to be near her.
