It’s so funny. How surprised Freya is. Every time she looks down at her stomach. Every time she’s struggling to run. Every time her clothes are a bit snug or the seatbelt starts to dig into her midsection. She’s gotten fat. Arielle knows how difficult it is for her to understand that. Arielle knows how in denial Freya is about this whole thing. But it’s the truth. Freya’s blimping up! She’s really packed on some weight! She just stands there, eating. Or, more often, she sits, loafing around in her pretty nightgowns, fat spilling out over her thighs, her chubby tummy poking further and further out onto her lap as her stomach expands into a gut. Her ass is larding out behind her, beneath her, swallowing her panties between her juicy, rubbing cheeks. She can’t even sit properly anymore, for all the fat she’s packed onto her ballooning butt, her ample love handles, all those adorable rolls of fat encasing her sides!.. Well, Arielle called them adorable, at least.

Now, Arielle is her feeder. Well, unofficial feeder. Arielle is her girlfriend and roommate… And sugar momma. Arielle just loves spoiling Freya with money, new clothes, shoes, and of course, endless pampering, luxury, relaxation, and overly fattening foods. All homemade. All drowning in butter. Arielle constantly fretted and fussed over Freya whenever Freya was actually standing and doing things for herself. To say Arielle is overprotective is an understatement. Arielle would gladly stop feeding Freya like a prized hog If it wasn’t adorable watching Freya blush when she points out the sliver of fleshy belly that pokes out between her laced nightgown and her waistband. If she didn’t start to pant when Arielle squeezes and prods at her love handles, if Freya didn’t get so flustered when Arielle grabs her squishy stomach and give it a jiggle! If Freya wasn’t always struggling to keep up with Arielle, complaining that she walks too fast and begging to lie back down. If she didn’t binge every time Arielle teased her because she doesn’t know how else to deal with her emotions.

Maybe, if Freya wasn’t so defensive, she could come to terms with what has happened to her, what her obsessively doting, overly motherly girlfriend was doing to her. Maybe Freya wouldn’t be larding out of all of her clothes. Maybe she wouldn’t be trying to do things her former fit body was once able to do. Maybe she wouldn’t be out of shape. Maybe that fat tummy and ballooning ass wouldn’t bump into things so much, knock things over, rub against people as she tries to waddle by. “Come on, love, have another.” Arielle encouraged, shoving another fattening pastry past her lips. Arielle's affections know no bounds when it comes to Freya. To her, the act of feeding Freya is a veritable symphony of devotion. Each sumptuous morsel, each creamy, buttery confection, is a love note penned in the language of gastronomy. She delights in watching Freya's eyes light up as she presents her with another scrumptious offering, another chance to indulge and grow ever more luscious.

For Arielle, Freya's expanding waistline is a testament to her own doting care. She positively beams with pride as Freya's curves blossom, her soft flesh spilling over the edges of her once-trim attire. Each new roll, each bulging mound of adipose, is a triumph - a physical manifestation of Arielle's unwavering dedication to Freya's comfort and happiness. The way Freya's body strains against the fabric of her clothes, the way her belly spills onto her lap as she lounges, the way her generous hips and rear sway with each step - these are the markers of Arielle's love. She revels in the knowledge that her culinary ministrations have transformed Freya into a true goddess of sensuality, a voluptuous vision of beauty that leaves onlookers awestruck. Arielle's world revolves around Freya's expanding form. She delights in the way Freya's breathing grows labored, the way she struggles to keep up with Arielle's brisk pace. For Arielle, these are not signs of discomfort, but rather evidence of Freya's utter surrender to her affections.