Deedee’s Holiday
VII
I was going through my email when Delia started shifting around at her desk. We were in Dublin, and the tiny Airbnb was more than a little cramped. Of course, I wasn’t complaining about having to spoon to fit in the smaller bed. We’d picked the room because it had two desks. I watched from the corner of my eye as she twisted, making the wooden chair creak. She was pushing her breasts around to search the desktop beneath them.
“Hey, Nik?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you seen my green flash drive? It has the videos from Temple Bar.”
I remembered filming those videos two nights earlier. Delia wore a flowing white skirt and a green sweater that brought out the color of her eyes. The skirt did little to disguise her wide hips and jiggly ass. The sweater made her M-cup tits look even bigger despite the soft ring of her belly below them.
“I don’t think so.”
“Ugh, I need to edit those soon.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn up.”
Delia wore a low-cut top to breakfast. I made sure to get a few shots of her face—and all that delicious cleavage—in front of her Full Irish Breakfast. Her fat, tanned boobs looked almost as big as the plate. A small mountain of eggs, black pudding, hashbrowns, tomato, and thick bacon. Heavy, hearty food that would help them grow even fatter. If the sight made her subscribers half as horny as it made me, the photos would do big numbers.
Unfortunately, her camera was full.
“Hey, do you have the other flashcard for this?” I asked.
Delia patted her pants pockets. “I can’t find it.”
“Oh well, lemme use your phone, then.”
She plunged a hand down her shirt and produced her phone. I snapped a few photos, and we got on with breakfast.
The rest of the day passed like any other in our endless vacation. We worked in our room, walked the city, and sampled the food and drink. Delia did most of that last one. She misplaced two more flash drives while we were working, and we never found the one for her camera. Or the ones for the drone. Or the one for her Lavalier mic.
We stumbled back up to our room after countless pints of Guinness and shots of Jameson. I was so riled up from watching Deedee stuff her face all day that I couldn’t wait for the door to close before I pounced. She was so soft, so big, so round.
Aside from the Bavarian costume in Munich, Deedee complained whenever I damaged her outfits while taking them off. Never mind that she’d outgrow them in a month or two anyway. So I forced my shaking hands to move with care as I undid each button on her top. My mouth watered as more and more of those overgrown tits came into view. Followed by plush arms, her beautiful love handles, and that greedy belly. It stuck out round and firm on the top from everything she’d spent the day filling it with. I unzipped her unbuttoned pants and peeled them off. Tracing my fingertips around her jiggly thighs, I squeezed her enormous ass.
I took a step back to drink in the sight of my crush-turned-girlfriend. Deedee was twice the woman she’d been when we started traveling together almost a year ago, and I found myself wondering how big she was going to get. She leaned against the wall, legs shaky, staring at me like I was that Full Irish. “Nikki, please…”
I dove back in, undoing the hooks at the front of a bra so big I could have used one of the cups as a hat. As the bra fell to her sides, I slid my hands under to heft and squeeze those gorgeous globes. A soft clattering brought me up short, shattering the mood.
I stepped back, letting Delia’s tits bounce down onto her bloated belly. A few more bits of plastic showered out of her. Scattered on the floor around her feet were more than a dozen USB thumb drives and memory cards. I squatted down to pick one of them up. “I think I found your missing flash drives.”
Delia blushed. “I guess I put them in my bra.”
I looked back up at her, fat pink nipples drawing me in like gravity. “Well… no wonder they got lost in all this…”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
Careful not to step on any of the flash drives, I eagerly complied.
***
After Dublin, we spent a week in London. Delia wasn’t impressed by most of the food, and it was already getting cold, so we started to make our way back South. Paris was nothing like the movies, dirty and loud like every other city, but it had the best pastries I’d ever had. Watching Delia wiggle and grin as she savored every bite like it was the first eroded my self-control. I indulged in more than a few croissants, macarons, and Mille-feuille. The only thing that kept me from going up a pants size myself was leaving most of the desserts for Delia. Her body would make better use of them anyway.
She enjoyed our week in Paris so much that I suggested we tour the smaller towns in France, which we could reach by rail.
Watching the French countryside roll by, I sighed.
“What’s that for?” Delia asked.
“Sorry, I’m just thinking about trains again.”
“Trains?”
“Yeah. We could easily have something like this in the States, but we decided to design everything around cars instead.”
She chuckled. “Do you hate cars or something? You never mentioned it before.”
“I like cars fine; it’s just lame that they’re the only option besides flying. I guess some cities have subways and stuff, but most don’t.”
She reached her hand over and touched my face, trying to smooth out my furrowed brow. “Turn that frown upside down!” She nudged me with her shoulder and pointed out the train car’s window. “Look, we’re less than an hour from Bordeaux. Just a little bit further, and we’ll be drinking some nice… Bordeaux.”
My dour mood faded away, and I smiled despite myself. “That was such a lame joke.”
She squeezed my shoulders with one arm, pressing her right boob into me. “That means I’m getting better. You’re starting to rub off on me.”
“Uh, I don’t think we can do that here,” I whispered. “I know we’re in France, but still…”
Delia burst out with her deep, colorful laugh, earning us a few bemused side-eyes from the locals sitting across the aisle. She leaned into me further, tracing a finger from my knee up my thigh. The touch sent tingles all the way to my toes, and my core ached with wanting. “Don’t worry,” She said. “I can be patient—if I have to…”
***
Bordeaux was our last stay in France. It was mid-November, and we planned to fly to Dubrovnik for a week, then cross the Atlantic to spend the winter months in the Caribbean. My team was handling things back home, leaving me more time to help Delia with her accounts so she could focus on making and editing videos. Thanks to the abundance of incredible pastries and desserts she was putting away, she had to update her wardrobe every few weeks. That meant many more haul videos. She needed warmer clothes as it got colder, but nothing more than a month-old fit her anymore, anyway.
My automation system worked for a few weeks, but it needed so many tweaks and fiddling that I ended up managing her accounts for her. That’s how I noticed the shift in her comments and engagement. Her subscriber counts had plateaued, but she was getting more and more comments that were nothing but a string of thirsty emojis. The shots that cropped out her lower body got more engagement, of course. But even the full-body videos—hauls, dances, GRWMs—were still doing decent numbers. Whether either of us had intended it or not, she was gaining a reputation as a “body positivity” creator.
Two days before we were set to leave France, I came back to our hotel to find Delia in front of the mirror. She wore leggings and an athletic top that hugged every dip and curve, and she didn’t look pleased.
Heart thudding in my throat, I asked, “What’s up?”
She scowled at her reflection, pinching the roll of fat that spilled out of her leggings. “I need to get this under control.”
I stepped up behind her, looking over her shoulder. “What are you talking about? You look amazing.”
Delia met my eyes. “Be so for real right now.”
“I’m serious; you’re the sexiest woman I know!” My hands itched to run along the three-tiered hourglass that was her body. I rested them on her shoulders instead.
“Listen, it was all well and good when the girls started going up a few sizes. But Sapphire doesn’t make plus-size outfits. I’m gonna lose their partnership.”
“So we’ll find new partners. It’s not like your engagement is dropping off. I’ve seen your comments lately—I think people are really resonating with the ’body positivity’ vibe.”
“Body positivity, seriously? You think my followers want to watch me blow up into some… some fatty?”
I hugged her from behind, unable to stop my hands from sliding across her soft middle. “You’re not fat, Dee, you’re just… thick.”
Delia scoffed. “Thick? I was ’thick’ six months ago. I’m over ninety kilos now!”
Ninety kilograms. I did the conversion in my head. That was close to two hundred pounds, if not more. She outweighed me by at least sixty pounds. Even factoring in the two inches of height she had on me, the thought sent me spinning. My traitorous eyes traveled down the lines of her reflection, tracing every dip and curve and swell. I forced my gaze back to her face—she’d been watching my reaction.
Well, shit.
“Oh my god…”
I released her, letting my arms fall to my sides. “What?”
“You… you’re into this…”
“I don’t—”
Delia whirled around, and I took a few reflexive steps back.
“You like that I’m getting fat—I can see it on your face!”
“I meant what I said, Delia. You look amazing.”
“Don’t avoid the question!”
“What question?”
“Does the idea of me getting fat get you off??”
My shoulders slumped, and I sighed. “…yes.”
Delia turned away, walking to the window. “My god… this whole time…” She rounded on me again. “That’s what this has all been about? You’re always giving me your leftovers. Always encouraging me to order dessert or late-night DoorDash… You’ve been fattening me up like some kind of farm animal!”
“Come on, I just like seeing you happy.”
“Bullshit. I bet this was your plan all along. From the night we met. You lied about everything, your cute little story with the sunglasses…”
“I did find your sunglasses in the bathroom…”
She glared, and my eyes dropped to my feet. “Well, I saw you come back to your table without them…”
“I knew it! You were stalking me that whole time! Were you following me around, just waiting to find me alone? Did you fuckin’ follow me to Spain!?”
“What? No! I had no idea you were there. I saw one of your posts and recognized the view.”
She put a hand to her head, rubbing her thumb and forefinger across her brow. “Not me thinking that whole leftovers thing was just you trying to save our money. You were probably thrilled when I made you pay for everything back in Germany. That way, you could just keep giving me food until I nearly popped out of my fit!”
“You ordered all that foo—”
“You probably don’t even care about the money! With your fancy tech business and everything… Just another one-percenter taking advantage of a regular girl…”
“For fuck’s sake, Dee, I’ve seen your accounts—you make more money than I do! You want me to get my tax files and prove it?”
“Don’t change the subject!!”
“You’re the one who brought up money!”
I stopped myself, taking a few deep breaths.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest with you; I’m sorry you’re unhappy.”
“Oh, you’re sorry? Are you also sorry for pushing pastries and desserts on me until I outgrew all my clothes?”
“I didn’t push… Fine, yes. I’m sorry for enabling your poor eating habits.”
“Wow, so it’s all my own fault, right? Typical American…”
“What? I’m not—”
“You know what, Nikki? Fuck you. Just go. I can’t look at you right now.”
“But… what about—”
“I said get out!!”
My things were scattered everywhere, but I grabbed my pajamas and left. I checked into a vacant room and slept in an empty bed for the first time in over eight months. The next day, Delia texted to say she’d be out for a few hours so I could get my stuff. I was on a plane back to the States that night.