The Diet Chip
***
Cheryl Whitmore lay draped across the couch, engrossed in the reality dating show playing on the TV. She wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants she’d bought on the cruise when her pajama bottoms started pinching at her waist. Reaching a hand into a bag of chocolates tucked against her, Cheryl’s fingers found nothing but empty plastic. With a scowl, she sat up, grabbing a bowl from the coffee table. More than a few foil wrappers had missed the bowl, and she swept them into it with one hand. She crunched the collection into wads in her fist and dropped them into the now-empty bag.
Stretching like a still-dozing cat, Cheryl considered going to the back of the pantry where she’d stashed a few other treats, but her eyes caught the large clock above the TV. Jake would be home in half an hour—she should probably get started on dinner. She carried the bowl and incriminating evidence to the kitchen, pushing the bag of chocolate wrappers deep into the trash can. It would be covered by potato peels and the foam tray from a set of steaks long before Jake got home.
***
Jake Whitmore was nothing if not skeptical, but lately, he was allowing himself to hope. He watched the small monitor as a set of line graphs charted Cheryl’s vital signs. She’d had the device in her head for over a month, and so far, there were no indications of adverse effects. Cheryl appeared as healthy as ever—healthier, in fact. He hadn’t noticed the dark cloud hanging over his wife since they returned from the cruise, but now that it’d lifted, the difference was stark. She’d never been moody or irritable, always smiling and sighing when they were together, but Jake now recognized those smiles as somewhat forced, the mask of a “good partner” hiding her discontent. With the device stabilizing her brain chemistry, Cheryl’s smiles filled her face. She was full of life, laughing and teasing and humming to herself as she went about her day.
The most notable change, now that Jake was watching more closely, was at meal times. Ever since the cruise, Cheryl had seemed distracted while they ate. As if locked in some internal debate, some silent battle to which Jake was not privy. But now, every breakfast and dinner was like being back on that ship. She was trying new things in the kitchen, and letting him order delivery or pick up takeout more often. She’d even started suggesting it, sending him cutesy text messages.
Cheryl (5:17 p.m.): I was binging the new season and forgot to thaw the chicken 😩😖 Cheryl (5:17 p.m.): Get some wings on your way home? 🙏😋😘
While putting minimal effort into his regular work tasks, Jake compiled data and drafted a detailed report on their little “experiment.” He almost had enough to present his findings to the board. Once he could prove that the device had helped Cheryl achieve her stated goal, even something as unwelcome as losing five pounds—
“Unwelcome?” Why was that the first word that came to his mind? Minor, trivial, pedestrian? Anyway, if the device helped Cheryl meet her goal, Chet and the board would be forced to acknowledge the value of his creation. But Jake knew that a woman’s weight was a fraught topic and then some. He could be patient.
***
Cheryl could count on one hand the number of times she’d eaten pizza in the past five years—social situations where refusing would have been impolite. On each occasion, she limited herself to a single slice or square, the bare minimum good manners required. But as she and Jake watched TV, she reached for the open box to grab a third slice, eyes glued to the screen so she wouldn’t know if Jake was watching her.
The motion made her middle squish into itself, a sensation that would have sent self-conscious panic flooding through her a month ago. Now, she only felt warm and safe, as if she were preparing for hibernation. Her body was healthy and getting healthier—what was so embarrassing about that?
***
Jake lay on his back, panting shallow breaths as Cheryl rolled off to collapse beside him. Cheryl had never been a prude, but she’d shown a level of enthusiasm lately that Jake hadn’t experienced since their honeymoon. Only a complete moron would complain, and Mrs. Whitmore didn’t raise idiots, but Jake was… conflicted. While she was on top of him, his wife’s body felt softer. He definitely wasn’t complaining about that. While she wasn’t crushing him into the mattress or anything, and he’d never use the word “heavy,” Cheryl felt a little more… substantial.
Something about that should have worried Jake. But after having the best sex he’d had in years, he drifted off to sleep before connecting the dots.
Their lives settled into a new routine. Jake was officially transferred off the NRSN project, and his new position took up every scrap of mental bandwidth he had left. Cheryl’s life stayed the same, with one major exception: She was eating, eating a lot.
It was a sign of how distracted Jake was that it took several weeks for him to acknowledge the change. He got home late one day to find his wife face down in an oyster pail of orange chicken, shoveling the glossy, deep-fried meat into her mouth with a fork. She rarely ate Chinese food, and he’d never seen her not use chopsticks. A reality dating show was playing on the TV, and the coffee table was littered with empty oyster pails. Cheryl didn’t even look up when he walked in the door, scooping lo mein between her lips while rubbing her thighs together. The NRSN wasn’t helping her lose weight at all.
“Cheryl…?”
She looked up as he spoke, smiling fondly. “Hey, hon,” she said, pausing only briefly in her gorging. She seemed completely unfazed by the situation, as if it were perfectly natural to stuff herself with an entire family’s worth of takeout at four in the afternoon. As if she usually wore sleep shorts and a tank top in the middle of the day. As if it was normal for her stomach to stick out farther than her chest. As if her arms had always wobbled with fat while she shoveled junk food down her gullet.
Cheryl glanced up at him again. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
Jake found himself getting hard, but decided not to comment on Cheryl’s odd behavior. If the NRSN was malfunctioning, her mental state could be fragile. “I will in a minute—I have to check something for work.”
He sat down and opened his laptop, booting the program to interface with the device. He connected to the NRSN, which reported all green lights—no errors or even warning messages. As far as the device was concerned, it was working one hundred percent correctly. Jake’s despair at his life’s work failing so spectacularly was overshadowed by concern for Cheryl. He had to shut it down.
Operation failed.
Operation failed.
Operation failed.
The NSRN refused to execute any of Jake’s shutdown commands. In desperation, he tried the self-destruct sequence, to no avail. Jake stared at the ceiling hopelessly, his mind running through his few options before rejecting each in turn.
He felt a touch in his lap.
Cheryl was watching him, munching on an egg roll with one hand while the other traced slowly along his inner thigh. “You seem really stressed, babe…”
***
As the weeks rolled on, Jake grew to accept the changes to his wife, while Cheryl simply… grew. She ate constantly. She snacked in front of the TV, and they had delivery or takeout most nights. She’d always been the better cook, though, and Jake found himself mesmerized watching her move. Humming happily to herself, shutting drawers and the fridge door with her ever-widening hips. Her bottom spread wider than an entire cabinet when she leaned against the counter. She munched on ingredients as she cooked and was never without some sweet beverage. Her rounding belly got perilously close to a hot pan on a regular basis.
All these sights should have worried Jake, but the more he watched, the more he liked. He’d had several chubby girlfriends in high school and college, and while each relationship had ended for a different reason, more than one had implied that Jake was too body positive. Cheryl had been the first woman he’d fallen for despite her figure rather than because of it. He grew to despise the part of him that yearned for a big, soft body pressed against him and tangled in the sheets.
Which is not to say he hadn’t enjoyed making love to his skinny wife—she was enthusiastic, generous, and encouraging—and plenty soft where she needed to be. Yet, as Cheryl grew larger and larger, their nights grew ever more blissful and ecstatic.
Jake went through the motions at his official job while secretly continuing his work on the NRSN. Apart from the malfunctioning kill switch, the device had worked perfectly. What little tension and discontent had existed in their lives had been erased, gobbled up by Cheryl’s ceaseless appetite.
***
Cheryl sat on Jake’s hips, smothering his entire lower body with all of her… her. Muscles burned in her legs as she lifted herself up along his length to drop back onto his thighs. Her caboose was now so large that it didn’t completely leave Jake’s legs before she slammed it down on him.
Jake smiled blissfully up at her, but his expression faltered, and a soft grunt escaped his lips every time she crushed him into the mattress. Cheryl wanted to make the most of being on top—she’d be too big for it before long.
As she brought Jake to his release, Cheryl arched her back as her gaze rose toward the ceiling, but she made herself look down at Jake.
At least, she tried to look at Jake. Her fat breasts and bulging belly rolled so far in front of her that she could only see the top of his head past her billowing flesh. She came alongside her husband within seconds.
They lay together, catching their breath until Cheryl’s stomach grumbled in angry want. Without a word, Jake climbed from the bed and padded out to the kitchen. He returned moments later, carrying two boxes of donuts—where had he hidden those?
Cheryl pushed herself up the bed, the frame’s creaking protests sending sparks of pleasure between her trembling legs. She leaned against the headboard while Jake propped extra pillows behind her. When he climbed onto the bed to straddle her thighs, she rested her hands on her rounded belly. It was still tight and full from dinner—three entire pizzas minus Jake’s two slices—but she seemed to never get full these days. She met her husband’s eyes and opened her mouth.
“What do you say?” He asked.
The tingling between Cheryl’s legs rose to a low simmer. She’d proposed this game months ago.
“Please, can I have a donut?”
Jake plucked a glazed circle from the box on the bed beside them, examining it thoughtfully.
“I don’t know… you’ve had so much to eat already…” He ran a hand in sweeping strokes over her full stomach.
“I’m still hungry, though,” she made her voice into a desperate whine. “Please, feed me.”
“But you’d get so fat…” Jake poked a finger into her middle, and Cheryl watched with delight as the finger vanished past the second knuckle. He used the same finger to wipe a glob of glaze from the donut, resting it on her tongue. She sucked on it greedily. Watching her, Jake added, “If I keep feeding you so much, this belly is gonna get bigger, and bigger…”
“Please, make me fat,” she begged. “Make me your big fat piggy.”
Jake fed her the donut, which she devoured in three bites. He pulled another from the box and repeated the process. Their teasing game finished, Cheryl rested her head on the pillows, letting her hands drop to her sides. She chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, filling herself ever fuller while Jake massaged and fondled her swelling belly.
He’s so good to me, she thought, content in the knowledge that Jake would feed her until she fell asleep or they ran out of donuts—whichever came first.