Im still feeling a little crummy, so I wrote a short little ..

Im still feeling a little crummy, so I wrote a short little smutty story ✨ expect regular content tomorrow 😋 It was a long day at work, each hour seeming like an eternity. Every day, 9 to 5, dealing with your daily dose of office drama and managerial incompetence. You practically have to drag yourself up the stairs to our apartment. With weary steps and achy feet, you come to our apartment door, a slight earthy smell emanating between the cracks. As you open the door, the cool and crisp night air quickly gets overwhelmed by the dank aura, overwhelming you. The smell, something which you have quickly gotten used to since we’ve moved in, has grown on you. At first the combination of weed and fast food wrappers with the slightest touch of body odor was maybe a little overwhelming, but now, it just smells like home. The apartment is dark, all the lights turned off, only the blue glow from the TV in the living room lighting up. Kicking off your shoes and hanging up your jacket, you walk down the hallway to our cozy little hide away. There, you see me. When we moved in, I wasn’t exactly the skinny and athletic girl I used to be. These months of stuffing and lazing about all day certainly had an effect on me and my waistline, but once we moved in… something happened. The simple responsibilities that I had when I was living alone, going to the store, cleaning up the house, doing laundry, all of those simple calorie burning activities that stopped me from really, truly blowing up. All of that stopped when we moved in. “Heyyy babe!” I shout out from the couch, my voice almost drowned out by the combination of the sound of a loud video game and the crunches of my hand digging deep into a bag of doritos. Judging by the crumbled up bags thrown haphazardly around the couch and the orange stains around my pudgy face and soft fingers, this bag wasn’t my first. And if you could help it, it most certainly wouldn’t be my last. “Did you pick up the order I texted you about?” Of course you did. How could you ever deny me my every desire? Even if it seems like every single day after you clock out, you get a text from your pampered girlfriend telling you what place she ordered takeout from this time. All of this eating out is definitely starting to make a dent in your wallet, not that you care. You know what you’re doing, what you’re enabling. This is a train derailment in progress, too far along to have any chance of slowing down. Every dollar you spend is just throwing another can of gasoline on a fire. You place down the brown paper bag on the coffee table, grease stains already starting to leak through. “Thank you~ I was starving!” I say as I reach out towards my ‘slop du jour’, my chubby arms straining to lift the barely 4 pound bag of food. Speaking of which, oh my god how did my arms ever get THIS fat? When we moved in I was still pretty skinny passing. If you pulled up my shirt my chubby tits and fat belly would come poking out, but nothing that some clever fashion choices couldn’t hide. Now? How could my arms ever pass as being anything but obese sacks of fat again? Before, my long and delicate arms were almost elf-like. Thin, articulate, but soft and dainty. Not anymore. My arms now were caked in soft blubber, like sleeves of pudding and jello coating my atrophied muscles. Peeking out from out of my strained t-shirt sleeve you could see the telltale signs of bright red stretch marks. Who gets stretch marks on their *ARMS*?! With a complete lack of the dignity and grace I had before you turned me into this fat beast, I dig into my disgustingly greasy meal. It’s like I don’t even care any more about what you think of me. The more comfortable I grow (haha) with you, the more I disregard any semblance of self respect or control. I’m getting fat for you, very fat. And there is nothing I can do about it.