The Bear Necessities
By J.D Freshenmeyer
“Rachel, are you with us?”
She was gazing out the window, twirling a finger through her carrot-colored hair. “Hmm? Oh... yeah, sorry.”
There were 15 faces on the tablet resting in her lap, and she wasn’t sure which of them had just said that.
“This merger may be...”
She was checking herself out in the reflective divider glass, as the boring old suit rattled on about debt and risk management or some such crap. She was a bunny, and a damn fine one—not to brag. With flawless white cotton fur, all natural without the help of cosmetics, a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and the sort of silky hair they had to fake in commercials. She was a knockout in anyone’s book. Now in her mid 20s, though, her dad insisted she refer to herself as a “rabbit.” God, it sounded so lame.
“Rachel, we really need your input on—”
She shut the tablet off.
“I don’t envy you having to sit through that nonsense,” her driver, Garland, said from the front seat. “Even for a million dollars a day, I think I’d end up in the nuthouse.”
“My father calls it ‘business experience.’”
“More interested in that fella you’ve got back home?”
She just smiled to herself.
Her parents were joint owners of Lightfoot Pharmaceuticals, one of the largest privately owned companies in the world. Rachel was an “executive director,” a job title even she didn’t fully understand, and her husband, Eddie, got a $300,000-a-year salary as her personal consultant. Which was true in a sense. Sometimes she’d ask if she should just skip work and spend all day in bed together, and he’d say yes. His advice hadn’t steered her wrong yet.
The high-rise she lived in was the sort of place where you’d be tackled to the ground and arrested if you even got near it without looking like you could afford to live there. With a security wall around the whole thing. When they got there, Garland showed his ID to the private security and pulled into the underground parking.
Rachel used her keycard in the elevator and went up to the penthouse on the 43rd floor, carrying a plastic grocery bag full of tubs of Strawberry Ice-cream. She wanted to tear the goddamn grey business suit she was wearing off like wrapping paper and throw it away.
You could have held the NFL playoffs in their apartment with the amount of square footage. It was the absolute pinnacle of luxury. Literally the best money could buy. It had a second floor with a winding spiral staircase. Who in the hell had an apartment with a second floor? The west wall was a giant glass window with a view of the entire city and the mountains and forests beyond it. The other walls were decorated with gifted artworks painted by people she didn't know the names of. She kicked her heels off and dropped the bag of ice cream on the counter.
And on a couch that cost more than a working-class yearly salary, zoned out in front of a wall-mounted TV that could have doubled as a drive-in movie screen, was her bear. Her big, fat, beautiful bear, Eddie.
He didn’t so much sit on the couch as engulf it. Taking up three-quarters of what was meant to seat eight. He was wearing only a pair of board shorts. Fast food bags and wrappers littered the hardwood floor in a several-meter radius around him. He was staring glassy-eyed at an incomprehensible, seizure-inducing anime fight scene, involving several city-sized robot women firing lasers at each other out of their enormous tits.
Looking at him, she thought this must have been how Renaissance sculptors felt when they stood admiring their finished works. God, he was magnificent.
Fat didn’t begin to convey just how big he was. The only way to do it was to describe him piece by piece. His friendly hazel eyes. His chubby cheeks and double chin. Just his whole fat, squishy face. His wet nose, the freckles on his light brown muzzle. The darker brown color of the rest of his coat.
She hadn’t even gotten to his body yet. She could have talked all day about every wonderful little detail.
Maybe it was better to be illustrative. He had a pair of tits that would have made any woman jealous, his gut was so big and stuck out so far that when Rachel hugged him from the front, her hands never even reached his back. His body felt like a waterbed and had the consistency of pudding. Even the slightest touch made him jiggle. He last weighed in a few weeks ago at a staggering 713 pounds of wonderful wobbling bear blubber, and Rachel had fallen to her knees from an orgasm just at the sight of the number on the scale. That night, they’d both had the best sex of their lives. She and Eddie were the envy of the online feeder club they were members of.
What can you say? Rachel Goddamn Lightfoot didn’t do things by half-measure. And she didn’t settle for second best. She didn’t want her man fat. She wanted him the fattest.
He was spooning chocolate fudge sundae in his mouth when he heard her come in. mfffmm he said, his face lighting up with that dumb look he always did. The one that made her heart feel like melting butter. She did a running dive into his enormous, outstretched arms and they started kissing furiously.
“How was work, Rach?” he asked when he could finally get a breath in.
“Awful, because you weren’t there. Like always.”
She continued planting kisses all over him. Burying her face in his thick, shaggy, untamed fur was a better high than any drug on the market. Oh God, he smelled like the cinnamon cologne she’d bought him for Christmas. It made her head swim. Her hands wandered down to grab a roll of fat. It didn’t matter which and there were plenty to choose from. She just needed his fat in her hand, like a drowning person needed oxygen.
“And how was my big boy today?”
“Pretty good. I started watching the new season of Justice Witch Haruhi. It’s so cool. They got a bigger animation budget than the first season and when Misato does her Gravity Collapse attack—”
If someone had come up to her in the street and talked to her like that, she would have emptied the can of mace she kept in her Balenciaga purse into their eyes. But coming out of his mouth, it sounded like Dante and Shakespeare all at once.
“...And I tried to buy the limited edition figurine off eBay, but I got sniped on the bid.”
“You want me to buy the company that makes them?” she asked, as she continued groping him like a stress toy.
He was only ever half sure she was joking when she said stuff like that. “Nah, but I am kinda hungry.”
“Oh, poor thing. Let’s fill you right up,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear. “I got your favorite. That fancy Strawberry ice cream. You get started on that, while I make you a snack before dinner.”
“Thanks, babe.” He gave her a parting kiss and a squeeze on her well-toned, furry backside. She jumped and giggled. He went back to watching TV. Furuka was using her EX transform to battle Arzite and his horde of faceless mutants.
She turned around. “Oh, by the way, there’s a corporate party the week after next and I need to bring a plus one.”
“Aw, babe, you know I don’t fit in with those people.”
“Me either. Please? Pleasssse? I let you bring your friends over to play D&D.” She gave him the eyes and it was over before it even began.
“Alright, but I don’t have a suit to wear.”
“Oh you’re the best. Lemme fix that cake up first, then I’ll call the tailor.”
He could never say no to her any more than she could say no to him. They were like two incredibly movable objects pushing against each other forever. As evidenced by the fact one of their guest rooms was dedicated entirely to his anime figurine collection.
Rachel stripped in the living room, dropping her boring grey skirt, blazer and white blouse in a pile on the ground. Walking naked over to their open-plan kitchen, she knelt down to take her bright pink apron out of the cupboard under the sink. It said “Move less, eat more.” She tied it around her waist, leaving her white butt and little cotton tail sticking out. She liked how it squeezed her cleavage together, too.
Half an hour later, Rachel was baking a cake that would have given the surgeon general a heart attack, and Eddie was right where she’d left him, parked on his enormous butt on the couch playing video games. He’d gone through that expensive ice cream like a tornado through a trailer-park, and the empty containers had joined the fast food trash around his feet on the floor.
She had her hair up in a messy bun, and was wearing a pair of white headphones—nodding along and dancing like a dork to Party in the USA, as she finished up the buttercream frosting.
♪So I put my hands up, they’re playing my song. The butterflies fly away...♪
“What are you making?” Eddie called out, his attention glued to the TV.
She lifted one headphone ear. “Triple chocolate fudge Kit-Kat cake. One of the feeders in the group-chat gave me the recipe. Should be about 30,000 calories.”
He laughed and slapped his gut. “Man, I’ll definitely pack on a few pounds eating that.”
“Damn right you will, fat boy,” she thought, feeling naughty. Like some kind of demon temptress and he was her enthralled captive.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was her Dad. “Oh God.” She let it ring until it stopped. If she hung up, he’d just call back angry. Better to pretend she wasn’t there.
“You wanna watch a movie, tonight?” Eddie asked.
“Sure, what did you have in mind?”
“Corpse Mangler 3?”
“Is that the one where the guy eats his own face at the end?”
“Nah that’s part 4. 3’s the one where the fire-hydrant sprays blood at the school-bus.”
He hauled himself off the couch to waddle to the bathroom, and she took a long, admiring look at his ass-crack hanging out of the back of his shorts. Those were the absolute biggest size you could get in stores and he was hopelessly spilling out of them. Rachel had already suggested he give up on clothes altogether and just go naked, but he’d insisted that he could still find things that fit.
Yeah, we’ll see about that
Honestly, it was impressive he could get up and walk around at all. Most other species would be borderline or completely immobile at that weight. But he was still a bear under all that blubber, and he still had bear strength. That was why Rachel was going to win. The other feeders she knew were dating cats, foxes, one guy was fattening up a fennec fox girl who was like four-and-a-half feet tall. The point was, they were all packing a lot of extra fat onto small frames. They’d hit their ceilings sooner or later, and after that, more growth was just impractical or outright impossible.
Eddie was a bear, though. With a big, wide, sturdy frame to begin with. His potential for growth was much higher. While others might tap out around the four, or five hundred pound range, Eddie was already into the seven hundreds with no ceiling in sight. How’s an artist supposed to paint a masterpiece without a wide canvas to work with?
They’d met 5 years ago, and he certainly hadn’t been skinny, even back then. Well, “met” was the wrong word. She was in a board-room, scrolling her phone under the table, and the algorithm had brought the two of them together. He was live-streaming attempts to walk through a wall for a speed-running trick while smoking weed. It looked like he was in a basement or maybe an abandoned meat-packing plant and she’d given a thousand dollar donation for him to lift his shirt and show his man-tits. Which he’d done. She’d given him another thousand to jiggle his belly fat. Afterwards she had become slightly obsessed, making sure to catch every one of his streams and giving him several thousand more dollars for various requests.
Through a little snooping, and the sort of ability to invade privacy that being ultra-privileged gets you, she had found his alt-account. Let’s just say it turned out he had similar sexual interests as her.
Long story short, they were now married, and living in absolute domestic bliss.
Her parents had had questions, of course. They hadn’t outright forbid or objected to them being together, just offered some passive-aggressive nudging.
“Darling, we’re aware of your...eccentric tastes (Her fat fetish) but we’re just wondering if this young man is right for you.”
They’d have to concede, though, when she pointed out that the type of men she liked were virtually non-existent in their social strata. It had come up again at Thanksgiving, when they’d asked if she was “really” happy in her relationship and what Eddie’s prospects were for the future. They smiled politely but seemed confused, when she tried to explain to them that just recently he’d revolutionised the speed-run route for Super Sentai 3D Force by finding a way to clip through misaligned geometry.
Her younger brother, Max, had jokingly expressed concern that Eddie might roll over in his sleep and crush her. Rachel didn’t say it out loud, but the thought occurred to her that there were worse ways to go out.
When it was finished, Rachel stood with her hands on her hips, smiling proudly—admiring her work. Girl, you have outdone yourself. You could get fat just being in the same room as that thing.
Four layers. Chocolate base, then nutella filling and whipped cream. Another chocolate layer, more nutella and more cream, and so on. Topped with melted Kit-Kat, and spread over that was a heaping of buttercream. There wasn’t a single atom of anything approaching nutritious in the whole thing. She stuck a finger in the icing and tasted it— “mmmhhh... oh it must be what licking God tasted like.”
She had to stop herself from eating any more. Eddie was one thing, but if she got fat, her parents would have a collective aneurysm. “Note to self: treadmill later.”
She added one finishing touch, the pièce de résistance—emptying an entire can of Cool Whip on top. Now it was ready to eat. 30,000 calories of pure fat, and it was all going to one place. She let her hair down, pulled at the string on the back of her chocolate stained apron and let it fall to the floor. Her man was getting dinner and a show.
Outside, the sky was darkening, like it might rain.
Eddie was watching Hentai Ranger Z Flash, one of his favorite shows. His shorts were pulled down and he was leaning back on the couch—fumbling with a fat paw—trying to jerk himself off. He was so fat, though, that he wasn’t having much luck. His cock was buried too deep—he just couldn’t get at it through the absolute mess of folds and rolls between his legs.
Rachel felt conflicted. On one hand, “God, he’s so hot,”on the other, there was a little twinge of possessiveness. “I’m the only one he should be jerking off to. I’m hotter than any of those anime bimbos.”
Her Mother would have said something like—“Rachel, dear, jealousy is an undignified, low-class habit far beneath people of our stature.”
She came up behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, is my poor blubber bear too fat to paw himself off?”
He was making a valiant effort, or maybe was just in denial about how obscenely obese he’d gotten. “I can...if I can just position... that—”
He stretched and tried shifting to different positions but it was clear that it just wasn’t going to happen. He quickly gave up and just lay back against the couch, red-faced and breathing heavily from exhaustion. He smiled up at her with that big, dumb smile and those pretty hazel eyes. “Can you take care of it for me? I can’t really get it.”
She almost couldn’t take it—getting so turned-on, she felt like she might fall down. But then she got that naughty feeling again.“My poor bear is so pent up, I need to pamper him and love him and give him everything he wants.” And then there was another voice saying “Let him wait. Tease him until he begs for it.”
She’d been hearing the mean girl voice more and more lately.
“Of course I can. But eat first, and we’ll play later.” She slapped his gut like a salesman showing off a new car, and went to get the cake. Not bothering with spoons or forks. It was going in his mouth the old-fashioned way.
She brought it over, put it down on the natural shelf that his enormous gut formed, and grabbed a messy handful. She took hold of a roll of his love handle fat and jiggled it. “Now, let’s get started.”
Somewhere deep down, lost in fat, his cock was twitching and leaking pre-cum.
Outside, it was pouring down.
Rachel was straddling Eddie—her D-cups pressing against his...well, bigger chest, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The monstrosity of a cake was three-quarters gone, in the process of melting into more wobbling, useless bear fat. She couldn’t decide where she wanted it all to go. His gut? Nah, that was already taking care of itself. His ass, maybe? Or even better—the rolls of fat above his ass. Oh, she loved those. Yeah, that was it. And the fat under his arms could use some work, too. She’d always heard spot reduction was a myth, but what about spot gaining? Her mind was suddenly filled with all sorts of devious ideas.
“Alright, people, Lightfoot Pharmaceuticals is pivoting hard into the snack-food business. Let’s get to work cramming more calories into everything. My Husband will be our taste-tester.”
Eddie was breathing like he’d just ran a marathon—rather than sat on his fat ass doing nothing as cake was fed to him. His face and chest were covered in cream, frosting and chocolate crumbs.
“Can we huff slow down, hon? Just huff give me a sec—”
He was cut off as Rachel shoved another handful in his mouth. “Sooner we finish, the sooner I can take care of this.” She patted the mound of fat between his legs.
He let out a belch that blew her hair back.
She smiled. “That should make some more room. Now open up, fat boy.”
He made a half-hearted attempt to push her hand away, but by that point, he was so stuffed he could barely move. He didn’t even have the energy to raise one of his fat arms and could only lay there—beached—as more calorie-soaked cake was fed to him. He ate every bite, though, and was never actually in danger of hitting his limit.
When the plate had finally been eaten completely clean, Eddie let out another enormous belch and lay back with his eyes closed. Funnily enough, even though he’d just eaten enough cake to serve 10, he didn’t look bloated. His belly was still the same shapeless mound of softness it always was. Few would have the privilege to learn this first-hand, like Rachel had, but at a certain level of obesity, bloating becomes unnoticeable. He was just so big that changes to his body weren’t noticeable anymore. The only way to tell he was still getting fatter was to weigh him. Speaking of which...
“How was it?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Oh, babe, you’re a urp master chef...”
“Mmm, you did such a good job,” she said sweetly, giving him a gentle, cherry lip-gloss flavored kiss. Alright, haul that blubber butt up, let’s get on the scale.”
“But...” he whined.
A thought popped into her head. “Wouldn’t it be hot if he busted a nut in his own fat?”
Rachel kissed him again, “just teasing.”
The couch doubled as a recliner, where each segment could be lowered until it was parallel. She did this until Eddie was on his back. Logistically it was the easiest way to get it done. She didn’t know much about how to run a pharmaceutical company, but if anyone ever needed to know how to jerk off a 700-plus pound bear...
“Spread your legs as wide as you can.”
He did, and it wasn’t very far. When he laid down, his gut was so big he couldn’t see past it. When Rachel crouched down at his crotch level, she completely disappeared from his view.
The home-gym in the corner wasn’t just for show. Rachel pumped iron most days. She had to, because how else was she going to push apart 200 pounds of a bear’s leg fat to get to the treasure buried underneath? Her biceps strained a little as she moved his thighs apart, then buried her paw deep inside the cave his cock was allegedly in. It was slippery and sticky with pre-cum as she pushed through the layers of rolls.
“Did you find it ye—uhhh...” He let out a surprised moan.
Rachel grinned, “yeah, I think I found it.” She squeezed her long, slender fingers around his nub and started pumping. Most of it was still buried—so she didn’t have a lot to work with. She wondered what his actual length might be. He was already fat enough that he was partially buried when they met, and judging by pictures of him as a kid, he’d never been skinny in his entire life. For all either of them knew, he might be hung like a porn-star.
“You know, fatty, it’s getting harder and harder to find this thing. Pretty soon you’re gonna have to choose between food and sex.”
He laughed, but there was a bit of nervousness in his voice. “That won’t happen, right? We’ll always figure something out...”
She gave his cock a gentle kiss—“Of course we will.”
He was panting as she worked it faster. His fat-pad jiggled and made a nice slapping sound. She started using her tongue, licking up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit harder. She knew exactly how he liked it.
It never took much to get him over the finish line. The life of luxurious hedonism she’d given him, and constant, on-demand stimulation had trained him into a state of hyper-sexuality. Porn whenever he wanted, food whenever he wanted, sex whenever he wanted. The only time he wasn’t horny was when he was eating.
He was gonna blow any second, and Rachel wanted to give him a photo-finish. She got faster, more aggressive. “Look at you. 26 years old and already so fat you need someone else to—”
She didn’t even get to finish. That was enough. The noise Eddie made when he came was hard to describe. Sort of a cross between a bear growl and the disappointed moan of someone who just lost everything at a blackjack table. The load he blew could have put a hole through a wall. Rachel took them all over her face like a champ.
She smiled with a thick glob of bear cum running down her forehead into her eye. “How was it?”
Eddie was exhausted, gasping for breath. With his eyes closed—he gave a weak thumbs-up. “Oh my huff God, huff babe...”
Rachel imagined herself wearing a mortarboard and lab coat, standing in front of a white-board pointing at it with one of those pointer things smart people used.
“Did you know that orgasmic pleasure increases with weight gain? For every hundred extra pounds, the sensation of cumming increases by 20%. If you want to spice up your love-life, experts advise getting really, really fat.”
Rachel wiped herself with a towel as best she could, but she’d need a shower to get all the cum off.
It took Eddie a few attempts to stand after he got some of his energy back. There was no way Rachel could help him. She was aware that inevitably, one day, he would be in his usual routine of absentminded gorging, and without realizing, he would just have become too fat to ever get up on his own again. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it, though. For now, he could still manage.
The bathroom was huge. Made of polished black and white marble. There was a big stone bath-tub, a hot-tub, and an enormous glass shower—big enough that Rachel and Eddie could shower together. Soaping each other up and having him squash her against the glass was one of Rachel’s greatest pleasures in life.
The scale was custom-made, heavy-duty, and went up to 1500 pounds. Eddie probably wouldn’t ever max that out. Probably.
They were both naked now. She gave him a slap on his massive furry ass. “Alright, fat boy, wobble yourself up there and let’s see how much we’ve gained. The fact that a scale supposedly rated for 1500 creaked as he took an unsteady step onto it really put things in perspective.
Eddie laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Can you tell me what it says? I can’t see the number.”
That made Rachel curious as they waited for it to decide on a number. “Eddie, when was the last time you could see your toes?”
He had to think about it. “Uh...I was...14, maybe? They’re still there, though, right?”
His big, fuzzy bear stompers were indeed still there. “You tell me.” She crouched down and started tickling his feet.
He was giggling like a big kid. “Stop,” he shouted, “Or I’m gonna fall on you and then we’ll both be in trouble.”
The bright-red digital readout was going insane. 400, 500, 650, 700... 714, 720... finally settling at 722. Her eyes went wide. “I...uh..you...huh...”
“Rach, honey bun, you alright?”
She was not. 9 pounds in a week. 9 pounds in a week.
“Is it a lot?”
“Let’s do it again,” she said calmly, fighting for composure.
He stepped off and stepped back on. 720,721,722.
“How much is it?”
“722, you’ve gained 9 pounds.” Her voice was shaking.
What followed was perhaps the strangest sexual event in history. Hearing her own voice saying that number dropped Rachel to the ground with an orgasm that shook her entire body. She lay in a fetal position on the white-tiled floor as waves of pleasure rippled through her like a pulsing electrical current. Eddie simultaneously came as well—with several spurts of cum dribbling out of his fat-pad. He had to brace himself against the wall with one arm.
“What the hell is wrong with us?” He asked, smiling and breathing heavily. They both cracked up laughing.
The steamy-hot water felt like heaven as it ran over Rachel’s body. She rubbed bright pink foam body-wash into her fur, and felt herself up a bit as she scrubbed her chest and between her legs. She cupped her ass—lifted it and let it bounce back down. She lathered her long hair in Apple-scented shampoo and conditioner, gently cleaned the insides of her bunny ears with a loofah, then dried herself with a black silk towel.
While she remembered to, Rachel got on the scale herself. 120.4 pounds. Dead-center average for a 5’4 bunny. Life with Eddie hadn’t rubbed off on her. It was probably for the best. If both of them got too fat to get off the couch, it might be a problem.
“Yes, hello, Fire-Department? It’s us, again.”
She walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another on her head. The rain outside had turned into a full-blown storm. With thunder and lightning and thick sheets of rain lashing against the apartment glass.
Eddie was streaming, and she very much would have liked to be naked in front of a live audience. But that would have been crossing a line. Slacking off at work was one thing, the daughter of one of the world’s richest men making headlines for showing her tits on camera was a whole other.
“BILLIONAIRE BUNNY BARES BREASTS ONLINE”
A towel would have to do.
She loved when Eddie streamed. He was usually shy and kind of reserved—but in front of an audience, he really came out of his shell. Video games weren’t her thing, so she had no idea what she was looking at on the screen. Four people that looked like clowns were standing in a row, taking turns hitting God with 9 trillion hit-points.
He was already in his PJs. The Solar-Guardian Justice ones she’d had specially made for him. All his clothes at this point had to be made-to-order.
She leaned over the back of the couch and kissed him on the cheek.
“Chat, say hi to my wife.”
The stream of comments started going a mile-a-minute.
“Dude she’s so hot”
“How the hell did you get a girl like that?”
“Cuck”
“Bad at the game”
Pogged
“I’ll get dinner started,” she whispered, and left him to it. Keeping him fed was a full-time job.
She got her workout in. 15 minutes on the treadmill, then a dumbbell circuit, followed by deadlifts and Sandbag carries. She could hear Eddie joking and laughing with people through his headset.
They ate dinner by candlelight and talked about their day. Rachel mostly vented about work and her parents and the pressure she was under. Eddie just let her get it all out and she loved that he did. When she was done, he talked her ear off about anime and video games and this and that.
Her phone rang again and she ignored it again.
“You should answer that,” Eddie said through a mouthful of Lasagne.
“It’s just my Dad. Who cares?”
“You should.”
“Well I don’t.”
“Well, you should.”
This was as close as the two of them ever came to fighting, and Rachel felt bad about it immediately. But it was easy for him to say. His parents were the sweetest people you’d ever meet. And hers were...well, hers.
They spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch—wrapped in a blanket and watched bad old movies. Dinotron Strikes Back, A Maniac is Loose in Venice, and finally—Corpse Mangler 3: The unrated Spanish cut (banned in 47 countries). As the killer threw jars of pickled organs at the police, Rachel was holding Eddie’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Can you do your tongue thing tonight?” she asked softly. “I need some relief.”
“Sure. But try to be nice to your parents, okay? At least so they don’t cut you off and then we have to get real jobs. Can you do that for me?”
She didn’t like it when he was the mature one. But he was smarter than his goofy exterior let on.
“Yeah, I’ll try...”
Rachel was lying on their bed with her legs spread apart. She was wearing a red silk negligee. The blackout curtains were drawn, and several vanilla-scented candles were burning on the nightstands.
The reality was—that penetrative sex was completely impossible for them. So out of necessity, Eddie had become a master at oral sex. He had been the student and Rachel the master, but now the student had surpassed his teacher.
He started slowly. Running his big wet tongue around the edges and through her carrot-colored pubic hair. There was a tingling rush of blood spreading up through her entire body.
“Mmm... I’ve taught you well.”
The sensation stopped. Eddie sort of lurched forward and collapsed over her lower half.
She patted him on the shoulder, “Eddie? Babe?” She slapped him a bit harder. It was like hitting a side of beef.
There was no response. Just the sound of gentle snoring. He had a dopey grin across his face like he was having a good dream.
“Mmm, French toast, please...” he muttered.
“C’mon, I can’t...” She couldn’t even move one of his arms he was so heavy. He was a complete dead-weight. BABE!
She could never stay mad at him for more than a few seconds no matter what he did.
They say don’t poke a sleeping bear. Well you could poke Edward Lightfoot, dance on his back, and kick off World War III and he wouldn’t wake up a second before he was ready to.
She tried pushing, he didn’t budge. Her paws just sunk into him like quicksand. She tried crawling out from under him, no dice. She turned her head to the side and looked at her phone sitting on the bedside table. She could maybe reach it. But what was she going to do? Who would she call to say, “Hey, my Husband fell asleep and he’s so fat I’m kind of trapped under him.”
There might have been an irony here. At least a few hundred of the pounds she was trapped under were her fault. The lasagna from dinner with six sticks of butter in it was currently in the process of turning into more blubber. The Ice cream gainer shake he’d washed it down with wasn’t helping either.
Rachel stopped struggling and resigned herself. As soon as she did, she felt better. Maybe there was a life lesson to be learned from this. Once you stop fighting against an unchangeable situation, you’ll find inner peace. Probably not.
Still, there were worse places to be. A smoking hot billionaire, in a penthouse, on a giant bed with soft silk sheets, trapped under what might have been the fattest bear in the world.
She kissed him, closed her eyes and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. Life was pretty good when you stopped to think about it.