Maid Wrapped

Mira, my maid, was clearly getting fidgety. We should have been setting off around now, but I wasn't even dressed yet. I was only just finishing my breakfast and already she was hovering by my shoulder, bindings in hand. Well, I was perfectly happy delaying getting dressed as long as possible.
I pushed another rasher of bacon into my mouth, chewed, and had another ready to enter before I'd even swallowed. A drip of grease escaped the hovering fork, splashing onto the bare expanse of my cleavage. Mira wiped it away before it had time to make good its escape.

There was no more bacon left on the plate. There was very little of anything left on the plate, though it had been piled high when I sat down. I wiped up some sauce with the last piece of butter-drenched toast, taking my time. Mira coughed.

“Ma'am, are you ready to be dressed?”

“Ah... yeah. I guess.” I slipped the sodden piece of toast between my lips and sent it down to join the rest of my breakfast in my stomach, grunting a little as a slight twinge of nausea made me realise just how full I actually was. I'd overeaten again.

“Then can you stand up please, Ma'am?”

Pushing my plate away, I slid my chair back from the table and stood, grunting as the motion jostled my stuffed belly. I eyed the bindings that Mira held nervously.

“Not too tight today, Mira. I'm a little full.” I cradled my stomach protectively, feeling the tight-stuffed mass beneath the thick layer of padding. My stomach itself was stretched tight and round, full of the rich breakfast I'd just gobbled down, but the fat over the top bunched up into two rolls, burying my navel entirely. That was new.

“You say that every morning, Ma'am,” Mira said, “Perhaps you should start the day with a smaller meal, to make things a little easier.”

She took my wrists, moving my arms away from my stomach and putting them where they needed to be, stretched out on each side. I felt my cheeks redden as she stared at my now-exposed midsection, assessing how best to proceed.

“Ah, but you know I do like starting the day off with a good hearty breakfast, Mira. Otherwise I'll just be hungry all morning.” She went behind me, out of my line of sight.

“Yes, but perhaps Ma'am's breakfasts have become a little too hearty lately. Four sausages, six rashers of bacon, two slices of buttered toast, two slices of black pudding...” she pressed one end of the roll of binding to my hip and began wrapping it around my midriff, “... three eggs, mushrooms, two fried tomatoes, beans, six hash browns...”

Listing it all out like that, it did sound like rather a lot. My breakfasts had definitely grown over the past couple of years, and they weren't the only thing.

“Oof – I said not too tight!” I grunted as Mira wrapped the binding tight around my stuffed stomach, putting additional pressure on an organ that was already doing much more than it was happy with. “I can hardly breathe.”

“It needs to be tight, Ma'am, or you're not going to fit in your dress,” Mira said, continuing to wrap the unyielding material around my midsection. My stomach gurgled in distress, the sound only amplified by the thick cushion of fat that had grown over it these past couple of years.

“Y-yeah, obviously, but I also need to – oof – need to be able to breathe.”

“It'll loosen up a little as you digest, Ma'am.” Mira was up past my navel now, the lower roll of my gut completely encased in the binding. It made me look like a mushroom, the flab of my upper roll and sides folding over the material in a deeply unflattering way. I looked away.

“And when I need to eat lunch?” I asked, pink-cheeked.

“Well, perhaps a slightly lighter lunch wouldn't be the worst idea in the world, Ma'am.” Mira said. She was still behind me, but I could feel her warm breath on my back as she reached around and around, slowly wrapping me up like a spider with its prey. “Wraps and flattering dresses can go a long way, but if Ma'am gets much bigger...”

She trailed off, leaving the suggestion in the air. I pouted, but didn't say anything. She had a point.

My upper belly roll was almost entirely wrapped up now, my breathing quick and shallow as my stomach and lungs fought for space inside my constricted midriff. The wrapping did a lot of work – more by the day – but even with the bindings as tight as they were, it was obvious that my middle was a lot heftier than it used to be. And then there were the places the wrapping couldn't help. The increasing width of my buttocks, my upper arms, the burgeoning double chin that jiggled at my throat...

Well, Mira still had plenty more tricks up her sleeve yet.

Mira finished off the wrapping and was momentarily gone from behind me. For a few instants I stood on my own, and without Mira's attention to distract me the gurgling discomfort of my bound-up belly was all I could think about. I felt trussed up tighter every day. A moment later Mira was back though, a large bra in hand.

“This is the new one, Ma'am. Your old one seemed a little... outgrown, so I took the liberty of ordering a size up.”

“Thank you, Mira,” I nodded, as the maid reached around me again and slipped the bra over my heavy, rather shapeless breasts. They usually rested comfortably on the swell of my belly, but with my stomach bound down flat (ish) they drooped tonelessly. Mira clucked as she fiddled with the clasp behind me.

“Seems I should have ordered two sizes up... you're really growing at quite a rate lately, Ma'am. Much more of this, and you'll have outgrown your favourite brand. I don't believe they supply for women over a certain size.”

I flushed. I could feel Mira struggling with the clasp, the straps half sunk into the flab of my back.

“Just- just order the next size up and stick with that. I'm sure I'm not going to get any bigger,” I said.

“Oh? Is Ma'am going to start a diet?” Mira asked, having finally fastened the clasp and now presenting the tight leggings that would shape my thighs and calves into something a little more respectable than their current doughy state.
“Well, maybe not a diet,” I mumbled, “I'll just- look, it's not going to carry on forever.”

Mira pulled the leggings up, rolling the tight material up my cellulite-studded thighs and up over the quivering block of my rump. I could feel the material straining, not to mention hear Mira grunting with exertion as she dressed me.

“If Ma'am doesn't get her eating under control, Ma'am will most definitely continue getting bigger,” Mira said sharply, sounding a little out of breath as she settled the leggings in the way that best flattered my backside, “Until, no matter how much work I put in or how expensive the undergarments, she's going to look...”

She trailed off, and I peered over my shoulder to see her struggling with my dress for the day. It was a large thing, all lace and voluminous skirts and clever padding. They were custom made to Mira's own specification, and so expensive that I preferred just to sign the cheques and not think about it.

“Going to look what?” I asked, adjusting my bra strap to more comfortably sit between the folds beneath my armpit.

“All I'm saying, Ma'am, is that even fashion has its limits. At a certain point, if Ma'am keeps eating like a prize hog, she's going to start looking like one. Arms up.”

The last comment was an order, and I obediently raised my arms so she could slip the dress over my head even as my cheeks flushed pink. Prize hog? Who did she think she-

Mira yanked on the laces at the back of the dress, and I let out a long huff as my poor stomach was squeezed even tighter. My full belly ached, gurgled, and fell silent like an animal finally crushed into submission by a boa constrictor. I struggled for air as she Mira deftly laced the back of the dress, nimble fingers flying as my wrapped-up bulk complained through every channel. My stomach hurt, I could hardly breathe, I could feel the underwire digging into my breasts, I felt sweaty beneath all the wrappings...

But, as Mira turned the full-length mirror to face me, I had to say – I looked good. I turned on the spot, admiring the way my round, full breasts stood out proudly over an almost-flat stomach, at how the leggings made my buttocks stand firm at the top of sculpted thighs, at how the frills at my shoulders hid the width of my increasingly hammy arms.

“Oh, Mira, you've done it again,” I said, smiling prettily at myself – and ignoring the hint of a double chin that appeared whenever I tilted my face down more than a few degrees. “You really are a miracle worker, you know?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” she nodded, “Just remember, even miracles-”
“Oh, hush,” I cut her off, “I'm sure with your skills, you'll be keeping me looking trim and pretty no matter what I eat.”

Mira sighed.
“Yes Ma'am.”