Feeder Buffet Chapter 6

Feeder Buffet Chapter 6
By Contrast Kingdom

The mall's automatic doors whooshed open to reveal Ana stalking ahead in leggings that hung loose around her nonexistent thighs, while Max shuffled behind her—his borrowed sweatpants riding dangerously low beneath the swell of his gut. The food court scents of cinnamon pretzels and sizzling teriyaki made his stomach gurgle audibly, but Ana dragged him past without a glance, her grip vise-tight around his wrist. The petite section clerk's eyes widened when Ana snatched a size 00 skirt off the rack—not to try on, but to hold up against her concave stomach like a trophy. "This will fit," she announced to no one in particular, her collarbones casting knife-sharp shadows in the fluorescent lighting. Meanwhile in the big & tall section, Max struggled to button a shirt that gaped open around his middle, his belly pressing insistently against the fabric no matter how he adjusted. Ana watched him struggle from the doorway, her lips curling when he finally gave up and let the last button ping against the mirror—his reflection enormous next to hers, her silhouette barely casting a shadow where she leaned against him.

The dressing room attendant—a reed-thin girl with hollowed cheeks—flinched when Ana dropped a pile of XS lingerie on the counter, her gaze lingering too long on Max's swollen belly where it peeked beneath his untucked shirt. Ana's fingers twitched toward the nearest display of belt buckles—sharp-edged, metal things that could leave marks—before she caught herself and shoved Max toward the plus-size racks instead. "You need another set of sweatpants," she said through clenched teeth, watching the attendant's hipbones jut as she bent to retrieve an XXL tag. Ana's nails bit into Max's forearm when the girl smiled at him—a reflexive jerk that made his belly jiggle against the counter. The receipt printout crinkled in her fist as she yanked him toward the escalator, her own shopping bag containing nothing but a single lace thong and a corset belt she'd bought two sizes too small. "Buffet next," she hissed, her empty stomach growling as the scent of Cinnabon wafted up from below—not for her, never for her.

The hostess at Slim&Stuffed Buffet—another skeletal beauty with ribs visible through her mesh top—barely glanced up from her podium until Max's belly brushed against it, his swollen midsection leaving a smear of sweat on the acrylic surface. Ana's lips peeled back when she saw Chloe slinking between tables, the waitress's thigh-high stockings doing nothing to hide the sharp line of her femurs. Chloe's penciled eyebrows shot up at the sight of Max's strained shirt buttons, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Looks like someone's been enjoying our menu," she purred, fingers ghosting over Max's side roll before Ana intercepted with a slap that echoed across the dining room. Chloe just laughed, stepping back with her hands raised—but not before Ana caught the way her eyes dropped to Max's belt buckle digging into the soft shelf of his lower belly.

Ana's own stomach snarled as she watched Chloe load Max's plate with fried mac-and-cheese balls, the waitress's wrists looking brittle enough to snap under the weight. She counted Chloe's vertebrae through the crisscross strings of her uniform while the girl bent to whisper in Max's ear—something that made his face flush redder than the heat lamps over the carving station. Ana's fork screeched across her empty plate, the sound cutting through the murmur of the dining room. "More," she demanded, shoving a bread basket at Max with such force that a roll tumbled onto his lap. His whimper when she reached between his thighs to retrieve it—squeezing just hard enough to make his breath hitch—was worth the way Chloe's smirk widened.

The couple at the adjacent booth became Ana's silent competition; their feeder's collarbones protruded like coat hangers above a top that barely clung to her concave torso, while her partner's belly pressed tight against the table edge, his breath labored between bites. Ana's fingers tightened around Max's wrist as she guided another dripping slice of pizza to his mouth—watching, always watching—as the other feeder slipped a forkful of cheesecake between her partner's lips without breaking her manicured grip on his double chin. It was everywhere now that she looked: bony fingers disappearing into fat rolls at the dessert bar, sharp hipbones digging into swollen love handles along the buffet line, hollow-eyed women monitoring their partners' progress like starving drill sergeants. The restaurant hummed with the sounds of chewing and murmured praise, forks scraping against plates in a rhythm that matched the creak of overburdened chairs.

Chloe returned with a platter of bacon-wrapped scallops balanced precariously on her birdlike wrists, her smirk widening when Max groaned at the sight. Ana didn't wait for Chloe to set the plate down—she snatched a scallop mid-air and pressed it against Max's lips hard enough for bacon grease to smear across his chin. His muffled protest became a wet gurgle as she shoved the morsel past his teeth, her thumb lingering to ensure he swallowed. "Don't you dare," Ana hissed when Chloe reached to pat Max's shoulder, her own ribs pressing visibly through her crop top as she leaned across the table to intercept. The scallop's buttery richness clung to Ana's fingers as she forced another into Max's mouth, then another, her nails leaving crescent indents in his cheeks each time he hesitated. Chloe's laughter tinkled like breaking glass when Max's eyes watered—Ana's fingers moving with piston precision to stuff his mouth full before he could beg for mercy.

Max's belly sloshed audibly when Ana pushed him back against the booth, her bony knee digging into his thigh as she reached for the molten cheese fondue. Chloe had the audacity to drizzle chocolate sauce over a stack of pancakes nearby—a silent challenge in the arch of her eyebrows—so Ana retaliated by skewering three bread cubes at once on a fondue fork. "Open," she commanded, her voice velvet-wrapped steel. The cheese stretched in viscous strings when Max hesitated, but Ana simply pinched his nose shut until his jaw unclenched with a gasp. The scorching cheese coated his tongue as she twisted the fork deeper, her free hand massaging his throat to force the glutinous mass down. His whimper vibrated against the metal tines—half-pain, half-submission—while Chloe's jean shorts swished mockingly as she walked away to fetch more plates. Ana's nostrils flared at the scent of Max's sweat mixing with truffle oil, her own empty stomach contracting at the way his Adam's apple bobbed under her relentless fingers.

Chloe returned pushing a dessert cart that groaned louder than Max's overfull belly, its tiers laden with towers of cream puffs, chocolate mousse domes, sundaes, bread pudding, cupcakes, and a whole cheesecake studded with strawberries like some obscene jeweled crown. Ana's pulse jumped at the sight of Chloe's collarbones casting knife-edge shadows under the buffet lights—so sharp they could've sliced the air itself. Without breaking eye contact, Ana dragged a fingertip through the cheesecake's whipped topping and smeared it across Max's lips like war paint. "Lick," she ordered, her other hand sliding beneath his shirt to pinch the soft mound spilling over his belt. When his tongue darted out obediently, she twisted her fingers in the waistband of his pants—just enough to make him grunt—while Chloe watched with her hip cocked against the cart. The attendant's breath hitched when Ana suddenly grabbed a cream puff and crushed it against Max's mouth, the pastry's custard oozing between her knuckles as she held it there until he choked it down.

Chloe's competitive streak ignited like a struck match—she plunged a spoon into the molten center of a chocolate lava cake and aimed it at Max's open mouth just as Ana was forcing another cream puff past his teeth. The collision of custard and fudge sent rivulets of dessert dribbling down his chin, his throat working desperately to swallow around both mouthfuls at once. Ana watched Chloe's fingers—bone-thin and manicured—tilt another spoonful of mousse toward Max's lips like she was pouring gold into a greedy king's coffers. Something primal uncoiled in Ana's gut when Chloe's pinky brushed Max's lower lip, her own hand darting out to claim his chin first. Their hands tangled briefly—Ana's veins standing ropey against her skin while Chloe's wrist bones clicked audibly—before Ana twisted Max's face toward her, her thumb digging into his cheek to pry his jaw wider. "Faster," she whispered, dropping an entire cupcake crown-first into the wet cavern of his mouth.

The table legs screeched against the tile when Max's belly finally pressed flush against the edge, his swollen midsection lifting the surface at an angle that sent silverware sliding into his lap. Ana barely glanced at the mess—her focus locked on the way his new shirt strained upward, exposing the stretched-tight curve where his belly button had disappeared beneath layers of fresh fat. Chocolate icing crusted at the corners of his mouth when he whimpered around another forkful of bread pudding, his eyelids fluttering as Ana scraped the last caramel drizzle from the plate and onto his tongue. Across the table, Chloe leaned in with a napkin—purse-lipped and faux-concerned—only for Ana to slap it away and wipe the stray smear off Max's chin herself.

They had to pause twice on their way to the exit—once when Max's distended belly knocked over a water glass on an adjacent table, sending ice cubes skittering across the floor, and again when his thighs rubbed raw against the denim seams of his too-tight jeans. Ana prodded the reddened skin with clinical interest, her sharp nails making Max hiss as she traced the chafed lines where his legs had outgrown even his "relaxed fit" pants. "Careful," she murmured, not bothering to lower her voice as a family with wide-eyed children edged past them. The hostess's manicured fingers flew to her mouth when Max's stomach gurgled loud enough to echo through the lobby, but Ana just smirked and dug her fingers into the soft shelf above his belt. "That's my boy," she cooed, guiding him forward with a hand splayed across the small of his back—her palm spanning nearly the whole width now.