7 Deadly Diapers, Ch. 3: Gluttony pt. 2 (TW: addiction, weight shaming, and body shaming)
“Uhhhh How should I know?” Whitney cocked her eyebrow and in confusion, a chuff of humored air escaped her lips.
“Oh gee, I don’t know. Maybe because my gym bag was right where I left it this morning and now YOU’VE filled it with this! Was starving me not enough?” Ethan steamed.
“Look I really don’t know where all that stuff came from but why don’t you just—?”
“Grab some other clothes? Yeah yeah, I saw what you did to the wardrobe too! My clothes are all gone and all that’s left is shit like this!” Rifling in the bag for a moment he snakes out a pale blue, form fitting, snap-crotch baby onesie but sized up for an adult. Whitney covered her mouth to stifle any giggles. After a stutter she clears her throat.
“Okay Ethan, what’s going on? Where’d you even get that thing?”
“In our closet! Where YOU put it!— no. No! Fuck this. Fuck you. I’m not entertaining any of this anymore. Now if you aren’t gonna tell me where my shit is, I need something to wear to the gym.” He holds out his hand, “give me your sweater. C’mon.”
Whitney realized that this situation was quite confusing for the both of them, but the tone in Ethan’s voice threatened an argument she didn’t have any energy for after their last one five minutes ago. With a sigh, she works the sweater up and off of herself. Ethan watched with a tapping foot and a huff until he saw what laid beneath her bulky, unflattering top layer.
His eyes followed up to her belly button now nestled in a gently slimmer figure, then to her waist which smoothly swayed inward with healthy folds, and finally he was struck by sheer awe as he was introduced to her new, swollen, double D-cup boobs held up by a bra that practically buckled under their weight.
“W-whoa.. uh.. I..” he gulped and stuttered. The entirety of his demeanor shifted suddenly. His lips smacked hungrily as drool pooled in his mouth and started escaping his open jaws.
“Uh, Ethan?.. Hello! Earth to Ethan?!” Whitney snapped impatiently causing her husband to slurp up the string of slobber dangling off his lip and clear his throat. But she noticed where his line of sight was. “What are you looking at you perv..? Ugh do you want the sweater or not?”
Something stirred in his stomach however as he looked at the sweater and his wife’s ample bosom. He was met with a decision for where the conversation and their dynamic would go next. And he didn’t like what his brain craved more out of the two options. His stomach, however, was all too willing to give him away. It snarled hungrily.
“Ahem. Uh.. pardon me.. erm.. about dinner. I’m.. sorry.” He scratched his head in shame.
“I’m sorry! Okay? Uh… I should be more.. thankful! And ready to drink— NO! EAT Whatever you prepare for me..” he approaches her. A crazed, desperate and almost addict-like look in his eyes, even going so far as to move her sweater-holding hand out of the way. She put her foot up haphazardly and unintentionally against his crotch to stop him.
“Whoa there, tiger! What’s your angle?” She said, bewildered by his unusual change of heart. But amidst her confusion, a pang of discomfort struck her in both nipples. She winced and grasped her breasts. Pulling her hands away she noticed a white substance left behind from their tips. She was lactating. But the revelations didn’t stop there. She couldn’t help but spot that her husband’s eyes were locked onto the puddle of rich milk in her palm like a junkie, ready to relapse.
Curious, she lifted her palm towards his face and after a terse moment of silent internal conflict… Ethan began to lap up the milk like a newborn kitten. Whitney’s thoughts began to wander somewhere a bit more devious watching her critical, body-shaming husband desire her breast milk so eagerly. Until finally she had her plan come together. A wry smile wrapped over her face.
“Oh yeah~? You want these puppies that bad? Gosh… You sure don’t look the part though…” she sultrily nods towards the gym-turned-diaper bag, letting her diabolical plot begin to unfold, “You know what I want you to put on. Chop chop, mister! The gym can wait…”