Jack cradled the overloaded plate like it was fragile porcelain, even though it was just the same scratched-up dinnerware they’d used for years. Still, there was reverence in how he handled it, maybe because of what it carried. Balanced precariously beside a pastrami and Swiss sub the length of his forearm was a half-empty bag of kettle chips and a box of peanut butter cookies. 

He was shirtless, his salt-and-pepper chest hair matted in patches from sweat, and the soft swell of his meaty pecs jiggled slightly with each step. His thighs pushed against the fabric of his lounge shorts, and the waistband dug just beneath the curve of his soft, furred gut. Warm, round, and lightly swaying, his belly brushed the counter’s edge as he pivoted toward the living room. 

Then— 

“Jesus!” he yelped, nearly dropping the plate. 

Ted stood there in the doorway, one thick arm braced above the frame, the other resting casually over his rounded belly. He’d let his facial hair grow wild over the winter. The formerly well-trimmed chinstrap had become a thick, wiry storm of silver streaking through a magnificent, mostly dark beard. His chest rug was dense, with black hair peeking over his stretched-out tank top and down into a pair of low-hanging pajama pants. His body was thicker than his husband’s, stockier and heavier in the shoulders and middle. A classic power-bear silhouette with a calming steadiness behind the eyes that always made Jack feel seen—and a little exposed. 

“I thought you were asleep,” Jack mumbled, shifting the plate like a guilty teenager caught raiding the pantry. 

“I was,” Ted replied, tilting his head. “Then I hear the fridge open three separate times in ten minutes. Figured either you were feeding an army or you were up to something.” 

He eyed the sandwich, then the cookies. And then lower. 

Jack’s chastity cage made a soft, metallic tap against the edge of the counter as he adjusted his stance. 

“I want out,” Jack said finally, voice dropping, more plea than statement. 

Ted’s brow lifted. “Nope. We agreed. We stay locked all weekend. No exceptions.” 

“You still have the keys?” 

Ted grinned, filling the room with his quiet bear weight, his belly leading the way. “Nope. They’re in my safe deposit box. Downtown. Bank doesn’t open until Monday.” He paused. “No cheating.” 

Jack groaned, already half hard in his cage and pressing against it like a moth behind glass. “This was your idea.” 

“Nope,” Ted said again. “It was our idea. Remember, you said, ‘What if we tried something different? Wouldn’t it be hot if we gave our dicks a vacation and drove each other crazy for the weekend with no release?’” Ted chuckled. “We were drunk on bourbon and cheesecake when you said it, but it still counts.” 

“I didn’t think we’d actually do it.” 

“And yet,” Ted let his gaze slide back to the sandwich. “Here you are, feeding your face like you’re trying to fuck your appetite instead.” 

Jack shifted again, cheeks flushing. “I’m just bored. Horny. This gives me something to do.” 

Ted stepped closer now, close enough that Jack could smell his cedar beard oil and feel the warmth rolling off his body. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s kind of hot.” 

Jack blinked. “What?” 

“This,” Ted said, gesturing at him. “The food. The fidgeting. The way your tits bounce when you move. You’re a hungry fatass, locked up and desperate, and you’re trying to stuff that frustration down your throat. And I’m not gonna lie, babe—it’s doing things to me.” 

Jack stiffened, not from offense, but because his cock throbbed hard behind steel. The cage tightened, pressed, teased. 

Ted noticed. 

“Ohhh,” Ted said softly. “That’s what this is. This isn’t just a snack run.” 

Jack’s voice became quiet, almost sheepish. “It helps. When I can’t come. It gives me something—” 

Ted stepped behind him, his hands smoothing Jack’s plush sides, fingers spreading into soft hip meat. “You like being stuffed. Fed. Soft. I’ve seen the way you look at your belly in the mirror.” 

Jack said nothing. Ted’s words fell hot on his bare shoulder. 

“And watching you grow,” Ted whispered into his ear, “is gonna get me off more than coming ever did.” 

Jack’s knees wobbled. “You’re such a freak.” 

“You’re the one throbbing in a chastity cage because I called you a fatass.” 

Jack made a small noise in his throat. 

Ted grinned. “Sit. Now. We’re gonna eat together.” 

He took the plate from Jack’s shaking hands and placed it gently on the coffee table. “We’re not gonna break the cages. We’re gonna feed the hunger. We’re gonna let it stretch out. Let it build.” 

Jack obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch, his belly rolling over the waistband. Ted sat beside him and pulled the sandwich apart, holding up a bite to Jack’s lips. 

“Open up,” he said, voice rich with reverence and guttural with desire. 

Jack did. 

And when the first bite touched his tongue—salt, fat, fresh bread—he moaned. 

It wasn’t sex. Not exactly. 

But it was close. And in some new, twisted, beautiful way… it was better. 

How quickly a weekend becomes six months. 

That was how long the cages had stayed on. There was no unlocking, no exceptions, just the gleaming weight of stainless steel nestled beneath the soft swell of their growing bellies. The cages had become a constant presence between them, like a secret, or a vow. 

Jack leaned against the kitchen counter, a spoon in one hand and an open pint of peanut butter swirl in the other. His gut, once a gentle dome, now hung low and heavy, its underside brushed with soft stretch marks like pale fingerprints. The waistband of his sweatpants was folded beneath the curve of his belly, not because he liked it that way, but because it was the only way they’d stay up. 

Jack had always been a burly guy, but now? Now, he was a full-on, house-fed fatty. His chest had thickened into pillowy mounds, dense with fat and soft to the touch, framed by his jungle of salt and pepper hair. His face had filled out, cheeks plush and permanently flushed, neck thick enough now that he’d long ago given up on buttoned collars. When he wasn’t shirtless, he wore tight tees, sleeves stretched taut over meaty arms. 

Behind him, Ted waddled in from the living room with a crinkling paper bag under one arm and a family-sized bag of chips in the other. He was shirtless, too, belly swaying slightly with each step, sweatpants rolled below a bulging overhang that jiggled with every motion. His body was shaped differently from Jack’s, thicker through the chest and shoulders. Ted was a barrel of a man gone wonderfully soft like a retired wrestler let loose in a bakery. 

His beard had gone almost entirely silver now, wild and regal, curling into his collarbone. His nipples peeked from under heavy man-tits, each crowned with coarse black hair. His belly had grown round and proud—less hang than Jack’s, but no less immense. 

Beneath all that softness, hidden like treasure beneath hills of flesh, the cages still throbbed. 

Ted walked up behind Jack and reached around him, arms barely meeting around his husband’s expanded midsection. He let his hand dip low, sliding under the shelf of Jack’s gut. His fingers found metal: warm from body heat, unyielding, and slick with sweat. 

Jack let out a soft moan, hips twitching helplessly. 

“Still locked,” Ted murmured, lips brushing Jack’s ear. “Still tiny. Still mine.” 

Jack’s knees buckled slightly. 

The cage pulsed. Tight, aching, beautiful. And then the hunger rose. 

It always happened like this now. Touch the cage, feel the throb, and the ache turned into appetite. They’d trained themselves, or maybe rewired themselves until arousal wasn’t about fucking anymore. It was about feeding. Getting full. Giving up control to hunger. The more they wanted each other, the more they ate. 

“You hungry?” Jack asked, voice thick, his breath fogging the side of Ted’s cheek. 

“Always,” Ted said, patting Jack’s belly before reaching for the open freezer and grabbing a cheesecake. 

They didn’t even plate it. Just brought it in the plastic, along with the chips, the ice cream, and a six pack of root beer, into the living room and collapsed onto the reinforced loveseat they’d bought after the old couch gave up trying to support their combined weight. 

It creaked anyway. But it held. 

Their bellies spread between them like a shared landscape, hot and plush and always slightly sweaty. Jack sank into the cushions, legs wide, one arm draped over Ted’s shoulder. Ted settled beside him with a grunt, belly wobbling, fork already digging into the cheesecake. 

The TV flickered on to an old ‘90s sitcom called “Honest to Todd” that they’d binged a hundred times. It didn’t matter. They weren’t watching for the plot. 

Jack tore open the chips and leaned over, offering Ted a handful. Ted grinned, crumbs in his beard, and fed a handful back. Grease-slicked fingers brushed lips. Tongues darted. One of them moaned. It didn’t matter who. They both felt it. 

Jack reached under Ted’s belly without a word, hand dipping beneath the overhang until he found the familiar hard curve of the cage. He pressed gently, teasing. Felt the twitch. The heat. The hum of denied pleasure. 

Ted’s belly clenched. His cage throbbed. 

“How long has it been since we’ve had sex?” Jack asked. 

“Who cares?” Todd replied between bites. 

“I love this,” Jack whispered. 

“I know,” Ted said voice like warm butter. “I love you more like this than I ever thought I could.” 

Jack smiled around a mouthful of chips. “Fat and locked?” 

“Fat and free.” Ted pressed a kiss to Jack’s shoulder. “Free from chasing orgasms. Free from expectations. Just you, me, and whatever’s in the fridge.” 

They kept eating, slow, steady, and intimate. A bite for him. A bite for me. 

Their bellies expanded outward like soft monuments to their devotion. Every now and then, one of them would slide a hand beneath the other’s gut to feel the cage, just to make it throb again, to feel that beautiful ache. 

It wasn’t denial anymore. It was religion. Worship. Ritual. 

When the cheesecake was gone and the chips were reduced to crumbs, they lay back together, groaning softly, bellies taut with fullness. Jack reached down to rub Ted’s stretched middle, and Ted returned the favor with a dopey, love-drunk grin. 

Outside, the sky deepened into navy. Inside, two soft, sweating, overfed men settled into their throne of cushions and crumbs, caged, aching, and perfectly content. 

The TV played on. Their cages pulsed in time with their heartbeats. 

And the hunger for food, for touch, and for each other never stopped.