Bet u didn’t expect me to fill this, random anon, but you know what I decided I wanted to go with an idea of sugar daddy Jack absolutely spoiling the fuck out of his sugar baby Rhys with decadent fancy food, so enjoy it c:

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Jack liked feeding people.

Not like, how a mother got satisfaction from feeding her kids, or how a chef felt pride from feeding his customers, no.

Jack really liked feeding people.

In all his previous relationships he’d never bothered to bring it up, mostly content to jerk off to porn that danced on the edge of his kink—twinks with bananas shoved in their mouths, girls licking whipped cream and chocolate sauce off of each other’s tits, et cetera—or just scrolled through pages of sumptuously photographed food blogs, imagining shoving countless lovingly crafted dishes down his lovers’ throats.

Still, he’d never considered making his fantasies a reality, until he had met Rhys. Rhys, who was willing to do almost anything that Jack desired as long as the older man had a new pair of boots or a fancy gadget waiting for him at the end. And yet, Jack wasn’t entirely sure that his new lover would agree to something this out of the blue, even if he promised to overhaul his entire wardrobe afterwards.

However, Rhys had taken surprisingly little convincing, considering how Jack had only hinted at this particular kink of his beforehand. He’d made no secret of how much he enjoyed watching Rhys eat, but aside from buying the young man dessert when he insisted he didn’t really need it, he’d never blatantly made it clear just how much the idea of stuffing food into Rhys’ mouth made him hard as a rock.

But Rhys had agreed with only  a couple moments of silence to think about it, as he laid naked and freshly-fucked besides Jack, the older man’s broad hand brushing softly up and down his stomach. Surprised as Jack had been, he had quickly grown enthusiastic, brainstorming over how exactly he was going to live out his fantasy.

Jack wasn’t a slouch. Sure, he could stuff Rhys full of dollar store cupcakes or fast food burgers, but Jack liked his kink with a nice dose of pageantry and pizzaz. And hell, if he had the money to splurge and then some, why not go all out and really dazzle the kid with a massive, expensive meal?

So he’d meticulously prepared the menu, delineating specific courses and choosing wine that would pair nicely both to what Rhys would be eating and what Jack would be feeling. It took about a week to order and gather all the ingredients together, his pantry and refrigerator stuffed to the brim with food for the single dinner that was taking shape inside Jack’s enterprising mind.

Jack was brimming with excitement by the time their “date night” came around. He’d spent all afternoon preparing the meal by himself, unwilling to let anyone else’s hands contaminate the intimate dinner for his sweet lover. Rhys had been out with Vaughn and Yvette for most of the day, purposefully leaving Jack alone in his cooking zen, interrupting only to send Jack a picture of a scant looking salad and a text that read—

“saving myself for tonight”

—which made Jack take a break to grind his groin against the corner of the countertop while his potatoes bubbled and bobbed in the stockpot.

By the time Rhys got home dinner was almost finished, and after a couple moments of making out in the kitchen, Rhys’ deft fingers undoing the strings of Jack’s bright yellow apron, Jack sent him off to freshen up with a quick swat to his backside. Rhys practically flounced off towards the bedroom, shooting coy, excited glances over his shoulder as Jack rested the food on fancy warming plates, keeping them enticing and perfect as his lover got ready.

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The table was set perfectly, glinting ceramic plate, pressed napkins, and crystal glass standing out against the sleek dark wood. Jack had even lit candles in the wrought iron holder that cast a pretty orange glow over the lights Jack had turned down to a romantic dim.  

Rhys was dressed in a perfectly pressed, navy blue dress-shirt, also specifically ordered for the occasion. Tailored a size up from Rhys’ usual clothes, just to allow for a little give—but just a little, after all, there wasn’t much of a point if he couldn’t see exactly how full his meal was getting Rhys.

Jack himself was clad in his favorite “fancy” shirt—coal black, with bright gold buttons trailing down his front and studded on his cuffs—and crisp, dark dress pants that cinched around his waist and showed off his attractive, angular frame.  

“Do I really have to be tied to the chair?” Rhys whined, hands wiggling in the black satin ribbon that bound his wrists to the elegant, carved wood arms of his seat. “What if I need to wipe my face?”

“Don’t worry, sugar, if you need it done, I’ll do it for you,” Jack promised as he tugged playfully at Rhys’ bindings, grin widening at the tension. There was no way the young man would be able to escape—not that Rhys had shown signs of wanting to.  

“Now, kitten, this dinner was very expensive. Like, I’m not even sure you can fathom exactly how much I shelled out for this,” Jack hummed as he set the silverware out, flanking the young man’s plate, “so you better eat every single thing I put in your mouth. Deal?”

“What do I get in return?”

“Um, you get the best, fanciest damn meal of your entire life?” Jack scoffed.

“Okay, but then what?”

“You really are a spoiled brat, aren’t you?” Jack chuckled, patting Rhys’ forearm as he finished setting the table.

“Fine. If you have any room left inside of you after this, then I’ll top ya off in the bedroom. How’s that for incentive?”

“Much better,” Rhys purred, smile quirking at the idea of being properly “rewarded” for eating Jack’s meal. Which he was pretty sure was a reward in and of itself, but whatever. Jack had already poured so much effort into this that it would be heartbreaking to have it all fall apart at the last minute because Rhys’ got moody.

Jack leaned in, heart fluttering with excitement as he pressed a kiss to Rhys’ soft forehead, trailing down to his nose before landing one on his lips, excited to think about how quickly the hint of pink gloss there would be rubbed off as he made the young man eat.

“Be right back, sugar, daddy’s going to start you off with appetizers and we’ll work our way up, ‘kay?” Jack purred as he returned to the kitchen to retrieve the first course.

He’d perfectly sliced a whole baguette at an angle, plating them beautifully on a sleek, flat piece of slate in staggered rows. A third of the toasts were topped with a sumptuous dollop of creme fraiche and beady, obsidian caviar, the rest either smothered in creamy duck pate or topped with poached quail egg and chopped chives.

The way Rhys’ eyes lit up at the sight of food made Jack’s knees weaken.

He took his seat next to Rhys, hand rubbing the young man’s shoulder as he took in his eager expression.

“Hungry, pumpkin?” Jack whispered, voice already growing gruff with excitement. He watched as the tip of Rhys’ pink tongue flicked from beneath his lips, already salivating at the enticing sight and smell of the food.

“God, yes.”

“Great,” Jack’s hand hovered above the plate, eager, “no more talking now.”

He picked out a particularly fat slice of bread, one of the pieces topped with the cream and caviar, careful not to lose a single drop of the precious topping as he lifted it up to Rhys’ waiting mouth.  

Jack could feel sweat gathering under his clothing, body twitching imperceptibly every time he heard the soft pop of the caviar between Rhys’ teeth. He bristled with a twisted mix of pride and arousal, every little sound a reminder that he was feeding what amounted to someone’s monthly salary to his precious lover without a single care.

Another piece of toast was quick to follow as soon as Rhys had finished the first one. To Jack’s disappointment, Rhys had licked the créme fraîche from the first bite off of his lips, but the older man soothed himself with the reality that Rhys would be far messier than that by the end of their dinner.

He picked one of the quail egg toasts, tenuous yolk quivering in the flicker of the candlelight as Jack lifted it up. The bread was perfectly toasted, golden-brown and smeared with butter and diced garlic. Jack could feel the smell in the back of his throat, and he swallowed thickly.

The fragile yolk trembled as Jack brought it to Rhys’ mouth, his stomach tightening as he presented it to the young man’s waiting lips. After a moment of trepidation, Rhys opened his mouth, the egg quivering one final time before Rhys’ teeth piercing into it, a moan cutting through the burst of yolk as Rhys chewed and swallowed the piece of toast.

Jack’s eyes followed the trail of butter-gold yolk that trailed down from the corner of Rhys’ perfect, plush lips, his finger lifted to smear through it, collecting the gooey fluid before sucking it off the tip. He hummed around the digit, tasting the still-warm, liquid yolk before pulling out his finger with a pop.

“Delicious.”

Rhys dutifully ate all of the remaining toast—Jack wetting his mouth in between slices with sips of fresh, sparkling water—though he clearly favored the quail egg topped bread, making even more luscious moans as Jack chased more strands of yolk up his chin to kiss his buttery lips.

He rested his hand on Rhys’ thighs, already feeling his cock start to stir in his pants as he kissed his lover, sharing the savory taste still lingering on the other man’s tongue. His hand reached over to softly pet Rhys’ stomach, just barely bloated with the amount of food he’d eaten thus far.

Jack pulled away just as Rhys was starting to moan, resisting the temptation to just fuck the young man right then and there, knowing that it would be far sweeter if he waited, kept his hunger at bay until the end of the meal.

So he rose, licking away the remainder of crumbs on Rhys’ lips as he cleared the stone plate from the table, quickly returning with a bottle of chilled, expensive wine and a large plate, laden with the next decadent dish.

Jack was particularly proud of the main course. He’d spared absolutely no expense with this—and considering how high the bar had been set with the previous courses, this way no small feat. A delicate, perfectly broiled filet mignon, crested with seared foie gras, sat kingly atop a mound of whipped purple potatoes. Two thickly buttered lobster tails curled elegant around the filet, the entire affair dusted with delicately shaved white truffle. It was an utterly gorgeous presentation and Jack was almost loathe to ruin it.

But there was still plenty of space left in Rhys’ belly that needed to be filled.  

The blade of the elegant, cedar-handle steak knife glimmered briefly in Jack’s hand before it sunk into the supple flesh of the filet, cutting through the tender meat like butter until it chimed with a clink against the plate. Jack pierced a fat piece of foie gras to the steak with his fork, the morsel coming away with little effort as Jack raised it up to Rhys. The young man’s eyes fluttered half closed, lips parted and trusting as Jack slipped the meat carefully into his lover’s mouth, silvery prongs slipping clean from between Rhys’ lips as he chewed with a lurid moan.  

A deep crimson glass of lambrusco was raised to Rhys’ chin as the young man finished swallowing down the forkful of filet. Jack waited for a moment, not wanting Rhys to choke, before he brought the glass up the rest of the way to Rhys’ lips, content only when the boy had drained half of its contents. He finished off the other half himself, grinning drunkenly at Rhys as he loaded up the fork with a generous chunk of lobster swirled in the truffled potatoes.

Jack continued to feed his pretty lover, attentive as he slipped more and more food into Rhys’ waiting mouth. He could see the way Rhys’ clothing was starting to grow tight around his middle, the young man’s belly gradually bloating with more and more food as Jack continued to push more of the main course between his lover’s glistening lips.  

Rhys started to slow down halfway through the course, taking bites from the fork far slower than he had in the beginning. Jack noticed him shifting in his seat, sliding his rear out towards the edge of the chair to give more room for his bloating middle. Jack set down the fork temporarily, sending him as asking look.

“Mmm, Daddy, I’m getting full,” Rhys whined at him, lower lip sticking out in a pink pout as Jack dabbed a spot of butter and steak juice from the corner of his mouth. His own stomach tightened pleasantly at the sound of Rhys’ voice, the way his cheeks were attractively touched—from the sensual way Jack was feeding him, or the effort of eating so much food, the older man couldn’t tell, but frankly he hoped it was both.

“Hush, we can’t stop just yet, pumpkin, I know you can still fit more in there…”

“Can you at least…um…can you…” Rhys wiggled, glancing down towards his middle. Jack felt his heart leap, a grin spreading over his face.

“Ah…yes, of course, yes, let me…help you.”

Jack had to take a moment to still the excited shaking in his fingers as he undid the buttons on Rhys’ middle, freeing his bloated belly from the confines of his shirt. Jack’s dick throbbed in his pants at the side as Rhys’ stomach bulged outwards, rolling out into his lap when Jack unbuckled his belt and unzipped the boy’s pants down. A smirk played across the older man’s face—the kid’s boner didn’t escape his notice.

“Look how pretty you are, sugar. Such a hungry little thing….you can really pack it away huh? Didn’t know you had it in you…” Jack chuckled, hands ghosting over Rhys’ tender belly. The young man fussed, shifting around in his seat, shying away from Jack’s hands, soft and gentle as they were.

“If you make me throw up, I’m not sleeping with you for like….a year…”

“Mmm, good thing I’m not into that, babe. Now open up,” Jack cut another thick piece of the filet, spearing it alongside a chunk of lobster.

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Jack allowed Rhys a longer break after he finished most of the main course, leaving a smear of potatoes and a couple scraps of the steak left over on the elegant plate. He toyed with forcing Rhys to finish the entire course, as he had with the other dishes, but he was far too excited to move onto dessert, and if he pushed the young man much further, their dinner would get a lot more messy, and not in the good way.

Rhys’ breathing had grown heavier, his body burdened with the meal as he relaxed back into his chair, his lips parted and his tongue poking through as he watched Jack rise to retrieve the final course from where it had been resting deep within the freezer. The soft little whines that came from Rhys as he struggled to breath, overfull belly rising and falling freed from the restraints of his shirt, followed Jack into the kitchen, making his hands shaky and body hot as he grabbed the chilled silver tray.

Despite the heaviness in his gut, Rhys’ eyes lit up at the sight of the dessert that was set before him, mouth salivating at the sight of the small baked Alaska sitting on the frosted serving dish. The air around it misted softly in contrast to the warm, candlelit room, an enticing treat to end the dinner Jack had so carefully crafted.

Jack hadn’t considered it, but the dome of chilled meringue resembled Rhys’ round, stuffed belly, creamy and pale and bloated as it was. How very poetic.

“I know you love ice cream,” Jack purred, lifting the delicate golden spoon from where it rested against the dessert plate, giving Rhys a moment to soak in the pristine presentation of the treat. The meringue was beautifully whipped, like fresh snow on a mountaintop, a golden sunrise of toasted brown caramelized on its swirled peaks. Rhys’ eyes hungrily followed the spoon as its glinting curve sunk into the supple, creamy dome, revealing the deep pink ice cream and dense fudge cake concealed within.

Rhys’ lips opened obediently as Jack lifted the petite morsel to his lips, tongue pressing against the underside of the spoon. Rhys moaned around the dessert, eyes fluttering closed. He leaned forward, lips following the spoon as Jack slipped it out from between his lips, quickly ladening the utensil with an even bigger piece of the dessert.

Rhys seemed to have a second wind, driven by his lust for sweets. He continued to eat every bit of the dessert that Jack fed to him, even licking the sheen of meringue from the spoon when the older man offered it to him. His moans were quick to grow erotic, even as his stomach rounded out further with the decadent treat.

Still, it wasn’t long before the young man was unable to push himself any further.

“D-Daddy, please…I can’t eat anymore…” Rhys whimpered finally, his breathing heavy as he pulled away from the spoon, weakly licking his lips as he looked up at Jack. His eyes glistened pitifully, his lips—dusted with the remains of the dessert—set in a trembling pout. Jack glanced towards the plate, spoon scraping against the silver as he lifted the last, cream-soaked piece of cake towards the young man’s mouth.

“Just one more bite, Rhysie, just one more, then I promise, I’ll give you what you want,” Jack purred, the golden sliver of the spoon pressing between Rhys’ shut lips. A glimmer of protest shone in Rhys’ eyes for a brief moment, but he opened them dutifully with Jack’s soothing words and the way he rubbed his thigh. Pride flooded through Jack’s chest as the young man properly finished off the desert, finally setting the spoon aside with a metallic chime as he leaned back to admire his work.

Rhys was completely stuffed to the brim, his previously flat stomach now round and bloated with food, creamy skin contrasting with the deep blue of his open shirt. He looked utterly undone, face bright red and lips open and panting. His tongue lolled out, corners of his mouth smeared with the remains of the fluffy meringue, his chin sticky with the melted strawberry ice cream and crumbs of chocolate cake.

Jack palmed Rhys’ belly, careful not to put too much pressure against the trembling skin as he slowly nudged his chair away from the table. He got on his knees before him, pressing tender kisses against the young man’s stomach, trailing downwards as his fingers picked at the waistband of his pants. He drew those, along with Rhys’ underwear, down to his knees in one steady tug, letting the young man’s hard, pink cock spring up to rest curved against the underside of his bloated belly.

“Guess it’s my turn for a treat, huh?” Jack chuckled as he leaned in, licking the creamy cum beading at the tip of Rhys’ cock, letting it drip over his tongue as he locked eyes with his lover over the curve of his stomach. Rhys’ tongue lolled out of his mouth, cheeks blushing impossibly redder as he gazed down at Jack, hips starting to buck up against Jack’s mouth despite his heavy gut.

Jack pushed his lips over the length of his lovers cock, feeling the tip touch the back of his throat as his forehead brushed against Rhys’ stomach. He bobbed up and down, slicking the young man’s shaft with saliva as he messily blew him.

Distantly, Jack wondered how much food he needed to shove into Rhys in order to get his cum to change taste. He filed that away for a later date as he pushed Rhys’ cock into his throat.

The young man didn’t last much longer under Jack’s onslaught. He cried out in warning, hips jerking up as Jack pulled off with a sloppy gush of saliva, letting Rhys’ cum splash against his face, staining his cheeks and chin with a facsimile of the sugary cream still sticking to Rhys’ lips. Jack felt his own cock throb in response, the fabric in his crotch growing noticeably tacky and damp as he licked a drip of cum from his upper lip.

The two of them remained, Rhys seated bound in the chair and Jack on his knees before him, panting and gasping through their respective orgasms. Rhys’ stomach trembled like a tenuous bubble as he tried to catch his breath, the dying candlelight glinting on the pearly tears spilling from his closed eyes. Jack absently stroked Rhys’ bare thighs until he felt steady enough to stand, slowly rising to his feet as he practically ripped the satin ties from around Rhys’ wrists.

“Think both of us need a clean up,” Jack purred, placing a tender kiss on Rhys’ forehead as he gathered the young man up in his arms, grunting softly against the added weight as he rested Rhys’ form against his chest. The young man laid his head against his lover’s shoulder, content to just lay heavy and solid in his arms as Jack carried him off in the direction of the bathroom and a soothing, vanilla-scented soak in the tub.