At first, as she entered the kitchen, Phoebe was focused on nothing more than grabbing said snack, be it cookie, granola bar, chip bag, or whatever alternative her mother might’ve dished for her, it was all her peckish mind cared about. Not that anyone could fault her, she had just come home from soccer practice after all. The girl had no reason to expect the woman’s changes, nor how they’d likely affect her waistline, so when a full plate consisting of two cake slices, a stack of cookies —all of which drizzled in chocolate syrup— and a pudding cup was handed to her, the third-grader wasn’t sure what to make of it, simply holding it in a momentary daze.
“What’s all this for mom? Do I have to eat all of it?” Came the expected queries, though a few minutes delayed by their speaker’s befuddlement, still unsure of the reason for her given feast.
“Just eat all you can dear, I happened to feel like spoiling you a little today.” Was the twisted truth Jeannine had decided on, happily allowing the rest of the lies to flow past her lips, “We don’t spend much time together with how busy both of us are, me with the PTA, and you with your team, not to mention that even at home there’s never long before you run off to do homework. It’d be one thing if you ever needed my help, but you’re so bright that I’d only be in the way. So is it okay if we just spend a bit of time together now?”
Phoebe, odd as it almost seemed for her mother to say all that, couldn’t help feeling a bit bad about it, it was obvious that her mother would want to interact with her, but for whatever reason she’d assumed the woman was satisfied with caring for her little sister and association duties, not even talking with her that much aside from the routine “How was your day?” Yet, as mentioned, it wasn’t really intentional, so the eight-year-old found it convincing enough to take her seat at the table, still not bothering to take a glance at Alice before bringing the first bite of dough to her mouth, hard pressed to truly complain about the treat, one plate wouldn’t ruin her figure after all.
As for the all too dissatisfied mother, she had moved behind the contented girl, crouching down to the chair’s legs for the first steps of restraining the young athlete. Pulling the zip ties from her pocket, Jeannine daintily wrapped them around both child and furniture, slowly pulling them tight to keep from alerting her of her new bindings. Finally standing back up, she watched the eight-year-old eat, steadily working through the plate of desserts while she encouraged her from behind, even adding more bits of food with an accompanying “Try some of these.” Or a “For being such a beautiful little daughter.” As well as some other compliments, mentioning how proud she was of the team ace among such things.
Now, with all that being done, it wasn’t hard to predict that Phoebe would be full, a touch stuffed in fact, from the treatment after only around seven minutes, if even that long. Really, the timing didn’t matter much at all, the result was the same, the eight-year-old eventually leaning into their seat in satisfaction, though it was mere moments later that it would turn to regret. To explain why was simple enough, her legs had already been bound after all, so who could expect that the girl’s mother wouldn’t do the same for her arms once able? Well, the mentioned daughter for one, she hadn’t realized that her legs were restrained in the first place, leading the first thing she tried after finding her arms immobilized to be an attempt toward moving them, one that inevitably failed of course.
“M-Mom? What’s this about? Huh?” The questions finally came, the accompanying worried resistance a touch too delayed.
“Don’t worry about it honey, just eat.” It started, Jeannine’s hands moving over her daughter, “It’ll go faster if you just cooperate you know. And from that, make sure to start thinking of a new hobby for yourself, like eating, since I’m not going to stop stuffing you each day until you’re too heavy to ever play any sport again, especially the soccer you love so much.”
“But why?”
“Oh, no reason really, I just want your father to start paying attention to me again, but he just loves spending time with his daughters, perfect father he may be, so what better way than to keep you from doing much? I’m sure he’ll be a bit bored if all you start doing is eating, sleeping, and watching tv, wouldn’t you think so? And what a good chance it would be for us to rekindle a bit of our passion.”
“C-Can’t you just talk with him? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind spending more time with his wife, would he?”
“I’ve tried dear, but he’s the epitome of a family man, he always wants you two involved, making any date we might have into a full family outing. So the best I’ve come up with is making the two of you too much of a burden to bring anywhere. You and your sister will be so adorable once you can’t move anymore don’t you think?”
“What about school a-and everything?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll make something up to tell your teacher when your grades fall. You should expect your priorities to change a bit, assuming I do everything right.” Grasping her daughter’s shoulder, she continued, “Now, that’s enough of that, time to get you filled. And for your sake, just eat it okay?”
That wasn’t to say Jeannine actually waited for an answer, simply grabbing from the table’s remaining holdings, a plate of brownies in this case, and pushing one of its contents into the conveniently gaping mouth of her child. They reacted simply enough, trying to refuse swallowing for a moment until her mother pinched her nose, efficiently emptying her daughter’s mouth if the girl wanted a chance to breathe. Not to mention how it kept the eight-year-old nice and easy to feed, since, along with vacating her maw, it left the jaws constantly open, free for more and more to get shoved inside as well. Though, with the void left by the now denied conversation, the woman did feel like some background noise would be nice, not that there was any question about what. A third grader would surely understand a bit better than the one-and-a-half-year-old she’d informed earlier.
“Here you go,” she started, shifting a couple dishes to make room for the small television, “I’m sorry for forgetting to show you the spark for all this. And don’t you think your sister will be just so adorable?”
Replaying the scenes from their start, Jeannine continued her prodding, still pushing food inside her daughter as she mused, “See? Just watch and let me do all the work to get you there, it shouldn’t take too long now. But I do admit I’m a touch troubled on how to get you out of soccer practice. Wouldn’t want Chris to ask any questions because he got notified of your removal would we?” Gesturing to the screen, “Not until it’s because you’re around the size of Mary okay? I wonder how it’ll feel to see their precious ace grow so big their flabby legs can barely kick a ball, won’t that be fun?”
Honestly, it was natural to see that the poor child wouldn’t be able to respond, mouth filled with muffin and all, but that didn’t mean there was no communication from her. The tears beginning to drip from her eyes did quite well at their job, provoking the plainly contradicting reply of her mother,
“What’s wrong dear? Are you scared of me? You should know that I’m only wanting what’s best for you and your sister’s futures, so why the resistance?”
“B-Bu-” Phoebe tried, failing to get the words out before her mouth was filled again, silenced by the dessert that did so. Yet, as if in optimism, or simple sadism, Jeannine replied none the less, “Shh... Just relax, it’ll be easier. Not that I’ll stop you from trying to resist, what little you can with limbs bound, but it will surely be a bit less endurable if you push my patience. Got it?”
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