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SLEEPEATER the comic, now up on my Patreon. www.patreon.com/themagmaman

Introducing a new tribute comic loosely based on one of my favorite stories by BoboTheHoboWrites

SleepwalkerI’m not quite sure when, exactly, it all started.Liz had always this a habit of taking on more than she probably should have. Extra assignments at work, helping out her mom even though her brother and sister were just as capable of doing any work that she was, even sitting me down more than a few times to take over for me because I wasn’t “cleaning right”.For as long as I’d known her, she’d always had that sort of hands-on personality. She’d pile her plate high with obligations and responsibilities, bitch about how stressed out she was, knock down each task one by one before finding ways to stack her workload right back to where it was, and then repeat the process. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that her subconscious hadn’t found an outlet sooner than it did—but then, stress in your late twenties is totally different from stress in your early twenties. Maybe it was her system’s way of filling a void that she didn’t consciously understand was there. Maybe the reason that she kept herself so busy while she was awake was the same reason she started sleepwalking.Well, I say sleep walking—the truth is that she didn’t actually do a lot of walking. I caught her a few times before all this happened. During the holidays when she was obsessively deep-cleaning the apartment for days before her family showed up, or whenever she and one of her friends were in the middle of a fight. She’d wake up in the middle of the night, toddle over to the kitchen, and with her eyes still closed she’d fumble around until she found the fridge and she’d make herself something to eat. Maybe she’d have some milk from the carton. A half of a sleeve of Oreos. She’d work her way through whatever it was, toddle on back to bed with a full belly, and go back to sleep.Whenever I mentioned it, she would say that she had no idea what I was talking about. And after actually trying to have a conversation with her while she was in the act—again, I say conversation, but it was mostly just drunk sleep talk—I believed her. And for the longest time it was just a little quirk of hers. A way for me to know when she was taking on more than she could really handle. It wasn’t anything that I gave her shit over or really even thought about all that much, until it started happening more often.I guess she had to have started sleepwalking more nights than not sometime after she got her big promotion. When she got her nice corner office and there was a sales team looking to her for direction all of the sudden, I guess she started to get more big assignments and was held to a higher standard. Because a month or two after her big promotion party, Liz started eating a lot.And like, y’know, it’s fine. We all have our coping mechanisms. I wasn’t going to say anything about it. Who was I to point out that she was starting to get a little chubby? It could have been drugs or booze or cigarettes to stink up our apartment with, so I guess on that list food is one of the less drastic ways to calm your nerves. An extra helping at dinner here or some drive-thru snacks weren’t going to hurt anybody.But even on nights where she’d gone to bed after big dinners or eaten an entire bowl of popcorn while we watched a movie, I’d hear her lumber out into the kitchen at around one or two in the morning. The soft pads of her feet scraping against the hardwood as her new pounds jiggled around her hips and tummy. Liz was never quiet about it and most of the time I’d wake up to hear the fridge door open or the sounds of rummaging through the cupboards. She’d almost always wriggled her way halfway out of her t-shirts, her short blonde hair mussed and her green eyes either half-closed or shut. I don’t remember which night it was, but I remember that I hadn’t been asleep yet. It was like, half past midnight, so not super late. And Liz had already gone to bed, but I’d stayed up to catch up on this show I watch. So I heard her dragging her feet out of the bedroom, dressed in a tank top and these panties that she’d gotten a while back—I recognized both of them, but whether it was the lighting or the fact that I was getting sleepy, I almost didn’t recognize Lizzie.Her face was round and soft, with a crescent-moon double chin hanging just below her jawline. Her petite build was growing not just stocky but wide, thickening into a little tire of a tummy and lovehandles that hung over her ripping panties. Liz’s figure fattened torso out, with her arms and legs becoming heavier from disuse as her breasts began to fight her biceps for space. In that moment, I realized that Liz wasn’t just “getting chubby” anymore—she’d been there for quite some time.I waved to her silently as I turned down the television. I didn’t want to wake her up. Those few times that I had or tried to bring her out of it, she was usually in a poor mood the whole day after. Until this point, I figured that it was just a harmless little quirk. But after getting a good look at her with sober eyes, I was starting to see the effects that Liz’s little habit was having on her figure.Still, I figured, it wasn’t my place to step in. I’d talk to her about it in the morning.But then I heard her start to eat. Over the sounds of my movie, by the way. Lizzie was taking deep, sensual sounding breaths as she shoved fistfuls of shredded cheese from the bag into her mouth. She was deep-throating a half of a sub sandwich that I’d brought home because it was too big. And I swear to God I’m not joking, she moaned once or twice between the sleeve of Oreos.And I don’t know if it was the sounds she was making, or me getting a look at her plump, meaty rolls hanging out of her pajamas as she hung out of the fridge, but something about this night changed things. As in, Liz’s sleepwalking stopped being a thing that I just sort of tolerated and something that I actually started to form an opinion on.And you’re going to think that it’s crazy, but… I thought that it was really kind of hot.So, since then, I’ve done what I could to encourage her habit in little ways. Picking up extra snacks and her favorite cookies during grocery runs, making sure to bring home leftovers where I can. Just some little things to make these little late night snacks more fruitful for her. I try not to be too obvious about it where I can, but I’ll freely admit that I’m the whole reason we have a candy dish next to the couch. It’s just so much easier to keep her snacking throughout the day than to go to bed hoping that she’ll have another night in front of the fridge.And I know that this might not be something to be proud of, but it’s clear that the little nudges and subtle encouragement of her weird little habit are working. Whereas before Lizzie was just scarfing down a few snacks here or there before stumbling back to bed, she’s started eating entire meals’ worth of food some nights—and remember, that’s in addition to the big dinners we were having or that I was whipping up, plus the idle grazing that her unconscious mind was pushing her towards.…okay, her unconscious mind and now me too, I guess.Every time I hear her door open late at night, I get a little chill up my spine. The sound of her heavy footfalls as she pulls herself across the hardwood floor and waddles out of bed. The hum of the refrigerator as she hovers right outside of it, belly swaying back and forth as she rummages through its chilly caverns until she finds something to satisfy her unconscious cravings. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in the middle of it all, catching the tail end of her working her way through some cold Mexican food or folding half of a slice of pizza into her mouth. Her sound of her soft, labored breathing as she unwraps a stick of butter and pushes it past her full pink lips. See, she’s eating butter. I can’t be held entirely responsible for all of this—not that she’d ever admit that any of this is really a thing.Maybe it’s because I clean up after her most nights. Maybe it’s because of her Type-A, take-charge personality. But I don’t think I could convince her of her nightly shenanigans if I tried to. Even as she keeps ballooning in size, Liz just keeps brushing it off as her metabolism slowing down or needing to finally get back to the gym. She’ll even go on these occasional health kicks and diets in a desperate attempt to curb her rapid expansion outwards. But those always just wind up stressing her out even more—leading to far, far more impressive sights for me to enjoy from just outside the kitchen.But as all of this has gone on, it’s been getting harder and harder for me to keep my cool. She’s just getting so big these days; it’s kind of hard to remember that she’s the same petite and lithe little blonde that I moved in with all those years ago. My parents certainly didn’t recognize her when they came to town to visit, and whenever someone who hasn’t seen her in a while drops by there’s almost always a visible flash of clarity when they realize that this isn’t Liz’s older, fatter sister.Watching her get out of breath during our now nightly big dinners, or listening to the soft and gluttonous noises she makes after settling into the couch at night with a bowl of popcorn is getting harder and harder for me to ignore. With every new creak of our floorboards, I know that Liz is getting heavier and heavier. The way that she walks, her whole body rocking side to side now as her fat little legs struggle to heave her forward on what’s become a pretty consistently full stomach, something about it all just drives me nuts.I want to keep this going. I know that I shouldn’t, I know that it makes me the worst roommate in the world, but I just can’t help myself. She’s getting so big these days. Her belly has started rolling out and resting on the table now, even resting on the shelves in our fridge during her late-night eating sessions. Her arms are all squishy and toneless, and they wobble with every clumsy fumbling she’ll do in the fridge or trying to unbutton her blouse after a long day at work. Even just listening to her soft little pants as she stuffs herself throughout the day, it really, really turns me on.Do I have, like, an endgame for all of this? No. Absolutely not. But at the same time, it’s not like Liz is going to be losing weight any time soon. Definitely not with me around, but also just kind of in general, y’know? She’s a tried-and-true stress eater now. I’ve been to her office, and she’s got some poor intern filling up the candy dish almost every other day. We go out to lunch sometimes and I can see just how much she’s putting back before going back to work—it’s very clear that it’s not just parking herself in front of the fridge more nights than not that’s having this effect on her, and that it’s everything. The big lunches, the constant grazing she’s doing throughout the day, and yeah even just her getting into the habit of grabbing quick and easy food on the way home instead of making something for dinner. It’s all having this effect on her, and it’s going to keep happening until she gets herself back under control.But between you and me? I’m not counting on it.Once you see a woman shove an entire stick of butter into her mouth and go back for more, it gets kind of hard to argue with yourself about how long it’ll be until she wakes up and smells the Crisco.The day might come, sure—but I’ve got many, many nights to enjoy the show until then…

Check out the rest of their work! Lots of great stories over there.

Description
SLEEPEATER the comic, now up on my Patreon. www.patreon.com/themagmaman

Introducing a new tribute comic loosely based on one of my favorite stories by BoboTheHoboWrites

SleepwalkerI’m not quite sure when, exactly, it all started.Liz had always this a habit of taking on more than she probably should have. Extra assignments at work, helping out her mom even though her brother and sister were just as capable of doing any work that she was, even sitting me down more than a few times to take over for me because I wasn’t “cleaning right”.For as long as I’d known her, she’d always had that sort of hands-on personality. She’d pile her plate high with obligations and responsibilities, bitch about how stressed out she was, knock down each task one by one before finding ways to stack her workload right back to where it was, and then repeat the process. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that her subconscious hadn’t found an outlet sooner than it did—but then, stress in your late twenties is totally different from stress in your early twenties. Maybe it was her system’s way of filling a void that she didn’t consciously understand was there. Maybe the reason that she kept herself so busy while she was awake was the same reason she started sleepwalking.Well, I say sleep walking—the truth is that she didn’t actually do a lot of walking. I caught her a few times before all this happened. During the holidays when she was obsessively deep-cleaning the apartment for days before her family showed up, or whenever she and one of her friends were in the middle of a fight. She’d wake up in the middle of the night, toddle over to the kitchen, and with her eyes still closed she’d fumble around until she found the fridge and she’d make herself something to eat. Maybe she’d have some milk from the carton. A half of a sleeve of Oreos. She’d work her way through whatever it was, toddle on back to bed with a full belly, and go back to sleep.Whenever I mentioned it, she would say that she had no idea what I was talking about. And after actually trying to have a conversation with her while she was in the act—again, I say conversation, but it was mostly just drunk sleep talk—I believed her. And for the longest time it was just a little quirk of hers. A way for me to know when she was taking on more than she could really handle. It wasn’t anything that I gave her shit over or really even thought about all that much, until it started happening more often.I guess she had to have started sleepwalking more nights than not sometime after she got her big promotion. When she got her nice corner office and there was a sales team looking to her for direction all of the sudden, I guess she started to get more big assignments and was held to a higher standard. Because a month or two after her big promotion party, Liz started eating a lot.And like, y’know, it’s fine. We all have our coping mechanisms. I wasn’t going to say anything about it. Who was I to point out that she was starting to get a little chubby? It could have been drugs or booze or cigarettes to stink up our apartment with, so I guess on that list food is one of the less drastic ways to calm your nerves. An extra helping at dinner here or some drive-thru snacks weren’t going to hurt anybody.But even on nights where she’d gone to bed after big dinners or eaten an entire bowl of popcorn while we watched a movie, I’d hear her lumber out into the kitchen at around one or two in the morning. The soft pads of her feet scraping against the hardwood as her new pounds jiggled around her hips and tummy. Liz was never quiet about it and most of the time I’d wake up to hear the fridge door open or the sounds of rummaging through the cupboards. She’d almost always wriggled her way halfway out of her t-shirts, her short blonde hair mussed and her green eyes either half-closed or shut. I don’t remember which night it was, but I remember that I hadn’t been asleep yet. It was like, half past midnight, so not super late. And Liz had already gone to bed, but I’d stayed up to catch up on this show I watch. So I heard her dragging her feet out of the bedroom, dressed in a tank top and these panties that she’d gotten a while back—I recognized both of them, but whether it was the lighting or the fact that I was getting sleepy, I almost didn’t recognize Lizzie.Her face was round and soft, with a crescent-moon double chin hanging just below her jawline. Her petite build was growing not just stocky but wide, thickening into a little tire of a tummy and lovehandles that hung over her ripping panties. Liz’s figure fattened torso out, with her arms and legs becoming heavier from disuse as her breasts began to fight her biceps for space. In that moment, I realized that Liz wasn’t just “getting chubby” anymore—she’d been there for quite some time.I waved to her silently as I turned down the television. I didn’t want to wake her up. Those few times that I had or tried to bring her out of it, she was usually in a poor mood the whole day after. Until this point, I figured that it was just a harmless little quirk. But after getting a good look at her with sober eyes, I was starting to see the effects that Liz’s little habit was having on her figure.Still, I figured, it wasn’t my place to step in. I’d talk to her about it in the morning.But then I heard her start to eat. Over the sounds of my movie, by the way. Lizzie was taking deep, sensual sounding breaths as she shoved fistfuls of shredded cheese from the bag into her mouth. She was deep-throating a half of a sub sandwich that I’d brought home because it was too big. And I swear to God I’m not joking, she moaned once or twice between the sleeve of Oreos.And I don’t know if it was the sounds she was making, or me getting a look at her plump, meaty rolls hanging out of her pajamas as she hung out of the fridge, but something about this night changed things. As in, Liz’s sleepwalking stopped being a thing that I just sort of tolerated and something that I actually started to form an opinion on.And you’re going to think that it’s crazy, but… I thought that it was really kind of hot.So, since then, I’ve done what I could to encourage her habit in little ways. Picking up extra snacks and her favorite cookies during grocery runs, making sure to bring home leftovers where I can. Just some little things to make these little late night snacks more fruitful for her. I try not to be too obvious about it where I can, but I’ll freely admit that I’m the whole reason we have a candy dish next to the couch. It’s just so much easier to keep her snacking throughout the day than to go to bed hoping that she’ll have another night in front of the fridge.And I know that this might not be something to be proud of, but it’s clear that the little nudges and subtle encouragement of her weird little habit are working. Whereas before Lizzie was just scarfing down a few snacks here or there before stumbling back to bed, she’s started eating entire meals’ worth of food some nights—and remember, that’s in addition to the big dinners we were having or that I was whipping up, plus the idle grazing that her unconscious mind was pushing her towards.…okay, her unconscious mind and now me too, I guess.Every time I hear her door open late at night, I get a little chill up my spine. The sound of her heavy footfalls as she pulls herself across the hardwood floor and waddles out of bed. The hum of the refrigerator as she hovers right outside of it, belly swaying back and forth as she rummages through its chilly caverns until she finds something to satisfy her unconscious cravings. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in the middle of it all, catching the tail end of her working her way through some cold Mexican food or folding half of a slice of pizza into her mouth. Her sound of her soft, labored breathing as she unwraps a stick of butter and pushes it past her full pink lips. See, she’s eating butter. I can’t be held entirely responsible for all of this—not that she’d ever admit that any of this is really a thing.Maybe it’s because I clean up after her most nights. Maybe it’s because of her Type-A, take-charge personality. But I don’t think I could convince her of her nightly shenanigans if I tried to. Even as she keeps ballooning in size, Liz just keeps brushing it off as her metabolism slowing down or needing to finally get back to the gym. She’ll even go on these occasional health kicks and diets in a desperate attempt to curb her rapid expansion outwards. But those always just wind up stressing her out even more—leading to far, far more impressive sights for me to enjoy from just outside the kitchen.But as all of this has gone on, it’s been getting harder and harder for me to keep my cool. She’s just getting so big these days; it’s kind of hard to remember that she’s the same petite and lithe little blonde that I moved in with all those years ago. My parents certainly didn’t recognize her when they came to town to visit, and whenever someone who hasn’t seen her in a while drops by there’s almost always a visible flash of clarity when they realize that this isn’t Liz’s older, fatter sister.Watching her get out of breath during our now nightly big dinners, or listening to the soft and gluttonous noises she makes after settling into the couch at night with a bowl of popcorn is getting harder and harder for me to ignore. With every new creak of our floorboards, I know that Liz is getting heavier and heavier. The way that she walks, her whole body rocking side to side now as her fat little legs struggle to heave her forward on what’s become a pretty consistently full stomach, something about it all just drives me nuts.I want to keep this going. I know that I shouldn’t, I know that it makes me the worst roommate in the world, but I just can’t help myself. She’s getting so big these days. Her belly has started rolling out and resting on the table now, even resting on the shelves in our fridge during her late-night eating sessions. Her arms are all squishy and toneless, and they wobble with every clumsy fumbling she’ll do in the fridge or trying to unbutton her blouse after a long day at work. Even just listening to her soft little pants as she stuffs herself throughout the day, it really, really turns me on.Do I have, like, an endgame for all of this? No. Absolutely not. But at the same time, it’s not like Liz is going to be losing weight any time soon. Definitely not with me around, but also just kind of in general, y’know? She’s a tried-and-true stress eater now. I’ve been to her office, and she’s got some poor intern filling up the candy dish almost every other day. We go out to lunch sometimes and I can see just how much she’s putting back before going back to work—it’s very clear that it’s not just parking herself in front of the fridge more nights than not that’s having this effect on her, and that it’s everything. The big lunches, the constant grazing she’s doing throughout the day, and yeah even just her getting into the habit of grabbing quick and easy food on the way home instead of making something for dinner. It’s all having this effect on her, and it’s going to keep happening until she gets herself back under control.But between you and me? I’m not counting on it.Once you see a woman shove an entire stick of butter into her mouth and go back for more, it gets kind of hard to argue with yourself about how long it’ll be until she wakes up and smells the Crisco.The day might come, sure—but I’ve got many, many nights to enjoy the show until then…

Check out the rest of their work! Lots of great stories over there.