Fat-lifestylist

What kind of stats do you want to know? I'm 6ft, 300lbs, class 3 obese and I can't see parts of myself anymore...

Well, it was not able to go much lower down back then, so it had no hope now

Parker was sitting on the couch after having his breakfast. He was absolutely stuffed to the brim, courtesy of his boyfriend and caregiver Matt. Why does he need a caregiver? Well, at nearly 800 pounds it’s difficult to do things on his own. Luckily, Matt is all about making sure Parker was well cared for.

This morning was not unlike any other. The obese 25 year old got up, went to the bathroom and used his massive bariatric toilet which felt somewhat small to him. Afterwards, he huffed his way to the couch where Matt promptly filled up the table tray to the limit with breakfast: eggs, sausages, juice, coffee, and other breakfast items.

“Someone’s hungry this morning,” Matt said bemused at how Parker was scarfing down his food. It made Farhan proud to know that all his cooking had helped Parker get so fat at only 25.

“Well I’m hungry every morning.” Parker huffed in reply. He was careful not to make too much of a mess since it’d be up to Matt to clean it and him up. The latter of the two he didn’t mind much because it was an intimate ritual for the two of them.

Washing Parker had taken longer and longer as he grew fatter and more reliant on Matt’s aid. Parker couldn’t stand for long, so when he reached 600 pounds on his 23rd birthday Matt gifted him a bariatric shower bench, one that could hold up to 900 pounds. It was a great relief for Parker to just sit and be washed. He could still manage to wash a few things on his own: his hair, under his bicep fat, and lift each massive moob to wash under them. For everything else, Parker needed Matt.

Parker hadn’t been able to reach beyond the upper curve of his belly in months and so cleaning his legs, under his belly, fat pad and genitals, and his ass required Matt to hold back the corresponding flesh and to get all the soap in and rinsed out. This all took about an hour or so each day.

Back to the present, out of his thoughts, Parker was alerted to the doorbell ringing. “Who could be here?” he inquired.

“Oh, don’t you remember? You’re getting your new bed today.” Matt smiled, patting Parker’s ultra soft and heavy chest, “Since you’re about to outgrow this current one.”

Matt got up from his spot on the couch and made his way to the door and answered it. Standing on the other side was a man in a polo that had the medical equipment company’s logo on it and work jeans. “Hi, we’re here to deliver and set up this bed,” the man said politely. Matt nodded and let him in. Parker was sat, spread out on the couch. He greeted the man and the man knew why he and his team were there to set up the bed.

Matt led the man into the bedroom and the movers assessed on how to take apart the current bed and bring in the new one and to assemble it. They said it would take about two to three hours. Matt nodded and the men got to work.

Parker hadn’t really moved much since he got to the couch that morning. But he did eat everything to which hos stomach churned and digested. At least 5,000 calories. He didn’t really pay much attention to those numbers. The only ones he paid attention to were his weight and how deeply buried his dick was.

That brought a smile to his puffed up face. He remembered the day he had finally lost all of his penis length to his fat. He had turned 19 and he and Matt were a couple by then for about a year. Matt was measuring Parker and when he went to measure Parker’s fat pad he discovered that no matter standing, sitting, or even on his back Parker had no penis length available when he was soft. In fact, he had a measurement of -2” before Parker signaled that he felt the tip of the measuring tape on his head. Both of them were beyond turned on.

And recently, when Parker crested 770 pounds, he finally lost all of his length when he was hard. Both of them celebrated with Matt coaxing just the tip out by pushing back on the fat pad and doing his best to give a combo hand (really a finger) job and a blowjob. As he got heavier, and with his diet being quite fatty, his orgasms weren’t strong. He mostly was able to sputter out a few drops of cum and then he was spent, red in the face.

Matt was doing stuff around the house when he patted Parker on the shoulder bringing him out of his thoughts. “All good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just thinking how so much has changed since we’ve been on this journey,” Parker said. “Like how we celebrated when my dick got buried soft and hard, or when I got too big for clothes.”

“Oh yeah, those were big milestones.” Matt grinned. “Why would we ever want to hide your beautiful body with clothes? Like you said, anything that’s considered obscene is censored by your belly, thighs, and fat pad.”

After talking, and playing some games on their consoles, time flew by and before they knew it the movers were wrapped up and heading out.

“Well, it’s all set up. You ready to get a look?” Matt asked, a grin on his face.

Parker nodded. He reached out his massive, flabby arms and locked his hands with Matt’s. They did a count to three and Matt exerted the most energy in pulling Parker up into a standing position and helped steady him. Heart racing and legs weak from the hundreds and hundreds of pounds bearing down on them, Parker began his laborious trundle to the bedroom. Aside from his weight, walking was extremely difficult for Parker because of the sacks of fat that formed on his inner thighs which pushed his legs into a wide stance. Moving was a balancing act that required deliberate, conscious thought on where to move his legs and arms to keep himself balanced.

From their living room to the bedroom was about 60 feet. 60 feet may as well been a marathon for Parker. By the time he made it, he was so out of breath that Matt got the oxygen cannula and put into Parker’s nose. The relief was welcomed but it didn’t help the ache in his legs or back.

But there it was: a state-of-the-art bariatric bed. It was designed to look like a regular bed as much as possible but with the guard rails, built-in scale, trapeze that hung above the extra wide mattress, it was difficult to call it regular. Parker noticed there was a tube and a bag. It was a catheter and urine bag to collect his waste.

“M-Matt…it’s amazing.” Parker wheezed, a smile on his cherry red face.

“Yeah. This thing holds up to 1,800 pounds. More than you can get to, but that’s a goal and also let’s me get in it with you when you’re not sleeping.” Matt smiled softly. “Let’s get you in before your legs give out.”

Helping Parker turn around so his ass was at the edge of the mattress, he held onto Parker as they lowered him onto the bed. It creaked, but like a regular bed does when someone gets into it. It didn’t budge, it was solid. It was quite comfortable as well Parker noted. Matt aided in bringing Parker’s legs up onto the bed and spreading them comfortably to allow his fat to settle and spread as needed.

“There.” Matt stood, arms pressed into his sides, a confident nod in approval, “you look amazing.”

“It feels great, Matt. So much room compared to the old bed.”

“So, watching you struggle just now, and knowing this thing will hold you for a long while, I think we should move forward into new territory.” Matt started before Parker picked up.

“You mean…no more walking?”

“Yes, babe, no more walking. That was it. You’re immobile now.”

Hearing the word roll off of Matt’s tongue sent a wave of emotions through Parker. He was shocked, elated, nervous, aroused, and so much more. His head was flooded. “Are we sure about this?” Parker asked, trying to make sense of their new reality.

“Yeah. I mean, you just about gave out walking 60 feet. We can’t risk you hurting yourself in a fall. And besides, if you fell, I’m not strong enough to lift you from the floor.”

“You’re right. That makes a lot of sense. Plus, my lungs felt so constricted just then.” Parker added, “immobility, day 0.”

“Immobility, day 0.” Matt echoed. “But with this, means things are going to be different, especially with toileting.”

Matt walked over to their bathroom and grabbed a pair of medical gloves and a plastic tube. “We gotta get you hooked up to the catheter so that your pee won’t be an issue.” He put on the gloves, which they’ve had so Matt can apply any medicinal creams Parker may need.

He handed Parker the bed controls and Parker set the bes flat causing his belly to roll up just enough to give access to his fat pad. Matt grabbed it and pulled it free from the thighs and used one hand to push back as far as he could to expose just enough of Parker’s tip that he could administer the local anesthetic cream. Parker lost feeling in his penis when Matt asked if he could feel him squeezing the penis tip.

Matt then grabbed the catheter tube and guided it into Parker’s slit and down just enough of his urethra to make sure it was secure before letting go of the fat pad, all access to Parker’s dick was revoked as it swallowed it back up as well as a whole three inches of the catheter tube.

Parker brought himself back up to a seated position. It felt great not having to use his muscles to hold himself up. “Well, what’s my starting weight as a newly immobile man?” he inquired.

Matt, taking off the gloves, went to the foot of the bed and turned on the scale. It calculated for a few seconds before the digital numbers blinked back. “815 pounds baby.”

I would love to see you rub your belly and take your t shirt off, running a hand over your belly and slapping your fat as you laugh and say “this thing is going to be the death of me soon”. As you tell anyone watching that you don’t expect to survive your next heart scare.

I want you to proudly stick your gut out and ask me if I even think you will look good in a coffin.

As I run a tape measure round your belly and tease you about how big you are getting I want to hear you tell me that you expect to die young because of how fat you are letting yourself become.

I want you to be so reckless that as even I, and others, warn you about how out of shape you are getting that you just give a little smirk. We both know exactly what you are doing as you let me feed you fatter each day. Happily working up your heart as you tell me you want an open casket funeral.

Content warning: This story contains extreme fat shaming, non-consensual weight gain, health play, and death feedism.

I am going to ruin you pig. I told you that when we first met up after you spent weeks begging me to feed you and use you.

You were lying in the hotel bed naked after I stuffed and pumped you full of 10K calories in a few hours, you were so small then, barely 300 pounds. It was cute that you pretended to be immobile while I fed you. Listening as you played the panic up and begged “fuck fuck fuck we have to slow down! I’m getting too big I don’t want to be trapped in bed!” I would silence you by shoving a messy burger into my face a shush you, "Shut your dumb fucking mouth and eat." I said forcefully but calmly, I saw the acceptance and submission wash over you as the realization that no choice is being offered but to eat and like a passive cow as you let out oinks and weakly pawed at my crotch.

I remember that fat ball gut you had, so small compared to now. That was pure surface-level fat, pushing your organs down, putting pressure on your GI tract, and making it harder for your body to pump blood. You are at a point where every new pound of fat is a step toward utter and complete obesity.

We would meet up every few weeks and you would pretend your arteries were clogging already from an absolute binge of cheese and grease, that you I loved only wanting the cheapest unhealthy slop. Preferring a ketchup-slathered triple cheeseburger and a pile of chocolates to some fancy steak and a nice cake.

I remember the first time you panicked and begged for me to slow down, right after you hit 690 pounds. I had woken you up for your 2 a.m. funnel session, I never let you sleep for more than 4 hours without eating till you passed out, I say, "Get up and walk to the scale.", pointing to a large black metal livestock scale in the middle of the room. Your mind was weak from being fed nothing but junk, weed, alcohol, and the hormones mixed into your slop. You throw your heavy flabby arms up to gather enough momentum to heave your billowing body up. I watched as nothing happened, you tried again. Again your body moved not an inch off the bed, all you accomplished was shaking the sea of lard that was your body.

Your face flushed with sweat and burned red as you strained your body, but you were stuck. Attempt after attempt, after an attempt to lift yourself, grunts and wheezing fill the basement.

A minute later your eyes went wild, and my hand on your chest felt a heart racing faster and faster.

I see that panic, it makes me hard. You are locked in now. A complete loss of agency and now you are nothing. I own your life. Any money, anything you own is gone. All you have is my pity.

Pity that feeds you.

Food and nothing else.

I told you my plans now that you were a helpless fucking lard-ass NEET in my home.

1. Hormones to make you the perfect pile of shame. Bury your dick in fat, widen your hips and tits, make a perfect pussy for Daddy to fuck.

2. We are starting an Only Fans! You get to be my immobile plaything that I take every sadistic desire out on, and I get all the money.

3. Some more feeders are going to stop by and have their way with you. You are my toy to loan out to other feeders and chasers.

I lean into your sweating, beat red face, and put a hand around your neck roll. "You are just a waddling weak whore doing what I say till your bloated wrecked corpse is left in a hotel room covered in cum and food, got it?"

Drunk, bloated, and engorged

This becomes their routine. They’re not allowed any clothes, and they quickly adjust to their lack of vision. They try a few times to pull the blindfold down but it’s useless, and the drugs they’re given every day makes them just want to sleep anyway. Their waking moments are spent being fed, willingly or forcefully, until their stomach is stretched so far they can only whimper. The only relief being their captor’s warm hands, tracing over their stuffed belly, rubbing out the discomfort and soothing them back to sleep. They can’t see themselves, but they can feel how they’re changing. They can feel the slight jiggle when they shuffle across the floor, the crease in their midsection when they sit down, the increasing amount of skin their captor owner has to cover to soothe them. Everything is getting tight, the soft fat slowly enveloping them just making them heavier and more docile.

It’s so hard to think. It’s been months, maybe even years with no stimulation besides food and their owner’s touch, and the constant drugging has slowed their brain to a crawl. They drool, open-mouthed, into their owner’s palm while they caress their round face, filled out like the rest of their body. They’re so hungry. Their stomach growls, and their owner laughs and tips their head back, pouring a thick shake down their beloved pet’s throat while they melt further into their bed. They feel like they’re going to explode, but it’s not enough. Their mouth hangs open, begging for more, begging for the sensation they’ve come to crave of being fed and adored by the person they’ve never even gotten to see. Their owner laughs, holding something to their mouth, and they bite into it greedily, not even caring what it is. They just need it… more… and as they swallow the last bite they feel hands on their lower belly. They trace lower, over the loosened band of their tail that still digs in red and painful, until they’re palming at the shamefully wet spot that their hanging belly is starting to hide. The pet moans, bucking into their owner’s hand as best they can, full stomach cramping and their mind so fractured they’re hardly aware of how wrong this all is. Their owner uses them then, uses their huge body to pleasure both themselves and their pet, and the new sensation of release becomes its final addiction. The pet has forgotten most things. It lives here in a world of darkness, laying heavily in its too small pet bed as it eats from a trough laid at its side, paws bound and useless. It’s huge ass quivers as it grinds into its own stomach, groaning as it stuffs itself even bigger, wanting to be good for its owner. It’s so horny. It’s so caught up eating that it doesn’t even notice the presence of hands on its behind until suddenly it’s being used, whole body jiggling while its owner thrusts into it again and again. It doesn’t stop eating, just gulping down its calorie laden slop desperately as what’s left of its brain gives way to the onslaught of pleasure and pain, submissive and animalistic as it serves its one and only role in life: to be a perfect fucktoy for its owner.