Kidnapped and fattened
CW: force feeding, drug use, forced weight gain, mind manipulation
Day 1
I wake up, my head pounding. I don't remember much from last night, except the first couple of drinks and that cute guy who was definitely hitting on me. I squint, trying to adjust my eyes to the unfamiliar room I find myself in. I'm laying on a large bed. The room is definitely a basement, there is only one tiny window by the ceiling, and it has bars in it. I'm quite thin, but even I wouldn't be able to squeeze through it.
I try to lift my arm, but I feel a tug on my wrist. I turn painfully, only to see my hand cuffed to the bedframe.
I start to panic.
I hear a creak. The door opens, and no other than the cute boy from the previous night walks in. He's carrying a tray full of food.
"Oh good, you're awake," he says. "Now, don't panic."
"What do you want from me??" I spit out. "I don't have any money!"
I'm so scared. Is he going to hurt me?
"Calm down," he says, and his voice is very level and mellow. "Whatever nightmare scenario you're imagining, I'm not going to do it to you. I did find you rather hot at the party. But you could be much, much hotter."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Now now, no talking back, please. If you follow my rules, your life in here will soon become very easy and enjoyable. No responsibilities, no worries." He sets the tray on the bedside. I catch a whiff of delicious scent: burgers, fries, donuts. "Rule number one: you eat all the food I give you. You can take however long you want with it, but you have to finish. If you refuse, I will shove it down your throat anyway."
My mouth hangs open. What kind of sick game is this?
"Rule number two," he continues. "If you need to go to the bathroom, you ring the bell." He points to the bedside table. "I will escort you there and wait until you're done. Otherwise, you are not allowed to move from your bed, hence the handcuffs. Sorry about that. I am hoping they will stop being necessary soon, but for now I'm keeping them."
"And finally, you're allowed to watch TV in case you get bored. There are no real channels on here, just a couple of shows of my choosing. And a bunch of commercials." He pauses for a bit. "Any questions?"
I exhale, still in shock. "Is that the plan?" I ask, not liking how shriek-y my voice sounds. "Keep me here and feed me? How long? Why?"
"Why?" He smirks. "Oh, for my sick pleasure, of course. And as to how long - well, until you're presentable. I will decide when that happens. Now, get on with eating."
Day Two
"I... I can't..."
I groan, clutching at my distented stomach. My captor's "meal plan" is truly insane: 9 am, heavy breakfast, with pancakes oozing with syrup and several strips of bacon on top; 10 am, second breakfast, a bunch of donuts; 12 pm, lunch, burgers; 2 pm, snacks; 4 pm, dinner, an xl pizza; 6 pm, supper, a lasagna; 8pm, snacks; 10 pm, more snacks; 12am, a cup of heavy cream. As for other drinks, I am allowed full fat Coke or Sprite. There is no water.
It's 8 pm now. I feel like I'm going to throw up. He pushes Oreos into my mouth and then covers both my mouth and my nose, so that I'm forced to swallow. I can't speak, I'm scared of opening my mouth so that more food might be shoved inside. He sees that my capacity is at its limit, that I can't take anymore. He shows me a small pill bottle.
"You will start taking these."
I look at the bottle. It's mood stabilizers. "What the fuck?"
"For one, it will stop you from talking nasty like that. But most importantly, it will enhance your appetite."
I try to wriggle away as he uncorks the bottle and presses a pill to my mouth - but I am still tied to the bed.
I swallow, like I swallowed everything else.
"Good. Now, the real work can begin."
Day Four
I blink drowsily. There is still anger and resistence inside me, but buried deeper, under a layer of forced calm. My feedings are no longer unbearable, but they still leave me painfully full. Even if I could, I wouldn't really want to get out of bed. Even going to a bathroom with a distented belly is really a pain in the ass.
I lay on my back, watching TV. All the shows he put there are about food. Cooking and tasting, discovering new dishes. He says he can get me some of them if I develop a craving. With my appetite growing larger by the day, it feels more and more likely.
Week Two
I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My jaw is losing definition. My cheeks look puffy. I put a hand on my belly. It's early morning and I haven't eaten yet, so it's not tight as a drum for once. Instead, it feels gelatinous, curving slightly under my hand.
My reflection looks back at me with a dull gaze. I am slowly forgetting how to be angry.
Month Two
My body is soft all over, and I feel a strange sense of calm. I now wake up hungry every day.
Month Four
I learn to recognize my face anew. It feels like it belongs to a different person. No cheekbones left, instead, chipmunk cheeks that force my mounth into a pout. My eyes are squinting, dull. A double chin frames my face like a small crescent moon. I look older. I look fat.
I try smiling at my reflection. Pushing my cheeks apart starts to be a lot of work.
"Fatty," I whisper to my reflection. That's what he calls me. "Tubby. Lardass. Pig."
My breath quickens. The names slowly start ringing true. My fat face reddens as I huff and puff.
Lardass is ready for some food.
Month Six
I wake up, my belly growling. It's 8:45 am. I'm impatient for my breakfast. Slowly, I heave myself up to a sitting position. It's becoming harder by the day. My belly quivers and jiggles like a water bed. My back and side rolls spill all around me, forcing my hands at an angle. He said I don't need handcuffs anymore. It's not like I'm very eager to get out of bed, anyway.
I huff, adjusting my covers. My fingers are getting clumsy, hands dimpled and digits swallowed by fat. My thighs splay on the bed, forced apart but still touching. My belly, which can no longer rest between them, spills over and around. I absent-mindedly scratch the fold of my double chin, my upper arm roll jiggling as I do.
He enters the room, but this time, he doesn't carry a tray of food. Instead, he lays out enormous pieces of clothing on the bed. I have long forsaken my old clothes, instead sitting around naked.
"Put these on, fatso," he instructs. "You're free to go."
"W-what?" I stammer. My stomach gurgles harder.
"You heard me. You're free. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Is it? I feel panic rising in my chest. How will I even be able to waddle to the door? I can barely use the bathroom these days, and he has to assist me. I am trying to imagine navigating my fat ass through my old world. Taking a buss. Fitting in chairs. Seeing my old friends and family try to adjust to my new size...
"No!" The cry is out of my throat before I know it. "Please, no! I just want to eat!"
He smiles devilishly wide. "Don't you want freedom?"
"No, I..." I stammer. My cheeks wobble. Even my voice sounds muffled now - sounds fat.
I shiver and blush as I say the next words. "I only want food."
"Is that so?"
"Y-yes." I pause. "P-please?"
You pat my fat cheek. "Well, if you say so... Breakfast's in ten, fatty."
The relief that washes over me is the best feeling in the world.
