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The only thing is that my diet is so unhealthy: laden with carbs and fatty food. So many cakes and cookies and breads and meats and cheeses that I’ve been bingeing on. But I haven’t been having enough fiber, if you know what I mean…

I have not gone to the bathroom in three days. My bowels are clogged with a huge amount of hard constipated shit. The first day was fine, but the morning after I felt so swollen and lethargic. I figured maybe that heavy food needed a bit more time to move down to my exit. But then the second day came…and the third…

After every stuffing, I’d get more and more full. I had hoped maybe if I ate something greasy and fried, it’d lube up my guts and I’d be able to go, but I tried that and it just gave me a massive gurgling belly ache. After every meal, I’d sneak off to the bathroom and heave until my hole was bulging and my brow was covered in sweat, trying desperately to relieve some of this filth in my bowels.

I have Christmas dinner tonight, and I already know everyone is gonna expect me to have a big helping of everyone’s dishes. I’m dreading how full I’m gonna be, considering I’m already overpacked. I’m gonna take some psyllium husk before going and hope that I can still eat at least three plates.

I also have such bad gas from all that rotting food, and it smells horrible. Idk if I’ll be able to clench my asshole without letting any farts out at the party without giving myself a horrible belly ache since that’s the only thing relieving pressure right now. Every time I need my poor swollen belly , I leak a large amount of rumbling gas.

"I have something I want to try." And it started off so mild, so light. A couple pieces of chocolate placed in your mouth while he was inside of you. Not totally satisfying, but the seed was there. The next time it was a couple cookies. Then donuts. Then it became a regular part of foreplay. He wasn't particularly into it, but he didn't mind. He was a good partner. Willing to indulge things that didn't cross any of his personal boundaries. And it was the only sure fire way to get you in the mood. You had never had the most robust sex-drive, but somehow a few treats fed to you by hand and a slightly full belly always got you wet and eager. So for a while, it worked well for you both. You were allowed to indulge a previously untapped fantasy and he got to have sex anytime he wanted.

. . . 

"Another, baby . . . please." You were steadily getting greedier. It was taking more to get you in the mood, and you weren't afraid to ask for it. You were grateful to him for being so accommodating and indulging you in this odd little kink, but a part of you really wished you didn't have to ask for more. That he would be the one pushing it. Pushing you. Pushing more and more food into your mouth until you were the one telling him to stop. And then just a few more bites. 

For his part, it was starting to be a little much. When it began, he thought it was just a little food play. But things kept progressing. They were always progressing. Every week it took a little more to satisfy you. But it's not like you were going to get fat.

That was how he consoled himself, but it was already happening. You were getting softer all the time. Every part of you was starting to get round and every piece of clothing you owned was getting tighter. He tried to ignore it. He tried to convince himself that you would notice soon. Be horrified by the results and snap out of it soon. Go to the gym again. Cut back on the stuffings and get this weird little kink under control. But once again, he was just consoling himself.

You were in your own little bubble of excess calories and accumulated fat. Every bite made you more ravenous and every pound made you feel so much more sexy, and you just knew - you could feel it in every part of you - that you were just going to keep getting sexier with every additional pound. You were so sure and so happy and so unprecedentedly horny all the time, that you truly believed that he was just as into it as you.

. . .

“Please, baby, rub it . . . please . . .” You moaned as he came in the door after another long day of work. Yet another day of him coming home from working to find you groaning on the couch next to an empty tub of ice cream clutching your fat bloated belly. Uncomfortably full and uncontrollably horny. Begging for attention. Praying that he fucks you hard enough to make your belly bounce. But that wasn't happening very often anymore. Hardly ever in fact. When even was the last time?

After the first 20lbs, the comments started. Something about your clothes being pretty tight. Another about you feeling softer. You - through your calorie laden bubble - assumed these to be compliments and further proof that you were winning him over. Then 30lbs came and went and the comments got more direct and couched in concern. Aren’t you concerned about the amount of fast food you’ve been eating? I don’t know if that many donuts is a good idea. This is when you started to get an inkling that he might not be won over. That he might not actually like this at all. Then sometime before the 50lb mark, the comments ceased entirely. You looked and felt like a different person. Lazy and heavy and so soft. Your face was round now and so was your belly. You hardly ever wanted to move anymore. Just walking a few blocks had your face red and your breathing heavy. You would much rather have the food come to you. To just lay back and place morself after morsel in your mouth and feel it slide down into your ever-expanding belly. Your wardrobe had to be completely overhauled too, due to your expansion, and you made sure only to buy things with some stretch.

You could feel the attraction diminish as the fat piled on. You could see the look in his eyes everytime he caught a glimpse of you stuffing your face or rubbing your bloated belly. What was that look in his eyes? Pity? Disbelief? Disgust? You didn’t know, and you definitely didn’t want to admit that you loved it. If he wasn’t going to indulge to the extent that you wanted - that you needed - then there was another service he could provide. He was your proof that you had lost control. That you had transformed your once cute and athletic body into a bloated pile of lard. The judgment, pity, disgust, whatever you wanted to call it, it was proof that you had changed. Concrete proof that you were a pig. Part of you hated yourself for doing this. For making this sweet, kind, cute boy disgusted at the site of you. Trap him in a relationship with an uncontrollable fatty without his consent. Beg him like a pathetic horny hog to touch you. To feel your fat and your size. To fuck you as you made it all worse. But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to. You needed it to continue until it couldn’t anymore. And so you did.

. . .

“We need to talk” It was one of those days when he came home to find you pinned to the couch after stuffing your face with multiple meals of take-out, groaning and begging for him to come to you. But those four words stopped the usual routine in its tracks. You knew exactly what was happening. You had anticipated this day with growing dread and you got bigger and heavier and greedier. He had reached his limit. Over 50lbs of lard piled on to his once-slim girlfriend was too much. It probably had been for a while.

The tears began welling up immediately as he laid it all out for you. That he couldn’t stand to watch you do this to yourself anymore. Just spend every waking hour eating and eating. Waking up every day a little fatter. Ruining your body, as he put it. He just never really understood. He told you he wasn’t attracted to you anymore. That you were a different person than you were when he met you, and it wasn’t just the fat. And he was right about that. You were a different person. You were yourself now. Your true self. The one you had always wanted to be. 

He was angry - maybe rightfully - and at times he was mean. When he had finally said his piece, your tears had been spent and you sat there feeling fatter than you ever had. Your belly was still bloated and you felt every ounce of fat on your wide frame. Of course, there was no break up sex. He probably couldn’t even get hard with you anymore.

The second he left the house, you gathered the remaining snacks surrounding you in your arms and waddled your fat ass into the bedroom to find your vibrator. With a mouth full of food and his words still ringing in your ear, you had the best orgasm of your life. 

The County Fair bylaws were very clear: farmers were only allowed to use fertilizers that were publicly and commercially available. Ash told herself that she was staying within the letter of the law, as nothing that she used couldn't be purchased from a hardware or farming store. She just, y'know, tweaked 'em a little. It was still fertilizer at its base, but she added in a dash of this and a sprinkle of that, some stuff that she felt would supercharge the growth of her produce. Some part of her knew it was wrong but... Fuck, she was just so tired of losing! Every year, Jen 'Fuckface' Bowen (a private nickname) took the blue ribbon with her oversized pumpkins and melons and whatever other bullshit she grew on her little patch of dirt. It wouldn't have been so bad if Jen wasn't so smug about the whole thing, acting as if she was Goddess of the Harvest incarnate. Frustration burned just hot enough inside Ash's mind to let her bend the rules. Just a little bit.

As the summer wore on, Ash couldn't believe how well her homemade fertilizer was working. Her plants were showing a greater bounty than they had ever before, in both quantity and volume. Tomatoes bigger than both of her fists put together sagged heavy on their vines, coming ripe earlier than she expected. She had to carefully move the leaves back on her berry bushes to make sure that the fruit wasn't blocking them. It was going so well, she was sure that she'd win. Not only that, but if this kept up, she might be able to patent and sell her fertilizer! It could revolutionize the way food is grown around the world!

When she made first harvest, she couldn't help but indulge in her bounty. She was sure more would grow and she'd still have plenty for the fair at the end of the summer. As she snacked on berries and made fresh fruit salads and padded every meal with vegetables from her own garden, she delighted herself by imagining the look on Jen Bowen's Fuck Face when she broke every county record and propelled herself to fame and glory. Victory and the produce tasted so good that, at the beginning, she barely noticed her growth.

Ash usually only wore sports bras and those had some nice stretch, but it didn't take long for her growing breasts to stretch them to their max, billowing flesh bulging out through every opening they could find. Her hips and her ass swelled too, tightening the denim of her overalls until there simply wasn't any room left. It would be another few weeks of growth, of watching her breasts well and her hips widen and her ass round out and plump up for her to realize the culprit. By then, however, there was so much in her system that even after she stopped eating her own food, she kept growing. Her breasts took up more and more of her torso, covering her ribs, then her bellybutton and rapidly encroaching on her hips. Her hips, for their part, refused to be hidden, widening far beyond her shoulders with her ass juicy and plump sticking out behind her.

Every inch of me is expanding—softening, thickening, claiming more space with every passing day.

In this video, I admire my reflection, run my hands over my growing curves, and let you witness just how much my body is changing.

My belly is heavier. My breath is deeper. My clothes are tighter.

And I can’t help but smile knowing this is only the beginning…

Watch me. Crave me. Grow with me.

You’re huge. I mean, you were always a little on the chubbier side, but now, you’re absolutely massive. Your belly hangs lower every day, slowly piling down your legs, covering your fupa, and pushing outward. Those once chunky, adorable legs of yours are covered in cellulite and wider than my waist, rolls and stretch marks all over your juicy thick lower belly and ballooning heart shaped ass leading to those meaty, overflowing love handles I love to grab while fucking you. You’ll probably end up immobile, but you and I wouldn’t want it any other way…

When I first met you, you were a short barista at my local coffee house, your messy, deep red hair folded into a bun, and your soft brown eyes twinkling with attraction behind those nerdy glasses you had on. I left you a tip with my number written on it, and you pocketed the cash, messaging me later that day. I never thought that would work, and landing such a good-looking girl like you was beyond luck. We were meant to be, and I would make sure to enjoy every ounce of you. We texted back and forth constantly, flirting and feeling out who we really were. We hit it off over the phone, and I planned a date for us, just a picnic and some snacks in the park. The weather was wonderful, so why not? I met you in the parking lot, your red hair flowing behind you as your beautifully red lips formed an adorable smile. I brought you flowers and champagne, and you got a picnic basket full of sweets and salty snacks, your favorite. I lay out the blanket and pop us the champagne, you set up the snacks, and take a seat next to me. Your slightly chubby thighs wobble as you bounce your legs nervously about our date, but I can tell you’re into me. I soak in every detail about you now that we’re so close.. Your dimples when you smile, the way your teeth have the slightest gap in the middle, your golden septum piercing, always slightly crooked. I admire how your body fills out for such a low weight, probably around 140lbs at 5’0”, short but thick, and I’m into it. Your backside and legs curve beautifully, leading to a hint of a belly and a more slender upper body with small B-cups. You have a tattoo of a bumble bee on your right shoulder with a sleeve of wild flowers underneath it, which looks cute on you, fitting your aesthetic nicely. As we talk and drink more champagne, I can tell you’re a lightweight as you get touchier and giggle often, showcasing your bubbly personality and tendency for playful banter. As the sun sets, our conversation grows more intimate, and I steal a kiss. You melt into my arms as we fall deeper into each other's embrace. The spark lit between us was strong and fiery, I knew I would be seeing way more of you in more than one way soon enough. 

We went on several more dates, always centered around lounging about and snacking or going to dinner and a movie. You would overindulge, then lie back in the theatre chair, resting your belly as you zoned out. You were never physically active, and it was already having its side effects. I started picking you up from work, taking you on surprise dates, and going out to eat with you more often than not. You loved the attention and couldn’t get enough food and drinks when we went out, the alcohol causing you to overeat late into the night. I had you falling head over heels after a few more weeks of romantic outings. I decided it was time to ask you out, so I booked us at an especially nice restaurant, telling you to wear your best dress. When I picked you up, I walked to your studio apartment door, but you opened it before I could even knock. I was in awe of your looks that night, your dress clung so tightly to your slowly expanding frame. Every detail of how much weight you had put on was showing in all the right places. Your thighs and ass tight against the fabric as your pooch stuck out noticeably. Even your boobs were looking extra swollen as your arms and shoulders appeared softer and less defined. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you and your infectious smile. Everything about that night was perfect; we had a large dinner, with you ordering steak and lobster, mashed potatoes, risotto, and scallops. It was way more than you could eat, but I let you try to at the very least, encouraging you to take bite after bite as I fed you more. We can’t afford to come here all the time, so make sure you get your fill, baby. I would top off your glass of wine and watch as you forced another bite down your throat. By the end of our date, you were packed to the brim, drunk, and ecstatic that I asked you to be my girlfriend. I took you home, and you pulled me into your bedroom, itching to get out of that tight dress that once fit so comfortably. You unbuttoned my shirt and practically ripped my pants off ravenously, hungry for a treat only I could give you. My muscular frame towered over you as I took my strong arms and peeled the delicate dress off of you. Your stomach was so full and tender, I could tell I needed to be gentle with you because of how much you ate. You lay down, letting out a huge sigh of relief as you lock eyes with me, begging for something more. I grab your juicy legs and pull you to the edge of the bed, resting them on my shoulders and I grab my pulsing, girthy dick and begin to tease you with it. Rubbing it around your clit and slowly entering and exiting just the beginning of your hole. You beg me for more, telling me you want to be filled to the max as your tight gut and growing tits sway back and forth from my hips bumping into you. I slowly insert myself all the way to the end of my shaft, your eyes closing as you let out a sharp moan and cry in pleasure. Your warm thighs and soft ass slap against my strong core as I thrust in and out of you methodically, gentle but intense. As I near climax, you tighten around my shaft, begging me to release my seed inside of you. I cum hard, emptying my load as I grab your meaty thighs and stare at the tight drum of a belly that turns me on so much. I couldn’t wait to fatten you up into my prized piggy. 

You’re finally six hundred pounds, you’ve been so good for me, piggy. You’re so complacent, so enthusiastic about your gain. You can’t slow down, even on days you’re sleeping more than eating, the number continues to climb. You’re permanently filled with calories your body struggles to metabolize and store somewhere on your massively overgrown body. Your huge stomach is now three rolls, each heavier and flabbier than the last. I can’t even lift it up without using equipment. Your tits are so huge, round and swollen. They weigh so heavily on you, I know it’s getting harder to breathe under all this luscious fat you have piled on. You make noises like a good little piggy, too. A squeal for pleasure or a whine for attention. I make sure you get whatever you want; you deserve it for being so good to me. We can only have sex in doggy now, your huge gut won’t allow it any other way, and you get too hungry to stop eating during sex. You get lifted up, propped on pillows and eat your fill of rich calorie dense foods as I take you from behind, pulling that huge jiggly mountain of an ass you grew for me apart as I insert myself into you, throbbing and ravenous to feel you. It’s so warm and jaw-droppingly wet, the weight of your body making it so tight and pleasurable. You love it when I tease you for being so huge. Even if I just tell you how fag you are and how much of an immobile obese cow you are you go wild with lust. You probably orgasm multiple times a day, even from the slightest hint of pleasure. I can tell when your breath quickens and you squirm and writhe, begging me for release, you rely on me for everything now, and I wouldn’t want it any other way for my beautiful goddess and her hundreds of pounds of fat engulfing her. 

It’s not because I’m disappointed or dissatisfied with your progress piggy. It’s because I know you’re special. I know your gluttonous behavior is unrivaled. You’re going to be so so so big. I’m so lucky to be the one helping you along. I know things haven’t been easy lately. You can’t really get around anymore. Walking is so burdensome for a hog your size. Plus even if you could walk more than 20 steps you’re limited to the range of your oxygen line. So, we don’t even bother to have you stand up mainly. It’s better for you that way. Why waste the calories when I can just get you what you need? I simply love being your caretaker. Knowing you depend on me for everything is so thrilling. It’s even hotter knowing that with each passing day I’m solidifying your dependency on me because I’m feeding you fatter and fatter. Even when I’m at work or away at the gym getting skinnier and hotter for you, I leave snacks on your bedside. It’s been months since you’ve seen anything of the outside world. You’re too fat and lazy to even look out the window. Why should you be concerned with that anyway? Food, fat, and me are all you need. Besides you get enough socialization from your video games when you’re not being funnel fed or Im on top of you. It’s a life you wouldn’t want any other way. It’s a life I wouldn’t want any other way. So no, you’re not fat enough yet piggy.

But he also wants to put your milkers on production to not only feed your children, but also showcase online and sell your milk to pervs …