She's Eating Herself To Death...

Sarah’s Demise, Chapter 1

Sarah was dozing on the couch when she jerked awake at the sound of her Master and Feeder’s car in the driveway. Her heart lurched in her chest – she had dozed off and forgotten to get ready for him! She never knew if she would be fed, teased, used, humiliated, spoiled or what combination thereof when Master got home, but she knew she was supposed to be ready when he arrived. She also knew she needed to get up off the couch and get in the shower because he always expected her to be clean. She sensed she was going to be in trouble because he was going to be disappointed. For most women staying clean or hopping up off the couch wasn’t a big deal, but Sarah had some challenges most women never had to deal with.

Sarah was approaching 40 years old. Pretty young, really, but Sarah was different than most other women her age. While most women took fairly good care of themselves and were reasonably healthy at that age, Sarah had spent the last 10 years of her life totally indulging her love for food and alternative lifestyle and had slipped into a very sedentary way of life. For Sarah, getting up off the couch took serious effort. As Sarah’s food intake had dramatically increased and her activity level had fallen to little more than trips to the kitchen, bathroom, store and bed, she had gone from a slightly chubby 5’ 2” and 135 pounds when she met Master, to over 500 pounds. Getting off the couch required scooting her massive bulk up to the edge, then rocking back and forth to get the momentum to get to her feet. It often took her three or four tries to make it. By the time she reached her feet, usually her heart was hammering in her chest and she was painfully out of breath. Her Master required her to shower at least twice a day due to the fact that she sweated a lot, and had occasional incontinence caused by her huge, swollen gut pressing on her bladder. 

Just as Sarah started the process of getting up, she heard Master’s key in the door. He came in and took one look at her and immediately knew she hadn’t obeyed his wishes. He told her when he would be home, and clearly, she wasn’t ready.

“Get up!!” He commanded.

Sarah began rocking vigorously back and forth and tried to heave herself to her feet. She almost made it, but Master roughly shoved her back on the couch.

“Why aren’t you ready for me, you fat pig!” He said.

“I..I…dozed off. I’m s-s-sorry” Sarah stammered.

“I believe I told you to get up,” Master said.

Sarah began rocking again, and with a huge effort, tried to reach her feet. She was already tiring and was very nervous and upset because she had disappointed her master, and she came up just short. She fell back onto the couch with a thud, breasts and belly quaking. Master began removing his belt, and Sarah redoubled her efforts! This time, she managed to make it to her feet. She was out of breath, and her heart was beating like a jackhammer in her chest. She was dizzy, and saw stars with every beat of her enlarged, over-worked heart.

“Bend over, and put your hands on the couch,” Master ordered.

Sarah complied immediately. She felt Master lifting her nightshirt up over her enormous hips. Sarah’s hips, at over 80” almost qualified for their own zip code. She had huge saddle bags hanging off each side, and her ass was a gelatinous mass of cellulite, almost shapeless. Her hips and ass were covered with hundreds of stretchmarks, some newer and pink, and the rest ripped and mottled. Unlike most women’s stretchmarks, Sarah’s were wide, and almost looked like they could break open at any time.

“I should give you a serious spanking because you disobeyed me, but you need to get showered because I have lunch coming for you.   I’m just going to give you a little something to think about. While you’re in the shower, I want you to think about how important it is for you to do as I say, and how you should never disappoint me,” He said.

“Yes, Master,” Sarah wheezed, still trying to catch her breath.

“Spread your legs!” Master said.

With effort, Sarah spread her legs as far apart as she could, bent over with her hands on the couch. She felt Master use his hand to separate the soft, doughy rolls at the top of her thighs, exposing her vagina. She heard Master grunt with the effort to reach through to her vagina and the huge, soft fat pad just above it. She felt him jiggle the bottom of her huge belly as it hung between her legs and rub her vagina and fat pad as he began to draw his hand back.  Sarah next felt Master’s belt tracing its way across her upper ass and up and down the backs of her thighs. Crack! Sarah flinched with the pain of Master’s first lash. Master began slowly stroking and slapping Sarah’s buttocks with his belt. With the impact of each lash, Sarah felt the deep layers of fat across her ass, up her back and between her thighs ripple and jiggle. After about ten slaps, Sarah felt herself slipping totally into sub space. The pain of the slaps, her Master’s fingers also tracing her stretch marks and the feel of her own morbid obesity rippling and jiggling gave her real pleasure. She felt herself moistening, and her nipples had become hard little pebbles at the ends of her massive, sagging breasts. Sarah’s heart continued to pound, and she was still gasping for breath, but now it was from excitement, not the exertion of getting up from the couch. Sarah was also excited about lunch, because she knew if Master had ordered out, it would be a lot. After a few more lashes, Sarah felt Master’s hand again forcing its way between her massive thighs and thigh rolls. Master began to squeeze Sarah’s FUPA, applying light pressure to her clit. Suddenly Master slapped her pussy HARD! Sarah’s thighs and abdominal muscles began to quiver and as she experienced a mild orgasm. As Master continued to brutally slap her FUPA, she felt her legs begin to give way with another much more intense orgasm and she collapsed, gasping, face first on the couch.

“UP!!” Master shouted. “Get your fat sorry ass in the shower!”

Sarah was struggling to haul herself up backwards when she felt Master grab her hair. He pulled her up by her hair and her arm. She felt his fingers sinking in all the way to her bicep, deeply buried under a layer of fat. Master hauled her to her feet and told her to turn around. Sarah was panting again, from both the orgasms and the effort to get up.

“Damn, you sure are out of shape! You’re red-faced and huffing just getting off the couch! I want you in the shower now. You failed me, and you need to make amends. You have 20 minutes to clean every inch of yourself, every roll, every orifice, dry yourself completely and meet me in the kitchen for your feeding, “Master directed.

“Yes, Sir!” Sarah exclaimed nervously.

As Sarah turned to go to the bathroom, she realized she was seeing stars and began gulping huge breaths of air. Sarah’s heart was in overdrive, and she began to feel the familiar burning in her chest she’d been experiencing when exerted, which was just about any time she moved more than a few feet over the last few months. Master pointed to the bathroom, and Sarah, desperate to sit down, struggled down the hall, chest heaving and rolls rippling. She glanced at the new portable AED that had been installed in the hallway after her last trip to the doctor, and wondered how soon it might need to be used…

Sarah reached the bathroom and immediately plopped on the toilet, getting her massive weight off her legs and trying to catch her breath. She knew she didn’t have long, but she definitely needed a minute or two to catch her breath or she wouldn’t make it through the shower. Sarah started to worry a little bit – it was taking longer than usual to catch her breath and the slight burn in her chest was now a pretty sharp pain. She was sweating profusely and could feel the sweat running down her face, between her breasts and from under her arms. Another minute, she thought to herself, and I’ll be OK.

As Sarah got into the shower and got situated on the shower bench, she thought she heard the doorbell ring. Sarah quickly and carefully washed everywhere she could reach while on the bench. As Sarah’s weight had increased, her ability to reach certain areas of her body had become limited. She had accumulated so much fat on her back and arms that she could no longer easily reach her butt from behind, and her stomach was so large she couldn’t reach through from the front. She now had to use a small tool with a long handle to completely clean herself. She stood up and quickly used the tool to clean her butt and her pussy, grunting with the effort to penetrate all the gelatinous fat. Sarah was both shocked and turned on by what she had done to herself over the last 10 years. Under Master’s care, she had gained just under 400 pounds in the 10 years she had been with him. At 30, she had been very healthy and reasonably fit, but now her health was a total wreck and her body no longer resembled anything close to a normal woman.

Sarah heaved herself over the edge of the tub and began to dry herself. She looked in the mirror and saw a middle-aged woman covered with a ridiculously thick layer of fat, red-faced and skin ripped with stretchmarks. She again marveled at how she had changed. She often got wet when she looked at herself in the mirror, and sometimes when she was really out of breath, or had chest pains, she would get very excited along with the little frisson of fear that came with such dangerous developments regarding her health.

“TIME’S UP!” She heard Master call from the kitchen. Sarah quickly pulled the towel under her panniculus and between her thighs one last time and headed for the kitchen. She didn’t worry about dressing, as Master required her to be naked when he was home. Sarah waddled down the hall and through the living room to the kitchen. She could feel her thighs rubbing together, and actually felt her fat, saggy ass bouncing off the back of her thighs. She thought she smelled Mexican food as she entered the kitchen, and she was right.

She sat down at the table with a grunt and a thud, huffing and puffing from the effort of walking the short distance through the house. Sarah felt better after the shower. The sharp pain in her chest had subsided to a dull ache in the middle of her back, and she was starting to catch her breath finally.

Master began unpacking the bags of Mexican and placed two giant, overstuffed beef burritos in front of Sarah. Her mouth began to water, literally, like an animal about to feed. Her obsession with food often manifested itself physically. She felt excited and was again getting moist at the thought of the giant burritos. Sarah also was often aroused by the feeling of total overindulgence. She often ate until she was painfully full. Sometimes she stuffed herself so thoroughly she had trouble breathing, her diaphragm crushed by all the subcutaneous fat she carried, magnified by such a full stomach.

You’re going to eat, and I’m going to talk,” Master said.

Sarah immediately began hungrily attacking the first burrito, waves of pleasure going through her with every bite. When Sarah ate, she often moaned softly with pleasure, and she was doing that now.

“You will continue to stuff your fat face, and I’m going to talk about your health while you kill yourself with those burritos,” Master said. “I’ve noticed lately that you’re always out of breath, more so than usual, and you’re having more and more trouble moving around the house. Your last weigh-in, you were at 522 pounds, which is over a quarter of a ton! You’re 5’2” tall, so you weigh about as much as FIVE thin women your height. Your BMI is just over 95, which is 65 points above the morbidly obese point. You’ve gotten so fat you can hardly service me anymore. You’re unable to get yourself off, and when I decide you’re allowed sexual pleasure, you depend on me to do it for you. You haven’t been able to clean the house or even cook a meal for me in months. As it is now, you depend on ME for everything. Yes, there’s certainly a give and take in our relationship – you’re supposed to provide certain things, and in return for that, I keep a roof over your head, I provide you food, I provide you love and emotional support, but there comes a point that, pardon the pun, the scales tip too far one way or the other, and at that point a relationship is in jeopardy.”

Sarah was listening to Master, but she was also distracted by her burning desire to satisfy her addiction to food. She realized, however, that Master was very serious. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading, but she started getting nervous. Suddenly, the second burrito she was on didn’t have the appeal of the first. Sarah began listening more carefully to Master, so she could be sure to understand what he was telling her.

“Don’t slow down on that second burrito, but keep listening to me. You’re so out of shape,” Master continued, “That I’m afraid I’m going to come home one day and find you dead of a heart attack or in a diabetic coma, or that you’ve fallen and seriously hurt yourself. You have ridiculously high blood pressure, you take multiple drugs to keep your heart rate low enough to keep it from exploding, you have an enlarged heart, and your cholesterol was over 350 the last time you went to the doctor.  You also forget to take your meds half the time, except for your insulin, and I’ve seen you take bread and scoop bacon grease out of the pan with it. You probably have severe coronary artery disease as well. At your weight, you probably also have an excess of pericardial fat that can inhibit your heart’s ability to work properly. In all, you’re in terrible shape!”

Sarah had just finished her second burrito, and while Master’s words stung, especially the part about not being able to service him properly, she was still hungry, and she began eying the quart container of refried beans and was wondering how much cheese she could get to melt into it without spilling it.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Master asked Sarah

As Sarah took a huge gulp of soda, she stammered, “I-I’m big, I know, but I’m not old enough to have a heart attack. I want to continue to serve you! You’re my Master, and I love you! I’ll work harder to please you in bed, and I’ll start doing some exercises. I’ll show you I’m not in as bad a shape as you think, I promise!”

Master went into the bathroom and came back with a stethoscope. He came up behind Sarah and moved her pendulous breast to one side and placed the scope on her chest. He listened for a minute, looking at his watch.

“You’re sitting down and have been for 10 minutes. Your resting heart rate is just over 100. You should be between 50-60. You also have an irregular heartbeat. Your heart stutters and races just sitting down. I can only imagine what it sounds like when you go up to the bedroom. Here, listen,” Master said as he put the earpieces in Sarah’s ears.

“See what I mean?” Master said. “You really need to take your meds every day, and the vitamins the doctor recommended for you.”

Leslie woke up in a cold, clammy sweat, coughing and gasping for breath. Her first thought was her inhaler, and the second was that she was incredibly thirsty, but she really needed to pee. She ripped off her CPAP, reached for her inhaler and took two giant puffs. While she felt her airway opening up, she was alarmed at how hard her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the hammering in her head, or her chest. Each slamming beat of her heart sent a spike of pain through her brain and her chest. Leslie knew she was hung over again, the third morning in a row. Water and a cigarette, she thought, may make things a little better. Her friend and feeder had been over every night for the last three nights, and Leslie had way over-indulged – more than her usual gluttony. Two pizzas, half a box of snack cakes, a 12-pack of beer, Jaeger bombs and at least a pack and a half of cigarettes and a couple joints the night before were really taking their toll this morning.

Leslie struggled to sit up. For most people, the simple act of sitting up was an effortless, thoughtless function. For Leslie, though, it took quite a bit of work.  At 5’5” and just over 530 pounds, many of the simplest movements in life were difficult. Even breathing was often difficult for Leslie. A heavy smoker and asthmatic, what most people took for granted was a daily challenge for Leslie. With a massive belly carrying a couple hundred pounds of pure visceral fat constantly pressing on her diaphragm 24 hours a day, it took a real effort for her to ever get a deep breath.

As Leslie heaved her massive body to an upright position, she felt the familiar sting in her back. She’d recently been to an orthopedic doctor, and after he saw her, he shook his head and told her that her knees, hips and back just weren’t built to handle such weight. While Leslie weighed over a quarter of a ton, she was actually fairly small-framed. Leslie rocked back and forth a couple times to get the momentum necessary to haul herself to her feet. Leslie stood for a minute to catch her breath. She knew she’d be out of breath again by the time she got to the bathroom, just 10 feet away. Leslie noticed a dull ache in her upper back and left shoulder. She thought she must have slept wrong on it. As she tried to catch her breath and wait for her wildly beating heart to slow, she reached for a cigarette from her nightstand. Leslie lit up, and carefully took a pull off her smoke. She was afraid if she took too big a puff, she’d trigger another asthma attack. She then took her cigarette and as Leslie waddled to the bathroom, she felt her knees protesting such a heavy load. Knee and hip pain were constant any time she was on her feet.  Leslie struggled sideways through the door to the bathroom, breasts, belly and ass scraping the door jambs on either side. Out of breath again from the 10-foot walk to the bathroom. Leslie barely made it to the toilet and sat with a thud. Leslie felt like she’d peed a gallon, but the relief was satisfying. She sat for a minute to catch her breath before wiping, yet another hard job due to her massive size. Leslie reached for the toilet paper, and leaned back as far as she could on the toilet. Leslie had to use one hand to lift her belly, and the other to wipe. She grunted with the effort to lift her huge, swollen sack of stomach and shove her hand through huge rolls of thigh fat and around a large, sagging FUPA to get to her vagina.  Her belly alone probably weighed close to 300 pounds. Under her hard, round visceral fat she had a huge, hanging apron of subcutaneous fat as well.  She was panting with effort, and after she finished, she sat on the toilet for a few minutes to catch her breath. Her heart was still pounding, and her head hurt even more, if that was possible.  The dull ache in her upper back and left shoulder seemed to get worse. Nervously, Leslie tried to check her pulse, but her heart was beating too fast for her to count. After her breathing and heart slowed, she heaved herself off the toilet and got ready for the marathon trek to the kitchen.

As Leslie turned to leave the bathroom, she glanced in the mirror. She often marveled at how big she had become. Her belly stuck out so far, she couldn’t see her knees or her feet at all. Her belly was ripped with stretchmarks from the rapid weight gain she’d experienced since she’d met Jeff. Long, pink stretchmarks ran the length of her belly, some almost two feet long, intertwined with lighter, silvery ones from her younger years. Her breasts were massive, at 62 H. They had sagged so much her nipples had rolled under, and were on her belly instead of in her sight.  The stretchmarks on her breasts were wide and jagged. The skin looked like it was about to tear open on its own. She looked at her face and grew concerned again. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, and her cheeks were a very unhealthy deep purple. Her neck was just a pair of chins, jiggling as her chest heaved up and down in the battle for air. Disgusted, but also slightly turned on by what she saw, she decided she needed to get some water and Tylenol and squeezed out through the bathroom door and headed to the kitchen.

As Leslie struggled through the bedroom, she could feel her massive gut swinging back and forth and her ass and thighs jiggling like the quarter ton of Jell-o she was. She felt her thighs chafing and rubbing together, and the huge rolls of back fat she had accumulated were bouncing off each other. In spite of all the pain she was experiencing in her head, chest and joints she felt a tingling in her vagina, and knew she was getting wet. Whenever she walked naked, her belly swung across her FUPA and the rubbing inevitably turned her on. Leslie knew the weight and her bad habits were rapidly killing her, but she knew, no matter what, she couldn’t stop. She loved Jeff dearly, and knew her growing body pleased him. She loved the stuffings and the partying with him, and how he used her massive body every night he came over.

By the time she got to the coffee table in the living room, she was out of breath again, and her heart was racing wildly in her chest from the effort of carrying her huge body to 20 or so feet to the living room. Leslie was used to being out of breath, but this morning it seemed worse. She just couldn’t seem to catch her breath since she had gotten up to use the bathroom. She decided she needed to rest a minute and have another smoke before she finished the journey to the kitchen and plopped on the couch.  Smoking almost two packs a day now, Leslie had cigarettes stashed all over the house. She opened her coffee table drawer ands got a smoke and her lighter. As she put the pack on the table, she noticed her left arm felt weak and her chest felt really tight. She thought she had better wait a minute to have her smoke until her chest settled down a little bit. She thought back to the last few nights, and how servicing Jeff, and his reciprocal actions had really worn her out. For the first time, she had begun chest pains during sex. Jeff would use a toy on her and lead her to orgasm after orgasm, and she was finding it harder for her heart and lungs to keep up.

As she struggled to catch her breath, she thought about her recent doctor’s visit. Leslie had just reached her highest weight at the doctor the previous week. She weighed in at 532 pounds. Her BMI had risen to a very scary 88.5, up from 44.6 just three and a half years ago. Still morbidly obese, Leslie had been so much healthier then. Her doctor had been sympathetic to her situation for years but was becoming increasingly stern at her visits. Her blood pressure was very high, 172 over 112 even on meds, she was asthmatic, and was exhibiting all the signs of beginning diabetes.  Leslie had also noticed lately that sometimes her heart would start racing for no reason. She mentioned this to the doctor. Leslie remembered how he usually took a quick listen to her heart, but on her last visit the stethoscope lingered alarmingly. He had asked her to get up and walk across the exam room a few times and listened again.  He told her her resting heart rate was over 100 BPM, and was over 180 from just walking around the room. He told her that her increased weight, smoking and drinking was putting a dangerous strain on her heart. He told her the human heart just isn’t designed to drive such a large body, especially with smoking and breathing problems. He told her she was at serious risk of a heart attack or stroke and told her that when she did have a heart attack, it was unlikely she would survive it.

He also told her he wanted to schedule a cardiac stress test, and a test to see how much blockage she might have in her coronary arteries. He urged her to try and get some psychological help for her eating disorder, and to stop smoking immediately. Leslie was scared, and promised she would contact a psychologist and begin a smoking cessation program right away. The doctor gave her a prescription for stronger BP medicine, and a new medicine to try and slow her heart from racing all the time and told her to schedule the tests before she left.

When Leslie left the doctor’s office, without scheduling the tests, she was more depressed than ever. On the way home, she stopped at Burger King and got two double whoppers and three orders of fries. As she pulled into the driveway of what had been her mother’s house, she turned around, and headed to Taco Bell. She felt that a couple burritos for dessert would make her feel better. This was the story of her life the last few years, and the strange rationale applied was always that the food would make her feel better. She remembered how good she felt after she ate all that lovely food, probably 5,000 calories in a single sitting….

As Leslie returned to the present, she began coughing as soon as she took a drag on her smoke and was still gasping for breath. She felt her chest constricting again, and knew she was probably going to have another asthma attack.  She realized she left her inhaler in the bedroom, so she struggled to her feet, wheezing and gasping.  Leslie noticed she was sweating profusely and felt a river of sweat running down between her boobs.

As she made her way back to the bedroom, she felt the ache on her left side getting worse.  She wondered if she had pulled a muscle or something. Leslie reached her nightstand, huffing and gasping for air. She reached for the inhaler and realized her left arm was really numb. She grabbed the inhaler with her right hand and sat on the bed. She took three big puffs on the inhaler and felt her airway opening up but was still wheezing and gasping.  She knew she was only supposed to take one puff, and in an emergency, two, but she had a bad feeling about this one. She knew too many puffs on the inhaler was bad for her heart, but she figured not being able to breathe was worse…

Leslie felt her chest loosen just a little bit, but still couldn’t breathe. Leslie felt very dizzy and weak, and she realized she was sweating even more than before. Her chest felt very tight, like an elephant was sitting on it. She took another puff on the inhaler, nervous about overdoing it.

  Leslie put her arms on the bed and rested her head on them. She was still gasping and wheezing, but she could feel her airway opening up a little bit more. After about 10 minutes, Leslie actually felt better. Her airway seemed to open up a bit more, and she started breathing more easily. Leslie noticed a wet spot on the bed, however, from where her sweat was pouring off her. She struggled to her feet and headed to the kitchen to get some aspirin. By the time she reached the kitchen she was breathless again and leaned on the counter. After resting for a couple more minutes, she got the bottle of Tylenol and dry-swallowed 4 of them. She thought maybe a beer would help her feel better. She went to the fridge and grabbed one, and downed it in a few gulps, again leaning on the counter to rest.

She thought about her unfinished cigarette in the living room, and slowly waddled to the coffee table and plucked it from the ashtray. She lit it, and puffed very gently, trying to avoid triggering her third asthma attack in under a half-hour.  Even though she’d only been up for 30 minutes, Leslie felt she needed a nap. She was already exhausted from hauling her fat body around, and the struggle breathing seemed to bring today. Leslie was leaning on the coffee table, knowing it was so much effort to get off the couch if she sat down.