skinny. mad about it. [VERY not sober anymore]

Oh there is plenty you could do, little pork chop. You could diet, you could exercise, you could even do as little as just not gorging yourself sick. You could do those things, but I know that you know, you just really don't want too, and as much as the realization scares you. You're here because you like the thrill. Knowing you're cramming untold calories down your throat that will turn into more layers of juicy jiggly adipose. How loud is the voice of reason these days? Barely a whisper id wager, seeing as how you've found your way to me.

Do you want to earn praise?

To be force fed until I'm sobbing and whimpering. Bonus points if those cries are muffled by more food.

To be tied up and stuffed until the ropes are merely decorational because there is no way I'm escaping by that point.

To be funnel fed shakes after every feeding to make sure my belly is absolutely stretched to its limit.

To be fucked from behind while I eat cake on my hands and knees. Make this a regular thing until I am too fat to do it.

To get so fat I can't do anything but eat and grow even bigger for you.

To be weighed and measured often to ensure I'm gaining fast enough.

To have photos taken of me at every milestone so I can look back on how much I've gained.

To be collared like a good little pet only to outgrow every collar. Eventually, these will be hidden under my chins, but I still want the reminder that I'm owned.

I really have ruined your life. I've turned you into a pathetic lardass that you can hardly do anything on your own anymore. You need help just to get out of bed, or to put on clothes, or even just to move around your house.

People are starting to ask about you. They're starting to notice that you've gained a lot of weight. They're asking me what's up with you, wondering why you're getting so fat. I just smile and shrug, making up some excuse about how you're fine. "Girl just likes to eat, y'know?"

I never get into the details of it. But I know they're curious. I've heard them whispering and talking about your weight gain. Everyone can see what a fat tub of lard you're becoming.

Aren't you ashamed of what you've become? What you've done to yourself? Look at that bulging belly, that huge overgrown ass. All that extra flab, stretching out your skin, jiggling with each small movement you make. How you've grown to be such a gargantuan mess.

Do you feel shame when you eat? You should. Look at how you stuff your face, gorging on all the greasy, fattening foods I feed you. Eating, always eating, filling your fat gut with so much food that you can barely breathe. I've made you into a food-addicted fatass, constantly stuffing your face, without a thought for your own health or future. Though really, I don't see a future for you outside of shoveling fattening garbage down your throat and collecting stretchmarks.

And besides, isn't it fun when I take you out in public? Everyone staring at you, silently judging you. Men, women, children. Everyone looking at your obscene, fleshy body. How you can barely move anymore, weighed down by so much fat. How you waddle when you walk and wheeze when you breathe. How you've ruined yourself, becoming so fat and out of shape.

And oh, yes, the questions I occasionally get, and I always brush them off.

"She just likes to indulge."

"Don't worry, everything's fine."

"I decided it would be super hot if she was really obese so I'm fattening her up like the pig she is. She loves it!"

Just kidding, I haven't told anyone the last one yet, but I'm sure they would be mortified if I did. I think I'd like to keep this between us, for now. It makes it hotter, in a way. Secretly indulging in such debauchery. People get so curious when they see what’s become of you. They ask about how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to.

I know what they really want to know is how and why you've fucked up your entire life, by overeating and sitting on your expanding ass. To them you've become a tragic parody of yourself. Nothing but a disgustingly fat mass of lard, carrying hundreds of extra pounds of fat.

They don’t know, but the truth is that you've become quite the happy, greedy pig, haven't you? Always stuffing yourself with unhealthy food, overeating till you can't breathe, and always wanting more. I'm glad we both finally see eye-to-eye about your future: as an obese, unhealthy pile of lard. You couldn’t lose weight even if you wanted to. It's been long enough since your bingeing and your gluttonous habits took complete control of your life. In fact, I'm pretty sure you were never in control to begin with. You've been a helpless victim of your cravings from the start. Your body craves more and more and more and you can't resist stuffing more and more garbage into your mouth.

You like the idea of being my secret fat pig, eating yourself massive without anyone else but me knowing how you get off to it. Makes it just that much more arousing, doesn't it? Growing larger and lazier and fatter. Surrendering yourself completely to hedonism and excess. Living a life of total, indulgent gluttony. It's great– your belly pushing out from beneath your shirt, your thighs thick and flabby, your clothes straining to contain your softening body. You're a pig, endlessly eating and eating and eating.

He was stuck, pinned beneath his own weight and stuffed too full to move. She stared down at him with that deliciously evil smirk of hers, as she slowly tipped up the gallon of fattening shake.

“Keep going piggy, halfway there”

She emptied the first jug, holding the funnel up to make sure every bit of it filled him ever bigger. She reached out to caress his gut, like one would with a pet.

“You’ve grown so well for me baby, but we have so much more to force into this body of yours. Just lie back for me and keep swallowing, enjoy the ride”

She grabbed the next jug and began to relentlessly tip more fattening slop down the funnel. He was sweating bullets, swollen tight, and horny beyond comprehension. She had recently bought him a vibrating cock ring, to ensure he stayed hard and horny while he gorged. The more he associated sex to being stuffed, the easier it was for her to grow her hog. The ring kept him rock hard and leaking, but never allowed him to cum. He had outgrown the ability to jerk himself off months ago, as he begged and whined for her to help him.

She loved the feeling of dominance and ownership she felt for him, knowing his sexual relief was reliant on how and when she decided.

As his belly swelled dangerously taut, she could see him meekly clench and shift his thighs, desperate for just the slightest friction to cum. She chuckled, as the last of his shake finally flowed down the tube. Once it was empty, he loudly spit the tube from his mouth, releasing a loud belch, and a pained groan. He gently massaged and jiggled his gut, hoping the pressure would be enough, but he still couldn’t cum.

Between wheezing gasps, he begged, “please, I need to cum, it’s been weeks. I’ll do anything, just let me cum once.”

She tilted her head in false inquiry and chuckled, “oh? Anything I want? That’s quite the ask piggy.”

She placed her finger on her chin, acting like she was deep in thought, as if she didn’t already know.

“Tell you what piggy, get on all fours, and come over here and kiss my boots. You do that, I’ll make you cum as much as you can handle tonight.”

His eyes grew wide, as he whined, “but….i can’t move…”

She brought her hand to her ear, as if she didn’t hear his quiet retort

“Oh? You seemed eager to move earlier when the pizzas came, now you’re too full to move? Nice excuse piggy, guess you don’t want me to help you”

Her tongue moved around inside her cheek, as she hummed a teasing tune.

He let out another weak moan, as he attempted to shift his weight forward. As his belly jostled, more pained burps forced their way out. Cream and food remnant coated his chins as he slowly reached the edge of his love seat, a love seat he was slowly filling. He tried several ways to lower a knee to the ground that didn’t bring pain to his swollen form, but he decided to just push through. He fell to his knees with a heavy thump and loud cry. He whimpered as his knees shook from his massive weight. He fell to hands and knees with a piggish grunt as his belly fell heavily to the floor. He burped and moaned as he slowly drug his fat belly across the room.

She laughed and pushed her boot out towards him, like a goddess would to a worshipping peon. He was dripping sweat and snorting for air as he reached her boot. He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to bend down to kiss her boot. He did realize he had gotten so large, that he couldn’t even bend down far enough. She laughed at his pitiful attempts, eventually showing pity as she lifted her boot to his lips.

“Good enough piggy, you earned your reward”

He looked up at her with reverence, excited for his reward. His heart dropped as she walked upstairs toward their bedroom.

“Crawl to the bedroom if you want your reward piggy.”

He could hear her devilish chuckle echo into the distance as he looked up the stairs. What would be a simple set of stairs to people of modest sizes, might as well have been Everest to him.

“Hurry up hog, before I change my mind”

You’re sprawled on the couch, half hard. You haven't done much at all since you withdrew from your classes with cringey note that makes you horny every time you think of it. You decide to scroll through your X, looking for... something. Trying to find an escape from the boredom proves difficult--not like you were trying hard, shockingly--when a new message lights up your phone. The words slide right down.

“You traded your old life to be full time pig porn, haven't you? I bet you're horny right now… because deep down you know how fucking hot your new reality is.”

Your cheeks burn. Your cock jumps. You type a shaky, needy reply you can't even manage to send quickly enough.

“Turned yourself into one of my stories you used to read and fantasize about… except this time it’s real. You’re living it, now. Isn't that right?”

The realization hits like a drug. Shame and arousal twist together so tightly you can barely breathe. You type faster between handfuls of food, desperate for more of each.

“Turned your pathetic self into downshifting pig porn. I ought to write about this."

Your gut twists. You rip a fart, and then a belch, and then a moan spills out of your mouth without reservation. The idea of him documenting your ruin for strangers to read makes your dick leak into your sweatpants.

“This isn’t fantasy anymore. It’s actually happening to me," you groan, then send a reply back that says the same thing.

“You’re fatporn now, piggy. Grade A pork. How does that feel?”

You can only reply with a string of desperate emojis, too turned on to form real words, shoveling in even more food while your thighs grind together. If you weren't dumb as a brick before, that comment just sent all the blood out of your brain and made sure of it. You keysmash a reply that moreorless says you need to finally waddle your fatass back into your goon cave. You scoop up all of your snacks and your soda, your phone and your laptop, your weed and your plastic. Only things that will make you evennnn worse, and you know it.

“Time to get back to your room. What are you even doing? You know better. Good pigs stay hidden away, gooning, destroying the 'normal' life and embracing the loser life.”

You just look down as you pant for breath from moving so quickly.

“It’s okay, loser. Don't try to reply. I know your brain doesn’t work that well anymore.”

Your knees go weak, and not because you're out of shape. Thought that certainly helps.

“I’m… I’m really, really stupid,” you confess, the words making you throb harder than anything ever has.

“It's obvious, Pig,” he replies. “That’s why you just stay in bed or at the computer and goon all day. No more pretending.”

"Oh, fuck," you respond... or maybe you just moan it... you can't tell as you close your eyes in pleasure.

“Grade A pork with straight F’s in college. Good thing you dropped out. It was for the best. Imagine if you’d spent all that tuition money on food, weed, and getting even fatter instead. You’d already be a massive, useless slob.”

Your mind blanks with heat. You can see it so clearly. Instead of education, every dollar wasted on calories and smoke, every failed class swapped for pounds and lost brain cells.

“Fuck… I will now,” you moan, already reaching for the nearest bag of snacks.

“You’ve got some catching up to do, piggy. Or should I say… more catching up.”

By the time the conversation ends, you’re locked in your room, pants around your ankles, belly spilling over your lap, one hand frantically pumping while the other stuffs your face, wrapped in a haze of gas and weed smoke, poppers pressed to your nose every few minutes, frying your already hollowed out brain even more. Every degrading word echoes around in your empty head like it's been implanted there.

And you don't know it... but it has.

You’re not a student anymore. You’re not even pretending to be smart. You’re just a porky drop out loser. Soft--minus the constant hard on, gassy, leaking, and sinking deeper every single day. The most humiliating part is that you’ve never been happier.

Don't try to get better.

You'd fail at that too.

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\

for @bigfatslob00

I pop a button towards the end and that gets my attention, i look around and everyone is staring at me, i look down and my entire belly is hanging out, holy shit i’m fat. but i’m still starving i need everyone to look away so i can keep eating, i look at you for help and you laugh at me. so fucking greedy I can’t stop even after all that embarrassment. A few eyes linger as i shove the rest of my food in my mouth as fast as possible so we can get out of here.

Someone so adequate, so intelligent and polite, sharp witted and properly dressed, refusing a drink a couple times before accepting the first one, unaware theyre gonna be losing face in just a few hours.

sipping slowly before being asked if they dislike the drink, and speeding up to not be impolite, getting a refill without asking. Ending up in a high social pressure type situation, where theyll continuosly get cheered, so they have to take a sip, theyre given another type of drink to try so they have to try that.

A couple drinks in theyre shirt is unbuttoned or disheveled, their hair a little messy, face flushed and eyes heavy lidded, lips red and wet from booze. Slur that theyre desperately trying to keep at bay getting stronger and stronger. They excuse themselves to the bathroom and walk a little too fast and unsteady, a slight stumble.

They return to a glass full yet again, this time not protesting and taking a deep drink, the afternoon progresses and they let out an unexpected hiccup, their clothes in dissarray, face red, eyes glassy, belly bloated and round from being full of alcohol, bouncing with every hiccup. They dumbly giggle as they hiccup into their drink. They can no longer say no to any drink, slumped in their seat, dumb drunk grin permanently on their face, everytime they try to get to the bathroom they stagger more and more, starting to bump into the walls. They can barely speak a straight sentence, speaking too loud, hiccuping, laughing too much, swaying hard while sitting, all dignity out of the window.

constantly encouraging me to drink faster, refilling my cup,“cheers“ing me until ive got a couple glasses down, eventually im nice and tipsy so they pour me shots and invite me to play drinking games…

about 3h after me insisting i wont drink im too wasted to stand up straight, slurring every single word laughing at everything and drinking what im handed or refilling my own drink once i see its (half)empty while looking at it so drunk off my ass im squinting to even be able to see, crosseyed and smiling stupidly.

you have to be kinder to people who are slow processors.

you have to be kinder to people who don't understand your jokes.

you have to be kinder to people who forget important dates.

you have to be kinder to people with cognitive decline.

you have to be kinder to people who were always this way, too.

i want someone who hoards food for me like it's a secret, like i am their dirty little private obsession. someone who takes extra shifts, skips their own meals, just so they can come home and watch their greedy piggy of a girlfriend be too heavy to move properly. someone who gets off on seeing me slow down, groaning, soft, warm, helpless under the weight they've made me gain.

i want to feel consumed by them. like i am their growing, pampered, greedy little piggy. someone who watches my body change and takes notes in their head, smiling at every new curve, every jiggle, every fold. someone who likes that i cannot stop, that i want more.

i want to be addicted to their feeding. addicted to their eyes on me. addicted to their hands on and in my body. addicted to the way they make me full, helpless, and theirs.

What had begun as a fantasy and an unrealistic ideal were slowly becoming realised. You had been supportive when I switched to buying my alcohol during my lunch break, rather than after work. After all, that meant I could start sooner and have more of my evening left to enjoy. Of course, you had questioned why I always waited so long stock up on supplies, as I knew how often I would want a little something in the evening. But the idea to hit the liquor store during my lunch break every day, just in case, had come from me. 

You were not surprised when I reasoned myself to sneak a few drinks in precisely 20 minutes before leaving work. It takes roughly 20 minutes for the alcohol to hit, so it wouldn’t affect my work anyways. Indeed you were happy to see me happy as early as possible. We had discussed flasks and such so I could begin drinking already on my way home, but these two innovations could easily be combined and you saw and let me understand the benefits for me, and how self caring I was to come up with such a system. 

The idea that I have my pizza with a beer on the pizzeria probably came from you, to be fair. You knew how much I enjoyed people seeing me get drunk and fat publicly so it was really as suggestion of kindness. My addition that I should always buy two pizzas, so I could have one to go for the night made us both giddy. I had to empty my flask before the pizzeria to really feel buzz while there, but I seemed more than happy to do it, on a daily basis. 

While I had been having a few drinks in the morning, to get the day started for quite some time I had usually been able to abstain until I almost left work to drink anything more. But it was almost inevitable that I would need a couple of shots during lunch to fight shakes and other withdrawals and function well in the afternoon. Yes, my face got flushed. I perhaps got a little loud, but it was not like my nose and cheeks and ears weren't red all the time anyways. So, after extensive discussions, comparing photos, and even my speech, we agreed that I actually looked less drunk, and got more work done, if I had exactly three shots during my lunch break. It was kind of a boon for my workplace. 

Of course, you knew that I sometimes sampled the wine I always seemed to be carrying around in a large Sprite can, but you were also very aware that sneakily being more drunk than I pretended to be was part of the appeal for me, so you didn’t mention it. 

Sick days became more frequent. I either was too hungover to function, or got too drunk from my morning drinks. Of course, I ended up getting fired. I had been caught drinking at work and got a warning and would be enrolled in a programme. Unfortunately, I didn’t show up when the programme started. I got another warning. Just a couple of days later, I had another sick day. My boss and an HR representative came to my home only to find me butt naked, my huge belly swaying wildly and almost covering my little shockingly hard dicklet, sticking out from its fat pad. Vodka bottle in one hand, and a dildo sticking out of my ass, I staggered to meet them, slurring of how much i wanted to fuck them at the office. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP. I turned off my alarm clock. It said 6.00 a.m. I felt groggy and nausiated, and had no idea why it rang so early. I noticed I had a message on my phone.

"Good morning Sweatie! I hope you slept well and feel great today! Make Mommy proud and take three large swigs from the Absolute you put next to your bed. You know I just want you to feel good! After you had your refreshment, I want you to write me and tell me how much my big boy drank, and then I want you to get back to sleep again. Okay Sweetie? Xxxooxxx"

I couldn't remember putting a bottle next to my bed. Truth be told, I couldn't remember getting to bed at all. But I checked, and of course Mommy was right. There was a bottle of Vodka with 2/3rds left. Mechanically I picked it up and screw of the lid with clumsy finger. Three swigs. It didn't even burn a lot on the first. But I felt a fimilar warmth in my crouch. I wanted so bad to make Mommy proud. On the third swig, I tried to drink as much as possible, but my stomach upproared and I had to stop. I lay there, helplessly gulping air and tried not to throw up, like a fish on dry land. Finally I was able to write.

"Go mornin momy. I tried to drink you prou og me but almost got sick. Sory"

After that, I must have passed out.

BEEP BEEP BEEP. My alarm again. I dropped my phone and fumbled before managing to turn the sound off. My vision swam and I felt desorientated. 7.00 a.m. I had a message on my phone.

"Oh hello there little one! You began drinking at six already? Your such a little rascal. thirsty today? Are you still in bed, and do you have more supplies next to you? If so, I want you to have three large swigs. You know I just want you to feel good! Write afterwards, and take a little nap. Love, Mommy xxxooxxx"

It was something with the message that gave me a bit paus, but I couldn't understand what it was. Had I been drinking? But she was right, it was a bottle on my night stand. Less than half of it's content was left. I reached for it and almost tripped it over. Damn, I wasn't steady. I tried again and secured the bottle. Fuck it felt SO GOOD everywhere. My body was a warm numb blob. I felt so horny, and wanted to be the best pup for Mommy. With one hand jerking my little cock, I drank. I wasn't hard, but the little worm was warm and touching myself was more than a habit, it was just what I did. The liqour went down so easy. I was utterly surprised when the bottle was suddenly empty. I was unsure how much it had been in there, but I had probably drunk quite a lot. My belly began hurting and it felt like it was on fire. I collapsed on my side, suddenly covered in sweat. I didn't know how long I was lying there gasping before I felt steady enough to write on my phone:

"I hadd there st off drink haha i love y me cocl is so small bhu bfeel good almist puke ilo veyo"

I blacked out.

BEEP BEEP BEEP. It took me a long time to come to, and even longer to turn off the bloody alarm. I had no idea what was going on, and whan I tried to sit up, my head lolled and it the world twisted and turned around me.  I crashed back into the sweaty damp bed. I had a message on my phone. It took me quite some time to read it.

"Haha, oh Sweetie! Dead drunk seven in the morning! So, let me get this straight. Drunk as you were yesterday, you still managed to bring a bottle to bed. I know you opened it and drank from it before sleeping at 2 a.m. Now it is five hours later, and you have finished it? You must feel SO GOOD now, you might as well get up and get your day started! I want you to go to the bathroom and do your morning toilet, and while you do, I want you to delete this conversation without reading back anything. You know I don't mind it when you binge, but I don't want there to be a paper trail of my support. Can you do that for Mommy? I call you in 15 minutes so I can see your beet read face, your growing body and your little wee wee, and set you off for the day! Xxxooxxx"