A grunt when you rise from your chair, a wobble in your step, thighs brushing closer than before.
Then the struggles pile on.
The couch creaks under you, the computer chair pinches at your love handles, and just standing up leaves you panting.
Your car? A tight squeeze, steering wheel pressed into your gut, every drive another reminder you’ve outgrown control.
Clothes? Buttons bursting, waistbands cutting deep, new sizes bought only to be ruined in weeks.
You’ll eye a scooter in the store, the thought creeping in that wheels might carry your lard better than your useless giant obese legs.
Flights? Forget one seat. Two, maybe three, and strangers starring at your giant blubbery body spilling into their space.
One day, you’ll even hesitate at doorways.
Not because you’re unsure, but because you won’t fit anymore.
Even leaving the bed each morning will feel like a battle. Panting, sweating, just to waddle toward the kitchen for your next fix.
And then comes the part you never expected,
Just moving around itself turns erotic.
Your thighs swell so massive, so obscene, they grind in symphony with your fupa against whatever’s left of your cock, whatever’s buried of your cunt.
Every step a spark. Every waddle an orgasm.
A pig so ruined by greed you can’t even walk without cumming. Too far gone.
This is where gluttony leads, piggy.
Not fitness. Not health. But paradise.
Beautiful, perfect paradise into extreme, irreversible obesity.
The kind only your goddess could whisper you into.
And you’ll love it. Eat more.
Every wheeze, every moan, every humiliating step deeper into euphoria.
Because this is who you are.
A piece of lard forever growing.
A slave to gluttony forever 🤍
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