Fat Artist

Somehow she got up from the bed, sweating and panting only to get pushed on the bed again by her husband as he says " Awwww where do you think you're going, my sweet plie or lard?"

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.

"It didn't use to stick out so far, did it?" (patting your belly)

Mrs. Woodhouse: That all depends on the patient herself. If Patient 323 is good and obedient, she may be allowed to return home while she can still walk. Indeed, I am proud to see my former patients waddling their way down the streets. How much better it is for a young girl to huff and wheeze instead of wasting her breath on backtalk or having opinions.