I imagine you asking me to tie you to the chair while I force another serving of creamy pasta down your throat, preparing another while you are still chewing. Pushing my body weight against your stomach, my hand resting on the underside of your belly and teasing you about how tight the waistband is.

I imagine what it would be like, digging my nails into your stretchmarks while you are chewing, causing you to open your mouth to moan but also giving me an opening to stuff you even more… I would keep reminding you through whispers straight into your ear how much of a greedy, lazy, fatty you are becoming

I daydream of edging you all day long and only letting you cum after you’ve eaten enough to feed a family. Getting you addicted to a loop of cumming and eating until you can’t do one without the other anymore

I fantasize of adding heavy cream and gainer shakes to all of your meals, holding them up for you, asking if you really deserve them while all you can do is whimper and greedily ask for more because getting fat is the only thing that makes you happy

I drool at the thought of making fun of you for how fat you’ve gotten while I get you off, so you associate humiliation with pleasure. You can’t cum unless someone is degrading you for being a gluttonous, lazy hog

I wonder how long it would take me to get you addicted to eating the entire day, from big meals to snacks, to more meals… Until you barely move from the sofa anymore and I decide to not give you any for a couple hours, hearing you go crazy and begging me to bring you food… Desperately touching yourself to realize you have ruined your brain so much you can’t cum unless you are stuffed and degraded

I can’t wait for the day you can’t even reach yourself, making you completely dependent on me for any sort of pleasure. I can’t wait until you barely fit through doors. I can’t wait until simply lifting your hands to feed yourself gets you winded up…💕

you are what you eat, so I’m really putting the “animal” in animal fries 😈

Dawn’s warm light filtered through the curtains, and Lily slowly roused from her slumber. With a sleepy stretch, she lifted an arm, then her back, attempting to sit up. Her body pulsed with a clammy heat, fixed and unresponsive.

Lily tilted her head, mouth dry. Her eyes fluttered open to the ceiling. Something felt funny. Groggy and disoriented, she gently nudged an elbow over the pillow, reaching for her phone. Her arms were heavy.

Too heavy.

Something was up. Lily’s heart raced, her senses ratcheting. Something wasn’t right. She craned her neck, trying to rouse her legs. Gravity strengthened its welcome. The bed creaked beneath her, and it took all of Lily’s strength to crunch her palms, pressing, hoisting a shoulder to the headboard.

Her movements were wearsome, stunted - strapped down, somehow. Lily felt through her bedsheets, under and around. Layers of sloth shifted with her soft, cumbersome frame. She thrust the duvet off, looked down, and froze.

Her body had ballooned, languid and overwhelming. Lily stopped breathing. Her belly loomed - an immense mass that flopped half way to her knees. Her legs creased together where her bedtime shorts had burst open; too tiny to contain her new curves, the few pink scraps left faltering around a snapped, sunken waistband.

A panicked gasp left her lips. Lily shuffled free, kicking her sweaty covers, her hips spilling to the edge of the mattress. She stroked chubby, fidgeting fingers over the contours of vast, foreign curves. Summoning every ounce of strength, she swung her colossal legs over the bedside. The floor trembled as she stood, gripped by arousal, stunned by the pressure on her muscles. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment before grabbing the dresser for support.

Gazing at herself in the mirror, Lily whimpered. Her face, once delicate and angular, was now round and bloated, framed by a cascade of unruly hair. Her pyjama tee was a strap of twisted, fraying threads, banded around her heaving chest. Lily clapped a flat palm to her mouth, blushing. Every movement was an effort. Her breathing came in frantic, laboured wheezes.

She was massive. Not an inch had escaped change. Lily rubbed her eyes, balking at her reflection. Her slender cheekbones had gone. Her neckline had vanished. She had gone to bed slender, shapely, poised and assured. Yet clear as the crisp sky that stretched above the neighbourhood, she’d woken up a quaking, panting blob, shorn of most what she’d been wearing. Her hefty chest hunkered as she peeled off her shirt, casting a marvelling glance at her adopted form. A deep relish, a groundedness, filtered through her stretching, timid skin.

Lily giggled. Tensing her toes, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom, her footsteps resonating throughout the house, thudding on the hardwood floor. She bit her lip at the swing of her gut, quivering at the way it gently kneaded her thighs. The scale was a challenge to see beneath her paunch. Steadying herself with a shaking hand on the sink, she quietly stepped on, scanning the display and confirming her thoughts with a gulp.

350.8 pounds.

Disbelief rallied, engulfing her. Lily let out a moan. A turgid heat took the space between her legs, her mind spinning, her heartbeat soaring, her feet tingling. She was lardy, for the first time in her life. She was a whale. She rested her belly on the sink and let it drop, hanging in a long and lazy curve that filled the bowl to the taps.

Lily crossed her throbbing fingers. Her face was a picture of intense, awestruck wonder. She knew there was more to discover. The simple act of showering felt like a Herculean task. Lifting a huge leg into the tub, she spread her stance, struggling to balance while she twisted the tap. Hot water flowed down her bulky form - a comfort she clung to as she dreamed of the big, wide world outside. She dried her body and towelled her hair, squeezing her arms into a gown that clung to her like a second skin.

Downstairs, preparing the most important meal of the day became an ordeal. The staircase was a heart-stopping descent, knuckles white with every crunching, undercalculated step. The kitchen was a maze of limitations. Wide and ungainly, Lily struggled to stretch for the cupboards - too big-bellied to climb up on the counter like she used to. Every step, every task took longer.

She watched helplessly, beholden to urges as the cereal box slipped out her grip, spilling across the floor. Her ass clipped the cutlery drawer, wobbling as she seized on a knife and fork. Fishing four thick slices of bread from the packet, she was in minutes munching woozily through a clutch of syrup strewn pancakes and slices of peanut butter on toast, smacking her lips, perched precariously on the edge of her old kitchen chair.

Lily took a long draw of milk from the bottle, head in her hand. Even the motion of eating felt different. Her stomach gurgled, and she found herself groaning, turgid and stiff. Lily swallowed a burp, doggedly reducing her breakfast to crusts and crumbs, slurping and inhaling. Sucking her fingers, she gave her belly a friendly pat. She was still so hungry. Reaching for the remnants of the cereal in the box, she took a pudgy fistful, then another, and another, cramming them into her mouth in peals of indulgent bliss.

i’ll deny it at first, insisting that my far too tight clothes still fit and the scale must be broken.

but little to my knowledge, you’ve been training my body and my mind to love how chubby i’ve become. each time you fuck me, you make sure to grab the growing parts of me and give them some extra love, biting my thighs, squeezing my love handles and hanging stomach, and kissing my enlarged breasts.

even on the days when i hate this new body i found myself in, you find a way to cheer me up and make me forget all about my doubts. you’ll insist on cooking me dinner and promise me it’ll be healthy, that we’ll start going to the gym soon and i’ll be back to my slim figure before i know it.

of course, you don’t tell me that you cooked with tons of oils and butters, being sure to pack on the calories.

and bigger

and bigger

and bigger

Surprisingly, the chair that you have been strapped into is incredibly comfortable, which is good because your captors haven't let you out of it since you got here. What is less comfortable is your painfully bloated belly, the sludge being pumped into it and the tube crammed into your throat. You're always being fed, always being fattened up. No matter how stuffed your belly is, they always seem to have more for you.

It's humiliating, the way they force-feed you, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. You can barely breathe, let alone talk or resist. They just keep pumping more and more food into your belly until it feels like it's going to burst. You're always full, always stuffed, and always uncomfortable.

At first, you tried to fight it. You struggled and squirmed and cried and screamed. But the tube in your mouth prevented you from making any real noise and the bindings on the chair were too strong. And your captors never let up, they just kept forcefeeding you. They were relentless.

Now, you've given up. There's no fighting it, and you're tired of struggling. So, you've resigned yourself to the fact that you're just going to keep getting fatter. Your stomach aches constantly, and your belly is always cramping and bloated from being kept stuffed to its limita. You can almost feel the extra pounds settling on your hips and thighs, stretching your skin as you heavier and softer with every passing moment.

But there's nothing you can do to stop it. You can feel your fat jiggling as the attendants poke and prod your body. They're fascinated by how your body is changing, how it's growing flabbier and more obese. They measure you every week, measuring your belly and your thighs and your tits. They record every pound you've gained, every new inch of soft flesh. They've even started recording videos and photos of you, capturing every change as you continue to grow and expand.

They talk to each other about you, too. Like you're just some product being produced, instead of a human being. They talk about how fast you're gaining weight, how big your stomach is getting, how your breasts are filling out. They talk about the stretchmarks on your belly and thighs, the way your skin is starting to sag. It would be less disturbing if they were just perverts but they're all so... Clinical. Professional. Obsessed with the numbers, the measurements, the data.

The tube in your mouth keeps pumping more and more sludge into your stomach. It's never-ending. It's a constant stream of fattening calories. You can feel it filling and stretching your stomach. You can feel it sloshing inside you and your body absorbing it, feel it turning into fat.

Eventually, as the tube is forcing more sludge into your belly, a team of workers arrives with what looks like some sort of crane with what looks like a sling on it. They come towards you and untie you from the chair, and then they carefully maneuver the sling under your bloated, stuffed body and lift you out of the chair. You want to say that you fought back or tried to escape when your restraints were removed, but the truth is that that was impossible. Your muscles were so atrophied from being restrained and your body so fat and heavy that you could barely even move your arms without your heart rate skyrocketing and your breathing getting heavy.

As the workers maneuver you out of the room and into a long hallway, you wonder where they're taking you. You wonder what fresh horrors await you. You've been locked in that room for so long that you don't even know how long it's been. Days, weeks, months? Time has lost all meaning. All you know is that your life is now focused entirely on the next feeding, the next meal. You pass by hundreds of cells like the one you were held in, each with a bloated, fattened girl inside. Some of them have clearly been fattened for years, their bodies obscenely huge and grossly bloated. Others are newer, and not as fat yet.

As you are pushed down the hallway in the sling, you can feel every jolt and jostle as your body jiggles wildly in response. You can feel the pain in your bloated belly as it sways and bounces. You can feel the pressure of the sludge inside you, the way it bloats your stomach and makes it hard to breathe. The worst part is the hunger. Without the tube constantly forcing food into your belly, it only takes a few minutes for you to be become ravenously hungry again and while you once hated being force-fed, you realize that you have become dependent on it.

Finally, the sling comes to a stop and the workers pull it back out of the hallway and into a larger room. In the center of the room is a massive bed, much larger than any king-sized bed you've ever seen. Above the bed is an array of mirrors... and another feeding machine. As the workers begin to set you down on the bed, you can see yourself in the mirror, a huge, overfed, bloated mess. Your belly is stretched out and bloated, and your fat thighs and ass look wider than you are tall. Your tits are enormous, hanging down onto your belly, and your face is red and sweaty. You look like a grossly obese pig.

I think this shirt is getting a bit snug…

slap her tummy really gently right where it’s the most stretched and tight 

jiggle that bottom part of her belly that is always soft no matter how full she is 

run ur fingers slowly down her stretchmarks, watching how she wriggles at how sensitive the skin is 

slide your whole hand right over the curve of her tummy

poke (gently!) to make sure she’s been properly fed to bursting 

reach down for her mound and give it a jiggle 

same with her soft swollen tits, til her nipple’s hard against your hand

hey, fuck it, why not reach up and gently pinch the soft fat starting to hang under her arms? she should know she’s growing wings! 

slap her tummy again for good measure. gently. just so she can hear how fucking full she is. 

last but not least, wipe grease off her lips and stroke her plump double chin. let her suck on your fingers if she still wants something in her mouth. 

call her a greedy lil piglet who’ll grow up to be a big fat sow 

squish, squish, squish. dig your fingers into her softest bits and let her feel how much she’s starting to soften and hang 

more belly slaps, not as gentle now that she’s only a little full from the night before. put some strength into it. make her groan. make some handprints on all her tender skin.

slide your hand under where her belly’s drooping onto the bed so you can feel how heavy it is

stick your thumb in her belly button and pinch her gut with your forefinger and give her a nice jiggle 

kiss up and down the soft sensitive insides of her thickening arms 

kiss her nice plump tits. suck them if you want. she’s a cow after all… 

whisper in her ear how much she ate the night before. how greedy she is. how hungry she is. how she’ll always be hungry, always growing, always wanting more. 

slip ur hand down over the curve of her empty belly, over her mound, until you can feel how wet she is from all the attention 

play with her for a bit and then take ur hand away. no more touching til she finishes breakfast. 

help her to the table, let her take a seat, and start feeding her. 

when she’s newly stuffed, breathless and squirming in her chair, shivering and dazed from being too fucking full, let her waddle back to bed. 

… see above and REPEAT. repeat until all she wants is food and your touch. until the only hard part is walking from bed to the table. until she’s hypnotized by the steady cycle of chewing, swallowing, and sleeping it off. until she’s addicted to the pleasure. until she’s the heavy, sleepy sow you always promised she’d be.