Eatin Slop till I drop

You thank God your phone is within reach of your soft hanging arms so you decide to go on your phone and after browsing for a while, you get a message saying "good morning beautiful, there's a surprise for you on the counter. I'll be back shortly with dessert~"

Finally a good reason, maybe even the best to rock your heavenly heavier body back and forth enough to just barely stand on your own. If your girlfriend was here, she'd be helping yet in the same breath taunting you for sounding like an exasperated marathon runner without even moving a few feet. Hell, it's understandable with how hard it can be to get your fat little piggies to breach an inch without the right motivation.

A few attempts cement that fact and the gratefulness you have for your trusty cane. You figure it's only a trip to the kitchen and forgo your favorite, the rollator. Success feels like sweat starting to collect and roll down your folds, if only you heard a 'good piggy' after the finish line. The thought turns you to plod over and press through your bedroom doorframe, just squeezing through fueled by the motivation of what could only be a tubby treasure. You visit the restroom to freshen up, bringing your best to the kitchen table with fervorous hungry eyes ready to devour much more than you can chew.

To your surprise you spy the silhouette of your belated breakfast sitting on the counter as you lumber through the hallway. The scent wafts over causing your already taxed and thickened knees to quake. Each step pushes you to lean more and more on your cane, something that goes over your head in the presence of the most important meal of the day. You make it to the double wide ottoman placed right nearby for a well earned break. "She's out done herself this time," you mutter to yourself. Your sight darts between 3 big grease laden bags sitting in a plastic one the size of an almost but not quite giant tote. It must contain what you can only presume, being close enough to taste it with your sensuous snout, is your favorite fast food order triple over. The salivation it brings seems to brew some pep in your step within you. You know the sheer heft of your blobby body will only let that zippy power go so far. You've finally made it to grab the bag in your hand, feeling the cold contrast against your cellulite covered lap. The multiple extra large milkshakes sitting next to the hot heaping piles of fries that rest inside the bags beckon you to begin waddling again.

The only thing ahead of you now is the trek back to bed. How hard it is heaving yourself back up with your cane sets in how hungry you've grown and how huge you're starting to get. Between all the huffing and puffing in addition to the gentle floor shake with every flabby step, it's always abundantly clear exactly where you are in the house. Cresting past the entry to the hallway, your arms begin to ache and your legs seem to start trembling between the plentiful meal you're carrying along with your all of your massiveness. You're not sure if it's because you haven't had anything to eat all day or if it's because everything is starting to get so heavy lately. Every shift of your cane has you on the edge of your next seat, counting the moments until you're ready to park your rounder rump.

As you get closer and closer to the bedroom, the walls in the hall seem to grow narrow signaled by your clumsy hips beginning to bump from side to side with each step. Your victory sigh escapes your wheezing breath early as you meet the sturdy doorframe, the last lap of your lardy Olympics. Just as you press your plump and overfed body against the frame, your grip slips on your cane bringing your good morning meal along with your big bloated body to the floor. Your hips jam in the jamb, chafing so much it causes you to yelp and not only that, you spilt most of your milkshakes. Luckily your legs don't ache as much as when you were standing, if anything you feel sore and at the very least thankful your excited bout of exercise came to an end.

Yet the sudden rush of friction and gravity still forces big tears to trickle down your soft face in embarrassment. You long lost the strength to push yourself up enough to a sitting position, everytime you try to shuffle through you can't help but feel weak and helpless. Your wet chubby cheeks grow quite the shade of crimson already reddened by the toll taken from waddling so much. Attempting to back out your wide wagon and being unable to muster a crawl the realization sets in that you must be stuck!

You can only think of what your girlfriend will say, pushing the hot and heavy ideas aside for a moment to address the most obvious concern here: your hunger. You use the last of what's left of your strength to stretch those chubby curtains of flab you call arms as much as they'll let you. With desperation you pick up most of the pieces to your morning meal. At least half of what survived the fall from your greasy bags and a collective total of nearly one shake would have to do for today as you begin to cope with the stress of the situation by doing what you do best, pigging out. God, you must look like a nearly spherical superobese show cow spilling out of the entrance to a barn stall. So dutifully fed that your belly rests on the ground under you threatening to stick out so far your lardy limbs can't touch the floor anymore.

Pressed up against the doorframe, you remain unable to get up and so hopeless you give up and dig in. From the sound made by your huge fat body hitting the floor you're surprised the hardwood under you held up. The thoughts overwhelm you to take huge gulps of the milkshake remnants, assuring yourself that it'll all be okay comforted by the extravagant mouthfuls. Bite after bite with grease mixing into the moisture on your face, you work yourself up into such a tizzy by stuffing your plush lips through remorse you didn't even notice the sounds coming from the front door. It took a wide whistle coming from behind to snap you out of your gluttony.

"Aww babe, oh my god are you okay?" she says from the end of the hall. "What happened here?," your girlfriend teases as she saunters down the hall from way beyond your voracious view.

Only then do you realize you finished most of your meal, hardly stammering out an answer as you feel so much blood rushing to your blushing blubbery face, "I... f-ff... I fell," you croak out clearly still mopping up your crying mess.

"Shhh darling, you know you can't help it. You're a big growing piggy, and being at least a quarter ton cutie, who can blame you for getting so weak and tender???" She mocks you while pressing her body up against your rear, you feel how horny she is and in turn it drives you hog wild. You're so embarrassed you try to ignore what she says, deep inside really hoping she'd actually keep going for the sake of how hard you may cum.

Inspecting you like a big piece of fatty meat, she comments, "We may have to butter you up in order to squeeze you out of here dear." You subconsciously snort and nearly begin to cry all over again. "Please help," eeks out of you in an unintelligible lard laden mess.

"What was that? Are you sure you're really stuck here darling? I'm not sure I'm convinced," she says as you feel her hands pinch and prod deep into your rolls.

"Please please, I'll do anything," you say.

Her ears perk up and you can hear the diabolical grin curl up on her face as she says, "Perfect I have just the thing for you to prove you really want out."

She stretches over your immense pile of piggy plush to place a sheet cake in front of your face the first new thing you've seen since falling. You immediately notice it's decorated in pink with a cute piggy face staring back at you. "Now be my good piggy and eat up," she says pressing your face deep into it.

You can taste the richness of the buttercream hitting your taste buds immediately. Maybe it doesn't need to be dripping down your throat to feel fattening, although the idea of being forced to drink the icing as a liquid nearly pushes you over the edge. The piece de resistance being how nuzzled up your girlfriend has to be in order to reach around the back of your fat face. You instinctually grind against her, oinking in between mouthfuls of creamy cake.

"Holy fuck, babe, look at the beached whale you've become, how could you let yourself get this big?," she barks breathily in your ear with the same kind of softness that she's sinking into. "You better not ever think about walking again without your rollator my dear, you're far too dainty and too fat. You should know better than to have a cow over all of this. At least you're such a cute and flabby cow," she pants overtaken by the pleasure of your plump figure. With each grinding slosh, your eyes move from the spilled serving of breakfast laying before your jiggly self, over to your cane on the floor, and then rollator resting where you left it.

You can't help but moo and wheeze as you both reach climax, happily hearing your girlfriend whine and moan about how immense of a piggy you've become. She stretches to kiss your icing covered cheeks as you look at the massive mess before you, completely avoidable if you had chosen differently. If you had only used the rollator!