ObsessedWithBigGirls

(quality isn't this bad on my personal page)

Mcdonald's again🫣 was really out of breath before studding these last 6 pancakes in but i couldn't not finish.

I'm getting to a point where i never thought id be, im so fucking fat.

I have this fantasy…

I spend all of my days cooped up in a room that my feeder calls my “special place.”

The room is a soft, comforting shade of pink. I am told to either wear as little clothing as possible, or none at all. He says it’s practice for when I grow out of clothes made for people, not pigs.

Snacks are within reach of me laying down on my back with my body splayed out.

And of course I am in bed.

My mobility is declining. My feeder can’t take me to the grocery store anymore to pick out my snacks and meals for the week because, well, I’ve put on weight. My belly slaps against my thighs when I walk.. my thighs are just a bit too big to be swaying back and forth in the aisle, bumping and knocking down displays of food.

And we tried mobility scooters for a while, it was great! Until the cart could no longer hold my heavy body and the excessive amount of food I planned on eating that week.

Extra large Pies.

High sugar content cookies.

20 pack boxes of cupcakes.

But anyways, my special room.

From there, I order groceries online for my feeder to pick up. There is no moving of my body involved at all. In fact, there is little brain energy required as well.

Double chocolate cake in the bakery section?

*added*

Oh I love that soda, 5 bottles would be nice.

*added*

Premade family size tray of lasagna dinner…

*added*

Needless to say, I live a simple, non thought provoking life.

I don’t get up to make my food, he does it for me.

I don’t leave the house to work, he provides.

I’m too fat to fit my hips and ass through the doorway…… I stay put in bed.

My feeder expects me to put on at least 10 pounds a month. 120 pounds a year, with the hope by 25, I’ll be 600 pounds worth of sweet lard.

By then, my ass will have grown to a size that only my feeder will know how to handle.

“Huge growing pigs need special care”, he claims.

I trust that he knows what’s best.

In time, my thighs will be big enough that they will permanently be spread apart , with my fat laden sagging belly wedged in between them.

“ No, that’s not too big, beautiful. After all, a sow like you should be at least 650 pounds.”

My ankles are lost in the sea of fat that is my calves.

My wrists can barely move from all the weight of my monstrous forearms.

My chins are made for nothing more than a means to keep my face propped up, mouth open, for my daily funnel feeding sessions.

My life may sound quite boring. What a life for a girl my size. Barely 23, the size of small car, and a room just for me to spend my days in and just eat. It’s all I do.

I eat.

I scarf down my food because I know one thing for sure, I will NOT disappoint my feeder. What else is there to do? My only job is to eat. To grow, make more fat. To be an obedient pig.

I get lost in all of my favorite phrases of his.

“You’re such a good girl”,

“I knows what’s best for my growing girl.”

“open wide, I know there’s more room in there.”