It'll be brutally clear what's going on with you in a few months, don't you worry.
Week after week of being fed like a princess, will take its toll. Primarily confining you to spending all hours of the day on your butt as your body begins to fit my mould. I want it to be a struggle to pull you away from the dinner table, I want you to be utterly enchanted with getting way more than you really need. Not a day goes by without you making a cow out of yourself, exactly what I had in mind for you.
I want you to look at pictures of yourself in a few years and forget you were ever this "small". I want people to assume you've always needed to sit in the back seat because of course your ass has always been this huge. I want the excessive weight to look inevitable, like you were always meant to struggle with getting your flabby bloated cellulite clad legs past each other. You need to embody decadence, you need to embrace every bite, and you need to keep growing if you know what's good for you.
It doesn't matter if itchy stretch marks reign supreme between every roll like raindrops dripping down your sides. How heavy your breath becomes as it sinks in how large I'm determined to make you. Finding out the soft way, what it's like to have a limited range of motion due to what I've decided to feed you day in, day out. That you've grown from quite the doughy doll into such a massive pile of plush means you've clearly been receiving princess treatment. What about your over a quarter ton stature says you should waddle about without a helping hand? One that makes sure you don't stray too far from the overnourished path, that is.
I'd hate to see you let a calorie go to waste given how far we go to pump you full of them. How instrumental they've been, for breaking you in as my blob, absolutely docile to your core and ready to swell up until I say when. While casting doubt in everyone's face as they see you so utterly spoiled, wondering what must have happened and how special you must be to have become this enormous.
Shaped into such a particular scale of obesity, morbidity hardly does you justice anymore. You've finally grown past queen size and it's time that people started treating you like one. You're far closer to being the fattest person they'll ever see, than I can bear to stand. Aren't you a little curious about how sweet it'll taste? I know, I know, now open up!
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It should scare you how much I want to clasp my grasp with both hands around your throat, keeping you in your soft swollen state completely unable to change a thing about how fat you're getting. How massive I'll make you no matter what.
You'll grow so fast it'll slow you down, meticulous with how you'll have to plan each and every flabby footstep. Impossible to miss you anymore with how far & wide your belly juts out. Forcing your legs apart, a rounded rippling reverberating if you go to catch your heavy breath too hard. Like the ways I've deviously placed every last domino, to compound each pound to this very moment. Where you find yourself grown so hefty and large, you have to cry out for help.
Only for me to show up with more, don't worry too much little doll... I'll see to ALL your needs. I'll make sure your butt grows so big it demands enough room with every seat. You'll hardly be able to walk but when you will I'll know exactly where you are given how hard the house shakes after helping you up.
You're going to get so fat & flabby for me, you will turn into my living breathing plushie toy unable to contain the words "no more" in favor of your next overstuffing. It'll feel so good you'll change every fibre of your being as it softens you up from the inside out.
Try to run, I dare you! You'll just collapse in a heap knowing full well I'll be right there to put all the flabbier pieces back together where they belong.
Playfully leaning into her eating away every single one of her emotions as to give her the impression it's all her fault, when with careful coordination it's solely mine.
She should depend on the fact that the cupboard and fridge always seem to magically be full in the morning, no matter how many times she gets up from bed in the middle of the night.
That she even still gets up without waking me to help is probably a sign I'm not being doting enough. She needs the feeding bag slipped over her head, she needs to let it sink in just how entitled she is to each and every single bite. I'll be so happy to see her grow rude & snappy, letting being my favorite fatty go straight to her big fat head.
Convincing her to have her interior design modified so that we always keep the next snack and another seat only an ample armful away. Not that I would mind seeing her getting up as little as possible, especially after watching how well she takes to having a mini fridge for a nightstand. Observing her evolution into grander scales of obesity purely because I put every finger I have on her livestock scale is a privilege.
Ever since it became too laborious to peek over herself, she's been lost in a world of hedonism completely relinquished from the constraints of numbers beyond the answer to 'how much more?' Her chemistry altered to reward her immensely for forgetting whole stock what true hunger is like.
Swapped out for a Neverending supply of synthetic, gnawing, homegrown greed. Enough is never enough until it manifests itself as too much on your plate, for you to ever set down again. Not that I'd ever let you get as far as putting your fork down...
CW: stuckage x mobility aids, mobility issues, teasing, feedist name calling (pig+cow), sapphic feedism 💖, light forcefeeding
Thanks to @boudicka for the request for more stuckage and mobility aid stories, so ask for your own I'm happy to oblige!
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The late afternoon sunshine wakes you forming the usual creaks coming from the crater sunken in your well loved bed. You feel your breath hitch with the sudden realization yet again that'll you'll have to get up, most likely without help this time. The monumental task of getting out of bed brings flutters to your chest, riling you up with an energy somewhere between nervewracking and aroused.
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!
Akin to music to your ears, she chimes, "I'll go get the butter my beauty~"
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cw: playful comparison to animals, one (1) instance of barnyard name calling type teasing, two (2) uses of obese, mobility issues + mechanical assistance, and small teasing descriptions that come with the territory
What you used to weigh before I got my claws on you. How cute you were musing about feeling chubby with a belly threatening to hang out most of your shirts. Surely you felt so small, it's no wonder why you'd beg for more and more butter in nearly every dinner I'd serve you.
The look on your face when you saw someone twice your size said it all! A sweet mixture making it hard to tell whether you just adore people who are really fat or would much rather be that enormous.
Surely we both knew the answer, especially when reaching that overstuffed status. It's almost as if the elephant in the room finally unbuckled their belt and let that beyond big belly free.
400lbs...
How heavy you were getting when we began using the mobility scooters at the store at basically every accompanied grocery run. Later in the evening too not for any embarrassment, but because you really do need that extra room, honey.
Spending most days stuck in a crater of your own creation, sat in the middle of the couch losing count of every calorie that makes it past your lips. Can we really call it a loveseat if you're not lovingly taking up both cushions and then some? It might be on the smaller end, but still, it's quite the feat to begin requiring assistance in order to get you up on your own.
As if I don't love hearing you yap my ear off about how you still feel like you're not big enough. Even after eating at least a couple meals usually reserved for whole families, you whine like such a greedy, obese overfed sow begging for their first meal of the day. Who could get tired at a nearly quarter ton cutie joking about needing cranes for your load-bearing hips, quips met with quick kisses and sneaky gentle pinches deep between your rolls.
600lbs...
No longer really able to go out to the store, we rely on video calling technology to make sure I leave with everything your fat laden heart desires (and then some). If someone we're only acquainted with ever catches me in the act of shopping, you'll get the pleasure of snacking at home overhearing their faux concern about how fat you were getting and wonders about where you went.
Of course, you'd also pick up on the annoyance in my voice as I explain my partner may be as big as a house now but they've always been a homebody so no one has anything to worry about. Except maybe you!
800lbs...
You don't feel small anymore, in fact you feel quite big, but you have lost all ability to say "when" which only sorta weighs on your mind. You're easily distracted by a good looking plate of food, so much so you can't see restaurant ads without getting at least a little hungry or maybe horny. You might want to stop, or maybe just slow down, but all those thoughts and big ideas go out the window when I bring you your next meal.
Besides, you've slowed down plenty given your excessive size and heavyweight status. Each rarely caught footfall so fattened and overfed, it's impossible to see you coming without first hearing how much you shake the foundation down to its very core with such a wide widdle weighty waddle.
Hard to think this is the same well past plump person who'd be begging for butter every chance they could. Hard to recognize you were once a fraction of your weight, before photos posted with utter astonishment. People muttering online about photoshop or AI would be frustrating if you couldn't hardly believe the obscenely obese being in the mirror was actually you. Each lard laden mouthful getting dreamier and dreamier by the spoonful.
