#extreme feedee

How was that? Nice?

No ... ? Oh. I spent a long time making that slop for you to enjoy. The least you could do is pretend to be appreciative of everything I do for you.

I know it makes you sick and eating so much is painful, I'm tired of hearing you compain. Your ailments don't have to be my problem. It's hardly my fault I had to fatten you into immobility. You were constantly trying to fucking escape!

Enough with the waterworks. Don't you think I know you well enough by now to tell when you're faking? Yeah that's right, dry your eyes.

Oh, what's that? Something's the matter? Let me guess: Tight chest? Probably a heart attack, then. But you aren't worried about a silly little mid-week heart attack. You've survived heart attacks before.

Unless ... Maybe there was a little extra sugar in today's slop. Maybe some extra lard, too. Or maybe, just maybe, there was a little dose of levalbuterol.

Ooooh ... That got your attention, didn't it? That's right. A beta agonist. The perfect thing to give to someone who suffers from reccurent heart attacks. I'm a little disappointed you knew what that was, to be honest. If you remember your time as a pharmasist it means I've failed to strip you of your personality and memories. No matter. I've learned from my mistakes.

Haha, now you don't fancy your odds! Now you don't think you'll make it through. Now you're scared.

I bet you wished you hadn't left me everything you own in your will. It was such a turn on for you to do so, too. At least, it was until I made you too big for the front door. All that money ... such an incentive for me to ... How should I put it ... Cash in? And move on to the next unsuspecting sow.

Hello? Still with us? Vision fading? Vignette growing around the edges of your vision?

Let me just lie you back down on the bed. There you are. If you're experiencing loss of vision you're sure to soon become too lightheaded to stay upright.

Woah ... I can actually hear your heart beating from your bedside. You're little heart is actually beating out of your chest and you're still lucid. How about that.

Don't give me that look. I won't leave you. I won't risk you pulling ofd yet another miraculous revival only for me to be halfway across the country, thinking the job is finished, and not being by your side to feed you some more slop.

"Come on, just a little more. You've almost finished. Almost there. Aaaaand we're done. Good girl! You ate so much! Jeez you look pretty swollen, no wonder. Let me just rub your belly ..."

She moved to sit at the base of my belly, preparing herself to knead the hundreds of pounds of heavy dough hanging off the front of my torso. But before she started she frowned and peered over my belly and chest.

"Jesus. You fucking reek. Like seriously. Did you piss yourself without telling me again? I know you can't help but sweat like a pig all day, but christ."

I dreaded her next words

"You need a bath"

Fuck. I hate baths. I much prefer being gross and uncatered to. But if being clean keeps her happy then I'm fine with it. She left the room and came back a few minutes later with a bucket, sponge, a pair of gloves, and a length of fabric. She dropped the bucket on the floor, and the sponge into that. She took the fabric, and arduously inched it under my belly.

When it was time for my baths the fabric would be tied to a hook on the ceiling above me and hoisted up so she could clean in that area. It's been a while since I've been able to see over my chest, but something was wrong this time; she was taking way longer than I'd thought,

"Uh. Babe? We've a wee problem here. You're ... you're belly's too big for the fabric."

By now I've been conditioned to get excited at the words "Too big", but this was a little scary. What now? No more baths?

"I have a solution. You aren't going to like it"

She walked around me and took one of my hands in hers, and guided it under a roll, then did the same for my other hand. I don't like where this is going at all,

"Now, if you can, lift."

I sincerly didn't want to. I didn't even know if I could. But I did as I was told.

"That's it! Oh very good. Ok, now ... hold it like that and I'll clean under here. I'll be as quick as I can but ... tell me if you need a break, ok?"

I barely comprehended what she said, any physical exhertion is comparable to torture at this size. But I did as I was told anyway. I felt her sliding over and between my thighs, her hair brushing against the underside of my belly.

It was all too much, her rubbing her hands all over the most sensitive and neglected spaces of my body, the tickle of water trickling there aswell, the burning feeling in my lungs and the throbbing pain in my heart, the fact my arms felt like they were about to break, and the fact that the fat from my tits had pooled around my head and had covered my mouth, making it impossible to gasp for air or call for help.

I held for as long as I could, but this was a herculean task. I did everything I could to signal to her to get out. I couldn't make any noise, or flail my arms, and there was just too much fat around my waist to rock side to side. I just had to wait. And wait. And wait. But it was too much

I dropped my belly, I could feel oxygen rush back into my lungs, my heart could back to it's resting irregular pace, my arms could return to their idle position ...

But try as I might, I couldn't ignore that noise I heard.

The doctor looked at me as though I had two heads, he just didn't understand the question.

"I- I don't know. There ... there isn't a lot left to see. You didn't really ... leave us with a lot ..."

I had weird mixed feelings about how he said that. Shame, guilt, fear ... pride, wonder, lust. What could they possibly have done to her?

"You can come in about 11.00 on Thursday morning, if you really do want to see her", he said flatly

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be in then."

I hang up and sit back on my bed. I should really be getting to bed soon but I can't bear the thought of going to sleep just yet, so I go in to her old room. Just to remember her.

The room looks so much smaller without her in it. For the first time in years I can actually stand anywhere I want without fear of standing on her flesh or on a cable or tube she needs to function. The room's been stripped almost bare from the kit I used to tend to her. The oxygen pump is gone, the feeding tube has been retired, even the fridges have been wheeled away. I can see an almost perfect outline of her rear on the wall behind her, painted with sweat into the wallpaper. Her mattress is still here, it's been crushed to about a quarter of it's normal height after years of propping up a mass measured in metric tons.

I'm almost glad to see her in a proper care center: All this tech is ancient. Held together with tape and staples. It's a wonder it failed as infrequently as it did...

That's enough remembering for tonight

...

Beep beep beep

That's the alarm. Seven o'clock. Get up, get dressed, go to the kitchen. What's in the fridge? Not a lot. A dozen eggs and half a loaf of toast should be fine. I can fit two slices per slot in the four slot toaster and have them done in two minutes. I can fit three eggs in a pan per two pans. It takes five minutes to cook them and have them done in ten minutes. Hopefully I can have this done before she wakes up-

Oh.

I turn the stovetop off and unplug the toaster. For the first time in years I don't have to center my daily schedule around caring for my helpless other half. It takes about an hour to get to the hospital. So I have three hours to kill ... somehow

...

"Oh, it's you. It- She's right this way"

The doctor lead me down a corridor, with a sign above it reading "ICU". Is it that bad? It must be. I was lead all the way down to the end of the corridor. The very last door in the ICU of the most advanced bariatric care center the fattest country in the world has to offer. I really did a number on her.

"Now. I should warn you. She's very ... fragile. You just need to be careful. Do you understand?"

"Yes, doctor, I think so"

His mouth jerks to the side and he turns away from me. I could have sworn I heard him say "I'm sure"

He opens the door and I see her.

She's nothing more than a mound of flesh, decorated by a spidersweb of wires and tubes, moniters and dials.

"Jeez, doc. Is this all really necessary?"

He looks at me with a subtle and frightening rage, "Yes. If even one of these machines failed, or one of these cables disconnected," he looks almost disappointed, "She wouldn't last long."

I don't respond. All I can do is gawk at her.

"This one here, for example", He gestures to a machine containing a series of combustion pistons, "That's her heart. There's no way her actual heart can pump blood around the rest of her body without assistance."

He points to another one, a pair of pumps under a turbine, "Those are her lungs."

And another, "That's her liver. There's no machine in here that isn't essential to her continued survival. Her body just doesn't work anymore. Technically ... she ... isn't that person in the center of this room anymore. She's ..." He struggles to find his words for a minute, "She's pretty much the room itself"

I take a minute to comprehend what that means. I'm inside her. Staring at her bare soul

"Doctor," I inquire, "Could I be left alone with her for a little while?"

He looks right through me and approaches, "Her diet is automated. Don't think you can do any more damage"

He leaves heavyfooted and disgusted at what I did to her. I almost don't blame him

"Hi dear. Can you hear? It's me."

I wait. I get no response.

"I know you may resent, or even fear me. But you're safe now, love. I can do you no harm. Now that I say it out loud I'm even sure that's entirely true. If that's your lungs, then that tube must be intake. So which tube feeds you the oxygen? This one here? Next to my boot?"

Her heart beats visibly faster.

"That's a yes. What happens if I ..."

I lightly squish the thick clear plastic tube with my heel. The rhythm of the machinery is changed, tarnished even.

Her heart beats visibly faster again.

"I like that response. See it could be fear, couldn't it ..."

I press a little deeper

"Your mouth feels dry. Your temples feel tight. Your lungs, your real ones I mean, are burning. It hurts and you're afraid."

I press a little deeper

"Or maybe. Just maybe ..."

I connect my heel all the way to the floor