This is a 2nd person POV weight gain / feedism story. The POV is a really big gamer feedee having some nice time under the fattening skills of their feeder. No gender is specified. Have a nice read~
What is annoying about loading screens? They're too short to do anything constructive, but long enough to get bored. Well, they used to be for sure, but seems like you found the cheat to make them worth your time. As the screen fades to black and displays the usual tips, it is your perfect time to strike... The bowl of sweets next to you, right in range of your flabby arm, your pudgy palms and fingers clutching a mouthful of delightful calories. You munch quickly on them, before grabbing more to continue what most would describe as disgusting snacking. In the dark screen, you see your reflection. You'd think that sight would be unusual, but that wasn't counting for the large mirror your feeder had installed for you. As the game keeps on loading, you give yourself a good look.
You are massive. Fattened. Engorged. Years of relationship with your feeder has turned a chubby body past obesity, and beyond. You're taking most of the space on your one person gaming couch (formerly the living room couch). Of course it shouldn't be a one-seater, but you sure achieved that feat. Your widened ass covers enough space for three people, spilling on all sides as your upper body weight squishes it against the couch that seems hard compared to your soft lard. From your titanic waist sprout two massive flabby legs, that haven't been used for something other than waddling to get more food in what seems like months. Of course you've done other things with those plushy thighs, like being forced to walk to an all-you-can-eat buffet by your feeder for a long moment of publicly stuffing yourself... And having to get back the same way, to be back home for your feeder to sit on your lap and feed you even more. But long is gone the time when anyone could sit on your lap, as it has only been occupied by your gigantic soft gut as of late. The multi-layered monumental glob of lard is the thing that catches most strangers eyes. Who could look away when seeing someone so overfed, so gluttonous their midsection sags past their knees when they stand up, and jut forward so much it precedes them everywhere they go by several feet? Boulder shaped, just as heavy yet so much softer, it's a burden you've learned to love to carry.
Atop of your giant tummy, almost puny in comparison, lays a lard-engorged chest, two bare orbs of fat begging to be toyed with. Like the rest of your body, your arms weren't spared by your gluttonous diet of fat and sugary stuff. The weak muscles buried under bingo wings are just good enough to grab food to fill yourself up, before needing your feeder to pick it up from there. At this weight, your neck and face weren't spared as well. You know that fat chin is gonna get cupped by your feeder's palm as they'll lift your head to feed you more.
And of course, you're not bothered by clothes, as you're deprived of them in your home. Why wouldn't you just be a constant display of obesity for your feeder? Clothes are only to cover yourself outside, even if at your size nothing is left to the imagination anymore. When you're in your den to grow, game, and fatten, there is no need to wear anything.
The game resumes, as you begin jogging and dodging your way back to the boss arena. Suddenly, you feel two warm hands sliding in your belly folds from the back, and a head gently landing on your soft shoulder, your cheek getting kissed.
"Alright big gamer, dinner time."
You were about to protest to keep gaming just a bit, but your grumbling belly seems to think to otherwise.
"See, your body know what's best for you: being an even fatter, greedier, useless pet for me. Alright, keep on going, but next time that boss wipes the floor with you, you'll have to get up for I'll be shutting of the console at least... And don't expect me to make your challenge easier as well."
As the fight begins, the playing does for your feeder. Prodding the lard, shaking the folds, nuzzling your ham sized arms, whispering exciting thoughts... Not the ideal gaming experience, except for you.
"You're doing good with your controller despite have more lard than muscle in your hands. Sure you're not getting winded? Spamming the attack button much be such work for a fatass. You're lucky there isn't a weight gain system in your game, I'd make your character just as fat as you. Oh, look at that, seems like it's time for you to get up."
The touching stopped just as the screen displayed a big "game over", even though the real game was just about to start.
"Alright fatty, time to lift that fat ass off the couch."
They know you can't get up on your own, it's been a while now. Not that it is actually useful, they could feed you then and there, but having you waddling your huge fat body to the kitchen is just so much hotter. You try to lift yourself up the couch. An attempt that could be qualified as pathetic and futile, as you just wobble back and forth a couple inches each time, you butt still fully in contact with the couch. After thirty seconds of trying at most, you raise your hands for your feeder to help, knowing the usual teasing is coming.
"Oh, did you even try before giving up fatty? I'm pampering you too much, I've spoiled you into asking help for everything. Don't worry, that's how I like you, helpless and needy, too fat for your own good, but loving every second with your horny mind."
They grab your hands. Unlike yours, they have fat free fingers, nice palms that don't sweat from holding anything. The difference is so great it's embarrassing to even hold their hands, but without their help you're nothing more than a beached whale every time you sit.
"You like giving me more difficult workout everyday don't you? How about I bring you to the gym, I'm sure you'd make some nice weight for some to bench press... Although I don't think there actually is someone pumping your weight."
After a good pull, you're finally barely standing up. You know there are muscles under the lard of your legs, given how you can even waddle given how much weight you have to lug around. Your feeder gives you a happy evil grin as they shove three fingers under your belly button fat fold to lift it and jiggle it. Your tummy rumbles and groans, the playing making it eager to be filled yet again. And it's such a pleasuring thing to have a pixie sized feeder (comparatively to your massive self at least) play with the gigantic flabby gut they gave you over the course of endless feeding sessions. Being grown to this size, the fact you have someone like that as your partner is as much as a trophy as your extreme obesity is to them. You're standing, breathing heavily through your open mouth.
"Good job standing up fatty, way to be a biped huh? With such hard work you deserve a reward..."
Just as you notice they have a hand behind their back, you know what's coming. They suddenly perk up on their toes, revealing a big pain au chocolat. The next moment, it's in. You've let yourself wide open, with your mouth agape, to be fed. They shove the snack right between your lips as you can just moan in surprise and pleasure. Reflexively, you hold the food in, knowing your feeder is gonna take advantage of the situation even more by playing with you. They giggle and step behind you. You felt he wandering hands on your back folds, the petite body pressing itself against your massive fat expanse... Then suddenly, you feel a good slap on your left butt cheek, the hit rippling through your fat skin like water. You let out a muffled moan, right before your right cheek getting the same treatment.
"Look at that fatass. So padded with lard the hit didn't feel that hard huh? And how pathetic it is that you're so weakened by the blubber, so submitted to me you're just standing there and taking it? But you're at least turned on, I know as much."
They're right. Every time they play with you, you feel the buildup between your legs, behind your apron of lard. And you can't help it, lowering your hand to try to pleasure yourself. An act quite futile, given all the fat in the way, your pudgy digits are forever locked away from pleasuring you now. Your pitiful try to play with yourself wasn't missed by your feeder, who giggles in your ear.
"Aww, did I turn the fatty on? Come on, show me how you can touch yourself for me piggy."
It's futile. Pathetic. Pitiful. Yet sexy for the both of you. Your palm and fingers closes on nothing, as your hand can't go under your heavy belly to reach the parts aching for attention.
"Seems like you need a forklift to raise your belly now, that might give you the chance to touch yourself. Or you need to beg for me to give you some release, huh?"
A whimper escapes your lips as your butt is jiggled once again by a slap.
"You can't touch yourself, poor fatty. Guess you'll have to drown that sorrow in more fattening food..."
You swallow your food as your feeder comes back in front of you. They giggle and start to pull lightly on one of your fat folds.
"Come on hippo, your caretaker wants you well fed."
Slowly, you waddle forward, your stomach eagerly groaning for the good food you're bound to be fed soon. Each "step" makes the floorboards creak, as you barely lift your feet while keeping a wide stance to keep your balance. Your arms are spread wide, as the fat prevents you to keep them close to your body anyways. It's a short trip, for anyone that's not a human beached whale.
After starting to sweat, being out of breath, wishing for a snack on the way, you're finally in the kitchen, and you drop on the sturdy couch in front of a table filled with enough food for a feast. All for you, indeed. You don't have to be asked to dig in. You're already a massive hog, and it didn't start by itself, but with the innate gluttony that doomed you the moment you crossed paths with someone so eager to make you grow.
You gorge yourself recklessly, your stomach eager to be filled with all the fattening stuff you can't resist shoving down your throat.
All of what you're filling yourself up with would make a diet fan faint. In between greasy bites, you sneak in a couple gulp of a drink. Not water of course, why waste stomach space on low calorie filling? Only soft drinks and other cream-like drinks are in your fattening diet.
When you have a free hand, you feel your body up. And you're not the only one going for it either. Your feeder is already exploring the vast expanse of your fattened self, as usual. You can't help but feel like you're some kind of livestock, and your farmer owner is checking on your progress. And that owner way more than satisfied with your "work". One thing became clear quite quickly: food wasn't that good a distraction from how turned on you were. In fact, you knew this was contributing even more to your general horniness. Eating with the knowledge all of it is to become more of your lard is one of hottest thoughts your kink-filled brain can muster. So you eat. And gorge. And stuff. And look like the hungriest hog while doing so, still glutting yourself like you're starving, but looking so well fed you never have known anything other constant gluttony.
Despite your incredible need to fill your body up with the greasiest, most sugary, and most fattening stuff possible to explode your scale, your piggish soft arms are way too weak to keep up with your gluttonous impulses. It makes sense after all, using your arms and hands only to hold your controller and shove food in, it was only fair they wouldn't cooperate for prolonged activities like a feast, when any muscle is buried under all the blubber you let yourself be filled with. Plus with your stomach filling up like a misshapen balloon, the pressure on your lungs increase from below, making your breaths more shallow and pathetic than usual. In short, even with doing your favorite activity (stuffing your fat face), you have a body made for lazing around, and you're getting tired. Luckily your feeder is an expert at picking up on that before you, and the next moment your arms rest on your blubbery sides as food is forced down your throat. Your eyes close in bliss. After all, being treated like a food dump is your greatest pleasure isn't it? Your belly gets tighter with every swallow, until the uncomfortableness from it contributes to your joy even more. You've fully surrendered yourself. You are treated as nothing more than a growing toy for your feeder.
Just as you're about to tell your feeder you're about to give up, the feeding is over. Your stomach protests loudly to how much hell you're putting each through at every meal, making it work constantly to digest all the bad stuff that makes your body good. Your feeder gets to playing with their favorite plaything, kneading your flabby gut, forcing burps out of you to revel in the noise, displaying shamefully your gluttony.
"Come on fatty, let me hear how much of a pig you are. How much of a good work I've done reducing you to something so fat and pathetic."
You know what comes next, they aren't gonna give you any respite. Your feeder is addicted to your struggle as you are to food. You raise tired arms, and you're getting pulled out of the kitchen couch. You're a mess now. Your stuffed belly barely shows under the massive layer of lard, you just look even fatter. The way back to your fatass gaming couch is more of a struggle. You're heavier, wasting energy on digesting your gigantic meal, tired, on the cusp of a food coma. Your steps are heavy despite your legs barely lifting up. Your feeder snickers, totally turned on by such a pathetic waddle, admiring their titanic hog.
"Aren't you happy I've made you that sexy? Thanks for carrying all the weight of our kink fatty, it suits your inner pig."
Just as your legs are giving up, you're finally at your destination (like 20ft from the kitchen). You drop on the couch... and realize you've exceeded its maximum weight. With a loud creak, the four short legs of the furniture snap, making you fall half an inch closer to the ground. You'd look red with embarrassment if you weren't already for exertion and horniness.
"Damn, really fatass? You're too fat for the couch? I guess you could destroy it even more... Awww, embarrassed are you? What did you expect, you're too big for this world fatty. Nuh-huh, I'm not giving you your controller back yet... Now that you're nice and full, ashamed as I like, fatter than ever, you need some release downstairs don't you? Do you want me to disappear under that gut and pleasure you, hog?"
You nod eagerly. Your feeder winks, disappearing under the crest of your bloated midriff.
What is annoying about loading screens? If you weren't such a pleased fatty, you're sure you'd ponder the question.
