He asked me to get FAT... and I got way too into it
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Audio narrated by yours truly available on my new Patreon
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I breathed heavily, waddling up onto the scale, and looked down. It was no good, all I could see was my own mountain of fat. I had to get this thing out of the way! I hooked my fingers under the sides of the heavy, doughy hang of my belly and heaved. I couldn't manage to see past it. The sheer weight of it pulled from my grasp suddenly, flopping back down over my thighs with a meaty clap and hiding the little screen. I tried again, taking a deeper breath and really putting my back into it, hoisting the massive, swaying apron of lard up and into my chest. Just high enoughβ¦ I caught sight of the number. A giddy, dizzy feeling washed over me.Β
What had I done to myself?
A year ago, I was 140 lb. He sat me down on the sofa, all nervous and fidgety. βI love you just as you are,β he started hesitantly, βbutβ¦ Iβve always had this dreamβ¦ of youβ¦ getting all soft and curvy.β I didnβt get it. All my life, Iβd tried to keep in shape. βYou meanβ¦ you want me to get FAT?β The word felt wrong in my mouth. But the look in his eyes, so full of hope, it made my heart ache. βAlright,β I said, my voice small. βFor you... Iβll try.β
The first two months were weird, eating too much on purpose felt strange. My jeans got tight, then they wouldnβt button. A soft little tummy appeared and justβ¦ stayed. My underwear started to dig in. I felt strange, but then hed come home, wrap his arms around me, and bury his face in my new softness. βYou feel incredible,β heβd whisper. When the scales hit 175 lbs, he looked like he might cry with happiness! His joy just swallowed up all my doubt.
A month later, when I saw the new angry purple and red stretchmarks across my belly and thighs I just... stared. My body was really changing! I had a confession that I wouldnβt admit to myself yet - I was still just doing this for him... right? I had started to secretly like... the heavy jiggle of my new, bigger, FATTER tummy, eating whatever I wanted, and the comforting pressure of being totally full. I even liked the way my thighs had started rubbing together when I walked.
Four months in, I hit 200 lb. I stood in front of the mirror and just stared. It wasnt a little softness anymore. I had a proper round gut that wobbled when I poked it, and my whole body was undeniably fat. And I didnβt care! No, it was more than thatβ¦ I loved it! I walked into the living room, a new kind of confidence in my waddle. I stood in front of him and announced proudly, βTwo hundred!β He looked up, his jaw slack with adoration. I just smiled. βGo and get me a cake. A big one. Wait - two... TWO big cakes!β
He came back with two huge chocolate cakes. They were both in front of me, with a single fork, for a single fatty! This should have been enough cake for an entire family! Even a whole party to share! But it was⦠all just for me... to make me fatter. I didn't even bother with a plate. I tore into the cake with a frightening intensity, swallowing huge mouthfuls and I barely chewed. He just watched... silent. As I polished off the last crumb and unashamedly picked up the platters to lick them, I saw the look on his face. It wasn't just adoration anymore. It was awe, mixed with a little bit of fear.
I ate, and I ate, and I ate. I was always full to bursting but I just kept eating. I needed more food, more fat. I had no idea why, but I loved it! It really turned me on to feel all of this lard being packed onto me, feeling the soft wobble of my obese, growing body, the belly that felt like it entered a room before the rest of me. Within weeks, Iβd blown past 225 pounds. My body was changing faster. My once-soft belly was now a heavy, fat gut that was covered in stretchmarks and hung over the elastic of my waistband. It spread over my thick thighs when I sat down. It jiggled with every step... a constant, weighty reminder of how big I was getting.
I got more demanding. My hunger and desire were the only things that mattered. Iβd wake up in the pitch black of night, my now permanently stretched stomach aching with emptiness, and Iβd shake him awake. βI need to eat, make me FATTER! More food, I need moreβ¦β Iβd say, my voice feverish with hunger and arousal, alternating between pleasuring myself and wobbling my own blubber. He stopped asking what I wanted to eat. Heβd just stumble to the kitchen and come back with heaps of whatever he could find. It wasnβt even food when it was all mixed together in a huge bowl... it was feed. He quit his job to be home, to tend to my burning desire and feed his huge fat girl. My days became a haze of eating, barely sleeping, and enjoying my new lard. The weight was piling on faster than ever. Gaining 40 pounds a month was in no way healthy, but I needed it. I was good at it.
At 280 lbs I had DOUBLED my weight in just six months! I was twice the size I had been. I felt terrible, I was swollen all over with water retention, my skin was beyond stretch-marked. My lard was filling my lap and spilling out to the sides in enormous love handles, and my belly covered my massive thighs halfway to my knees. I was wearing underwear, outgrown to the point of being a joke, but no-one would have noticed anyway because my underwear was completely swallowed in flowing lard. My tits, once small and perky, had ballooned into sad, saggy fatty blobs spilling down the bloated top of my truly impressive belly, and joined to the thick side rolls under my arms. My arms themselves looked ridiculous, big pillowy upper arms with rolls that hung down into wings of lard where I should have had biceps. My wrists were so fat now that I'd outgrown my watch, and my sausage fingers had no chance of fitting my rings.
I couldnβt even sit comfortably next to him on our two-seater sofa now... I was too wide. But I didnβt stop there. I was eating over ten thousand calories a day, and my capacity kept increasing - soon it was twelve, then fifteen thousand. I passed 300 lb soon after.Β
He tried to ask me to slow down out of worry. I simply looked at him, my fat full moon cheeks bulging with ice cream⦠and I just shrugged, which made my belly apron wobble, belched, and asked for another tub of ice cream. It wasn't about him at all now. I was doing this for me.
I needed to grow faster. I needed to see how much fat my poor, overloaded body could pack on. I came up with the twisted idea of seeing just how much I could gain by the one year mark. He tried to talk me out of it, he was scared, he said. I started drinking cream, chugging weight gain shakes, cramming jar after jar of peanut butter in my now unrecognisable face. My body was a fat production line. Masturbating got difficult, I struggled with the size and weight of my belly fat to even reach for long, but that just turned me on even more... Getting up from the sofa became a genuine challenge. Just getting to the bathroom was an expedition, a slow, swaying waddle that left me breathless. My belly had grown into a gigantic, low-hanging apron of pure lard, a pendulum of fat that swung heavily against my tree trunk thighs, the weight and wobble of the fat dominating the way I walkedβ¦ the way I livedβ¦
And that brings me back to here. Standing in front of the scale. I grunt again, bracing my hands on my thighs and hooking my fingers underneath the heavy, doughy belly hang that I've grown in a single year. I can't see past it, can't even reach past. I heave, putting all my strength into it, hoisting the massive abundance of blubber just high enough to see the glowing digital screen.Β
Five hundred and fifty pounds.
