Sabotaged
You knew you should have gotten out while you still could. In retrospect, there were plenty of warning signs even on that first date that you should have heeded.
How I encouraged you to overeat and brought you more and more food with little regard to your ability to finish it. How I insisted you to try to finish it anyway. How I looked at your belly afterwards, asking how it felt. If it felt nice and full. But you dismissed them at the time. "What harm is one night of overeating? Maybe he likes a girl with some softness. It's kind of sweet actually." you told yourself. It probably would have ended there if that wasn't the best date you'd ever been on.
Yes yes, I've heard this rant of yours before, piggy. Please skip ahead to the really hot part. Talk about how I ruined you. Oh, and make sure to conveniently leave out how eager you were to continue it all, as usual. Yes, my fault for buying you food. Like you were ever gonna say no. Look at how goddamned fat you are!
As I was saying, our first date was wonderful and it quickly became a trend in our relationship. Always encouraging you order whatever you wanted but always encouraging you to eat more. At first, it just meant a bloated tummy a couple nights a week. And really, it's not like you were that small when we met. A bit on the plush side. So it wasn't like it was that big a deal, right? No harm in being pampered a bit, right? Either way, you loved it.
Over the next few weeks and months, our dates continued in the same vein. Encouragement. Pampering. Bigger meals. Desserts. Appetizers. Drinks. Constantly trying new places and eating the most fattening and unhealthy foods. Sometimes multiple times per day. And nowadays you want to pretend it's all my fault. Yet you conveniently leave out the fact that you quickly began insisting on eating more, on sweets and fried things. It was so cute that you were pretending you weren't blowing up while gorging yourself almost constantly. At that point I simply didn't try to stop you. I remember getting so turned on when you jokingly accused me of fattening you up, but you know what? You were right. I was fattening you like a hog and you know damn well you didn't want it to stop. Besides, you were always so horny after you ate.
I will admit I couldn't help myself though. At one point you started slowing down and I couldn't help myself. I needed you fatter, really. You want to know one of my favorite tricks to keep you growing? It was so hot, too. Making fun of you for getting fatter, telling you how worried I was about your weight. Lying and saying I'd help you lose it.. Meanwhile I sabotaged every diet, convincing you to take cheat cheat meals whenever I could. Which was often, because you never lasted long before you caved. And you were so anxious about your weight gain that-- guess what? You overate to cope!
Anyway, you tried dieting lots of times and failed every single one miserably, piling on extra pounds with each doomed attempt. Did you notice how, when you went off your diet and started gorging again, that the scale often would show you actually managed to lose weight? That never happened. I manipulated the scale to show whatever I need it to show to make you fatter. When I needed to encourage you or discourage you-- you thought you lost more or gained less than you did. When a diet was working it would show you gained weight and vice-versa. Either way, same result: you cheated on the diet as a reward or got discouraged into giving up and quitting instead returning to happily gorging on your favorite treats. And boy did I ever enable that last one. So many times. Too many to count. And always as soon as you thought you might have accomplished something. Well, I think it's a good thing to reward my hog for doing such a good job at fattening up. All those pounds you thought you'd lost? They were mostly gains.
Of course, I always pretended I was upset that you were gaining so much weight, berating your gluttony and criticizing you for being so irresponsible with your body and health. I talked about your size in front of others. Made fun of you, teased you, insulted your weight in public. Degrading you for snacking between meals while handing you said snacks to gorge yourself with. That got me hard as a rock and it was so cute how red you got when I did it. I kept you ashamed for being so out of shape, and that made you desperate for my approval and affirmation.
Noticing a pattern here? I would make you doubt yourself at every turn and it was so easy because you already wanted to indulge. You wanted me to sabotage you and you wanted to ignore what you were doing to yourself. I could see the self-loathing written all over you, plain as day but you were so horny after every big stuffing. You loved to feel guilty about it. I loved that you hated that you loved it. Your inability to resist was hilarious. How you would talk about your diets and plans and worries, always fretting and complaining about your growing body, how you wished you would slim down. The sheer anxiety and stress caused you to constantly turn to eating for comfort. Overeating was just a constant, unconscious habit. Snacking and indulgence dominated your life and were your only outlet for any strong emotion. In private it was worse, stuffing your face in front of me with reckless abandon as you descended into mindless gluttony fueled by shame and pleasure.
Yes, pleasure. I made sure to reward you when you were eating "properly." Those little touches during a meal, kissing and groping. My obvious appreciation of your softening body, making it clear I liked you bigger. Rewards for every bite of food, praise and attention, kisses and affection for finishing a meal. Orgasms on demand. Sex was only allowed if you finished your meal, after all. As though that was any sort of problem for you. Soon you associated eating with sex. With intimacy, pleasure and affection. You had no idea what you were getting into, how fast I was corrupting you and pulling you further and *further into hedonism and you didn't complain about that at any point.
Carrot and stick. Well, not so much carrots for you, right fatty? Maybe if they were deep fried and covered in gravy. That might actually be a great snack, honestly. We'll revisit that thought later. Anyway, Carrot and stick. Pleasure, rewards and guilt-free indulgence mixed with ridicule and humiliation when you were trying to lose weight. And you knew that whole time that my concerns masked my desire to see you get worse. To eat more and gain more and ruin your figure with lard and softness. You even told me as much.
That was the real turning point, when you finally decided to confront me about how fat you were getting and I simply doubled down. I humiliated you for having let yourself go, shamed you for eating too much, berated you for your laziness and lack of motivation. You broke down crying in front of me, admitting it all. You admitted everything! You said that you had a problem, you loved eating junk food, you loved overeating and getting fatter and that you hated that about yourself. How you didn't know why I stayed with such a gluttonous mess. Poor, stupid slut. I was just waiting for that moment.
And that, essentially, is the story of how you ended up in this room. Everything after that point is basically ephemeral. Just details leading us to where we are right now. I took control, obviously. I made you realize your place and understand that I was your feeder and that I decide how much you eat and how fat you were going to get from then on. I was pleased to see how excited this new arrangement made you.
When we moved in together I had you quit your job and turned you into my fat, lazy househog. Without anything to distract you from the pleasure of eating and gorging, you began putting on weight incredibly fast. There were no more diets or weight loss attempts. Every day became a non-stop binge of all the most unhealthy and fattening food imaginable. It wasn't long before you grew so heavy and lazy that walking even short distances left you breathless, sweaty and tired. Of course, I always insisted you walk somewhere to get a little exercise. But never for long. It was so arousing watching you waddle around, gasping for air like a beached whale while I teased you about how fat you were getting.
You were so busy eating and getting fucked that I don't think you even noticed when you finally became bedbound. The transition was gradual and you were in denial through most of it. As your bulk grew larger, it became harder and harder for you to move on your own. As a result, you spent more and more time sitting or laying in bed, doing little else besides sleeping, eating and masturbating-- which you needed help with, as your fat arms couldn't reach down below the ocean of flesh your belly has expanded into.
Slowly, day after day, your movements became smaller, shorter and less frequent as your mobility degraded steadily. Your muscles wasted away from disuse until they couldn't support your immensely flabby body. Your waistline disappeared and your thighs expanded further and further until you couldn't move them or close them at all anymore. As your body has grown, your world has shrunk until it encompasses only this bedroom with its reinforced bed, specially designed to support your ever-expanding body. Any last vestiges of independence and agency you had once clung to vanished. Isn't this so much better? At least you don't struggle with your weight anymore.
