The most attractive things a man can have is huge moobs, a gigantic double or triple chin, and a dick so small and buried in fat that neither of us can even see it anymore aND IM NOT JOKING!!!
Spoiled overfed pet going into heat. The cycle rolls around often, but this time it really feels different.
Obviously, it's tough work for any pet like you to have all these hormones hit at once. What makes it worse seems to be the fact I can't say no to you. Ironically, it used to be the other way around. When you first came into my care, I made sure to fuss over you in every way possible. Needless to say, you were certainly fed and grew accustomed to it. You'd do anything for a belly rub and these days, they're not hard to get.
Naturally, as any pampered pet does, you gained weight. You were conditioned easily, growing accustomed to food coupled with affection. It's everything you know. You're built to be a fat pet, unable to deny it whenever you're caught eating directly from the fridge late at night.
There's a punishment, but it obviously doesn't work. You seem to like sitting on your knees, begging on all fours and whimpering like the sweet hungry thing you are. You're never sated, nor discouraged. As much as feeling your belly hit the floor on all fours is a surprise, it doesn't deter you. Neither do the outgrown clothes and certainly not the affectionate teasing.
You were never this big before, perhaps healthily chubby some time back. It didn't stop there. It couldn't. You'd grown an appetite to get where you were and there was truly no sating you, no matter how big the breakfasts, lunch or dinner was. Snacks called to you. I hardly told you no. I offered them to you innocently and now there's a non stop routine.
You're far bigger than you used to be. You grew into such a fat pet. You hold your belly often out of habit, look towards me with the kind of eyes that require attention. I don't tell you no. There's a habit. It rubbed off on you. Now, you're easily recognisable from sheer size. Not just in view. It isn't just your wide backside, the rolls that overlap your hips or the immense view from your side profile. It's the noise too. It's the heavy breathing, the weighted footsteps and the sound of furniture coming from the other room. It's easy to know where you are.
It creeps up quickly, possibly too much in the last year. You've really let yourself go and now you're sprawled in bed, laid on your back and trying to touch yourself. You reach, sure, but there's a position required and a spare hand needed to shift your belly out of the way. All you need is a bit of release. It wouldn't fully sate you, but nothing truly does these days. You only desire a taste.
Yet, all you can do is work yourself up. You're so accustomed to having everything given to you, but when you're left alone for a mere few hours? It hits. You're needy again. Your heat has come and all you can manage is a meek shuffle and a pathetic attempt to grind. It barely lasts five minutes. Two minutes, even, is generous.
You take breaks. Each time you try, you're more exhausted from the last. You roll onto your side, then the other; the sheer process exposing you to realise just how out of shape you are. You've grown into such a fat pet. It's not surprising. You were always so receptive. Eager. Willing.
After an exhausting few minutes, you give up. You're horny, undeniably so, but completely useless. You can't do anything about it. The only other activity that comes to your mind is eating. It's a source of comfort. Warmth. Attention. All these things you crave are the same things you'd typically find in a bar of chocolate or a packet of biscuits.
So, you eat through your heat. It starts slow, but then you find the energy to make your way to the fridge. You eat from there. The cupboards, next. You take what you can find, filling yourself up on everything. There's trips between the couch and kitchen, moments where you're cradling your belly on the floor. You find yourself grinding when you eat, lower belly rubbing against the couch or even the floor. It does something to you. There's a slight thrill.
Perhaps it's the jiggle that works it's way through your body, then way such a heavy build puts pressure on your already plump crotch. You've been fattened up beyond return. There's no way you're turning your life around now. Why would you? Even in moments of struggle, you're excited. Even when you can't get off, there's always food.
You were made to be a fat pet. There's no reason you would want to be otherwise.
2087
vaporwave
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