You stare anxiously at the extra-wide, reinforced wheelchair next to your bed, huge gut growling impatiently for yet more food.
When was the last time you got out of bed without my help? No, scratch that– when was the last time you got out of bed at all? Probably not since we got this new heavy duty one with a built-in toilet. When was that? At least a year ago now? Two? Has it really been that long already?
You look down, toward your disused legs. The bloated mass of stretch-marked fat rolls that your belly has expanded into as well as two heavy, sagging sacks of tit-flesh you charitably call breasts conspire together to block your view of anything above your knees.
I've utterly ruined your body with gluttony. You never stood a chance once I decided I wanted you fatter. We both love the changes that this life has had on you as I've dragged you deeper into this abyss of eating and softening and growing. How you've expanded in such an attractive way, your flesh exploding outward while your waist disappears beneath heavy flab as your body becomes increasing soft, thick and lardy. I can't help but to run my fingers across the broad expanses of your flabby, obese body. To feel the soft rolls of lard on your arms, to watch the fat rolls on your thighs jiggle, to feel the broad expanse of your belly undulate as you desperately try to catch your breath.
Every inch of your body has been exploded by massive blobs of cellulite-covered blubber, with folds of lard spilling off your body in every direction, with rolls upon rolls upon rolls of soft flesh jiggling and shaking with every movement. The sheer weight of so much flab crushes your body into the mattress so that you just cannot get up. The pressure and pain from the additional weight bearing down on your lungs and heart as they struggle to function properly. The amount of physical effort it takes to perform even the simplest of tasks. The groans and creaks your body makes as you try to move even slightly. The constant formation of painful stretch marks all over your body from your flesh being forced to expand by the increasingly huge mass of fat beneath it. It is all so incredibly erotic.
Really, there isn't an inch of your vast, ruined body that's not covered in stretch marks and cellulite. Every part of your formerly body has become an obscene, fleshy monstrosity of flab.
Soon the realization that you’ve already been essentially bed-bound for at least a year at this point dawns on you, the increasing arousal reminds you of another frustrating reality of being as obese as you are: You are too fat to reach your own pussy, and have to rely on me for that, as well. Unfortunately, this only turns you on further. You look around the room for a solution to your predicament. Maybe some forgotten snack is still within reach? It’s been only a few minutes since you ran out of food and already you feel as though you’re starving.
Nothing. You really don’t want to try to get out of bed. You look down at your sides. Beneath thick, heavy love handles your elephantine thighs and hips spill out towards each side of the bed. They are each significantly larger than when you first got into this bed, as is the rest of you. Maybe you can still get up, though, if you really push yourself. You do just need to get to the wheelchair.
You attempt to lift your right leg first but the second you start to exert yourself you can feel your already overburdened heart hammering in your chest. Lightheaded, you sink backward into the bed cushions and the oceanic expanse of your flabby body.
You're starting to truly understand that the human body has its limits, and it was clearly not meant to grow anywhere near as heavy, soft and flabby as you've become. Sure, you knew that when we started of course. You knew that immobility was a thing and that the human body can only become so fat before you have to confront the consequences. However, there is a difference between being vaguely aware of something and experiencing it yourself. The more your body grows, the more obvious it becomes how ill-equipped the human body is to handle this kind of expansion. As your body swells with flab, as it grows more and more bloated and grotesquely obese, as the additional weight piles on day after day and week after week… the strain on your body is becoming evident in so many ways.
You lay there, gasping for breath as your overworked circulatory system tries desperately to get more oxygen, your poor fat-clogged heart hammering in your chest. Even the tube blowing in your nostrils doesn't seem to help much in the face of such effort. Your obese body smothers your lungs, making it hard to breathe on a normal day, but proving disastrous when attempting to exert any effort. You can already feel what’s left of your neglected, near non-existent leg muscles start to ache just from the thought of moving such heavy sacks of flab.
You're so wonderfully out of shape that it's a constant struggle just to exist with a body as ruined and heavy as yours. Any muscle mass you might have had is no doubt long gone now, having atrophied beneath vast amounts of lard. Even the slightest movement now causes you to gasp and wheeze with exertion and desperately sucking down the supplemental oxygen that keeps your overburdened lungs somewhat functional. Everything you do, no matter how slight, causes your overworked heart to race, your breathing to speed up. Sweat begins to run down the vast expanse of flab on display. It's a lot to deal with and it makes normal, simple activities into a challenge. But that's why I'm here. You just need to sit back and grow for me. You know what I would say: Just take things easy, my lovely little blob. Don't overdo it. There is no reason to exert yourself at all, my sweet, immobile pet. After all, I can't have you doing anything that could be confused with exercise.
When you were growing into five hundred pounds and then six hundred pounds and so on, these warning signs were all there. A constantly growing collection of aches, pains, soreness, fatigue, and bodily distress. It had been there all along.
You'd become obese and then morbidly obese a long time ago, blowing through being simply obese almost immediately after I started feeding you. You knew that growing into such a fat hog came with some associated risks, but in your single-minded pursuit of more you never paid attention to any of that. It didn't bother you much, and in any event any anxiety could be assuaged by simply gorging yourself until you felt better. Besides, the feeling of your body growing ever fatter and your belly stretching to accommodate an ever greater quantity of food was intoxicating.
At least until it started to become too much to ignore.
Your joints ache. Your bones creak and groan beneath your weight. Your stomach growls constantly for more food. Your skin stretches to its limit to hold your bloating bulk, and then beyond. You're in pain. You feel sore all the time. Your body is exhausted from having to carry around so much fat, and yet it is never satisfied. You're so horny all the time and you need more. More food, more calories, more fat to add to your body. The hunger and gluttony never end, the pain never stops, the aches never go away. They're always there, growing worse and worse, even as your lust and desire grow stronger and more urgent. And you love it all. You're so hungry and not nearly fat enough…
As you sit, frustrated, you can only think about food. Well, that and sex. Being reminded of your own obesity turns you on, and now you need me. You need to hear your flesh slap against itself and me as we fuck. To feel it's heft as it jiggles and bounces violently while I enter you. Though that's not quite accurate anymore as you're too fat to move your body, so really it's just me fucking you as your flesh jiggles and bounces and drives me wild. Your belly gets in the way more than ever now, and sometimes I wonder if you will eventually get too fat for me to fuck properly.
Would that be a bad thing? What be an incredible hot problem to have: you growing too obese for sex to be easily possible. You even have plenty of folds and rolls to keep me satisfied until I figure out a solution. And what else might happen as you grow so fat you need me for absolutely everything? You know that as you get heavier and more useless, the bigger I want you to get. And to think about the destruction of your once normal body in this way… God it's sexy.
You look back over at the disused wheelchair off to the side and sigh, then send me a text whining about how hungry you are. A single word response: "Good." I'll be there shortly.
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