I wanna watch you struggle.
Struggle to swallow while I’m overfeeding you as your body tells you you’ve had more than enough food. Struggle to keep everything down as I make you drink from a funnel, not letting you stop until everything’s gone. Struggle to stand up after I’ve stuffed you full, fighting against all the heft I’ve added to your body. Struggle to put your clothes on as you outgrow everything, trying to jump and shift to pull your jeans over your fattening thighs and ass, sucking in like hell and sighing after failing to button them for the tenth time. Struggle to put your shoes on as your hugely fat belly gets in the way. Struggle keep up with me on a walk or catch your breath after climbing a flight of stairs. Struggle to get in and out of the car. Struggle to fit into booths at restaurants.
Struggle to deny how good it feels to gain so much weight. To let go. To let me take control. To indulge in your every craving and desire. To get so fucking fat that everyday tasks become an exhausting challenge for you.
I can’t help but get a kick out of it. God, look what I’ve done to you.
