lardchitect

a good girl eats until I tell her to stop

[lardchitect]

Intro

This post is meant to act both as a bio as well as a directory to find my posts. Also, Feel free to message me as you want, and asks are open. obligatory if you're under 18 then piss off.

Directory (located in the tags section until I can figure out a good way to link to these)

(This will be updated to add additional links to help find my work):

#My Fiction -- Fiction/creative writing

About Me, Sexually:

I'm a straight feeder. I like a lot of different fat related stuff, mostly I'll post about:

Fat

Force feeding

weight gain

immobility

stuffing

pampering

breast milk

hucow

mild darker stuff, like health issues etc.

Other stuff that I can't think of at the moment but I may add later. TL;DR I like fat women getting as fat as possible.

About Me, Personally:

I am a straight white millennial dude who lives in Connecticut in the US. I moved here pretty recently for an IT job. My hobbies include various gaming stuff, but mostly tabletop. I also like reading and obviously writing. I am currently single and looking for a local feedee. I am not interested in online feeding or anything like that unless I know you first.

[lardchitect]

I've been stuck at home with a broken leg and then recovery from the surgery for a few weeks so I was totally going to write some more stories and work on some other stuff for a substack that I want to start but all I've done lately was play helldivers and stellaris. At least super earth is safe though :/

[lardchitect]

Could you do more writings like the "Thanksgorging" one, where the feedee is still mobile but really fat

I'm sure I will at some point

[lardchitect]

I saw your "escape pod" post, have you moved to any other sites? Do you have any links?

Your stuff is amazing!

No I actually haven't moved off of this site yet, but if I do I'll put links up unless I get banned or can't for some reason.

[lardchitect]

I've been reading all your fics as if Pierce Brosnan is narrating them!!!!

The Architect is very powerful lol

[lardchitect]

Escape Pods

I see tumblr is trying to purge us again. Where is everyone heading to? Are there any good blogging sites worthing moving to these days? DA's search is bad enough to make me not want to move there and microblogging sites are suitable neither for posting "long" form written material nor artwork.

AO3 is probably the most promising and maybe substack but I'm hesitant to move over there.

[lardchitect]

How interested would you be in an encourager over chat mostly? F more so nearing immobile sizes really just looking for more of support & being able to share about the super obese size and lifestyle at that point?

Well I generally keep my DMs open and I'm mostly happy to talk to people

[lardchitect]

Could you make a short read about a near/distant future were a obedient robot workforce caters to a growing and obese population preferably from a young female pov. Thanks Wizard!

Eh I don't know about taking requests and this would be different from the fare for this blog. That being said It did get me thinking a bit about what such a story would look like. I think I will let the mob decide on this one.

Should I Write this Story?

Yes! accept the request! 👍

No! Deny it! 👎

Voting ended onJan 13, 2025

[lardchitect]

As a CT resident, I came official proclaim you the Mark Twain of Female Architecture

Thanks! Remember to pick up a copy of "A Connecticut Feeder in King Arthur's Court," Coming soon to a Borders bookstore near you!

[lardchitect]

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.

[lardchitect]

I know you think you look cute in that outfit but you'll look even cuter bloated and bursting out of it, so eat up.

[lardchitect]

The Burden

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.

[lardchitect]

I've opened up asks for anyone interested. I'll actually check them this time too lol.

I'm also working on a few different things right now but I'll have some more stuff out soon.

[lardchitect]

The Pilloried Pig

The pillory closes around your head and hands and you immediately feel the fear and thrill of being locked in. "Ah, this looks great on you, piggy." You feel my hand grip a handful of fat hanging from your exposed flank. You try to turn your head to watch what's happening behind you but the holes in the wooden clamp don't allow for much movement, so your only choice is to accept being groped like a piece of meat and as you anxiously wonder what will happen next. I pinch and play with the fat of your exposed rear.

"I'm going to enjoy this," I say as I caress the sagging fat rolls spilling over your back and hanging off your sides. Your body jiggles a lot as I manhandle it and I can tell you're nervous and horny. So good. I walk around to face you, enjoying seeing the nervousness and naked arousal written across your face. It's an exciting situation. Your body is exposed and restrained, totally at my disposal. I'm practically salivating. "I hope you're hungry, pig. I have quite a feast prepared for you." You nod in agreement, grunting lightly-- like a pig. Of course you are, you always are.

I can see that being locked up like an animal is exciting you and you're already starting to pant lightly, your soft, plump body beginning to heat up and quiver in anticipation of the forcefeeding that's soon to begin. Your mouth waters. Your soft flesh quivers with anticipation and desire. You know what's coming next, and you need it desperately.

We don't wait long for you to begin your meal. I bring slices of pie and shove each into your mouth. The apple-cinnamon taste washes slides fills your mouth and soon you feel the weight and pressure of the sticky, sugary treat as it fills you and settles heavily in your belly, adding to the burden of its hanging mass. Its soft flesh stretches as I stuff more and more into you, every bite making you increasingly horny. Next is cheesecake. Bite after bite. Slice after slice. Your pussy more and more excited with every morsel I shove into you. You moan and gasp, as your fat tummy has stretches painfully and wonderfully with more and more and more and MORE fattening dessert is forced into your stomach.

I continue with no regard for how your body feels about the strain, and it's driving you wild. I can hear the little grunts you make every time I force more and more of it down your throat. Your stomach feels so swollen, the skin so tight, but I still force an entire tub of cake frosting in. It's so much, and it's so good. Finally I stop for a moment and a pathetic whimper escapes your lips as the massive amount of food settles heavily in your overburdened belly. The pain in your distended belly is incredible but that does little to slow the ache between your thighs.

I grab your growing lovehandles and jiggle them for a moment, enjoying how the movement of your soft flesh travels from your exposed rear to your flanks. The sound of slapping meat is absurdly erotic as I fondle the rolls and flab on your helpless, bound form, your face turning red and your moaning turning breathless and desperate. Your belly looks so deliciously bloated… My hand comes to a rest, caressing it as my gaze slides along your body.

Your eyes are glazed, unfocused, and your mind unable to focus on anything beyond the desire burning between your legs and the wonderful pain of your aching, engorged belly. I watch, amused at the little squirming motions of your bulk and your labored breaths. After a few moments of allowing you to suffer through the intense sensations washing over your fat, overindulgent form, you groan in anticipation of more to come and begin to hump the air. I slap your fat ass. "Slut! Have some patience!" I scold mockingly as I grab a handful of belly or thigh or back. The pathetic, muffled squeal sends shivers down my spine and hardens my cock. I walk back out of your sight, and when I return I am carrying a large bag full of some heavy liquid with a tube attached, which I stick into your mouth. I watch in satisfaction as you begin slurping on the weight gain fluid, powering through your painfully overstuffed belly. Your cheeks are bright red. The bag empties itself slowly, while you just continue to drink. Your breathing has become so labored. Every exhale sounds like an agonized moan of pleasure. Really, it's driving me wild too. But it's no fun if I show it.

As you are preoccupied with slurping down the thick concoction, I walk out of your field of view and then you feel my hands grip the thick love handles on your flanks. You squirm, your rolls and handles jiggling, as I begin fucking your restrained body. With every thrust I rock you against the stockade and make you slurp down more and more of that thick weight gain formula. I grab the pillory's top board to use it for leverage. Your fat body shakes as I fuck you from behind as you desperately suck down more fluid into your belly. The feeling is exquisite, your overfull gut jiggling, your body clenching and gripping. The pain of being overfull only heightens the experience.

It doesn't take long for you to cum with all the sensation I have been forcing upon you, your moaning muffled by the hose forced between your lips, but your body betrays you as you shake and quake beneath me. Even after, you continue sucking on the hose. Greedy. I love it. Really though, I'm not far behind you in orgasm, especially after you finished. The sensation is heavenly as I fill you, your fat, restrained body shaking. I let you stand there slurping on the gainer shake as I leave to prepare the second course.

[lardchitect]

Haha, so true!

[housecow]

i’m beggingggg y’all to identify these fake feedee pages—it is NOT hard, even if you’ve never seen the person before.

keys to this:

- page was made in the last couple months

- all/most posts will have been made within the span of a few days. usually in succession

- bio says something about wanting a feeder, very little other information

- captions on posts ask for feeders and ask for money to be sent for food

- MOST LIKELY will be posting images with the entire face of someone. as in, most will not impersonate someone that doesn’t show their face (from what i’ve seen)

- does not reblog things besides pictures of people. as in, no text posts or anything. may reblog pictures from other impersonators

- does not engage with the community beyond asking for a feeder

- frequent mispelling and grammar issues

[lardchitect]

Last Steps

I'm watching you struggle as you try to stand up from your recliner. It's so hot, watching your out of shape body wobble and shake as you exert yourself. Huge rolls of flab quiver as you grunt and moan, struggling to lift your massive bulk. The chair groans beneath you as it bears your incredible weight. The sheer mass of your blubbery body causes everything to creak and sag and sink as you struggle with it.

You've finally made it to the point where you can barely stand up on your own. In fact, you can barely walk at all. Everything just gets so much harder to do when you're so incredibly fat. Getting dressed is a chore. Walking around is almost impossible. Even having sex is difficult, since there's so much of you to try and maneuver around.

And all that gets harder by the day. Day by day, week by week, month by month. Not to mention year after year. You just keep growing and growing and growing, and it's never going to end. Not until you're so fat that you can barely move at all.

Finally, you stand up with an labored gasp. You're struggling for breath as your heavy body tries and fails to cope with the effort of standing. Your huge, heavy belly heaves as you try to catch your breath. Sweat beads on your jiggling flesh.

Your gut hangs low and heavy as you walk, so stuffed that it feels like it's about to burst. You're sweating and panting, struggling to breathe as you waddle along, your enormous flabby ass jiggling and bouncing with every step. Your fat legs rub together, the rolls of lard on your thighs making it even more difficult to walk.

I love this shit. I love seeing you struggle like the fat, bloated pig you are. It's just so hot watching you try to move around with all that extra lard weighing you down. Listening to you moan and cry and complain about how full you are, but then begging me to feed you more anyway. There's nothing like seeing the pure lust and gluttony on your face when I feed you. Seeing how quickly and greedily and sloppily you eat, desperate for more and more and more. It's such a turn on, watching you surrender to hedonism. Seeing how much food can really stimulate you.

I always make sure you have plenty of deliciously fattening food within arm's reach. You don't even have to ask anymore. I constantly refilling your plate or bowl, making sure you don't even have to put in the effort of getting more. I want you to spend every last ounce of energy you have on eating, getting bigger and fatter and lazier.

I keep your belly constantly stuffed to bursting with calorie-rich food. It is constantly distended and painfully bloated, gurgling and groaning as it works to process your constant feasting. Your appetite seems to have no limit and you're always begging me to feed you more and more. You're so insatiable, so ravenous. You can't get enough. I love running my hands over your soft, flabby body. Feeling the sheer mass of it, the pure thickness and heaviness and jiggliness. I love squeezing and pinching and kneading, seeing how soft and flabby and pliable your fat body is. I love seeing how much my touches affect you, how much pleasure and embarrassment and shame and arousal my caresses cause.

I know you love this as much as I do. You can't deny how turned on you get whenever I feed you. How excited you are whenever I tell you to eat more. How wet your pussy gets when you've eaten so much that you can barely breathe. You can't deny how your overburdened heart pounds in your chest whenever you shove something new into your greedy mouth. You can't deny the pleasure you get from feeling your body expand. The pleasure you get from becoming fatter and heavier. I want to see you completely surrender yourself to gluttony and sloth. I want to see you turn yourself into a fat, bloated mess, unable to do anything but sit there and eat and you're so close.

Really, it didn't take long for you to pass the point of no return, did it? The moment you became so morbidly obese that you had trouble breathing and moving around without assistance, the moment when you realized that it would soon be impossible to stop gaining weight… those were the turning points. That was where you gave up trying to control yourself, and gave into the temptation of growing fatter and fatter and fatter. Now you've grown so huge that it's practically impossible to walk anywhere. You need help just getting up off your fat ass to stand up. It's hard to breathe even sitting down. And you're going to continue to grow until you're so obese that you're barely recognizable as a human being anymore.

Your fattened, helpless body is covered in cellulite, stretchmarks, and heavy rolls of fat. Every inch of you is soft and plump and jiggly. Your arms and legs are thick and heavy, covered in flab. Your ass is enormous, a huge, jiggling, wobbly mass. Your hips and thighs are thick and flabby, with deep, sagging creases. Your belly is huge and bulging, a huge, sagging, flabby mound. Your face is round and wide, with a thick, double chin and heavy jowls. You're the very picture of obesity.

The transformation has been so incredible. Seeing your body inexorably become larger and heavier and softer. Seeing the weight pile on and the fat accumulate. Watching the cellulite spread and the stretchmarks multiply. Seeing the rolls and folds sag and grow heavier and larger. It's been a wonderful process.

You stop, leaning against the wall for support, wheezing and gasping for breath. You're so out of shape, so overweight, that even this short walk has left you exhausted. Your huge belly aches and gurgles, stuffed full of food. You feel like you're about to explode. You reach down and rub it, soothing the pain.

Your fat body will never recover from the damage you've caused to yourself, not at this point. There is no point in trying to make yourself better. You are far too heavy and far too fat. No diet or workout program could possibly save you now. Not that you care anymore anyway. All you want is more food, more calories… More fat.

Even if you try to deny it we both know you've always dreamed of being this fat, and now that you are, you just can't stop stuffing yourself with fatty foods. Not that you'd really want to stop. After all, you love it. You love the feeling of being bloated and stuffed after I feed you. You love feeding your growing flesh as your bloated body takes up more and more space.

Making you this fat and out of shape has been a dream come true for me. Watching you turn yourself into a lazy, slovenly, indulgent pig has been the most erotic thing ever. Seeing the way your body has swelled and fattened and grown, how the sheer excess of lard has taken control of you, is incredibly arousing. Seeing your huge, obese, useless body makes me want to caress it and squeeze it and nibble it and lick it. And hearing how out of breath you've gotten as the excess lard strains your decadent physique has been an incredibly sexy sign of my success.

I really love how your body has turned out, its such a perfect example of your gluttonous lifestyle. The way your belly has swelled and grown to absurd proportions, the way your breasts have become massive, soft, sagging sacks of fat hanging off your chest, the way your arms and legs have thickened and become heavy with lard, the way your ass has exploded with size, and the way your face has softened and grown rounder and wider. Every part of your body is soft and flabby, covered in cellulite and stretch marks. Every part of your body is testament to your gluttony, your indulgence.

I love hearing how heavily you breathe and how labored it gets after even minimal exertion, as your poor, obese body has trouble dealing with its own size. Seeing the sweat dripping down your flabby body.

Suddenly, you feel me grabbing you from behind. I wrap my arms around your enormous gut, squeezing and rubbing. Your flab gives way beneath my hands, jiggling and wobbling. You moan in pleasure, as my hands explore your blubbery body.

"You're such a good pig," I whisper in your ear, as my hands move up to your fat tits. I grab hold of them and give them a squeeze, making you squeal.

"Good piggy," I walk over and pat your heavy belly, making you moan. "Getting fat and lazy just the way I like,"

You're out of breath, still panting.

"Look how out of shape you are," I tease, giving the soft folds of your triple chin a pinch. You're a mess, bloated, slovenly, and increasingly helpless. You've been gorging your enormous body non-stop on every fattening and high calorie food I could find for months now and I must say I am very pleased with the results. Your body has gotten so incredibly soft, covered in rolls upon rolls of flab and a real delight to touch.

As long as you keep stuffing food into your belly, I will keep filling it with everything you crave. Every last calorie of delicious food. All I ask in exchange is that you remain my obedient, fat little pet. That you stay here and eat everything I feed you, that you fill up on all the sugary snacks and decadent meals, that you keep growing fatter and softer.

Because I love feeding you, I love fattening you up. But most of all, I love seeing how much you love it. How horny it makes you to get fatter and fatter. How excited you get each time you shove something new into your greedy, plump face. The look on your face when you outgrow some other piece of clothing or furniture. How you're loving every second of your newfound gluttony. You're so eager to grow fatter, you can barely wait to put more food in your mouth. You can't get enough, you need more, you want more, you deserve more. And I will gladly give it all to you… and more.

You're so close to being immobile, and I know how you can't wait for that. What a decadent life it would be. A life in which the only effort you have to expend is eating and drinking. Where your entire existence is pure gluttony. A life where all your energy is focused on getting fatter. Just imagine how hot it will be when you're so fat that you can't even get out of bed. When you can't even move. When you can barely breathe.