You’re getting so tubby, aren’t you? So big and so round and so stretched out. Keep guzzling down those weight gain shakes as you watch your once flat stomach expand further and further away from you. It feels so good, doesn’t it? To just let it all go, all the hours in the gym and all the time spent meal prepping, to just make it all for nothing as you grow the big fat gut you’ve dreamed of. I always knew what you wanted, deep down, under the veneer of fitness. I knew you secretly yearned to lose all control and gain with no limits. It’s not enough to just eat whatever you want, no, no, no. You wanted to push yourself for me, you greedy pig. You wanted to suck down those shakes even though it hurts, even though you’re packed so full already. You wanted to me to see those stretch marks pop up as you hold your fattened orb in agony. You wanted to waddle to the couch, rubbing your taunt excess, knowing that the damage is done. And that’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh? Living the dream, piggy? You can’t go back and stop it now. Your little experiment has become your life, a fattening haze of overindulgence and constant sex as a reward. You’re doomed to just lay on the couch night after night, beached under your own weight, and fall asleep in a food induced coma as I rub your rock hard cock and squeeze and tease you mercilessly. You know that tomorrow your belly will be just another few centimeters bigger, your clothes creaking tighter and the scale eeking higher. You feel it everywhere now. The slab of fat under your chin, your cheeks getting puffy under the beard you grew to try and hide your descent into obesity. Those flabby pecs, once hard and defined, now framed by two thick rolls, resting helplessly on your swollen gut even when you stand. I like to bury my hands in them now, gather as much creamy fat roll as I can and give them a hard shake. It’s so amusing to watch your whole body jiggle and bounce, to see how much of you is now pure piggy blubber. You used to barely move when we first started and now you’re stuck wobbling for everyone to see, even just sitting there, those big rosy cheeks flushing with shame as you feel your own heaviness plop and quake down on you. I love making you realize your true weight, to make sure we document every new roll and expanding pile of flesh. Just look at those love handles spilling out. You’re getting to be so plump and wide. You outgrew my first set of calipers last month and I’m so excited to custom order bariartic ones to clip around those huge hunks of blubber hanging off your sides. But the piece de resistance, as always, is that enormous belly you’ve grown. It sits heavily in your lap, your breathing shallow and labored after all those extra, unnecessary calories. Do I dare say, you’ve started to wheeze? Certainly when you have to lug that giant gut around anyway. The stairs make your out of shape thighs scream in agony as they rub past each other and sweat breaks out on your forehand as your round, hanging belly slaps against them. Huff huff huff, just a few more stairs, tubby and you can suck down a pint of ice cream in your shake tonight as a reward. That’s how you ended up here today, didn’t you? Back in your favorite spot, overly stretched stomach spilling out in front of you and me eagerly evaluating the damage. I love wrapping the 60 inch measuring tape around you. Tsk tsk tsk, no chance of this fitting anymore, huh? The ends having been moving more than a few inches away from meeting recently, squeezing your fattened waist for awhile now. God, do you remember when we met and you used to have a 32in waist? And now here we are, with a useless measuring tape, trying to even somewhat fit around your spherical gut. I’ll just have to eyeball the rest. 4 extra inches? Sounds about right. A nice round number to bring you to double your original size. I told you you’d get a special treat for this momentous, gargantuan milestone. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. Now, let me find that funnel …
