Locked away, bound, hidden from the rest of the world. Body restrained first by rope or chain, then something new. Fed, fattened, forcefully overfilled at every opportunity. A timer, a pump, a hose pushed down your throat, bypassing any attempt you make to stop. Every few hours, filled, like an industrial process, ensuring your stomach is at its limits. Continuing until you are gone - swallowed, smothered, suffocated, by enough lard that whoever you were is a minor detail to the mountain of malleable wobbling flesh you’ve become. Your basic autonomy is denied, left to be handled by your keeper. Any attempt to struggle, meaningless, silenced, by your own willingness to listen and follow your feeder to this place. Isolated, the only things visible being the feeding tube hanging from a mount above, a mirror failing to display just how obscenely overfed you’ve become, and a taunting chart showing a line spiking upward and various photos of what you can only assume are you at different stages of this process. When the feed pumping motor whirs off, the lights soon follow. Only turning on again when your body has created enough space to be filled again. You exist to eat. You are nothing without it, have nothing, can do nothing. Just lay there, fattening further and further, shocked at the start of every new day that you’ve somehow survived another night. Gasping, wheezing, struggling, eyes weeping at the realization that you can no longer see an end to the size of your own body, the folds of fat stretching too far beyond what limited head movement you are allowed. Until one day, the lights don’t turn on again.
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