"Shit," you mutter to yourself.
Your phone fell to the floor. You turn painfully to look behind you, check the shelf where you always keep your grabby stick.
"Shit!" You mutter again. It's not there. How could it not be? You always keep it there.
You hear footsteps. Your feeder enters the room, a smug smile on their face.
You point mutely to the phone. You bite your lip. "Please..."
They cross their arms. "Really? Are you that weak? Can't do it the old-fashioned way?"
The glint in your feeder's eye tells you everything. They must have taken your stick. And this here - this means the beginning of a game.
You blush. You widen your stance as much as you can, but your trunk thighs still touch. You're already tired from standing upright, your belly tugging at your spine and hanging halfway to your knees.
You try to bend. You can barely even see the phone laying on the floor. Your belly obscures your vision like an inflated balloon, except, contrary to a balloon, it's heavy as fuck.
You reach out with your fat-laden arm, feeling it jiggle. The more you bend, the more your belly rounds out. Your lungs, already buried under lard, are squeezed even more. Beads of sweat run down your temples. Your face feels hot. You bend more, and the fat encasing your neck digs into your chin.
"Hngg.... hh.... hggg..." You can barely believe this is your own voice.
"What was that?" your feeder asks. "You trying to say something?"
"Hhh... too - huff - too fat..."
"I'm - too - ghhh - fat!"
They laugh. "You sure are, my hog."
"Oh no, we're only getting started. Figure it out, lardass."
You huff. Maybe it would be easier if you went on your knees?
You regret the idea as soon as you thump heavily to the floor. Your back screams at you. Your belly brushes the tiles. Oh god, when did you get so damn huge...?
You will never be able to grab the phone and get back up. Your weak, lardy arms, now only used to shoving food into your mouth, start to shake as you feel a new wave of sweat coursing down your body. You try to look up at your feeder, but you can't even see their face any longer; your own fat neck prevents you from looking up.
Before you know it, the inevitable happens; your arms and legs give up under you and you land belly-down on the floor. You can barely feel the impact, cushioned by the massive ball of lard, and you aren't actually that close to the floor itself; your gut prevents you from it. Your massive ass must be sticking in the air comically. You wheeze, completely humiliated. You are too fucking big. How long before you can't move at all...?
"Oh, poor fatty," your feeder coos. "What now?"
"H-hghhh-help me.... please..."
They click their tongue. "All in due time, sweetie. For now, I think all that exercise has made you rather hungry."
You are helpless. You can't get away; all you can do is watch as your feeder fills the funnel and brings it to your lips.
The heavy liquid lands uncomfortably in your squished stomach. Thankfully, your feeder must realize that your capacity is lower when you are lying on your belly. They let you off the hook with just one bottle of weight gain shake - something that's rarely the case these days. You feel the liquid sloshing inside you. Your body is inflating. Inflating even more than it already is; slowly leading you on a path to immobility.
"Now there," your feeder says when they are finally done. "Let's help you up, shall we?"
You will never stop to admire their strength, the pure muscle work it takes to heave your huge body off the floor. You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, feeling sweaty and utterly exhausted. Your belly bloats before you. It touches the bed between your thighs.
You look down. Your damn phone is still on the floor.
"There," your feeder says, reaching down with one swift motion that doesn't take longer than three seconds. "I believe you wanted that."
"T-thanks," you say, not daring to look them in the eye. They hand you the phone and kiss your fat cheek.
"No problem. Now, what do you want for breakfast?"
You blush. "Pizza," you confess. "Large."
Your feeder smiles knowingly.
"I'll order two."
**
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