Fatass Control
He enjoys it. The view from the Control Room, his little kingdom. Surrounded on all sides by screens displaying the surveillance projections of the men in his charge…his personal ‘Guinea Pigs,’ he likes to call them. He smiles as he leans back in his chair, folding his strong, muscular arms behind his head, propping his big feet up on the desk as the eyes on his handsome face alter from one screen to the next. Just the thought of them…of the power he harbors over them, the knowledge of what he can do to them at any given time, on a simple whim makes him smirk with pleasure. And as he settles in for his shift, heart hammering with excitement and anticipation, he lets his eyes move from one screen to the other, from one overblown ass to the next as his fingers tease the control switches beside him, as he weighs his options of who to toy with first…
Who should it be today? He looks at the top screen, displaying a fatty in his late college years, his distended belly and fat, swollen ass bursting out against his gray sweatshirt and sweatpants…the only things he is capable of squeezing his overblown body into since his rapid, recent weight gain. The controller’s eyes move to the next screen where a big ginger man cowers away in the bathroom, panting as he desperately attempts to close the button on his dress pants, ashamed and embarrassed as his voluptuous belly struggles against his waistband, his overindulgence at lunch catching him in the act of gluttony. He looks again, from the chubby businessman on the screen now to the man huffing along on the treadmill, his jiggling rolls warring against his exercise clothes as the fat on his enormous ass wobbles, his thunderous thighs rubbing as he attempts to do something resembling a run.
“At least fat fuck number three is putting in a little effort today,” he snickers, watching the former jock’s pathetic version of athleticism. The same cannot be said for the others, though, as they do their usual, wiggling in their seats as they try to get comfortable, picking at the undies and shorts that ride up the ballooning asses that swallow them up. Struggling against buttons and seatbelts, or desperately whimpering as they try to put on their shoes. But none dare to do the fattest thing he can think of…none dare to stuff their chunky faces. They know he is watching them, keeping tabs on their gluttony…that he will punish them for their weakness and their greed, the moment they break and begin to stuff their tubby faces with more fat, fast food!
He adjusts in his seat, calming himself. His job is to hold these porkers accountable…at least it was, when the obese men first signed up for the program. Each of them had heard of the results, had seen their coworkers and friends shed the pounds at a rapid weight. They had waddled their quivering asses as quickly as they could to the stores where they could sign up to have their ears implanted with an irremovable headpiece, their brains injected with signals that could control their appetites and fatigue receptors, their fat cells connected to “alterers,” which could supplement a rise or fall in swelling, in fat storage…
At first the results had been dramatic and quick. The controllers spent their days encouraging the plump men to exercise, eat right, engage in healthier activities…and their clients reaped the benefits of their hard work! Nothing like taking the easy route for fatboys like these; handsome heads on blowfish-like-bodies, whose only thoughts seemed to be about their next opportunities to stuff their faces with greasy food. But then, corporate stepped in. He and the other controllers had been doing too good a job, and other drugs which would result in more rapid weight-loss were starting to take the place of their program. They were starting to lose customers, and corporate certainly couldn’t have that. So they encouraged their employees to…prolong the formerly-recent results. Maybe even reverse them if it came to it…
He had been surprised by the instructions, even resentful. So his job was to help a bunch of fat fucking porkers who couldn’t keep their chubby hands out of the cookie jar to get even fatter? He scoffed at the idea. But that all changed after his first bout of tampering with his customer’s weight. He had caught the man bingeing, hiding out in his car so his roommates couldn’t see him cheating on his diet. And he had taken the opportunity, not to speak words of redirection or encouragement, but to whisper into the mic that connected directly to the man’s ear, “you know you want it fatty. You know you want another burger. You know you want to shove down another fistful of fries!” And to his surprise, the fat fuck obliged, gobbling down every greedy mouthful in the bag until he had to lean back, his belly puffing out between his waistband and his shirt as he looked at the chubby, round results of his greed. Far fatter than the little binge could account for…
He hadn’t even realized as he was whispering what his fingers were doing, that they had wrapped around the control knobs, that they were pushing buttons. That they had made his client’s fat cells swell so much that by the time he stripped and stepped onto the scale, he had gone up twenty-five pounds.
A sudden, intense twinge excited him and made him realize that there was a flicker of enjoyment in teasing the fatboy, in calling out his greed, in blowing him up with the touch of a button and even gaslighting the flustered fat fuck afterward into believing that it was his own fault for gorging on the bag of burgers, despite the impossibility of him putting on twenty-five pounds in a day!
That moment had blossomed and ballooned as rapidly as his clients’ backsides, as he realized just how much he enjoyed toying with their bodies and their brains, and tampering with their appetites. Now, as he sits in his chair, surveying his collection of struggling, fatties, his harem of young, handsome piggies who were growing right before his eyes, he leans into the feeling, his toes clenching, his fingers itching for the control panels as he weighs who his next target will be…
Who to fuck with? His eyes move from the chubby swimmer barely able to fit into his swimsuit to the TA, hardly able to keep his buttons from flying and hitting his students to the delivery man whose lips wet as he smells the aroma of food steaming from the bags beside him.
His index finger tickles the top of one of the knobs. “Eenie…” He looks at the groomsman, desperately trying to fit into his tuxedo. ”…meenie” A mechanic tries to wiggle his blubbery body beneath a car as his coworkers tease his chub. “…miney…” A fatass sweats as he tries to decide at the lunch counter between a bowl of pasta and a salad.
He leans in, a sneer curling the lips on his chiseled, pretty face. who should it be? He would have to deserve it, of course…and while he enjoys watching them all struggle, none of them seem to be doing anything that would warrant punishment. Who will be the one acting enough like a fat fuck to tip his hand?
And then he sees him…the former model, the social media influencer. The handsomest of all…or at least he was until he blew his fat body up like a pastry! Well, his face was still handsome…and the rest of his body looked like an overinflated Thanksgiving Day Parade float.
He watches as the ridiculously-cute fatty strides into his room, fat ass wedged into the designer underwear he could fit into about a hundred pounds ago. Flustered as he crosses his apartment, but apparently not caring or remembering that the controller can see what he is doing. The chub’s thick arms wrapped tightly around something, as if trying to hide it from view of the camera. The controller leans in, adjusting the camera to reveal that the object is a gigantic bucket of fried chicken accompanied by potato wedges. All deep fried. All fattening.
He leans into the screen, about to burst from his excitement. The overfed model jiggles his fat body onto the bed, leaning back as his belly takes up half his lap, as his thighs fight each other for space, as his man tits and chubby arms battle over the bucket. The piglet reaches his hand in, drawing first a chicken leg and then a potato wedge in the other. He opens the plump, pretty lips on his handsome face…
“Do it, fatty,” says the controller into the mic. And he watches as the fataboy sinks his teeth into the chicken, ripping a chunk greedily!
That’s all he needs! The controller flicks the switch and as the fatty binges, he watches as his skin stretches, his fat rolls swelling, the pudge rapidly blimping around his swelling body. He eats and eats as the controller whispers in his ear. “That’s right piggy…eat like your life depends on it fatboy,” the settings so low that the fatass won’t be able to even register that he is being talked to…commanded to act like the true, fat piggy boy that he is.
It isn’t until the former model is done stuffing his face that he even realizes the change. But when he does, the controller can see him grow flustered in an instant. The porker leans back, sweating, grabbing at his belly, eyes wide with shock, as if unable to believe what he sees before him.
The controller smiles, satiated by the handsome fat fuck’s flustered state. But it doesn’t keep him satisfied for long. In an instant, he turns his attention to another, to the fat businessman still struggling to button his pants. He flicks a switch and laughs as the man’s belly blubbers out by a couple inches, sending the button flying wildly across the bathroom, accompanied by a satisfying r-i-i-i-i-p of the lardass’s trousers!
And then he unleashes all his might, flicking this switch and that, whispering into each of his client’s ears as he sends them, one by one, into a tizzy, a feeding frenzy, watching his own symphony; the smacking of food, the squealing of shock, the huffing flustered whimpering as they try to run of the pudge. A mosaic of helpless, flustered fatties who balloon before his eyes, who burst against their clothes as they make total embarrassments of themselves in front of their friends, as they rip their clothes and pop their buttons and blub up like a farm full of fat, handsome piggies who only grow fatter before the controller’s eyes!
