Mollycoddles' Gamer Girl

Everyone in Vivian’s guild knew that Vivian was obsessed with gaming, but none of them had any clue of the extent of her obsession. How could they be expected to know that, behind the screen Vivian was far from just another angry gamergirl, that she was, instead, a massive blimp of pure fat, a wobbling pile of rancid lard pumped so full of calories and soft squishy blubber that she was on the verge of exploding like an overfilled air mattress.

How had this happened? How had this small, surly, freckle-faced girl with sparkling green eyes and flaming red hair become an immobile blob so quickly? The answer was video games.

Vivian had always been chubby, but it was only recently that she’d devoted herself entirely to a life of video games. She had played old games like Pac-Man and Mario Brothers in her childhood, but when her gaming friends introduced her to the online, multi-player game World of Battlecraft, she was hooked. That’s when it started. She stopped working out, stopped going to the gym, stopped any sort of physical activity more demanding than punching a controller with her thumbs. At the same time, she needed fuel to power her long, late-night gaming sessions. Her meals these days consisted almost entirely of Cheetos, potato chips and other high fat, high grease junk foods, washed down with copious amounts of Mountain Dew.

The results were gradual but predictable. She started to swell. First, just a little spare tire around the tummy, not a lot, but enough pudge that Vivian noticed her jeans weren’t zipping as easily as they should. That didn’t matter, she swapped out her jeans for sweats. Without a restricting waistband, Vivian didn’t notice how her tummy seemed to stick out further and further with each raid she completed. She didn’t notice how her thighs now connected when she walked, how the fabric of her sweats was wearing out between her legs from her many trips from the couch to the refrigerator.

So Vivian got fat. Not horribly fat at first. Just fat enough that people noticed. But that didn’t matter, Vivian didn’t go out much anymore. As her world shrank down, the opinions of others mattered less and less. By the end, nothing mattered except the comforting glow of her television screen as she blasted her way through another valley of orc raiders.

But her gain really shot into overdrive when word got around that Vivian was a girl. The other gamers were so excited! Finally, a girl in their midst! Very few guys in this gang of anti-social, acne-studded nerds had ever interacted with a girl before! At first, Vivian didn’t care for their compliments. Their gushing praise only interrupted the gameplay. But when they started sending her money, that changed everything. Now she didn’t even need to leave the house for work anymore, and Vivian soon quit her job to live fulltime as a kept woman supported by the goodwill of her vast legion of fans. More money meant more games and more food.

Vivian blew most of her “income” on junk food, which added more pounds to her body and transformed her from a fat girl to an obese pig. She didn’t know how much she actually weighed, since she never bothered to leave the couch long enough to step onto a scale. Her sweat pants stretched tighter and tighter across her vast fleshy thighs, sprouting holes as the seams failed to contain her burgeoning form. Her favorite green-and-purple hoodie, which she wore so often it was almost her uniform, was also struggling to contain her as her belly ballooned, filling her lap and edging slowly forward toward her chubby knees. Her breasts inflated like airbags, fighting for room inside her straining hoodie with her ever-growing gut.

At 500 pounds, Vivian finally busted the seams on her hoodie so badly beyond repair that she had to abandon it, retreating entirely to her loyal sweats and tank top. But she wasn’t done yet. Vivian guzzled Mountain Dew by the gallon, swigging it directly from family-sized bottles and filling her belly with fizzy, sugary soda until she was as bloated as a tick ready to pop. But even then, she’d still stuff handful after handful of pork rinds into her greedy mouth.Any manners that she had once possessed were long since forgotten.

Vivian’s weight was tearing her family apart. What could they do? She was killing herself by degrees, growing fatter and lazier and unhealthier by the day. They threatened to expel her from the house unless she could get her weight under control, but they didn’t have much leverage. With all the money that Vivian was bringing in from her fans, she was effectively supporting the household better than any of her relatives who held actual constructive employment.

At nearly half a ton, Vivian finally gave up wearing clothes entirely. Even putting on her bra and panties required too much effort. Why bother? Moving was certainly out of the question; her massive frame was too heavy for her atrophied muscles to lift, but it didn’t matter to her because she had everything that she needed right here. The couch had become the extent of her world, her enormous hips filling it completely and her mammoth belly sagging all the way to the floor in front of her. She didn’t pay attention to anything beyond the glowing box in front of her.

She filled the couch, a giant sweaty pig. Too fat to do anything except get fatter.

Vivian no longer did anything other than eat, sleep and play video games, so her weight gain quickly kicked into hyper overdrive. Vivian barely even resembled anything human anymore, her limbs and neck disappearing among her folds of blubber. The house had to be maintained at near freezing temperatures around the clock so that Vivian wouldn’t roast alive inside her blubber cocoon. Her lungs could no longer support her mass, crushed beneath the weight of her own enormous, sagging bosom, so she had to be hooked up to a respirator to provide her with a constant flow of oxygen lest she suffocate. Her own body was desperately telling her that she needed to stop, needed to lose some serious poundage, go on a diet, anything, because it couldn’t cope anymore. She was dying by degrees, everyday finding it harder and harder to even work the controller for her precious video games.

She needed help for everything now. OR she would have, if she did anything. Other than demanding a constant stream of new food and throwing a fit when some new game appeared on the market, Vivian didn’t need much. Her family finally hired some live-in caretakers, hoping that they might put Vivian’s new wealth to good use. That didn’t last long. Her caretaker at first tried to clean her everyday, scrubbing between her increasingly heavy rolls, but Vivian objected.

“Ugh, get out of my way,” she burbled in one of the rare moments that she actually spoke, “I can’t see the fucking screen! Jesus Christ, what are we paying you for?”

“Well, this IS what you’re paying me for!”

"Then, stop it!"

After that, they stopped cleaning her. Vivian was stewing in her own filth – an enormous greasy blob of a girl who wouldn’t stop growing bigger and bigger. She had no use for anyone - caretaker or family – except when she needed help relieving herself.

“I gotta shit,” yelled Vivian.

Two new caretakers – the original caretaker having long since quit out of frustration -- worked together to roll the massive blob onto her side, their hands sliding through the thick, slippery sheen of sweat that always coated the enormous girl’s flanks. With their combined might, they managed to move her just enough so that she could relieve a spray of rancid, unhealthy diarrhoea into a specially made bowl. Struggling not to pass out from the smell, they made a perfunctory attempt to clean Vivian’s enormous, couch-filling ass, but the obese girl started screaming again.

“Ugh, you’re taking too fucking long! Just… just prop me up again, I’m missing my raid!”

Soon the family couldn’t keep any caretakers on the payroll. Disgusted by Vivian’s increasing size and decreasing hygiene, no caretaker could stand working with the overinflated blimp for more than a few days.

As she crested 1000 pounds, Vivian was an immobile mountain of flesh, covered in a vast ocean of stretchmarks and crusted with her own filth. She shouted down her caretakers when they tried to sponge bathe her, furious that they might make her miss out on her latest raid. Her stench filled the house with an awful miasma so thick that her family was forced to move out, leaving Vivian alone with her video games. She didn’t mind. There were fewer distractions this way. Every few days, relatives would draw straws to see who would be stuck with delivering the latest shipment of food to Vivian, since the ungrateful hippopotamus of a girl was more likely to scream and shout at whatever poor soul braved the fetid flatulence and belch fog to deliver her junk food than to thank them.

By now, Vivian could barely even breathe, being slowly smothered by her own blubber. Even eating was leaving her winded. Everyday added even more crushing weight to her tiny frame, but she was too greedy and lazy to care. Even with a respirator, her lungs were being crushed by the enormous weight of her sagging, elephantine tits. By now, it would be a misnomer to say that Vivian even had tits; they were little more than giant, pendulous sacks of flesh so flabby and spongy that they had the consistency of gelatin. Her breasts almost disappeared amongst all the other rolls and folds of her mammoth body. Her stomach flopped in front of her, sagging all the way to the floor like a pile of congealed syrup. Her fat-pumped thighs and useless legs had long since disappeared beneath her bulk. Her arms had enough mobility to push buttons on her controller and to bring food to her mouth. And that was all that mattered.

But to her fans, who only ever knew her as a screen name, Vivian was still the epitome of grace and beauty: a coveted gamer girl.