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- That night, you fed me, and I ate away my sorrow. I fell asleep in the computer chair, and woke up there the next morning. Before long, I slept there every night, and spent all day sitting there. I appreciated being able to wheel myself around my room, by pushing against the floor with my fat little feet. It was slow, and I didn’t have the strength to do it for more than a few seconds, but it was better than being bedridden. With little else within my grasp, I spent all day at the computer.<br/><br/>As you fattened me up, you also trained me. Like an animal, like a pet. By this point, my entire being was consumed with lust and hunger, all I thought about from the moment I woke up each day. Of course, you made sure I always had my mouth full; you starting working from home, so you were always around to refill my plate. As for lust, at least once a day, you’d pull me out of the chair and onto my bed, so we could make love, although that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t keep from playing with myself, so strong was the urge. I’d spend a good portion of the day touching myself to internet porn, often only stopping because the activity left me so out of breath.<br/><br/>You were usually there to help me out with the hard things. You’d take me to the toilet, change my clothes, and wash me in my chair, since I was too big for our tub and too weak to stand in the shower. Every day, you’d bring a bowl of soapy water, and clean inside every crack and crevice of my roll-covered body. I’d begun sweating like a pig, all the time, and I think you were offended even then by the smell and greasiness of it. Even though you loved to see me this big and helpless, the swampy mires under every flap of fat and between my legs sickened you, and I could tell.<br/><br/>It upset me to see you look revolted at my body. But what could I do? I needed you to clean me, I couldn’t do it myself. And bringing it up wouldn’t help. I just had to put up with it. At least when you made love to me, I could forget the faces you pulled.<br/><br/>After only a couple of weeks, you got tired of it, and my washes got more infrequent. I objected, but like you said, who was I getting clean for? It didn’t matter while I was stuck in my room. And so, you economised, bathing me once every two days. Then, later, three days between washes, then four, five, and then it was a weekly wash. Then it wasn’t just you who was revolted, but me too.<br/><br/><br/>Naturally, a lifestyle even more gluttonous, more slovenly and more sedentary than ever kept my weight on the up; the opposite of what I wanted. I couldn’t prove it though. Unable to see the scale past my gargantuan gut, and needing you to walk me over to it anyway, I never knew quite how much I weighed. I asked you if I was gaining weight, but you always reassured me it was the same as ever; 560 lbs. <br/><br/>I was suspicious, but I didn’t have the energy or the attention span any more to truly doubt you. So while I lamented my size, I was blissfully eating myself further and further into immobility, completely unawares. I must’ve been in denial, really, so desperate to carry on indulging as I did. And you, you only wanted me to get bigger. You didn’t think, you just pushed me.<br/><br/><br/>I eventually forgot about it, fears of getting bigger replaced in my mind with more food, and more sex. It wasn’t until I got hard evidence that I remembered. <br/><br/>The plastic arms of my chair had long been completely hidden in flab whenever I sat there, but my malleable, almost-liquid fat simply poured over and around them, causing me no trouble. When my churning stomach gurgled ominously, I called you in to help me to the toilet. You rolled my chair against the wall and, stepping on its foot to keep it in place, took my chunky wrists in your hands and pulled. Today, however, my body simply wouldn’t budge out of the tight gap. I was stuck. While you tried to unwedge me, I was struck with the realisation that you’d lied to me about my weight, and I started panicking. My breathing quickened, and tears welled in my eyes.<br/><br/>“I have been getting fatter!” I cried, snorting like a pig as mucus filled my nostrils.<br/><br/>“Do you want my help or not?,” you growled at me. You were frustrated and sweaty from the effort of unsticking me, and having had no success, stormed out of the room to find a better solution. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks.<br/><br/>Returning with a stick of butter, you slathered my hips and waist in it, which only upset me more. Degraded and greased up like a stuck hog, my bowels only got more desperate. Bawling, snotty, and ashamedly failing to hold in my flatulence, I was a state. You glared down at me, appalled at this new low.<br/><br/>In spite of my distress, I was beginning to get hungry, just liked you’d trained me. While you tried to loosen me, I sought comfort in the only thing I could reach; the butter; finishing the bar in two bites, all the while clenching my worthless muscles in a humiliating attempt to hold onto my dignity. <br/><br/>The butter proved worthless as a lubricant. I didn’t move an inch, and at last, you stopped tugging when a deep, wet trumpet interrupted you, which became a bubbling splatter as I finally voided my bowels. The way you beheld me then, I knew that if you’d never been disgusted with me before, you were now. My face was wet with tears and snot, my lips and hands greasy with butter, and my tattered, pink panties filled with my own shit. You were briefly revolted by how fat I’d become. I was, too. Even my own family didn’t want to see me anymore. Now, you too wiped your hands on your jeans, and left me.<br/><br/>I didn’t have the will to try and stand. I slumped, blubbering, occasionally giving a futile wipe at the mucus streaming down my face. I gave up.<br/><br/><br/>Eventually, you calmed down and came back with a screwdriver. You gagged, but dutifully knelt down beside me and dismantled the arms of the office chair. Then, you wrapped your arms as far as you could around my waist, lifted me to my feet, and took my arms to support me. You led me to the wall, for support. My hands left fat, greasy prints on the paint. You took my soiled knickers and eased them down to my ankles. I didn’t make a sound, except for a few hiccups and whimpers as you moved me about. You lifted each of my feet in turn, knowing I couldn’t on my own, and let the panties drop to the floor. With a cloth, you wiped down my legs, then took me to the bed.<br/><br/>With your assistance, I mounted it, then collapsed forward. You arranged my limbs, spread-eagled with my legs wide apart, and my face looking down at the covers. You left the room to dispose of my underwear, then came back and placed a huge box of donuts under my chin. Pinned down by my weight and completely unable to move, I still ate greedily, as though out of a trough. While I was occupied, I felt you prize apart my fleshy buttocks, and swab my ass with a flannel. You didn’t speak. Neither did I, with chewed-up donut dribbling out of my mouth.<br/><br/>“All finished,” you announced once you were done, a hint of affection back in your voice.<br/><br/>I felt a chill, the cold air biting where I was wet. It was alien. I’d been sat in my computer chair for so long, arse cheeks pressed closed beneath my weight. The fresh air caressing my exposed anus made me shiver. You grabbed a towel to dry me off, then let my mountains of ass fat slap back together, sending a wave through my body.<br/><br/>There was a pause, and a silence. I couldn’t see you, nor could I stop myself from eating, but I spoke through the mash in my mouth, that I’d slathered around my lips and onto my chin.<br/><br/>“Please…,” I panted. I let out a belch. “ ~urrrp!- please, fuck me…”<br/><br/>I made an attempt to wiggle my hips seductively, just about succeeding in slowly gyrating my ass. I even paused from eating, holding my breath as I waited for you to answer, so desperate for someone to love me, or use me, anything. My pussy tingled, and I longed for you to stick it in, somewhere- but you couldn’t bring yourself to.<br/><br/>After another silence, you got up and left me for the night. I was crushed, and still so horny. I made a futile attempt to hump the mattress, but I was too feeble to get up the momentum, and the mounds of fat surrounding my pussy were too much for my shaky thrusts to get past. After less than a minute, I gave up, exhausted, and quietly sobbed until I fell asleep, face down in the empty donut box.<br/><br/><br/><br/>I slept through the morning, and you woke me at noon. Planting a pizza box on the dresser, you helped me up and out of bed, and tried to take me over to my newly-armless chair. I clung to you, so desperate for affection. My unsteady steps slowed to a halt as I craned my neck to try and kiss you. You resisted for a moment, turning your head while I planted sloppy smooches on your cheek. When you reciprocated, I felt a jolt of warmth shock through me<br/><br/>I was thrilled to feel you care for me again. But the way you’d looked after me, reprogrammed me, sex and food were the only pleasures I recognised anymore, and I was a slave to them. I involuntarily began to moisten, unable to interpret happiness and human contact as anything other than a sexual thrill. My arm spasmed down, and my fingers groped my pussy as a reflex, then I began to masturbate and rub myself against you, while you held my weakened body upright.<br/>I couldn’t stop myself, clinging to you, breathing you in, slobbering on your face and flicking myself, all just from being allowed to touch you. I was broken, and you were disgusted. You drew back, and practically pushed me down into the chair.<br/><br/>“You’re revolting,” you admitted.<br/><br/>I sniffed and snorted, and whimpered, “B- But… I want you…”<br/><br/>“Look what you’ve done to yourself,” you mused, a slight smile appearing on your face. You took a slice of pizza. “Does piggy want food? Greasy, artery-clogging food?” <br/><br/>I nodded desperately. “But… I can’t, I need to lose weight…” My face was shiny, red cheeked and tear-soaked. “Help me… Help me lose weight, please.” I begged. Maybe I’d already missed my last chance, my point of no return. As it happened, this was the last time I ever begged you for help. You held out the pizza for me, and I lunged reflexively, but winded myself trying to grab it.<br/><br/>“How about this; you get the pizza,” you instructed, holding the slice high above my head as batted towards it meekly, desperate to eat it, not even knowing the reward yet. “Then, I’ll help you lose weight. I promise, this time.”<br/><br/>I looked up at you, questioningly, my big, wet eyes begging for mercy. You nodded to the prize. I began rocking my enormous body back and forth, trying to build up momentum. My face burned with embarrassment, and my breathing became deep and hungry as the exercise stung. Then, I jumped forward - but, nothing. A jiggle of flesh, and I fell back into my chair. I tried again, and again. My heart pounded furiously in my chest, I began to weep loudly.<br/><br/>You dropped the pizza onto my lap. I grabbed it, and devoured it, then looked to you for more.<br/><br/>“Oh dear,” you teased. I felt piss warm my groin. “Looks like you’ve failed, sweetie. What are we thinking now?”<br/><br/>I panted loudly, and looked up at you. “More… Pizza…”<br/><br/>You pressed the box into my hands. “Good girl.”
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