Miss Patty's Huge Hog

Brandon lounged on the sofa.  Sitting back.  Kicking back.  His parents had finally gotten Amazon Fire, which meant he could watch YouTube on the TV.  He was currently watching a Let's Play about Metroid Prime, an old game that he thought was cool.

"Mmfn," he mumbled, and he forked a bite of cake into his mouth.  There was a big TV tray positioned in front of him.  On it was a huge piece of chocolate cake.  Or what was left of it.  Brandon had eaten most of it.

"Oh, what a good boy," said Carol, his mother, coming up next to him.  She touched his soft shoulder gently.  "Brandon, sweetie, do you want another piece of cake?  After all, it's your reward for acing your Algebra test.  You should get as much of it as you want."

"Mmmn," mumbled Brandon, cake crumbs and dribbles of icing oozing down his hoggish face.  "Yeah.  Yeah, gimme."

"Good boy," said Carol, hurrying promptly off into the kitchen.  She was a young mother, with short blond hair, and was very skinny.

But Brandon was not skinny.  He was 13 years old, and he'd be turning 14 in a little more than a month.  He had blond hair too, and pale skin, and green eyes.  And Brandon was big.  Not even fat.  Not even obese.  Not even morbidly obese.  Brandon was... big.  Huge.  Immense.  He'd been chubby all his life, and starting at age 9 he had exploded in weight, becoming extremely fat by the age of 12.  But in the last year, since turning 13, he had grown even more.  He had bloated.  He had swollen.  He had gorged, and grown vast.

"Hmmn," hummed Brandon, watching the Let's Play video enter another level.  His face was so huge and hoggish.  He had giant, fat cheeks that made his eyes squint, huge plump bloated cheeks that gave him permanent dimples.  They oozed and sagged downward, becoming vast, massive jowls, like those of a pig, or a toad.  And Brandon's giant jowls oozed like butter down onto his triple chin.  He'd had two chins for years, but the considerable weight he'd put on in the last year had gifted him a third, which drooped down and puddled on the front of his chest, completely hiding his neck.

Brandon's arm reached out and forked the last bite of cake into his mouth.  Brandon had huge fat arms, his upper arms bigger than those of many bodybuilders, though with fat and not with muscle.  Pale, oozing fat drooped and bloated in hamlike vastness, sagging visibly over his elbows. His forearms were fat, too.  Even his hands were fat.

Brandon had huge breasts.  His fat boy boobs were colossal, easily an M Cup on a woman, so big that Carol had sometimes wondered if he needed a bra.  They bulged, huge hooters, out in front of him, and they would have drooped down to his navel if they were not supported by the most enormous thing on Brandon: his belly.  Brandon's belly was gigantic.  Elephantine.  He had to spread his fat legs apart to make room for it, an ocean, a mountain of flab, a stupidly huge gut that put many full-grown fat men's bellies to shame.

"Uhn," grunted Brandon.  His shorts were tight.  He sighed, and breathed--

*PFFT!*

And Brandon effortlessly burst the button on his massive fat boy shorts.  It rattled to the ground below the sofa.  Brandon grunted again, happy for his belly to have more room.  Brandon's belly jutted out in front of him by almost a foot, and when he stood, it sagged to his knees.  Brandon's belly was really incredible; it had to be seen to be believed.

*FRRTTT*

"Ahh," sighed Brandon as he farted, happy for the release of pressure.  The flatulence escaped from between two colossal butt cheeks.  Brandon's buttocks were enormous, each one almost the size of a beach ball.  They jutted out behind him, though not as much as his belly jutted out in front of him.  His ass was vast, prominent, considerable, hefty and huge, too big for most single-seat chairs.  Brandon preferred to sit and eat on the sofa these days so he could relax, and spread out.  His gigantic bottom took up an entire sofa cushion, and had even started to ooze onto the cushion next to it.

Brandon also had colossal, womanly thighs, big and pale and flabby, bigger around than the waists of his chubby friends.  They oozed and drooped over his knees, leading to heavy, vast, wide calves.  Brandon's feet were chubby, too, with delicate pale plump toes.

"Mrn," mumbled Brandon.  The Let's Play continued to entertain him.  He lazily rested his chubby hands on his massive belly.  Brandon was wearing gigantic clothes, a massive 6XL t-shirt and shorts just as big.  But he was on the verge of needing even bigger: as mentioned, he had already burst the button on his shorts.

"Here's more for my big boy," said Carol, setting another huge piece of chocolate cake down in front of him.

"My shorts broke..." said Brandon, slowly, softly, lazily.

"Oh, dear," cooed Carol, bending down, easily finding the button that had popped out from amid the shorts and her son's gigantic fat folds.  She clucked her tongue lovingly.  "What are we going to do with you, mister?  You are growing into quite the big man."

"Mmrn," mumbled Brandon, puttering the noise out from his fattened throat as he forked a big bite of cake into his mouth.

"Remember, big boy, you are scheduled to go to Miss Patty's in a bit, so don't get too full."

Brandon's green eyes, squinted and pinched by the obesity on his face, brightened.  His chocolate-stained mouth began to water and dribble with drool.  He licked his lips.  "Mmm," he mumbled.  "Mmm, mmm, Miss Patty, Miss Patty..."  His t-shirt was small enough on him now that it was easy to see the nipples on his huge boy boobs get hard.  And his shorts and underwear got tight, but not because of obesity.  As he thought about what awaited him at Miss Patty's, his short, stubby penis grew stiff and hard, deep in his fat and his folds.  Brandon's penis was actually on the small side for his age; he had been so fat, for so long, that his body had produced enough estrogen to stunt its growth.  But it stiffened nonetheless, as his fat chocolate-stained face expressed his excitement.

________________

Patty bit her lip as she looked over her huge feast.  It was at Indian feast.  She'd made butter chicken, a recipe that was fun to make even if it wasn't authentically Indian.  She had two huge pots of rich, creamy orange curry dish.  And she had another huge Dutch oven of fluffy white rice.  On top of that, she had an entire platter of naan baking in the oven.

"Uhn," she grunted, twitching backwards, walking herself backwards until she bumped up against her sink on the other side of her kitchen.  She was aroused.  She was horny.  She was going to go insane.  This was enough food to feed five normal-sized human beings.  But it was all for Brandon, ALL for Brandon.  "I need to stop..." she said softly, even as she drifted her fingers down towards the crotch of her jeans.

She had been feeding and fattening Brandon since he was nine.  He had come to her as a chubby nine year old, a very nice, very kind, very sweet nine year old, albeit one with a penchant for gluttony and greed.  And he had had a good palate.  Patty ran a cooking website for her income, and she loved to try out new recipes, both because she genuinely was interested in different foods and because variety resulted in more hits to her site, which generated more income for her.  So for Brandon to come along, a plump boy with a good appetite who could reliably tell her whether a recipe was good or bad, was extremely convenient.  He was like a no-cost food critic living in her neighborhood.

But Patty had very quickly realized that Brandon would eat anything and everything she put in front of him.  And, years ago, this had awoken something in her, something nasty and perverted and outrageous.  She could make him eat.  He'd eat everything she wanted him to eat.  And it made him bigger, fatter.  And she liked it.

She had wondered, maybe, that this impulse, this perverted feeling, might die down and dissipate as time went on.  But it hadn't.  In fact, it had grown more powerful.  A dizzying fever had come over Patty about Brandon, starting a little less than two years ago.  This was when Brandon had been 12, and had become hugely fat already.  And Patty had looked at him and wondered if she should stop.

But her mind, that tiny, terrible voice, had told her "No."  Her mind, that tiny, terrible voice, had told her "Do more."

And she had given in.

For more than a year now, Patty had been actively engineering the circumstances for Brandon's colossal obesity.  She had convinced his parents to pull him out of school and hire private tutors to home school him.  She had warned them about the dangers of sports and therefore convinced them to shut down what little physical activity Brandon actually did.  She had convinced his parents to reward him with desserts and sweets when he did well on his homeschooled tests--desserts and sweets that she, herself, was all too happy to supply, making sure they were as calorie-heavy as possible.

And she continued to have Brandon over to her house to eat.  To "test her recipes," but really to cram as much delicious, divine, calorie-heavy food as possible down his bottomless stomach.  And Patty had deliberately, pointedly been feeding him more, and more, and more.  Multiple times over the last year and more, Patty had made far too much food, and she had relied on Brandon himself to let her know when he was ready to stop.  When he would belch loudly, and say "No more, please, Miss Patty," in that wattly fat boy voice of his.  Only then would she stop feeding him.  Or sometimes she'd needle him until he ate a little more.

A sharp, shrill horn honked outside.  Patty moaned in pleasure.  She hurried through the living room to her front door, and threw it open.  She stood on her porch.  And she said, "Hey there!  It's my big boy!"

Brandon honked the horn of his mobility scooter again.  He sat there, huge, upon it.  He was HUGE.  He was COLOSSAL.  He was GIGANTIC.  He was so fat that the front of his belly touched the front pillar of the scooter.  Patty bit her lip.  Her feverish, insane push to fatten Brandon had paid off in all the most perverted and wonderful of ways.  Brandon was so fucking fat now.  He must have weighed more than 400 pounds.  He was this immense, gigantic bloated blob of a boy.

"Miss Patty," he said, his arm rippling and jiggling as he waved it at her.  "Miss Patty!"

"Come on, big boy, it's time to eat!" she shouted out, suppressing a groan of arousal.

Brandon oozed off his mobility scooter and waddled to the porch.  Patty loved it, adored it.  Could he even touch the front of his belly any more?  It was so big.  Was he already drooling?  She could see shiny glints around his mouth.  But that might have just been the sweat.  Brandon was so totally out of shape.  His fitness was terrible.  One day he had actually left his mobility scooter home and walked to her house, like he had done before his recent engorgement.  He had been incredibly sweaty when he had arrived.  Patty had offered to escort him home when he was done at her house, and her panties had grown wet to see him panting and gasping and foaming at the mouth because he could barely tolerate a simple walk of a few blocks.  He had immediately collapsed on his mother's couch and fallen asleep, even as she'd watched.

"Brandon, Brandon, are you excited to eat?" asked Patty as the gigantic teenager waddled and rippled towards her, more than twice as wide as Patty herself.

"Uhhn, uhhn," grunted Brandon.  He was, indeed, drooling.  He was drooling and panting, and deep in his shorts and his underwear, his penis was stiff again.  He looked up at Patty, as he slowly, heavily ascended the stairs of the porch.  She had olive skin and dark hair.  She was very pretty.  So pretty.  So beautiful.  Brandon was a teenager now, and he was feeling feelings he hadn't felt in his early years of knowing Patty.  He had huge amounts of estrogen in his system for a teenage boy, a testament to how colossally obese he was.  But he did still have 13-year-old levels of testosterone, and that was making itself felt.

"There you are," said Patty, when Brandon had creakingly mounted the steps.  He was gasping for breath.  There were dark sweat stains in his armpits and where his huge jiggly boy boobs were.  "There's my big boy!"

"Miss Patty... *pff* Miss Patty..." huffed and puffed Brandon, his massive fat face coated with drool and sweat.  "What can I eat today, Miss Patty?"

"I have butter chicken, rice, and naan.  I've had butter chicken up on my site for a while now, but I wanted to tweak the recipe and do a refresh of it."  Patty winked at him.  "I need my taste tester!"

"Pff," puffed Brandon, a dribble of sweat--or drool--running down his three huge chins.  He hiked up his gigantic fat boy shorts.  "I've already busted my button today, Miss Patty."

"Welllll," said Patty, coming in close.  She pushed into the oozing, liquid flab of his belly.  She playfully tweaked his fat boy nipple.  "That means you'll have more room, right?" she said, deliberately making her voice very low and husky.

"Mrnf," gurgled Brandon, fat arms twitching.  Brandon was so fat he couldn't rest his arms at his sides, and they splayed awkwardly around his gigantic midsection.  "Yeah, yeah, let's go."

Patty took Brandon by the hand and led him into her house.  "Come on, big boy, let's get you to your big seat," she said, guiding him carefully to the couch.

Brandon waddled.  Patty looked back at him and moaned.  It was amazing how heavy and awkward his waddle was.  He was just so huge.  So vast.  The sheer ponderous weight of his belly threw off his gait, turning his forward progress into a ponderous, bulging motion that always seemed unsteady and cautious.  Brandon simply couldn't walk like a normal human being.  His belly was too big.

"Uhhh," groaned Brandon as Patty set him down on the couch.  He settled his huge ass onto the cushions.  "Ahh," he sighed.

"Happy to be off your feet?" asked Patty.

"Don't like walking," said Brandon, mumbling, voice low and husky.

"But you do like eating, right?"

"Yeah," said Brandon, green eyes brightening.  Drool sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.  "Yeah!  I love eating, Miss Patty!  Especially with you!"

"Well, big boy," said Patty, sounding excited, "then it's time for an Indian feast.  I'm gonna stuff you to your limits."  She walked over to the wall and grabbed a TV tray.  She set it in front of him, careful to position it in a way that accommodated his belly.

Ohhh," moaned Brandon, and she saw his huge nipples stiffen.  "Oh, feed me, feed me, Miss Patty.  I love when you feed me, Miss Patty."

Saying not a word, Patty went to the kitchen.  She was gone for five minutes, while Brandon sat there, sweating, greasy, drooling, a bit stinky, honestly.  He had begun to stink more, now that he was getting older, and also getting fatter.  His huge body was hard to clean, and he was so lazy and spoiled that he sometimes slacked off in the shower.  His parents spoiled him too much to say anything about the odor that had begun to surround him.

"Heeere we go," said Patty, setting a plate down on the TV tray.  It was loaded with Indian food.  A huge helping of butter chicken, a huge helping of rice, a huge helping of naan.  "Now just a minute," and she danced into the kitchen.  She returned seconds later with a knife and fork.  Brandon was already grasping for the food, his fat fingers waggling greedily.  Patty deliberately placed the knife in one hand and the fork in the other.  Then she kissed him on the forehead, and said, "Eat, big boy."

Brandon gorged.  He moaned and groaned as he ate, loving the incredible taste of Patty's food, as he always did.  He ate up the chicken, ate up the rice slathered in the curry, used the naan to soak up leftover sauce and grease and taste.  Brandon hoovered up his food.  He ate the entire plate in less than fifteen minutes, and with spice on his lips, he said, "More."

"Oh, big boy, there's plenty more where that came from," said Patty, taking his plate and going into the kitchen.  She returned with a plate every bit as loaded with food as the previous one.  She set it in front of Brandon.  "Eat.  Eat.  Eat!"

Brandon ate.

He ate the entire second plate, and then Patty grabbed it, refilled it, and gave him a third plate.

Then a fourth.

Then a fifth.

Then sixth.

Then a seventh.

And an eighth.  Brandon gorged.  Brandon glutted.  Brandon stuffed his bottomless stomach with food, eating, eating, eating, making it blatantly obvious how he had gotten so fucking fat.  And he made so many wonderful sounds as he ate.  He moaned.  He mumbled.  Drool and dribble and curry coated his huge jowls and triple chins.

Brandon ate a ninth plate.

It was on the tenth that Brandon gurgled, and made a troubled noise.  His huge obese belly was already sagging and drooping over the edge of the sofa seat.  He patted it with a fat hand and said, "Oof, getting full."

"Oh, big boy," said Patty, coming in close, kissing him on the forehead, "there's two more plates to go, I think.  You can polish it all off if you can eat two more plates.  Don't you want to do that for me?"

"Urrnnnn," grunted Brandon.

*PPRRFFTTTTT*

"Unnh," grunted Brandon as he farted, relieving some pressure.  But he was indeed feeling a bit full.  His mind was loaded with strangeness and weirdness.  He was heavy.  He was tired.  He couldn't stop dreaming about eating.  He wanted to eat until he exploded.  He wanted to eat until he died.  He felt that tightness in his crotch from how full he was, and how good all the food was.

"You okay, big boy?" asked Patty.

And all the strange feelings came together, and he asked, "Miss Patty, will you kiss me?"

Patty hissed in a breath and visibly recoiled.  "Oh."  She bent in on herself, drawing her arms against herself.  "Oh, uh, Brandon, I'm not sure."

"BOOORRPPP!" belched Brandon, spewing flecks of curry and drool down his piggish jowls and chins.  His green eyes were hazy and like a slurry as they fixed on Patty.  "Miss Patty, please kiss me?  Please?  I want it."

Patty saw his look.  She saw where he was.  And she curled her lip like a predator.

"Finish all your food and I'll kiss you, big boy."

"Ohh," moaned Brandon, groaning.  "Gimme.  Let me eat."

Patty took up Brandon's plate.  She went back to the kitchen and loaded up almost the last of the butter chicken, the rice, and the naan.  She brought it back to Brandon's TV tray.

And Brandon seemed to eat with renewed vigor.  She heard him huff and puff, and she swore she heard his enormous intestines gurgling and squelching under the vast strain Brandon's gluttony was putting them through.  But he ate.  He ate the plate.  He finished.  "Moorrree..." he moaned, drool trickling from a corner of his mouth.

Patty went.  There was, indeed, really only one plate of food left.  She scraped the bottom of the pots and the pans for the last of the butter chicken and the last of the rice.  There wasn't even any naan left.  One last plate.  The twelfth plate.  And she brought it to Brandon, setting it down.

"Mrrnn," mumbled Brandon.  He made a groaning, cowlike noise under his breath.  But he picked up his fork, and he ate.  He ate.  He and ate and ate and ate.  Bite after bite fell into the depths of his throat.  He ate.  He chewed.  He scarfed.

And he finished.  His fork and knife rattled onto the plate.

"BUUUUUUAAAAARRRRPPPP!!" he belched loudly, rattling the plates on the wall.  He tenderly laid his hands on his colossal belly.  "Uhhnnn..."

Patty shivered.  There he was.

"Miss Patty..."

His voice was so fatty and lazy.  It almost sounded like it oozed out of his mouth.  The fat around his chins and neck made it slower and thicker.

"Miss Patty... you said... you said..."

She could tell that he was on the verge of falling asleep.  Brandon's huge obesity made him extremely prone to napping.  He almost had narcolepsy, he was so prone to dozing off these days.  His vast fatness had destroyed his stamina, and he napped and dozed multiple times throughout the day.

But a promise was a promise.  "Ohh, Brandon," she cooed.  She swung her hips; she hadn't forgotten how to do that.  Amid his tiredness Brandon became fully awake as the woman more than twice his age came to him.  "Ohh, big boy."  She bent into him.  My God, he was so soft.  So fat.  Such a spoiled pig.  No muscle tone at all.  Pure lard.  She sank into him as she pressed against him.  "Oh, big boy..." she said softly, gently, huskily.

Brandon's stubby fat boy penis was at full mast, buried somewhere down there in his blubber.  "Miss..." he mumbled.  He was so tired.  He needed a nap.  But he needed this, too.  "Miss Patty..."

"Shh," she whispered.  She playfully tapped at his lips.  "I always keep my word.  Especially with you."

And she kissed him.  They both moaned.  Brandon's moan was fatty and obese, a deep fat boy's gurgle.  Patty's moan was high and light, but also deep, from the depths of her chest.  But they both moaned, as Patty leaned into him, kissing him passionately, enjoying the softness, the pamperedness, the spoiledness.  She was kissing her hog.  Her hog in her pig pen.  But that was fine.  He deserved a reward, for eating his slop.

"Mrngn," mumbled Brandon from the corners of his mouth.  And his underwear exploded.  Brandon's stubby, small penis couldn't handle the culmination of all his strangest, wildest dreams.  Already stiff and hard, Brandon's penis exploded as Patty kissed him, and he jizzed in his underwear as her lips continued to press against his.  "Uhhnnn..." he grunted.

At last, Patty pulled away.  She could taste the spices on her lips from his.  She smiled at him.  "You like that?"

"I..." breathed Brandon.  "BUUURRRRPP!!" he belched loudly.  His eyelids drooped.  "Gonna..." and his head drifted to the side, and drool oozed from the corners of his mouth.  His eyelids slid closed.  "Zzz... zzz... zzz..." he was snoring away.

"Ohhh, he's so fucking fat," said Patty, voice low and guttural.  Brandon was snoring loudly, fast asleep, well and truly asleep.  And Patty needed no further prompting.  She sank to the floor and unbuckled her belt and unzipped her own jeans.  Lying back flat on the carpeting, Patty vigorously fingered herself, so aroused by Brandon already that it wasn't hard or difficult to bring herself to climax.  She moaned and rolled her eyes as she orgasmed, drawing her sticky wet fingers out of her vagina as the pleasant buzz of afterglow washed over her.

She hiked herself up on her elbows.  She stared at Brandon, snoring there on the couch.  He was like some comical thing.  Some huge circus animal.  Or just a circus fat lady.  It was amazing how big he was.  He probably couldn't even tie his own shoes any more.  On instinct, she glanced at his feet.  Sure enough!  He had velcro shoes on.  He was so fat he couldn't tie shoelaces any more!

And it was all her fault.

And she loved it.

"Ohhh," she moaned, staring at the gargantuan obese fat boy with his belly drooping off the couch.  "Oh, I'm totally going to make him so fat he can't walk."  And she wanted to masturbate again as she said it.

THE VERY END