The sound of a a hot shower softly reverberated throughout the apartment, and the snoring coming from the bed.

That was a new thing that Douglas did. He snored. As to why this change happened, you only have to look at him as he gets out of bed. Two legs swing out and press down on the wooden floor, making them creak ever so slightly. In his lap is a belly, soft and protuding. But it does not dominate his features. Not yet.

When he rises he instinctively snatches at his phone to check the time. 06:40, Tuesday the 8th of April, 2036. He had to go to work.

Groggily he walked through to the hallway in nothing but his underwear. It showed his flabby form off. But he was not fat, certainly nobody would call him as such (least of all himself). Douglas was typical among his generation in that he never grew up in an environment with skinny people. Almost everyone was overweight, and this in turn made him think there was nothing at all unusual about his soft pecs, his grabbable lovehandles, and the butt that his undersized briefs rode up. Even when standing up his belly had a slight overhang to it.

Outside the bathroom door, he rapped on the door sharply and asked

“Martha, how much longer in there are you going to be?”

He could hear the shower switch off, a mumbled “I'm coming” and the door being unlocked.

Tightly wrapped up in towels like an overstuffed pudding was his partner Martha, who much like Douglas enjoyed eating food as well. She carried the weight better, much of it having gone to her swollen rear which poked out from under the towel. It jiggled when she walked, as did her thick thighs, swollen breasts, and stomach nearly as big as her partners. All these parts soft, pliable, and (at the present moment) very warm. Martha went further than Douglas in considering herself “not fat” and actually commented on the obesity of others behind their backs. I mean, she was at least a hundred and eighty pounds, but at least she wasn't actually like those massive porkers on the shopping carts. There were more of them around than before, so it made her relative slenderness stand out even more.

But Douglas had no time to pay attention to her, even as she walked out and ever so slightly brushed his side with her smooth thigh. He got showered, and went to breakfast.

Don't be fooled into thinking these two have huge meals. They don't, and actually follow the most fashionable health advice. Eat frequent small meals to boost metabolism, that's the official advice.

They both drank coffee with cream and sugar, had some bananas and toast with nutella on them. Neither of them realised that this collectively added up to hundreds of calories. Neither even considered toast as a meal in itself. A meal was something heavy, and this was just a snack. Before Martha left, she tapped the small tower sitting on the kitchen workshop to order extra cheese. Most of the couples food came by package these days, often delivered in bulk. Needless to say, they felt a little environmentally conscious and made sure to finish all of their food before it decayed, even if they weren't hungry.

Douglas went into work. Here he worked a job that crushed the soul, as is typical. But modern business is full of informal break periods where workers don't actually do anything productive at all. They can chat, or browse the internet, or better yet for Douglas and his cadre of growing colleagues: eat.

Morning break? He has another coffee and a bagel with cream cheese smeared thickly upon it. He considers this a true breakfast because it actually makes him feel satiated. He licks his fingers clean and grabs the edge of the desk, pulling himself in and his belly pressing up against the desk. His shirt might be slightly too small today, because you can see a little bit of skin in the gaps between the buttons. His double chin does seem a little more swollen lately, perhaps he's ill with something?

Lunch was a splendid affair with pasta. Lots of it. Pasta wasn't as bad as a burger or pizza, so he quietly congratulated himself for not falling to the temptation that his peers did. Look at them now stuffing themselves at the work buffet (provided to the benefit of workers). One of the employees has a wide and rolling gut that swells out over his waistband. He's already flushed red from either the exhaustion of waddling there. Or perhaps it's the excitement of having as much food as he wants.

Good fucking god! He's gone for the buffet and he's piling up more and more food without so much as a second thought. Nobody says anything, and increasingly people don't think it either. It would be improper.

It's why nobody says anything at the other breaks throughout the day either. Candies, cookies, cakes, fudges, brownies, and just about everything else is brought in to be shared at some point or another. The price of food keeps coming down (sugar taxes have been repealed, not to mention that package sizes keep on growing), and a cheap but safe way to treat others is to buy them food. Of course there are separate piles for those who like it gluten-free, or without lactose, and an additional vegan section. People take great care to watch what they eat with the exception of quantity.

After snacking all day, Douglas comes home to find both himself and his partner unwilling to cook. Martha suggested that they go out for a meal, which isn't too radical an idea. Most people go out to eat at least once a week now, and often more. Even if the both of them felt like eating in, they would have ordered a four for one pizza deal (and eaten at least three of them between themselves in one sitting).

Where to? They wanted something with a bit of novelty, and so they went to a local Korean-Ethiopian fusion cuisine restaurant, where they were served plenty of enchiladas.

They had to go with the full three courses, they were out tonight after all. The waiter came out with a glass dish full of ice cream and brownies broken up and sprinkled over the top. They ordered the “sharing size” because they wanted to share the same thing. Both were unaware it was far larger than just two normal sized ones together.

Both Douglas and Martha began taking chunks out of it before the waiter returned.

“Sorry for the wait folks, I had to just grab the side sauces” he announced, before putting down several bottles of flavoured syrups, to which the couple helped themselves. After the complimentary chocolate mints and coffee which was more cream than coffee, the couple paid for their meal and went back home.

They weren't much in the mood for eating anymore, and took to watching shows on their telescreen. Soon the couple went to bed, where they lazily groped at one another. The bed creaked loudly for a while as Martha ran her hands down Douglas's squishy back, feeling her fingers dig into the flesh before they came to rest on his lovehandles. Douglas pushed at one of her huge breasts, and watched it slowly ripple from one side to another like jelly. He was soon ready, and after reaching at his erect cock which pressed up against the underside of his belly, he entered her and began pumping away. There wasn't much grace to it. Two fat bodies slamming heavily into one another, thick flesh slapping and the couple grunting loudly. But they didn't finish, both were too exhausted. Eventually they gave up and went to sleep, ready to repeat the process all over again tomorrow.

Many more days like it would follow. Years passed as they grew heavier. They had kids, and then just as many grandkids as kids. One of them was named Julian.

The car engine was humming softly, the radio playing soothing classical music. They had been on a roll this morning with the greats. Julian enjoyed classical music, he liked travelling, and seeing that which was old, which is why he was in the car travelling to visit an Amish town that catered to outside tourists. Large ones.

Next to the radio he pressed a chubby finger onto a button, a small wooshing sound followed, and then a little door under the radio opened up to reveal a frothy banana milkshake. He grabbed it immediately and began slurping at it greedily.

What about the wheel? Shouldn't he have his eyes on the road? Not a problem. This car, like all others, can drive itself. Cars have changed a lot since the time of Julians grandparents. For one, it's much bigger. Most of them have grown a foot wider to accommodate wider seats, that in turn seat wider people. Since cars no longer need steering, some dispense with the traditional seating arrangement and have them facing around a ring in the centre, which will usually have a fridge and microwaves.

Julian is more traditional and has his forward facing, but he still has a milkshake maker installed. And a cookie box (you can buy cannisters to put into your car full of them) that automatically dispenses them. An exhaustive list of conveniences is impossible, but its obvious Julian makes use of them.

He fills his chair. All of it. His wide and soft butt doesn't quite spill out, but he is just the right size for it, as though he had perfectly tailored his body to it. With no steering wheel, his belly is free to swell out onto his lap and under the little table he has above it. Its piled high with the cookies, the muffins, and candies he so much enjoys. Whenever he polishes off the last of say, some cheesecake sitting there, he will instinctively reach for a panel or button to retrieve something.

The view was pleasant, with Iowas wide open spaces. His experience was enhanced by Dvoraks 9th, but that did not compare at all to the feeling of licking his fingers clean of cream. Open flat land could give a sense of timeless wonder, but more gratifying was sucking down an entire pint of milkshake, and on reaching the bottom, being able to shove it back into the dispenser and receive more in seconds. But even doing that was exerting. Julian had to shift his heavy body forwards to reach everything from his seat, and whenever he did and moved his arms around he could feel the sleeves of his shirt digging in just that little bit tighter, or the shirt riding up his belly. Unlike most people, he still tried to keep up the pretence of covering it up.

Arriving at the town, Julian was struck already by something he found deeply fascinating. Skinny people. Unhealthily so. Some of the women looked so petite he wondered if starving was a regular experience for them. Despite this, the Amish had been growing in numbers. They were all over the United States now, sprouting up like mushrooms. Often the government kept intruding, asking them to serve in the military or pay taxes. Now they complain that the children are dangerously underweight, and that the Amish should eat more like normal people.

“Disgusting” thought Julian to himself, looking at them all. He pressed yet another button in his car. The door opened and he swung his treetrunk legs out of the car, with the chair now slowly psuhing his hefty body upright. The chair could take loads of up to a quarter ton, and being over four hundred and seventy pounds he was getting dangerously close to that limit. The piston was straining to move him with the grace he once enjoyed back when he could still walk unaided, creaking and groaning loudly as it dug into his back flesh. As he got onto his feet, he felt his apron-like belly suddenly pull forwards and down as his centre of gravity changed, nearly throwing him forwards onto his front. Julian managed to recover his balance, panting heavily from the exertion.

Luckily he was close to the glidechairs, just a few steps away there was a tourist office with them sitting outside. With the aid of a walking stick, he began waddling. With his arms and legs pushed out to the sides by his fat, he looked spherical. The relief of getting into the chair was immense, and as he waved his soft arm over the armrest he heard a satisfying “beep” which told him that the reader had recognised the credit chip implanted in his arm. Three thousand dollars, which was very cheap and convenient considering Julian was on minimum wage, earning a mere nine thousand dollars an hour.

It took him a minute to fully relax in the chair and allow his body to spread out into it. These chairs were designed to accommodate large bodies as comfortably as possible, and the more he shifted about the more he felt the chair accommodate his form. Some kind of special memory foam that they have – motorised scooters have come a long way – for added comfort, plus they have powerful engines. Obviously a lightly used model, the armrests were bright blue and hadn't their coating rubbed off by sweaty arms. He plugged his phone into a slot, started tapping at the screen, and trundled off around the town.

Throughout the day one of the things that really struck Julian is just how skinny the Amish were. He saw a single Amish guy who had recently returned from his Rumspringa, an event where upon maturity some Amish go out to experience the wider world. Like most adolescents he had had his fun and returned, and he would likely shed his weight soon, something most people would never do. Julian may have been heavier than normal, but when glidechairs are omnipresent its obvious that there are not just a lot of fat people, but that fat people are even fatter than ever. Gluttony is so normalised that dieting is regularly mocked in the media and weightloss groups are treated as though they are dangerous cults. There is assumed a univseral right to consumption, and Julian took this right very seriously.

He visited the local buffet first, and then a demonstration farm where he saw butter and bread made not by a clean machine, but by dirty and bony human hands. Even the food the Amish ate was becoming alien to him, and even though it smelled nice he knew that it was unhealthy to touch it and he could develop stomach complaints or worse. In the middle of one demonstration he opened up a large paper bowl full of chocolates, fudges, and tiny donut pieces, busily munching away through them. This was a pretty normal behaviour, and the other people on the tour began pulling out snacks and munching away, burping and smacking their lips loudly. There was even one guy on the tour who didn't use a chair, but he wasn't far off from needing to use one. His shirt had ridden up and his gut hung out over the waistband for the whole world to see, showing angry red stretchmarks and a deep bellybutton.

After the demonstration it was back to the buffet, where Julian saw a rare sight: somebody he considered fat. So large was she that she had her own custom glidechair, and slowly she drove past the buffet and literally scraped a container empty with the robotic arm attached to her chair, shouting in indignation about the poor service. Immediately a disgusted looking beanpole of a waiter came over, struggling with five gallons of sausage gravy he wheeled over on a trolley. Before he could even empty it out, the fat woman began shouting again.

”Pour it on my plate first boy, I've been waiting”

”I'll pour it directly into your mouth if you like” he answered sarcastically.

Eyes widening, she asked ”You can do that?”

He glared at her as he poured the contents into the metal basin and then added ”Enjoy.”

Her glidechair slide off to a table with a mountain of food, where she sat and began to eat. She didn't look as though she had legs, but rather more a shapeless mass that was mostly lost under her belly. Even through her specially tailored clothes you can see rolls upon endless rolls, with creases and folds on every part of her. She spilled out of the chair, and her belly was held on a small hammock to stop it scraping against the floor. Her arms were so heavy that she could only use the forearms. Past the elbow they were motionless, and as long as she could reach the food that was all that mattered. The arm did the rest of the work for her.

Julian continued his visit and visited their craft workshops, observed the Amish out in the fields, and even went to a muesuem where he had a very productive time looking at all of the old tools and technologies that these people willingly use. One of the things that he kept noticing however, was that all of the skinny people found his presence deeply unsettling. The other normal people from out of town seemed oblivious to this (or didn't care), but Julian did notice that the natives of the town were whispering to one another, or pointing at the normal people.

”Judgemental people” he thought to himself. Returning to his car, he would soon be back in civilization where the world is not just more accommodating to people his size, but more enlightened too. The Amish continue to deny themselves the benefits of technology, the pleasures of our foods and drugs and entertainment. Maybe one day they will see the light, and then they will join us.

Julian had no children. Eight decades after his trip to the Amish town, his grandparents Douglas and Martha had only one living descendant. Her name was Elena, and she lived in Indianopolis.

She had lived there all thirty seven years of her life, half of which she spent in her current home. There's been no guests here ever, and she's never met her neighbours, but lets go in and see how she's doing. Through the door and into the single room where she lives.

The first thing to strike you is the fact it really is just one room. Not even an enclosed toilet. The reason for this is simple, and that's because she doesn't need any more. Why have so much space when you can't even move?

Approach from behind and you will see a strange combination of flab and machine. A mound of blubber sits on top a bed with half a dozen metal arms sticking out from it. It looks a bit like Elena is riding a metal spider. Long ago when she still had form to her body, the machine had to accommodate her travel needs. Now it is a heavy beast like its owner, rooted firmly to the spot and grown much larger too. It's connected to a rudimentary automated cooking system and a fridge, a built-in toilet too. Whenever she needs to clean, the machine lifts her up and uses an innovative cleaning system, and it even has rollers to get inbetween all the folds and lotions them. It has a backup power generator too, to deal with the blackouts that have been happening more recently.

Even if you went in front of her she wouldn't notice. A large screen has been the only thing her eyes have ever looked at for the past decade, and even if she tried she wouldn't be able to turn her head to look around or over it. From her perspective, the bottom third of her view are her breasts, which look like endless hills rolling away into the horizon. No clothes of course (why bother?). Occasionally food drops down into the abyss of her cleavage, but it's cleaned off once a day. She used to make weak grabs at food which had fallen in front of her, but even now just lifting her arms is an undue burden.

Of course she eats constantly. The delightful plethora of foods known in the past no longer exist to her, and now are mostly just simple variations on sugars, fats, and carbohydrates. She receives regular deliveries of these from the government as part of a welfare package, and although the quality has gotten worse and deliveries more irregular she still has more than enough to keep her satisfied. Donut holes are deep-fried in batter, and then the robot arm picks them up and pops them into her mouth one by one. She acts on instinct, opening her mouth, chewing, swallowing, and then opening again to receive another. She's been trained to do nothing but eat without even realising it. Eating to her is as automatic and impulsive as breathing is to you. She even feels something is horribly wrong if she doesn't have something in her mouth for a minute.

It's hard to describe her body really. Beyond a certain point you can't describe how wide somebodies hips are since you can't even define where they began. Her breasts droop down over her belly, but it's hard to make them out since they blend in with the other rolls. You can't tell where her ass begins and ends, and you can't really be too sure if those are her thighs sticking out at the sides or if that's actually her belly. She is literally a shapeless mass that piles outwards and upon itself, with only her head in the top and centre telling you that this is a human being. Her hair is cropped short, much like the rest of her it is a vestigial organ.

Even her brain would be vestigial too, if not for the internet. Despite being alone in her apartment she actively messaged others on social media, binged on ancient tv shows, and occasionally had the machine pleasure her. She used to hear the news, but it was quite negative. Few people were having kids besides the Amish, and they took a dim view of enabling her gluttony. After reading enough about them, Elena asked her computer to block it out furthermore. No need to worry. She had enough tricks that she knew who to contact to get her machine fixed or an extra delivery made. Even as waiting lists grew, and the electric grid began to break down from lack of repairmen, somehow she found a way to keep things ticking over.

The lights flickered, and then switched off. Elena panicked for a moment before hearing the reassuring click of the backup generator kicking into action. Only a few seconds more than usual had passed. She made sure to phone the repairman and left him a message. A few hours passed and still no reply came. The lights dimmed and she could hear the faint sounds of a ruckus outside. Those skinnies outside still needed food after all, and this could be another bread riot causing trouble.

The repairman didn't come. Hours later that evening the machine displayed a warning machine and began shutting down “nonessential” functions such as the screen, lighting, and washing. It made extra-chewy snacks in a desperate attempt to slow her down and save energy. But she kept on eating. Alone she ate in the dark silently, doing nothing but chewing and making angry calls. Another day passed and evening came once more. Then something happened for the very first time in her life. She was denied food. With a click and a whirr, the robotic arm brought a toffee halfway to her mouth and stopped. She didn't even know what to do, actually trying to rock herself forwards was something that didn't even cross her mind. What would she do if nobody came? She had heard horror stories about people who had their machines shut down like this. They didn't even last a week.

In the dying light she could still just make out the toffee dangling in front of her and mocking her cruelly. She stared at it until it vanished into the darkness.