Freedom (Patreon)

Freedom?

You want more freedom? 

Darling, you belong to me. I own you.

So no, you’re not allowed to move around much anymore.

I can’t have you wasting my time and the hard work of turning you into what I want you to be.

My personal pet to overfeed. I want you to be soft and easy to manipulate.

You’re collared. You submit to me.

I’m the one who cooks for you. Feeds you.

I provide for you.

I’m the one in control now.

Of every aspect of your life.

Until you’ve reached your absolute limit, you will do as I say.

No leaving the couch, unless given the command. Yes, that includes bathroom breaks as well. Remember when I said I get off on you being humiliated? I told no lie. Your embarrassment is what feeds my desire. Beg for it. Plea for your freedom and worship my existence because ultimately… you will depend on me.

Get used to being fed nearly every hour of the day. I want you sitting on your fat ass at all times. Including in the shower. I’m conditioning you to get used to not moving much at all. So when you truly cannot move…you’ll already be acclimated to the lifestyle of being extremely obese.

For me.

You’re on the small side now, but within the next few months…years…

You’ll no longer be recognizable.

Every evening I will have my ritual for you. Fill you until the brink of tears and misery, and fuck you for being such a good fattened pet. I want you to feel how heavy your belly is getting while you’re on your knees for me. I want to hear you whimper from being painfully stuffed. Then just when you think you can’t take anymore, I’ll fill your mouth again while deep inside you, feeling how much bigger you get each day.

You’ll be weighed daily to ensure that the numbers continue to climb and never fall. If you’re off a few ounces…pounds… I’ll simply feed you while you stand on the scale until the numbers are satisfactory. You’ll be kept round, taut, and heavily filled to stifle any motivation to move. With my hands upon your stretching skin, I’ll praise your dedication to the lifestyle of a fattened prized hog. 

Soon your routine will be as follows,

Wake up, eat, sleep, weigh in, eat, and sleep. Simple.

Every milestone will be rewarded with food. You finally hit four hundred pounds? Buffet it is. Your ass grew too wide for the dining room chairs? I’m ordering takeout, enough for five people. But all of it is going inside of you. Your belly is too big for you to fit into your car? We’ll take mine…to your favorite restaurant. All while you continue to get heavier by the day until the final milestone is met. Never leaving my house again.

You’re just another project for me. You’ll be reduced to something less than human. You are mine for ownership. A belonging. An object. Resistance will be met with punishment, forcing you further into my personal fantasy no matter how you behave. 

Once you’ve proven how much you can glut yourself, I will just continue to add calories each day. Seven thousand four hundred one day? Make it seven thousand eight hundred the next. The possibilities are endless and I love pushing you over the edge. If you begin to struggle to perform for me, I’ll make sure you feel my annoyance and dissatisfaction.

If I see your belly hasn’t grown, I’ll be sure to wrap a belt slightly loose around your softened gut, and leave it there until you show me results and beg me to remove it. I want to see it become engulfed in soft belly fat, buried, without being visible. You’ll feel just how fucking huge you’re growing and with the pain of the tightened belt, be reminded of how little control you truly have over your life.

If you begin to refuse calories I’ll hog tie you and funnel feed you until the slop is nearly backed up into your throat; don’t test me. A slow drip will be funneled into you with perfect timing for digestion. Ultimately filling every inch of you. You’ll fail to realize it until your engorged belly is perfectly taut and your only relief is straining to remove the excess. 

Watching you go through the agony of being stretched alive is the only thing that will stifle my depraved sexual cravings. The sounds of indigestion, the shallow breaths from being forced to overeat, the groans of pleasure mixed with tinges of pain. Images of your descent into immobility crowd my mind while you open your mouth for another bite. You have no idea just how disgusting and putrid my fantasies can get. Yet you do as I say while every last bit of your own will power slips away with every pound gained.

My sacred desires feel as though it is the ultimate act of submission mixed with bondage. However, instead of ropes and chains tying you down, it’s your own body succumbing to the effects of continual binge eating and a sedentary lifestyle. You can’t help but become submissive over time with no motivation and a desperate need to be filled. As you grow, I leave you to beg for more. You reach a point where nothing is enough to satisfy your hunger. Even a constant flow of calories funneled down your throat isn’t enough. You become greedy and irritated when you aren’t tightly filled and being pleasured. 

At least, that is what every other last project has turned out to be. Greedy, never satisfied, and grotesquely self destructive. It seems my little pets continue this cycle when they are nearing eight hundred pounds. They no longer care how they look or how people view them. They’re brainwashed just enough to be emboldened to demand more and more. Their weight, while steadily climbing, doesn’t matter. No number on the scale is high enough to scare them into halting the downward spiral of their demise, leaving me satisfied with the results.

Besides, at eight hundred pounds you’re headed towards a new world record, right? Might as well suck every last drop of liquid calories and live in pleasure for as long as you possibly can. Being fat is no longer just a simple problem at nine hundred pounds, it requires major lifestyle adjustments and discipline, something you no longer have the strength to commit to. 

So quickly, quickly, push more into your throat. Let yourself widen past the bed frame until it’s crushed underneath your mass. Your legs will spread naturally after so much blubber accumulates in your thighs. After twelve hundred pounds you’ll find it hard to roll over or even inch towards the edge of the bed to be helped to your feet, in which you can’t see anymore. Even the slightest of movement causes strain and respiratory distress so it’s no longer worth doing. 

Fourteen hundred pounds.

This is when all subjects become completely reliant on me. Your arms will be so plump and heavy they are far too heavy to be used. Your legs, encased in large soft rolls, lay uselessly spread ready to be massaged to prevent hardening. Your pudgy hands and feet twirl in pathetic circles as they are the last appendages that can move. But soon enough even those will cease to be mobile as your weight rises. 

I’ve only had a couple of pets reach this far. They lay there helpless to my mercy. One asked what I was going to do with them now that they were completely bed bound and incapable of doing nearly anything. I told them, 

“I will do exactly what I want with you.”

As I gazed upon their rounded bloated faces, each time I was met with a look of fear and desperation. 

Yet, their lust for being totally reliant and mind numbingly gluttonous kicked in and their lips opened for me again and again. Red faced, oxygen dependent, health disasters they were becoming. They knew I had the ultimate power over them and their will crumbled before me.

You ask me for freedom, while dreaming of making your fantasy a reality. You cannot have both. I hold the key, you stay locked away in your cage. You will pay your debt through obedience and service to me. You will spread your legs for me, drink with me, and dine endlessly until I say you have had enough.

But you will never truly know

When enough

Will be enough.