You have a decision to make. (Patreon)

Let’s fast forward. You’ve finally hit 500 lbs. You can’t remember the last time you were truly, painfully full. Your will has nearly broken. Do you keep going?

If you choose to continue…your future will not forgive you. Hunger demands payment, an infinite debt carved into your body with every bite.

Eating.

And eating.

Devoting every ounce of autonomy to consumption, leaving you heavier. Swollen.

This inexorable lifestyle binds you mercilessly to addiction. The grotesque sight of you hoovering obscene amounts of calories would turn stomachs, yet your insatiable appetite insists on satisfaction.

With each act of excess comes the morbid revelation of just how much adipose the human body can contain. Your stomach distends, skin pulled taut, while your belly grows pendulous, dragged outward and downward until gravity drapes it closer to your aching knees.

By the time you near 600 pounds, walking is no longer motion but an ordeal. Your belly sways lower, each step a heaving reminder of what you’ve become. Breathing shortens, thighs chafe raw, and the simple act of movement leaves you gasping. Soon walking will not be worth the effort and you will capitulate to the weight pressing you down.

Fitting your widened hips into chairs and booths becomes its own humiliation ritual. As your feast disappears and your midsection juts so far forward it collides with the table, I will sit back and savor your enervation, the living proof that you are broken, obedient, and mine.

But gluttony never rests, and your descent does not pause simply because your body protests. The numbers continue to climb, and with them, your shape mutates further. Past seven hundred pounds, your body ceases to resemble anything familiar. Your belly sprawls into your lap, spreading across your thighs. Arms hang heavy and useless, their motion limited to the smallest gestures. Breathing is no longer background noise but the soundtrack of your existence, wheezing and ragged, each gasp proof of how far you have fallen.

But your decision to continue this burdensome lifestyle allows no rest. The scale creaks as you heave your body onto the platform, flesh spilling forward. Numbers rise before settling at seven hundred and five.

This milestone comes at a cost. Immobility waits just ahead. Your swollen, misshapen body is now a reflection of self-abandonment and mindless gluttony.

And yet you have never felt more alive. The thrill of pushing past the point of no return, driven by the hand of a wicked feeder, keeps you hopelessly addicted. The cycle continues.

Heaping platefuls fill your vision day after day. “Just a little more,” I whisper between emptied dishes as the tape measure glides across your vast, swelling belly. Sadism hides in my smile as the numbers climb higher each passing week.

My hands knead lotion into your wobbling corpulence, keeping you soft, pliant, and smooth enough to expand further.

When your arms grow too weak to lift another bite to your plump lips, I take over, pressing food past your resistance and watching as you swell to engorgement. I marvel at the sheer volume you can contain.

That stretches you.

The breaks you.