Day 730. 2 years exactly since you succumbed to your inner pig. You only know this because I told you - time has lost all meaning for you, and you only know when it’s feeding time, and even that’s tough to discern given how frequent they are, not to mention all the snackings, stuffings, and punishments.

You glorp and gurgle as you drain another sack of your weight gain fluid, an awful mix of cream, butterfat, and lard, that to a normal person would be horrid to drink, but you guzzle it down so easily. Your montrously blubbery body demands an insane amount of calories now, addicted to them, addicted to porking up larger and larger. The tube falls from your mouth as you struggle to catch your breath, rolling down your lard-swollen chins on your mammoth chest, your fattened tits twice the size of your head.

“Did I say you were done, tubby?” I remark as I discard the empty feed bag, rubbing your bloated stomach, sending waves of blubber wobbling, rolls clapping together, and forcing a monstrous belch from you. You reflexively gulp to keep the contents of your stomach down, as it bubbles and groans in agony, but you know the punishment for wasting food is far worse. I trace some of the deep stretchmarks that line your massive, bloated midsection. “If you’re no longer hungry, we could go for a walk…” I threaten, your glazed-over eyes widening at the suggestion. Walking was torture these days, your frame incapable of supporting the well-over 350lbs youve packed on. It took a bariatric sling to haul your larded up body out of bed, and required you to use a walker, all while your joints scream and your heart feels ready to explode.

“N-no I’m still hungry” you lie, whimpering as you struggle to lift your flab-filled arms to grab the tube nestled between your swollen breasts. Even your voice sounds fatter, with your lard-encased voicebox, your speech slurred due to your heavy jowels and chins working against your jaw muscles. Your arms are so heavy, and your tits so big, you find it difficult to reach over them, but finally manage, weakly placing the tube back into your mouth. “Good piggy” I claim, as I hook up the next bag, this one containing a darker mix than usual.

You dread the thick slurry as you watch it ooze down the tube into your mouth, choking a bit a it hits your tongue, dribbles of it squeaking oit the corners of your mouth and running down your chins. It’s so dense and rich, far more so than usual. “It’s a special batch, for the anniversery” I tell you, seeing your flabby face contort as you struggle to gulp it down. “Now eat up, fats, while I read you some fanmail…”

Your feedee lifestyle is now partially bankrolled by all manner of deviants online, buying up pictures and videos of you showcasing - not always willingly - your gluttonous ways and the struggles of being a ginormous blimp. I start reading off a few choice comments: Her ass looks like 200lbs of chewed bubble gum.” “This fat fuck is going to eat herself to death.” “How the hell does someone get so disgustingly obese??” “This poor girl needs help!” “Keep eating, porky - you could use a few more chins.” As I read them, you cab’t help but feel tears stinging your eyes, while at the same time getting incredibly turned on, instinctively gulping faster.

Your vision gets blurrier with each swallow, as you ingest countless calories, your head swooning. You can’t help but to rub the sides of your bulbous belly, your guts churning to process the fluid - you could swear you could feel your flab growing in your own hands. You feel your skin stretching, your limbs growing heavier, your heart pounding, as your senses are overwhelmed. Before you succumb to your stupor, the last thing you hear before drifting off is the ominous creaking of the bed beneath you, and the hypnotic heavy gulping of an insatiable hog.

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Ahhhhhggghhhh omg I cant wait for the next part 🥵🥵🥵 I know this has to end but I dont want it to