Get me to stay

chapter 1

“That’s how to get me to stay”

That’s what I said to her as I was drunk on the couch that night after stuffing an outrages amount of Chinese food into me and was about to pass out for the night.

I used to be such a playboy. I was 160 pounds of lean muscle. I had a studio apartment in the city on the ground floor of a great building. My days consisted of work, gym, and going out drinking with my friends. I ofcourse brought home a new girl every weekend. Until one night.

I took you home, like any other girl on my usual Saturday nights out, we got Chinese (something I always do when I was drunk). You said to me “I wish I could keep you all to myself”.. my joking response was “just get me fat and that’ll get me to stay in the apartment”. It was a joke I made with my bloated Chinese food gut before I passed out.

You sure took that joke to heart..

It started slow. You came over with fast food every night that you knew I was getting home drunk. You timed it right with your texts knowing that I’d let you in and I’d drunkenly eat what you brought. That started to turn into morning breakfasts as you’d already been done cooking by the time I got up, and I wasn’t going to turn down a big breakfast for free. That cycle was the for a few months.

6 months: 190 pounds. My clothes were getting tight and my face was looking puffy. But that was something I ignored as our relationship grew stronger and you moved in. I didn’t mind as the meals became more frequent now that you were living there. It was time for new clothes.

1 year: 250 pounds. I laid on the couch rubbing my large gut in my underwear. It was another drunken night where you fed me till I could barely shift myself on the couch. In the last year that had become my routine. Work and eat. I honestly don’t remember how it happened, but it became my life somewhere along the line. I wasn’t obese, but I was definetly fat. I barely had any clothes that fit me anymore and I quit going to the gym. You kept feeding me and I kept eating.. It’s a good thing you made enough money for me to quit my job and stay home.

2 years: 350 pounds. It started to get more intense the last year. You started to enjoy force feeding me as a way of control. It turned me on so much. I loved laying in bed while you stuffed me full every day and night. My fat body sprawled out in bed almost all the time watching tv, sleeping, and eating. I was unable to be on top during sex anymore, but that just gave you more control. Riding me while watching my fat body giggle below you with food stains all over my face looking back up at you. At this weight I was still able to function on my own, I could waddle to the bathroom and still take care of myself. I forgot how all this happened, what did we do the last few years?

3 years: 500 pounds. I was starting to lose a lot of my mobility. You loved watching me struggle with everyday tasks. The thing is, I didn’t have a lot of tasks to begin with anymore. I could barely waddle myself to the bathroom and I needed your help cleaning myself in the shower. My days consisted of eating whatever you brought me, allowing you to stuff me with as much as I now obese body could handle. Your new favorite toy was a funnel. You’d melt down cartons of ice cream and dump them down the funnel into my fat gut as I lay naked in bed. You’d always reward me after by letting me cum for you. You started referring to me finishing as being “milked”. I forget at what point you turned me into your cow. You didn’t let me wear clothes anymore, it didn’t matter though as I never left the apartment. When did it all start? When did I let this happen?

4 years: 650 pounds. I remember one of the last days I was able to walk. You used to love making me get up and waddle around for you. I could barely get on my feet and my helplessness turned you on so much. It was right around the same time I was officially unable to jerk myself off, which gave you complete control of my sexual pleasure. At that point I gave up walking unless you aided me to the bathroom to clean me off in the shower, which you had redone to be able to fit someone of my size. I still just kept eating for you. So much food, so outrageously fat. You loved watching me rub my enormous stomach in bed and beg you to milk me. Has it really been 4 years? When did we start doing this?

8 years: 850 pounds. I don’t remember much anymore. My mind is completely blank for most of the day. You let me watch cartoons mindlessly in between my feedings, which I barely understand anymore as I can barely keep a thought for more then a few minutes. All I think about is feeding and being milked. I haven’t got out of bed in years, the lift you put in lets you change my diapers and assist in my cleaning. I haven’t spoken many words lately, as you have told me you only want to hear me “moo” for you. Treating me like your pet is your biggest turn on. I can barely lift my arms up to feed myself, so I mostly rely on your funnel feedings and your sessions of getting on top of me and stuffing me with whatever you want your cow to eat, as long as I am a good cow I get milked, so it’s all worth it. When did this all start? I was always a cow right?

10 years: 1200 pounds. Cow barely turns head. Moo. Hungry. Can’t cum need to be milked, I will eat more and more for you please. Moo. Can’t see tv anymore too fat. Doesn’t matter. Moo. No talk anymore just eat for you.

You know how you can get me to stay here?