I need to be a depraved little glutton, practically drooling over my own downfall. I'm already so deep in this twisted fantasy, dreaming of that blissful, shameful hell where my heart’s racing, my massive gut sags, and my hips spill over my scooter like the quivering, pathetic mess I'm dying to become. I want to be a complete failure. A helpless, food-obsessed slave, too weak to do anything but stuff my face, letting every bite make me more useless, my mind duller, my body a wobbling monument to wasted potential. I’m obsessed with how eagerly I'm throwing myself into this—I need to keep gorging, be a greedy pig, let that insatiable hunger bury me deeper. I want to be panting, trapped under my own weight, brain switched off, nothing left but the sick pleasure of growing fatter. I can't stop until I'm exactly the ruined, food-addicted wreck I'm craving to be. Find out how low I can sink.
6 days
