chapter 5

If you want even more evidence of my mental transformation, then consider this scenario that keeps playing inside my mind. I often imagine myself as your pet, like your overweight, lazy dog that you leave at home during the day while you go to work. Think about it. Just like a pet, I depend on you for everything and you provide me with all that I need. You reward my obedience with luxury, comfort, and best of all - food. And with those things you absolutely control me. Lately, I've realized that even my daily routine isn't that much from a typical house pet. It may sound strange, but comparing myself to a spoiled, indulgent animal actually makes me feel...aroused. In fact, I've sort of been obsessed with taking the whole idea of becoming your pet one step further.

Here's what I imagine:

One fine morning I wake up alone in our bed. I'm naked, as usual, though I quickly realize that something is different. I'm wearing a leather collar with a heart-shaped tag displaying my name. It's an obvious indication that at least for today, you expect me to act like your pet instead of your wife. I'm more than happy to take on the role.

I take a look at my closet and while habit urges me to choose an outfit, I realize that there's no need for such things today, and so I continue on to the kitchen stark naked. After a few steps out of the bedroom, it occurs to me that I'm not being true to my new role. I've never seen a pet walk on two legs, have you? So I get down on all fours and make my way across the room. It's awkward at first and requires more effort than I expect. But I suppose an overweight, middle-aged house wife with large wobbling breasts and a sizeable gut isn't really built for crawling on the floor, right?

I smile ear to ear when I make it to the kitchen. You've cooked me a breakfast so hearty it would put a lumberjack to shame. Among the feast I see pieces of toast slathered in butter, small stacks of greasy bacon and sausage, gooey eggs with cheese, crispy potatoes doused with salt and pepper, and a gigantic blueberry muffin to soothe my sweet tooth. And the best part is that you've left each of these delicious treats sitting on plates on the floor. It's a perfect set-up that allows me to not break character. I start to salivate knowing that I'm going to eat my way through each of your fattening culinary creations just like an animal would. Face-first. No hands. No shame.

Seeing as how I don't have any plans, I take my time with things. By the end of the morning I've finally finished. I take a look at the aftermath of my feasting and see only a few pieces of crust, crumbs of muffin, and a few morsels of egg that were too difficult to lap up. It's not too bad of a mess for my first time, though imagine I'll become more skillful with additional practice. I gently pat my engorged belly and let loose a loud contented belch that almost makes me blush. Having satisfied my animal instincts for the time being, I feel tired and so I drag myself to the couch and sleep the rest of the afternoon away.

A few hours pass and my stomach has properly digested this morning's feast. I'm ready to resume eating. Sleep, eat, and be with you. God, what a simple yet satisfying life you've made for me! I wake up with anticipation of your arrival. Crawling on my hands and knees with my belly rumbling in excitement of its next meal. I make my way to the front door and sit. I try to model myself like a patient dog, ready to greet you with innocent eyes, looking hopeful that you've brought me home something delicious. The end result is me sitting on my knees, my ample rear resting on the cold, wooden floor, my large, exposed breasts dangling, and my soft, flabby middle folding in on itself, spilling into my nether regions and growling with anticipation.

I'm ready for you.

I hear the jingle of your keys as you approach the door. Almost reflexively, I start to wiggle my large, round ass in anticipation and my breasts waver with each gentle motion of my soft, plump body. You enter our home and notice the mess in the kitchen, yet everything else looks utterly untouched. You look down at me with approval and pat me on the head. You're so proud of your loyal pet.

You take out a container from a brown paper bag and give me a gentle smile as you place my reward on the floor. You remove the plastic cover to reveal a huge portion of fettuccine alfredo. Out of the kindness of your heart you've brought me my favorite dish, my favorite meal that you've watched me gobble down countless times, but never like this. It's cool enough to eat and so I arch my back and lower my head as I prepare to release all inhibition.

This is going to get messy.

After a few seconds of deliberation, I brace the container with two hands, vigorously plunge my face into the warm, gooey pasta, and start to eat. My first few bites are small as I try to downsize the length of the noodles. But once that problem is solved, I really get going, and start to abandon any hesitation as I take bite after bite. It isn't long before my face is covered in thick, white alfredo sauce. I'm so ravenous that I have to remind myself to stop and chew. After several minutes of watching me feed, you place a dish of water on the floor and I slurp it down quickly. My metal collar clanks against the dish as I lower it and shove it gently to the side. I go back to downing my meal, mostly unfazed by the rich, heavy pasta piling up in my stomach.

I'm about to finish up when you circle around me and run your hand along my body. You trace a line, that starts with my meaty arms, runs along my thick sides, and ends at my big, fat, and bouncy booty. I quiver with excitement. Out of seemingly nowhere, you produce my favorite dessert: a big piece of double chocolate cake.

It isn't long before I can turn my attention to delicious treat. I'm feeling so full, but I'm not one to say no dessert - obviously. By this point, I'm starting to get fatigued with all the work it takes to eat without using my hands. Between mouthfuls of cake, I'm catching my breath and pacing myself. I've also made quite a mess, but I can't stop eating. I won't stop eating, not until every last crumb is gone. As I plunge my face into the cake again and again I start to realize what kind of animal I most resemble and it's not a common house pet.

I'm a big, fat hog.

The thought causes me to lose complete control of myself. I start to grunt and snort while I continue to devour the remains of the cake. As I take the last bite and start to regain some of my senses, you smack my ass with your open hand and my flesh jiggles. I turn my head and you see my face covered in chocolate and frosting. You finally release my collar and smile at me as you beckon me into the bedroom.

You can use your imagination to finish the rest.

In case my fantasy leaves any doubt, let me say this: you have transformed me.

It may have taken 20 years, but there can be no doubt that the woman you married is gone. It has been an amazing journey already and yet there is still so much more left. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. But first, I want to thank you for all that you have done for me and I think I have just the plan to do so.

What do you think about making me weigh more than twice the woman you married?

I could really go for some chocolate cake about now.

With love,
Your fat wife


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The End