chapter 3

With Chelsea’s hands bound to the bed, and a funnel firmly affixed to her mouth using a feeding mask, we were ready. She was squirming hard, upset and visibly distressed. Due to the nature of our set up, I had to stand above her bloated and fat body with the funnel, holding it so it wouldn’t spill.

Part of me felt bad, but I couldn’t help but have one of the hardest erections of my life. Looking down at this dangerously obese woman, who we had fattened to oblivion, turned me on unlike anything else.


Anna had prepared several weight gain shakes, with these ones being from what we called our “death feedist recipe.” Basically, it was a mix of heavy cream, melted butter, lard, ice cream, sugar, appetite stimulants and probably any other fattening crap she could find in our expansive kitchen. It’s not hard to figure out why we called these shakes that, I almost felt bad as she poured them down the funnel.

After the third shake, Chelsea was visibly in pain. Tears were coming down her cheeks, her breathing was ragged, and her belly looked like it could pop any moment. She was gripping the bed sheets so hard, her knuckles were white and her nails were almost breaking.

Anna noticed my erection.

“Damn baby, I’m sorry you can’t get rid of that yourself, since you gotta hold that funnel for Miss “thinks she can call others fat” here. Let me help you out a bit.”

I felt her stand behind me on the bed, her belly and boobs pressing into my back. Her hands reached around to the front of my body, one tracing my abs while the other stroked me.

“Is that better, baby? You just focus on keeping that funnel up, I’ll take care of you.” Every few minutes, she’d continue to top off the funnel as our pig struggled to swallow, before rushing back to me.

“Hey you fat pig, I’m gonna make him cum hard into this funnel, and you’re going to swallow every last bit of it. If you don’t, I’m going to force you to drink more until your stomach pops. And that’s a threat.” Her strokes became faster now, trying to get me to finish.

It didn’t take long, and as I emptied my balls into this ungodly mixture of artery clogging slop, I almost fell over, trying to regain my composure. She kept milking me until every last drop had been squeezed out of me into this pigs mouth.


2 years later


Anna was a solid 300 pounds now, her gain inevitable due to the nature of our work. She didn’t mind it too much, coming to accept it over time. She felt far better than Chelsea.

The poor girl was somewhere between 700 and 750 pounds by now, spending most of her day being force fed by Anna. She couldn’t resist, her muscles atrophied into dust and her own body trapping her. I knew Anna would never stop, not feeling content until Chelsea either broke the reinforced steel frame, the floor itself, or her own heart.

Time would tell.