Chapter 4 - 4. ton-plus living

As the world's first "ton plus" man you were as curious as your subscribers as to what you weighed. Losing the crane and scale made Rick have to reconsider how to care for such a blob. While he made arrangements you settled in for whatever he came up with. Nothing else mattered besides the gentle tickle of feeling your outermost rolls filling more of the bedroom. The ceiling mirror couldn't even fit all of you in frame, Rick used a tape measure and estimated you were 14 feet across from hip to hip if buttery bulges of pure fat still qualified. Wider than your old van it was a matter of time before your *** was pressing into not only the wall behind but also to your side. The feeling of pressing against walls added an intoxicating twist to gaining hundreds more pounds. Your legs finally buried down to your useless feet by the avalanche of your belly rolls. While your gut pooled against the wall in an increasing pile your moobs stretched to the size of mattresses to either side with nipples like plates barely visible where they stretched out of view from the mirror. By the time Rick was ready to relocate you the only feasible way was to demolish the walls of your bedroom requiring an entire team of construction workers and an industrial crane and flatbed truck. As several feet of your jellylike body spread out into the yard finally freed of the confines of a single room you sighed happily and typed out, "Bedrooms are overrated".


Being a legend among gainers had its charms but between the construction works selfies on indistinguishable piles of your flab, videos from your neighbors while your car-smotheringly fat body was being lifted by the rental crane or photos from other people on the road while you were in transit it was obvious that the fattest man on earth lived in your city. A local news station ran the story using a combination of footage and looking into you as the homeowner, suggesting you were the mysterious blob everyone saw. The construction company respected your privacy and wouldn't say where you were delivered to… a large warehouse which had been steeply discounted by foreclosure. On arrival you had clocked in at 3,116 pounds but were desperate to grow fatter. Spacious and with an industrial crane left over from the previous tenant meant Rick could reposition or roll you over again. A hastily installed freight scale with another vast cushioned mat made up your bed. If your scale was any indication were adding nearly a dozen pounds of new fat PER DAY. Regardless of position your fattened shoulders and moobs were precariously close to engulfing your face, or while rolled over did completely. The feelings of being buried in all the weight you'd gained, incapable of seeing, hearing, or moving a muscle while sucking down the most fattening concoctions Rick dreamt of, your cock relentlessly pumped and the air conditioning brushing against your acreage of flab were so pleasurable life seemed to get better by the pound. Two months into the relocation you were pushing two tons, a 3,821 pound behemoth barely able to move your fingers as they succumbed to an avalanche of weight gain. In a rare chance where you were able to still use your tablet you strained to punch in a last message, "Typing is overrated".


There's a bit of a startle when waking up at two tons you've come to discover. A gut reaction to try and move around, feeling hundreds if not thousands of pounds of blubbery resistance to even the most minute movements. As the constant strain of your stomach packed to bursting and the struggle of getting enough air in the sweaty darkness finally brings you back to remembering you outweigh a minivan! Your monthly subscriber count moved from a few hundred to over a thousand regulars after you hit the news. Your food budget was carte blanche now so Rick sourced anything to mix into your gainer shakes he could think of. The results were a tidal wave of new rolls and your hands smothered by the fat folds of your forearms. When Rick mentioned you were 4,611 pounds and drinking over one hundred thousand calories a day now including rendered fat during a scrubbing you realized, "Paying for your own food is overrated".


Lost in the endless pleasures of being a steadily growing mound of living blubber you lost track of what day, month or even year it was. Didn't matter, anything besides getting fatter was overrated you came to realize. The hundreds of square feet you'd come to smother in deep folds of fat were a constant turn on. So immense, so hopelessly, irrepressibly fucking OBESE at 9,439 pounds. A year after moving in you were a four and a half ton blob, the mass of your belly piled almost six feet high and surging outwards in every direction with an ass to match. No matter the position your head was buried under half ton mantits wrapped around to your king bed sized fat back. At the center of it you were constantly eating, orgasming, and growing larger without end. "Doing anything else is overrated".