Chapter 1 - daddy knows best

"You're looking so big and ‘strong’ these days!" You coo as you shovel another heaping spoonful of ice cream into my open, waiting mouth. My cheeks bulge, and my stomach is so distended that it engulfs my knees. I know I’m getting fatter by the day.

Nothing about me is strong. I’m weak, especially with the torture my body has been through under your wing, making me into a morbidly obese blob. The tissue surrounding my heart and lungs ache as I feel sweat drip down my face. My arm gets numb, and I’m sure I’m red in the face.

"H-help, daddy! I- I think I'm h-having a h-h-heart attack-k!" I manage to gurgle through my sticky, sweet treat and fat accumulated around my neck, effectively shutting down most of my airway. I clutch my chest to emphasize the extreme pain I feel in my chest cavity.

"What did I tell you? I said that if you didn't lose weight, you would have a heart attack," you say with a sadistic smirk. "And now look at you, you're so fat you are immobile!" You say it so matter of fact as if I’ve had a choice in getting so big.

“H-help me. P-please, call for an ahhhhh!”

You know what I’m going to say. About 300 pounds ago, you had a doctor check out how bad my situation got under your care just because my deteriorating health turned you on. You remember the doctor tried to share you for being an enabler. He told you, “for starters, you need to stop feeding him so much. He needs to eat smaller meals more often and start exercising. This is dire.”

You look at me in that evil way that signals that I’m fucked. I either survive this, or I don’t, but you’re not going to seek medical attention. “A stupid doctor will try to take away your grub. No one is going to take anything away from you. Eat up, baby boy.”

I feel my eyes fill with tears, but now I’m too exhausted and hurt too much to lift my arms to wipe them away. I am trapped in my own body, slowly being suffocated by my own fat while my heart tries to give out. And you are enjoying every minute of it.

“P-please, sir,” I beg.

“Not a chance. Besides, you’re too big for help now anyway. They’d never get you out of here. You won’t fit in any of the machines. This will pass, or you will fade long before a rescue team cuts down this wall and puts you on a flatbed truck with a crane.”

My eyes are wide with terror, but I’m too weak to resist as you shove bite after bite in my mouth. I’m forced to swallow. Now my whole body feels like it’s shutting down. “I-I can't breathe,” I manage to choke out.

“You're 1200lbs. Of course, you can't breathe. But that's not the point. The point is that you're mine, and I can do whatever I want to you.”

You finally cave as I make the most pitiful whimpers and sharp breaths. I’m sure I will die at your hands because of what you’ve done to me. “Just a few more bites, and then you can lay down and rest, but that’s all, okay? There you go, good boy. Just a little more.”

You shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “I can't. I'm full,” I try to protest.

“Come on, son—just a few more bites for daddy. Don't be disobedient. Now eat.“ I do what I’m told in case you actually mean that you’ll let me rest. Spoiler alert: you will lie and the food will just keep coming.