Chapter 1

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, bloating, bathroom control, extreme public humiliation/degradation/teasing/fat shaming, slut shaming, AMAB reader. Tread carefully, teasing gets mean.

Grinning as you struggle on the bed, Jace and Meg stare at you in awe.

“Holy shit, we really fattened him up, huh?”

They watch as their fat hog wobbles around, stuck on your back, pinned by your own hedonistic indulgence… however forced. You roll and sway from side to side, akin to a turtle on its back.

“Look at our fat whore.” Jace’s tone turns saccharine, filled with twisted want, expression morphing into a delighted snear. “Must be pretty embarrassing, huh? Being so big… so fat and vulnerable.” He slips away from the Meg, circling you like a sleek predator about to slaughter its prey.

“Your skinny little body… gone and replaced with this fat, blubbery mass.”

Your gurgling gut fills the silence.

“You fat bitch.”

Jace smacks your stomach roughly, gripping the plump flesh painfully tight, his bones creaking at the pressure. You whimper, your belly whining at the treatment. The two laugh at your plight, watching their fattened blimp wobble around comedically.

It is Meg who smacks and grabs your gut this time; repeating the motion again and again, just to see you cry, just to humiliate you. Her hands sink into the doughy flesh and every movement sends a rippling jiggle through your body.

“This is what you deserve. I bet you regret ever being such a bitch.”

Meg growls, “I want you,” she points to a bench with clothes tucked on it, “to put those clothes on.” She giggles afterward, watching as you roll to your feet and stand slowly, waddling and swaying clumsily to the bench. The room shakes with every step, blubber quivering unattractively. The two laugh, smacking your gut and taunting you as you pass by.

You slowly pull the pants and shirt on. They’re a struggle, you grunt and groan as the too small clothes struggle to pass your massive muffin top, caught on the plump love handles.

As you struggle, Meg cackles, “Those are about… three sizes too small.” She pretends to clean under her manicured nails and grins, “just to show just how much of a hog you’ve become.”

“Of how much we’ve ruined you.”

You whimper then, “I can’t button them.” You’ve managed to get it over your belly, but it refuses to button, unable to pass over the mass of fat between the two jean flaps. Your stomach rumbles in protest and pressure. You then struggle to pull the shirt over your moobs and gut.

“I’m too fat!”

Meg laughs, watching you jiggle around ridiculously. Jace sneers. After all you’ve done, you can’t even get your fucking pants on? With a look to Meg, he nods.

Meg speaks forcefully. “Make. Them. Fit.”

You force the pants to button and zip, yelping at the pain, Meg grinning all the while.

“Is something wrong?” She says innocently, your shirt is roughly tugged down, forced near your waistband. And finally, she tugs the belt shut, pulled as tight as it can go. You shriek, hands flying to your giant belly. It sloshes and churns painfully, causing you to cry. You look like a round blimp, fat body encased in overly tight clothes and belly framed like a gluttonous masterpiece.

You look hilarious, honestly. Forced in too tight clothes, your body constantly jiggles from how it drowns beneath pounds upon pounds of pure fat. You’re as unattractive as they come now, almost akin to some bloated toad or overweight caricature of a human to display the dangers of morbid obesity. They’ve destroyed your body like you destroyed their lives.

Revenge is sweet.

Jace echoes the sentiment with a smarmy grin, the two cackle, watching as you rub at your rumbling belly. Meg smiles. “Now, let’s show the world just what a fatty you’ve become.”

Jace groans, giving Meg an appraising look before yanking you forward. You waddle behind Jace and Meg.

“We’ve conditioned you so much, you’ve become such a ***.” Meg sighs as she reminisces, “And so much of it is just... you breaking and submitting to us.” They watch you in disgust as she continues, “you finally realised just who you belong to, what you’re good for.” She smirks into her hand, giggling at what you have become.

Their fat whore.

“And don’t forget he’s plugged up tight! He hasn’t gone in a while.” Jace hums, “He’s bloated as can be!” Your bowels groan painfully at the reminder. Your underbelly is greatly distended, filled with digested food and gas bubbles, swollen and aching.

With a sigh and gesture, Meg asks, “you ready for your debut, ***?”

You whimper.

You all walk down the street for a while, and you note that it's the longest you’ve walked in a very long time. It's no surprise then, that you’re starting to break a sweat.

Pedestrians are looking at you in disgust, laughing at the whale waddling his way down the street. Camera flashes go off and disparaging comments chase your roll-filled back.

“Try going on a diet!”

“Hey, Butterball!”

“Can he even see through all that fat?”

Most of the fat has piled onto your belly area. You’re almost all muffin top, waist and belly a thick, blubbery mess. A great mass of lard. But the rest of your body morphed into a ball of butter as well.

You used to be skinny. You used to be thin and beautiful, all graceful limbs and protruding bones. But now, with your constantly ballooning weight and waistline, you are anything but. You look nothing like the svelte, gorgeous man you used to be.

Your body has widened and fattened up, graceful dips and curves swallowed, buried under pure blubber. You have slowly inflated with fat, blimping up into a grotesque representation of gluttony and obesity.

You are now reminiscent of a comedic caricature one commissions at a fair or sees in funhouse mirrors. All bloated and fat in all the wrong places, wobbling with lard and inflated like a blimp. You’re a gross hog unable to control its gluttony, responding only to the name “pig”.

Previously concave cheeks are filled with ugly, sagging jowls, so thick with fat your eyes are squinted and lips permanently pursed. The spherical, unattractive jowls rest on a multitude of wobbling chins, replacing a previously chiselled jawline. They line your neck like fat tires, flabby and suffocating.

Those four (or is it five, now?) chins rest amongst sagging breasts, plump with fat and round where they grow. Your sides are adorned with flabby bingo-wings and sausage fingers; so swollen with adipose they can barely form a fist. Your arms stay raised useless and flailing at your sides either way, sticking out hilariously due to the endless rolls of fat on your sides. They can’t even reach all the way around or behind anymore.

A burgeoning gut takes up most of the space on your body. It rests upon thick thighs that rub together and is even bigger than your fat ass that jiggles with every step. Your belly wobbles and sloshes with every breath, bloated and filled with pure blubber. It sticks out a good metre from your body, soft and squishy and loudly gurgling. It bursts through buttons and the way it protrudes and bounces causes pointing and laughter wherever you go. Your fat gut is always full and always being smacked and mocked; a true indication of your disgusting, rampant gluttony.

Your gut usually sits heavily in your lap, gooey fat moulding to his thick thighs. But as you walk, it now smacks and bounces. You’re waddling more than walking, and stomping more than stepping. You toddle side to side, body swaying as your whole body bounces and ripples. Your weight causes a huge stomp with each step, ground shaking and your butterball of a gut rumbling. It jiggles and shakes with every gurgle, sending ripples and waves of movement through sagging rolls and folds.

Just as you’re starting to wonder how much further you have to go, you turn onto a street filled with restaurants and stores. Meg leads everyone into an all you can eat buffet and your mouth starts to water.

Meg reminds, “he hasn’t eaten all day… so this should be good.” With a dark grin, she utters, “I want you to gorge yourself to your absolute limit… and like it.”

Thus, the group settles down at a small table near the buffet and Jace waves a hand towards the food in invitation. His voice fills the silence, “make us proud, Fatty.”

It's all you need to jump up and grab a plate. You’re spoilt for choice and aren't really sure what to get first. You want to try everything, so first you just pick one thing from each of the starters. You head back to his table and your feeders take turns to get their own meal. They’ve seated themselves at the table beside you. Who would want to be seen with a gross hog like you?

You make your way through chicken, burgers, deep fried chips, and spring rolls before anyone has finished their first plate. You return to the buffet and pick up a few burgers before moving to the main dishes. You pile alfredo pasta, sweet and sour pork, club sandwiches, and fried rice onto your plates before returning to the table.

Jace looks up from his servings in surprise. “He’s eating more than me! I can never get used to that!”

Meg barks a laugh, “of course he is. Don’t forget, you’re not some ***ing glutton like him.”

You whimper before turning back to your food, feeling yourself start to fill up. Your pants are tightening, accentuating your blubbery muffin top and bulging love handles. Your pants creak in warning as your belly rumbles. You ignore it, there's more food you need to try and you’re not going to leave until you do. By the time the plate is done, your jeans feel even tighter and you struggle to stand. You look ridiculous, shirt slowly riding up and engorged gut swelling out of your clothes. People are staring, murmuring in horror at the huge binge taking place.

“Is it even possible to eat that much?”

“The poster boy for morbid obesity, right there.”

“God, he really can’t control himself, huh?”

Nonetheless, you waddle to the buffet. You pick out more dishes, filling your plates to the brim. When you make it back to the table, you belch shamelessly and start eating again.

More people are noticing, some sneakily throwing food scraps at you and others just dropping off their plates in front of you... which you eat uncontrollably, hedonistic moans falling from your red lips. Disgusting belches fall from your lips and bubbles form in your gut from the trapped gas.

“Hey, ***, mind finishing this off for me?” A bowl piled with spaghetti and garlic bread.

“Ever heard of a diet or self control?” A deep dish of greasy refried beans and a glass of milk.

“Just dropping my leftovers at the garbage disposal.” Two bowls of thick, creamy mushroom soup and a pitcher of Coke.

“I know you’re not supposed to feed the animals, but you’re clearly starving and in need.” A bowl of yoghurt, a plate of cookies, and two cups of coffee.

You slow down a little as you start on your deep fried ice cream. The cream is heavy and all the food is starting to catch up with you. You push yourself to finish the plate but your gurgling gut looks huge in front of you and you know you’re not going to be able to stand up to get another. Your belt is straining to hold back the mass of gluttonous fat that is your gut. The button is on its last threads, too. Your sagging fat is overflowing. You look like a blown up blimp, a fat, beached whale. So full and fat, pinned under the weight of your own, humiliating gluttony.

A patron drops off two whole pizzas and a gallon of coke when you’re not looking. You indulge in the deliciously calorie-laden food.

“How are you holding up, Pig?” Meg asks you.

“Full.” Your gut seems to agree, as it whines and burbles loudly, struggling to digest the fatty foods you’re gorging on.

“Too full for more?” Meg asks.

“Too full to get up for more... I’m sorry.” You let out a rumbling belch like the ugly slob you are. You feel like an inflated balloon, swollen to bursting. You look like one too, holding your inflating gut and pinned on your back like an overblown tick.

Meg groans, “you’re disgusting.” She stands up and walks to the buffet, Jace following suit. They return a few moments later with plates of everything you haven't tried yet: an entire blueberry pie, a large, greasy steak, deep fried donuts, cakes, deep fried turkey, and fries drowning in oil and cheese. A good gallon of sugary juice is held in Jace’s grasp.

Your stomach aches just looking at it all, but you make yourself pick up the fork. The two return to nibbling at their food and watching your every move. The food is good, but you struggle to swallow every bite. Each swallow prompts an ominous whine and groan from your grossly distended gut. Your fat belly is bulging over the waistband, right where it cuts in deeply. It looks ridiculous as you swell and expand with every bite and gulp, wobbling and gurgling noticeably.

The waiter gives you a concerned look when he comes to refill your soda jug, watching as you chug a gallon bottle of milk. The man’s eyes linger on your overstuffed belly, inflating like a balloon. He can clearly hear it gurgling ominously, loud squelches rumbling from its blubbery mass. Your shirt is stretched tight over it and riding up, forcing your giant muffin top to be on display. The waiter is eying the button and belt, stretched thin over your fattened gut. You’re bloated beyond belief, a round glutton too fat and full to move. Gorging yourself until your clothes are about to burst with fat.

Your face flushes in embarrassment as he walks away, shifting as your thick love handles push into the chair. Still, you keep eating until your plate is clear. Meg smiles at you when you put your fork and cup down. You feel glued to your seat, like you couldn't get up if you tried. You don't know how you’re going to walk back home. Your public binge is definitely taking a toll on you. Your gooey soft, swollen belly is on top of the table, forcing you to move the chair back.

But soon, the waiters join in on the games, dropping off scraps and ingredients; sometimes even spoiled food.

“Do you think you could finish this week-old sushi for us?

“We ordered too much olive oil, can you drink these jugs so it doesn’t go to waste?”

“This milk expired a while ago, mind chugging these couple gallons?”

“We ordered the wrong brand of butter, could you finish these tubs and clean up?”

You look to your feeders with pain in your eyes, pleading with them to give you this small mercy. But Meg simply smiles.

“Eat it all and do not throw up.”

And so you eat and chug it all, whining and sobbing as you gorge on the gross food, stomach churning queasily at what it is being fed. You feel your gut and intestines bloat with indigestion and gas, begging for a release it isn’t being granted. It roars and cramps and stings; bringing you to tears. It’s grossly swollen and full of rotten gas, drink, and food. The farts you let out barely release anything and your belches are monstrous. The gas bubbles expand and fill and churn until you’re blown-up like an overfull, fat balloon. You’ve never been in so much agony. It cramps and whines with pressure, desperate for relief Meg made sure will never come.

Your overpacked stomach begins turning red, skin pulled too taut and filled with too much. It grows and grows, the spoiled and raw food and drink causing it to bubble grossly, almost like a kettle. The establishment seems to rumble with the force of it, your gut’s grotesque, wet gurgling echoing off the walls as you eat and gorge like the gross hog you are. The patrons can only look on in disgust.

By the end of it, you are clutching your roiling belly where it sticks out grotesquely, face red with pain, humiliation, and nausea. Your fat, overburdened gut is as vocal as ever, trying in vain to expel or digest its terrible contents.

You are big and fat and gassy and so disgustingly obese and gluttonous that you can’t help but feel ashamed. You used to be the definition of perfection. Maybe a total bitch but, beautiful at least. Now...

Now you’re nothing more than a slobby, unnattractive, morbidly obese blob.

Soon, Jace finishes the small bit of food on his plate and makes to stand up. “Just one more thing,” Jace says deviously. He gets up, confidently walking back to the buffet with Meg, disappearing into the crowd. You remain pinned under your fat gut, the patrons watching in disgust. You moan softly at a sharp cramp and particularly loud gurgle. You massage it deftly, attempting to calm it down. It is loud enough to be heard, and definitely big enough to be seen.

How humiliating, gorging yourself like this, making such a pig of yourself where everyone can see. You burp softly, trying to make room, attempting to pull the waistband away from your swollen belly. But it’s as tight as can be. Patrons are giggling, phones recording and insults chiming. You pretend to ignore them, looking down as best you can with your multitude of chins and sagging jowls in the way.

You sigh when Jace and Meg return. They’re holding a pitcher of milk, that seems to hold a gallon, and a whole cheesecake. It’s huge, deep fried and topped with decadent frosting, fried ice cream, cookies, and chocolates. Jace grins, “they just brought this out, and this jug… They left out some heavy cream that was supposed to be added to the chocolate fountain.”

You moan pitifully, your gut agreeing. This is almost too much. They smile, “dig in, ***.”

You start by cutting a slice of cheesecake and pouring a glass of heavy cream, barely a dent in either portion. With a deep breath and muffled belch, you dig in. Your bites are small, trying to allow yourself time to digest. But with the two’s expectant eyes on you, you hurry it up.

The pattern continues for a bit, until you’re a quarter in. It’s then that Meg just takes the glass and little plate away. She rolls her eyes at your indignant squawk. “Come on, just eat like you normally do, Piggy. You’re not fooling anyone.” You startle, looking around and seeing the waiter watching in pure disgust. Others are watching too, whispering, pointing and laughing, still filming on their phones. You suddenly feel immensely ashamed… But surprisingly aroused. Something conditioned into you, maybe. But perhaps, you just like it. Like being a disgusting pig.

With a whining gurgle, your gut seems to dread what is to come. Dairy always did cause you indigestion and bloating, but dear God did you love it. The waiters’ “food” from before is already doing a number on you, a little more couldn’t hurt. Groaning gutterally, you clutch your throbbing, ballooning belly, expanding with fat and roiling grossly. You feel inflated, sick, and humiliated… and patrons can’t get enough.

“Bro, he’s gonna blow!”

“See, that’s what you don’t want to become. No one likes a slob.”

“He looks like a parade float, oh, my God!”

With a groan, you take a giant swig from the jug, and dig into the cake directly. You get another quarter in before your stomach starts to ache even more, pants restricting and belly gurgling. You’re stuffed full, bursting, but you have to do this, have to please Jace and Meg.

And so you continue, forcing yourself to eat despite every sharp cramp, every stare, and every warning roar your gut gives. It’s when you’re on your last bite that it happens. You shove a giant mouthful of cake in, and with one mighty swallow, you’re done and-

Rip. Tear. Pop. Zip. Gurgle.

Your stomach groans in appreciation as it is finally freed. Your shirt rips near the front, your creaking belt rips off, the straining button pops off, and the weakened zipper breaks. Your engorged belly surges forward, breaking through all your clothes as it wobbles and sloshes unattractively onto your lap.