Chapter 1

Trixie glowered down at the phone gripped in both of her pudgy hands, pouting.

‘Update?’ Read Justin's most recent message.

‘There is no update’, she typed, the message needing several corrective backspaces as her chubby finger attempted to navigate the screen.

She used to be a lightning-fast texter, constantly in contact with her friends and group chats, constantly posting on social media, but since Justin had porked her up into a tubby little blob bursting with fat on every little part of her body, her digital dexterity had decreased significantly.

‘Then send me a pic’, came Justin's immediate reply, and Trixie’s frown deepened.

‘I don’t wanna.’ she answered curtly, punctuating the message with a period to emphasize her less-than-sunny disposition.

‘Y are u being grumpy?’ came Justin's response, and Trixie set the phone down and sighed.

He knew full well why she was being so grumpy, and although he was to blame, it wasn't exactly his fault. Justin had been on a work trip for the last week and a half, the longest the two of them had been apart in years, and she missed him terribly. She wasn't expecting to feel this way, had no idea that the past few years of constant proximity would make her so averse to spending time on her own, but ever since Justin had left for the airport she’d had an attitude, one she couldn't shake despite the fact that Justin never would’ve chosen to leave her if it were up to him.

She’d been moping, sleeping, and most importantly, eating nonstop since he’d left, and trying not to think about her suddenly self-motivated gluttony, an appetite that was quickly beginning to surpass the limits of what Justin would force upon her, was only worsening the dark cloud coloring her emotional forecast.

She pushed another sprinkle-adorned mini cupcake into her mouth in a single bite, her double chin rippling with the effort of chewing the oversized mouthful, and immediately reached for another, her mouth too full to cram in the next treat but her frosting-covered hand poised and ready.

She’d been absolutely insatiable since he’d departed, and while she promised Justin she’d eat good for him while he was gone, she knew even he would be amazed to see what she’d done to herself over the last 11 days. Trixie was always at her heaviest weight, hadn't dropped a single ounce in the last four years while packing on over 140 pounds of plush, wobbling, protruding fat, but the last little stretch of weight gain felt different. She’d never felt this enormous, never looked down at her body with so much surprise and horror.

She’d woken up each morning for the past week and a half beached on the couch after the night’s final binge, burping the second she opened her eyes and often too full to move for at least an hour, instead choosing to snack lightly on the leftovers snacks she’d fallen asleep among until she felt she’d digested enough to struggle to her feet. Her gut pinned her down in a way it never had, and she’d been forced to make the grim realization that although Justin liked to help her get up, although it turned him on to feel how heavy she was despite his gym-honed strength, she’d actually begun to legitimately require the help. Heaving herself to her feet would be hard enough at her weight, but her impossibly rounded, swollen gut, still bulging forward and near perfectly spherical despite its fleshy heft, made pushing herself off the couch a monumental task.

She swore her gut was growing by the day, and if the deepening stretch marks itching their way up either side of her belly button were any evidence, it was. Her belly, never anything less than packed, was taking on the brunt of the new weight packing itself onto her frame, and she’d completely abandoned her shirts because of the way the hems of even her loosest tees dug into her gut so tightly that they left angry red lines encircling her mass directly above her deepened belly button, the shirts far too tight to be tugged down any further.

Her waddle had become even more exaggerated, her efforts to offset the massive weight in her perpetually bloated, beer gut shaped belly only serving to exhaust her and make her jiggle even more when she plodded to the kitchen for more snacks.

Kathy’s pregnancy accusations in the grocery store just a few weeks ago were ringing truer and truer, and Trixie found herself holding her back as she waddled just to try and keep her balance, her fatty gut bouncing up and down rhythmically with each heavy footfall. That was the thing that let her know just how much she’d put on, she couldn't even move an inch without her gut moving along with her, every step making the swollen orb undulate wildly.

She was typically so full that the top of her swollen ball gut was rock hard, and she’d gone from only being able to rest her hands on the crest of the swell when she was so full she felt she might pop to using the permanently rounded pile of fat on her middle as a table to rest the next meal she was gorging herself on. She wondered how she must look, her slobbish gluttony even more exaggerated than what Justin would typically force on her. She’d refused to admit that, refused to even consider it, and instead ate the multitude of feelings she was intent on stuffing down alongside another pizza.

When she’d examined herself in the mirror the afternoon before, finally completing the daily workout of pushing her roll-covered body into a standing position and waddling to her bedroom to shower, she’d paused in the mirror, wondering exactly how it was that the solidly obese pig in the mirror was really her. She no longer had any excuses, could no longer blame Justin for her excess, and what she’d done to herself, done to herself in such a short time, was as mind-boggling as it was terrifying.

She didn't recognize the chubby-cheeked, double-chinned blob with the quickly disappearing neck. She couldn't possibly have swollen, melon size breasts fighting to burst free from a too-tight sports bra, excess fat spilling from every side of the struggling undergarment and tits that, despite how heavily they now rested on her ever-growing gut, still pushed up to what felt like her chin, the dizzying amount of cleavage impressive even to her judgmental gaze.

It couldn't be her with the upper arms wider in circumference than most women's thighs, lumpy with fat and jiggling incessantly at the slightest movement. She couldn't have those pudge-bloated wrists that were beginning to crease whenever she used her hands, those tubby little fingers that had swollen up like overfilled sausages. It just didn't make sense.

She’d been thin, she’d been active, she told Justin that she would just gain a few pounds for him because he liked it so much. She couldn't have grown the gut that stuck out so far in front of her it entered a room before she did, bulged further than her tits and her ass and made it impossible for her to even attempt sucking in. Her hips couldn't possibly have grown wide enough to prevent her from fitting into her and Justin's broken sliding closet door, a door she swore he refused to fix because he liked to watch her pant with effort whenever she had to squeeze herself inside.

Her ass couldn't have possibly become this titanic, her newly slowed gait exaggerating its near scandalous movement whenever she shuffled about to fill her face once more. She couldn't possibly have gotten too big for all her sweatpants, leaving her to cram her impossibly large, impossibly round behind into pairs of panties that were ripping more and more each time she changed, ignoring the trademark pops of the underequipped seams as she fought to work the poor pieces of lace up her dimpled, rippling thighs that got thicker with each calorie-laden snack. She couldn't have gotten fat enough that she had cankles, that even her feet were unrecognizably pudgy. She just couldn't have. It couldn't be her.

Yet, when she raised an arm, the bloated, planetary pile of blubber in the mirror followed suit. When she smacked her gut, the steady wiggle and jiggle that she felt originate in her midsection and spread across the rest of her body like waves stared back at her. When she turned to inspect herself, the ballooning girl in the mirror also turned, and Trixie was having a more and more difficult time mentally disconnecting herself from her image.

How could she? She was growing ever more aware of the overfed cow she’d become and could feel it all the time. Feel the heaviness of the mass she’d piled on her body weighing her down, feel herself moving more and more slowly as if the fat bulging from every inch of her wasn't really a part of her body, as if she was trapped in an enormous fat suit and beholden to lug it around everywhere she went. Her time without Justin hadn’t slowed her gain, in fact it had only accelerated the plumping, but it had hastened her realizations. She was huge. Undeniably, irreversibly blimped into a wobbling, flabby pile of lard.

The stretch marks covering her belly weren’t the only iterations of the evidence of her rapid growth, and her love handles, now too fleshy to grip the entirety of in one hand, bore the same zig zags of red that were also spreading across the tops of her thighs, up her flabby biceps, and all over her ass. She was gaining faster than her body could accommodate for, and without Justin to rub her down in lotion every night, her skin was taking the brunt of the toll.

Without Justin, there were a lot of things that Trixie needed that were going unaccounted for. Things she wasn’t quite aware were such an integral, such a central part of her daily feasts. Justin wasn't able to feed her, wasn't even able to watch her eat on her own, without lust overtaking him in one way or another. Acting as a voyeur while she made a pig of herself every day, feeling the new, swelling rolls of fat squish pliably in his grip, all of it drove Justin to a feral madness, made him rip her clothes off and sink his teeth into her fatty flesh like he was an animal.

He got a wild, uncontrollable look in his eyes, he’d forget himself and get rough, aggressive, and demanding in his primal need for her. And Trixie loved every minute of it. She and Justin had always had a sort of dom/sub dynamic, even when she was thin, but the bigger she got, the less Justin seemed able to reign in that side of him. Lately, it was like his passion had grown into an inability to practice a modicum of patience, and he was now constantly stopping her in the middle of feasts to fill her mouth with something else, constantly rock hard when Trixie was doing little of note: sitting on the couch with a bag of chips, bending as best she could to grab another pint of ice cream off the bottom shelf of the freezer, even brushing her teeth was starting to drive him wild.

It was like she’d grown so fat, become so irresistibly and overwhelmingly desirable in his eyes, that her very existence was now sexual. The fact that she sat there, buried in piles of fat that were entirely Justin's doing, was enough of a seduction to leave him unable to think of anything else. Daily sex was the norm, whether it was Trixie's bulge-laden body wobbling uncontrollably while she rocked lazily atop her far fitter boyfriend as he did all the work, or, more often, sex in which Trixie was too beached to move, her moans and groans partially borne of the intense pleasure Justin always ensured and partially because each thrust jostled her overcrammed belly.

Every time Justin fed her he also got her off, and Trixie had taken it for granted for so long that she hadn't even considered that the worst part of discovering that she wanted to stuff herself every day even without Justin's influences was the carnal, aching need for him afterwards. Although she wasn't yet fat enough for real, more serious mobility impairments, the refusal of Trixie’s beach ball belly to finally succumb to gravity and begin to hang was presenting her with an intimate issue that Justin kept her too satisfied to even consider; she could barely reach past her gut.

Trying to stretch her arm over the spherical swell of it, especially when she was sitting down, had become such a task that she could hardly brush the fattest part of her belly with her fingertips, and that meant that her multiple attempts to take care of her own needs since Justin had absconded for his business trip had all been far less than successful.