Chatting With Masterfeeder - Part 4

Chapter 1 - The Train

Five months had passed since Becky sent that first message to Alex, a guy who only existed through a screen and who had promised they’d meet and fuck once she got fat enough to suit his tastes. That was the trick he’d used on her, because he knew it would work, and look what it had done. It had turned her into the Becky who was now heading straight to him like a goddamn lunatic. A lunatic he’d created himself, by obsessing her with his online jock persona, the ripped gym-rat pics he fed her and dozens of other girls. He’d fattened up scores of them, each in her own special way.

In that time, my stepsister had morphed into someone unrecognizable: a sloppy 300-plus-pound hog, her mind warped and eaten away, one stuffed bite at a time, all for MasterFeeder. She was losing herself completely. Me, Tomas, her lovesick stepbrother, I thought I had her under control, that I’d become her feeder, her dom, when really I was just a delusion MasterFeeder had stitched onto me. I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to feel powerful. But I was watching my Becky, the stepsister I was helping blow up for MasterFeeder’s amusement, slip away from me and board a bus to him. Alex (aka MasterFeeder), on the other side of Ohio, was starting to worry his favorite little PIGGY was spiraling out of control, gaining too fast, too crazed, more obsessed than any girl before her. He’d told me to keep an eye on her, and now, the very next day, here she was, ditching the school bus. None of us three could have guessed what would happen that morning, when Becky decided she was done waiting for Alex to make a move and took matters into her own hands.

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It wasn’t the school bus Becky got on that day. I saw it from the kitchen window while pretending to sip coffee: instead of climbing onto the rusty yellow cheese that took us to Cornfield Hollow High, she waddled toward the downtown stop for the Greyhound used, the one that left from the middle of Cornfield Hollow, Iowa, a forgotten shithole surrounded by cornfields and rusted silos. My heart stopped. I knew what it meant. I knew where that idiot was going.

I dropped the mug in the sink and bolted outside, no backpack, no excuse, no plan. I barely made the school bus, jumping on at the last second, but my brain was already somewhere else. I had to follow her, but not on the same bus; she’d spot me instantly. I had to get off downtown near the train station and pray that’s where she was headed. But how the hell was I supposed to ditch the school bus without a real reason?

Panic clawed at my throat. The bus was packed with kids staring at me because I’d sprinted on sweaty, wild-eyed, no bag. The driver, a grumpy old bastard named Hank, glared at me in the mirror. The whole ride was torture. Every mile brought me closer to town, but I still had no plan. “I gotta get off, I gotta get off,” I kept repeating, sweat rolling down my back. When I spotted the train station sign in the distance, panic detonated. I shot up and yelled the dumbest, most humiliating thing I could think of: “STOP! I GOTTA SHIT! EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA! RIGHT NOW!”

The bus slammed on the brakes. Everyone cracked up; someone yelled, “Nasty! This loser’s got the runs!” Hank looked at me like I was garbage. “Get off, asshole, before you ruin my bus.” The doors hissed open and he shoved me out. I landed hard on my ass on the sidewalk, right beside the station. Kids filmed me with their phones, dying laughing as the bus pulled away. I didn’t care. Becky was fifty yards ahead, lumbering into the station. I’d made it.

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Becky moved slow, her massive body swaying like a ship in a storm. It felt surreal seeing her navigate the real world under all that weight she’d packed on for MasterFeeder. She was morbidly obese now, and it had happened in just a few months. She was utterly obsessed, and I’d helped her do it, puppeted by MasterFeeder the whole time. I never actually wanted her this fat; I’d loved her long before, but she never gave me the time of day. Stuffing her was the only way she’d even notice me. Except she never gave herself to me for me; she just used me as Alex’s stand-in while letting me think I was special. Alex had been playing us both, and he was the only one having fun. The black leggings, the only pair that still (barely) fit, stretched obscenely over her thunder thighs. Her oversized T-shirt barely reached mid-belly, leaving a pale, stretch-marked roll of dough spilling out like over-proofed bread. She’d gained so fast it almost looked comical, that this was Becky, my once-hot stepsister who treated me like dirt, now just another destroyed American fatty with a self-destructive fetish, all for one moment, getting railed by MasterFeeder. Every step was a struggle now, breathing heavy and wet, sweat pooling in her folds. But in her head there was no shame. Only him. Alex. Her Master. Her fucking god.

She’d pinpointed his exact location from that photo of the “Hall of Sharks Iron Gym” water bottle he’d sent weeks ago. The bottle was visible in the background while some shark-bodied gym bro flexed. That was enough for her. She zoomed in, read the gym name, Googled it. Two-hour train ride. Lancaster, Ohio. Fairfield County. That’s where he lived, and she couldn’t wait another day. She was willing to haul that whale ass out of her comfort zone and waddle across the state for him. It made me feel like a puppet. Why was I following her? To see if she really was going to him? Was I doing this for him? To warn him? Was I his slave now? No, I just needed to know if my stepsister, manipulated by Alex even worse than me (because she’d actually stepped on the scale and let it fill with blubber for him), could bear it if he rejected her now. It pissed me off so bad I punched a wall and bloodied my knuckles just thinking about it. But I kept following.

She waddled into Cornfield Hollow station, her gut sticking out a full foot in front of her, ticket already bought on her phone. One-way to Lancaster. No return needed. She wasn’t coming back without him. She lowered herself onto a platform bench on track 2; the metal groaned under her disgusting obese weight. She opened her bag: a dozen glazed donuts, a two-liter Coke, three king-size candy bars. “For the ride,” she muttered, cramming a donut into her mouth, glaze dripping down her chin while she waited. Every bite was for him. Every new pound was for him. Soon she’d be his, and he wouldn’t be able to ignore her anymore. In her mind he wanted to fuck a total fatty, that’s what he’d led her to believe, and she’d played the role of piggy so well she’d fully become one. She was already one of the three fattest girls at school, but at this rate she’d blow past Debby “the belly” and become the outright fattest senior. Three hundred pounds at eighteen wasn’t exactly rare in America, but still. And the worst part? Watching her shovel junk into her greedy mouth turned me on like crazy, and I couldn’t tell anymore if that was really me or if MasterFeeder had brainwashed me into finding it hot. I couldn’t figure out my own head, or hers. We were too young and too stupid to understand what was happening to us.

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I slipped into the station five minutes later, heart pounding out of my chest. I spotted her from afar on track 2, her enormous silhouette taking up two seats, belly demolishing donuts like they were nothing. I couldn’t get close; if she saw me it was over. I bought a ticket from the machine, hands shaking as I punched in “Lancaster, Ohio” for no reason I could name. Same train. I boarded the car behind hers, hid behind some abandoned newspaper, pulse hammering.

The train pulled out, and for two hours I was a ghost. At every stop I’d stand, pretend to head to the bathroom, and peek into her car. There she was, eating non-stop, her gut visibly bloating under my eyes, donut bag emptying, Coke swelling her belly until she let out little piggy moans. I fantasized the whole time about her dropping him and wanting me instead. But she wasn’t mine. She was his. Alex’s. MasterFeeder’s. And the more I watched, the more I realized I didn’t know her anymore. She was a stranger, some obsessed fucking sow speeding toward her ruin, and I was trailing behind like a whipped dog, unable to stop her, unable to stop myself. Just a bystander in her mission to make herself perfect for Alex.

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Becky, alone in her car, was lost in a fever dream. Every mile brought her closer to him. Alex. Her Master. Her love. She pictured herself at his door, her massive body filling the frame, him staring in shock then raw lust. “I’m here for you, Master,” she’d say, dropping to her knees, belly pooling on the floor. “I’m your perfect PIGGY. Fuck me. Own me.” Every thought sent heat between her legs, every bite an offering. She didn’t care that in months she’d gone from school goddess to blob monster. She didn’t care about the stares, the laughs, the prison of lard that slowed her body and her brain. She only wanted him. And soon she’d have him. She wanted to be his girlfriend, maybe someday his wife, his partner; God knows what else was swirling in that stuffed head.

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The train slowed. Sign read “Lancaster, Ohio.” Becky hauled herself up, whole body quivering from the effort, gut leading the way. I followed at a distance, heart jackhammering. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but one thing was crystal clear: MasterFeeder’s game had slipped the leash. And Becky and I were sprinting straight into the abyss.