Dumb Like a Plant

Chapter 1 - My new segretary

-Writer's Note: This story is unfiltered and crude and may be offensive to many. My intention isn't to denigrate anyone, but to tell the events of this tale from the point of view of a spoiled, rich bastard, and in that, I don't think I've strayed too far from reality when it comes to the kind of character he represents.Obviously for the sake of narration it is likely to be exaggerated. With that said, enjoy the read; I know this kind of content can be compelling for fans of the genres:
#Feederism, #ForcedFeeding, #WeightGain, #Feedee, #FatAdmiration, #Humiliation, #Bimbofication, #Degradation, #Objectification, #Sadism, #PowerImbalance, #FinancialDomination, #WorkplaceDomination, #ImmobilityFantasy, #BBW, #SSBBW, #AssExpansion, #BellyStuffing, #CorruptionKink, #NonConsensualFeeding, #MindBreak, #SlaveTraining, #PetPlay (cow/sow vibe), #BodyModification, #DarkFeederism, #ExtremeWeightGain, #ChainedFeedee, #HumanFurniture, #OrnamentalFat
-

It was October 23, 2025, 7:49 p.m. CEST, and my office on the twentieth floor of my father's tower reeked of money and power, a stench that turned me on almost as much as the massive ass of my idiot secretary. My name is Paul, the boss's son, a spoiled prick who'd never lifted a finger in his life, and sitting in front of me was my favorite pastime: Martina, a subject I molded however I pleased. She wasn't a person to me. She was an expensive doll I loved to play with, and every day I savored her decline, which I encouraged to the fullest extent possible. In every way imaginable.

I'd picked her myself from all the candidates my father sent over. Not the sharpest one, obviously, that bitch had been gorgeous once, with those black waves cascading down her back like a curtain and a brain that couldn't even figure out how to turn on the MacBook I'd slammed in front of her. My father thought a secretary would get me to actually work. I, on the other hand, wanted her for a much dirtier reason: an office ornament, a piece of meat to admire from behind, just like the plants decorating my desk that she matched in usefulness. That MacBook? Always off, a useless fucking paperweight, and she didn't even notice. Her only "job" was forwarding calls, a task that meant jack shit since no one dared bother me.

From the back, Martina had become a glorious mess that got me off every day. After a year in my clutches, her body was a disgusting pile of fat that turned me on constantly. Perched on that uncomfortable, pointless yellow chair I'd forced her to use, her ass spilling over the sides like a mountain of soft flesh, it was a treat to watch. From her navel downward, it was all blubber: wide hips overflowing her black pants, now stretched to the breaking point, and that enormous backside, a slab of flabby meat pressing against the backrest like it wanted to burst through. Every now and then she'd shift, when I told her to grab a donut, and her fat jiggled, that classic fat-slut wobble that made me want to push her gaining even further.

It had all started as a game because I wanted to fatten up that pretty ass of hers; I loved watching it grow. I'd positioned her facing a blank white wall so she'd have her back to me, letting me stare without her fully clocking it, even if deep down she knew she was just decor. In the morning I'd bring her a donut, shoving it into her hand with a smirk. *Eat it, you little slut, don't you dare say no,* I thought, and she, with that fat paycheck I gave her for doing absolutely nothing, would take it with trembling hands and stuff her face. At first she was slim, perfect, but I had a clear plan: make her gain, make her dumber, for one simple reason. In this office, the loser wasn't going to be me, so my secretary had to create a massive gap between herself and the guy in charge. Now the donuts came in threes, fours, paired with shitty snacks and sugary sodas I left on her desk like bait. Beyond the donuts, I fed her only junk, cheap, industrial garbage, zero nutrition but loaded with calories. I watched her give in while she sat bored, eating, her body swelling, and it drove me wild. I knew she had a boyfriend and loved imagining what he thought of his girlfriend's transformation. Maybe he just figured secretaries really do pack on the pounds, but he was even more of a loser than her, and with the salary I paid, he probably wasn't pushing her to quit or shape up. It pissed me off, they were a broke-ass couple at heart. Slaves to money they couldn't handle, and I wondered when they'd just let me keep doing what I was doing.

That evening, I handed her another warm donut, the glaze dripping like sweet cum. She took it, her eyes saying *I can't take much more, this is the fifth today,* but then she bit in, letting out a pathetic little moan. "Thank you, Mr. Paul," she mumbled, and I grinned. I knew she didn't want me bringing her more food, but she couldn't make me stop. Sometimes I'd catch her regretting it, eyes glassy as she glanced down at that huge ass in the office mirror. But she didn't care enough to fight back. The money kept her chained there, the boredom made her lazy, and I'd shove more sweets into her hands to trap her deeper. She was stupid, needy, and I wanted her to stay that way. No career, no growth, just an office cow to fatten up until she burst, all so I could get hard.

The company basically ran itself, my father had built it too well for any real headaches, so I could sit in my office and jerk around however I wanted. Managers handled everything at different levels; all I had to do was make sure they maximized profits and didn't make dumb calls. In short, I had all the time in the world to be bored. Staring down from the skyscraper at the swarm of worker ants clogging the streets got old fast. Shuffling family foundation money from one tax haven to another got old too. I craved adrenaline, but just like my secretary, I was trapped in my role and in this same damn office.

My plan for her was simple and cruel: keep her parked in that chair for hours doing nothing, fatten her up like livestock, let that ass balloon until she either quit or had a mental breakdown. I didn't give a fuck what happened next. If she left, fine, I'd find another. If she stayed, even better, I'd keep her forever, an ornament-secretary with a plant-level brain and a sow's body. I nudged her along slowly, no rush, savoring every pound that weighed down her hips.

It was my game, and as long as I could keep playing with her, I'd never get tired of it.