Chapter 1

The dread creeps into your mind almost immediately after waking up - a subtle, quiet certainty that today will be awful. Perhaps your most difficult day so far. Your eyes fall on a set of clothes framed on the wall opposite your bed - a matching set of bra & panties, shorts, and a black tank top - as they silently mock you. It used to hurt to see them hanging there, a reminder of who you used to be, of what's been taken from you, but you've slowly become numb to the reality of whatever is left of your life. A cold voice from somewhere behind you cuts through the silence - "I had to wait for you to wake up today. You know what that means." You cringe, rage at being spoken to this way boiling up right alongside a sense of ashamed rightness - a sense that you deserve what you know is coming to you. You feel a familiar sense of self-hatred churn within the confusing landscape of your mind. You hate that you are coming to enjoy his... improvements. "Sit up, pig," a sharp command issued by that same cold, merciless voice. There is no resistance. Even when you still could pretend to be capable of escape, you knew you wouldn't get away. You steel yourself for the exertion ahead, and force yourself to confront the body you now inhabit. The lithe, athletic body that once fit into those shorts seems almost absurd compared to the mass of flesh you now inhabit. You grunt, pushing yourself onto one arm, your shoulder screaming as it is suddenly forced to bear the weight of your torso. Desperately, you reach up to grab one of the handles hanging from a reinforced steel frame that is built around your bed and pull with whatever strength is left in your wasted muscles. In your heart of hearts, you know how this will go. You barely got up last time, and it's been god knows how long since then. He didn't give you a window, and you certainly aren't allowed anywhere with a clock. Pain courses through your body as you desperately heave yourself into a sitting position, lungs burning & heart straining to pump soupy blood through arteries which are more plaque than space. "I think today will be one of my favorites, pig. Your performance so far has been absolutely pathetic." A tall man in dark clothing strides into your field of view, arms held behind his back and eyes boring into you with a cold, predatory intensity. "Perhaps this time I'll give you some help off the bed... it would be such a shame for you to exhaust yourself before I see you attempt the stairs." Your heart, already feeling like it will beat out of your chest, drops at his reminder of the stairs. The rules are clear to you - you must try to escape. He says he won't do anything to stop you, but he always reminds you that you'll fail. He's made sure of that. Even with his help, you have to push yourself to your limit to get into a seated position. Your chest heaves as you gasp for air, your entire body wobbling & threatening to throw you back onto the bed. Arms back, then forward, throwing yourself off the bed with every bit of strength you have left. You feel like you've just run a marathon, but the torture has barely begun. The 24 steps to the door stare at you, somehow both a trivial distance and a journey that will take you an agonizingly long time. Each step forward is a herculean effort - your belly like an apron of lead, pulling you off balance & making your pitiful thigh muscles scream with the effort of pushing it out of the way. Even so, no observer will notice your belly first when looking at you. Your thighs are like tree trunks, two quivering masses of flesh which force you to take wide, swinging steps as you waddle forward. Your ass - if it can even still be called that - is a shelf behind you, a shaking, wobbling bag of useless fat that seems to swallow your lower back entirely. A sharp and painful grinding in your left knee forces you back into the moment - no human body can function under the extreme duress you've been under. Months (maybe years?) of useless, empty calories, no exercise whatsoever, and whatever cocktail of drugs he spikes your shakes with have left you weakened and frail, even beyond what a fatty of your size would usually be. Each of the remaining steps is agony, the grinding in your knee only getting worse as you force yourself to keep walking. You take the final step to the door and fall into the support of the doorframe, desperate to take pressure off of your injury. A hand smacks your ass aggressively, nearly throwing you forward past the doorframe, as he walks past you. You stand at the bottom of a half flight of stairs, the final barrier between you and escape from this hell you've been stuck in for god knows how long. Somehow, through the haze of sedatives and submission, you feel a spark of hope flare deep within you. Could escape be possible? You step forward, the pain in your knee seeming to dull as you step into the first stair, somehow driving your knee high enough to place your swollen foot onto the next step. You desperately push on the wall, fighting for your life as you force your exhausted, ruined body up each step. All the while, the man stares at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Each step is agony, the time where your injured knee has to bear your weight seeming to stretch into infinity, but you reach the 2nd from last stair. You take a moment to catch your breath, gasping and wheezing as your lungs desperately push against the weight of your fattened tits, and the man claps slowly for you. "Do you remember what you looked like when I first brought you here? Imagine what she would think if she saw you now - a wheezing, pathetic pig who's fattened herself up too much to go up a half flight of stairs." You try to interject that you're almost there, but before you can speak he continues - "It's such a shame you did this to yourself. You really were beautiful when we first met." "Unfortunately, I've grown tired of you." He leisurely leans forward, placing a hand on your chest. He must be able to feel the beating of your heart as it strains, sending shooting pains down your arms and legs with each beat. Without warning, he shoves you - hard - and you fall helplessly backwards, your obese body pulling you down each hard fought stair. Time seems to slow as you fall, each moment stretching on and on as your mind tries to process what's happening. You hit the ground with a resounding thud and feel something in your back & leg crunch painfully. You try to scream but your body fails you - your heart seems to clench, a sudden pressure in your chest which amplifies the pain tenfold. You writhe - well, you try to writhe - as the man walks down the stairs, eyes full of arousal. He crouches over you, cock in hand as he watches you. "It really is a shame, he says, you probably could have made it out."