Chapter 1 - 4

4.

Boxes of food arrive daily, your subjugation grows. The house is warm and smells wonderful. Your mistress dresses you in a special thong of her design: Instead of a triangle in front and a string running up the back, it has two strings of pearls running back to front. The pearls lay in neat, shiny rows on either side of your labia and squeeze gently when ever you lean forward to eat. Placing a light, luxurious sensation on your lips and clit. Mmmmm. The fuller your belly, the more arousing the pressure. Every mouthful brings its own wave of pleasure, of desire. You lose track of time and pass the days like an obese sow being fattened for market.

Melia arranges more time off from work and you're feeding times run together in an orgy of continuous eating. She places a collar around your neck and leashes you to the table whenever she's planning a large feeding. As she cooks and prepares, you wait anxiously, whimpering and begging to be fed. Each time she passes near, she kisses your neck, teases your nipples and gropes your fat. Each affection ends with a bite of this, a mouthful of that. And in this way you are fattened like a pig. This continues for weeks.

One morning you wake to find black cotton stretch pants and a pink t-shirt at the foot of your bed. Your favorite sandals are on the floor nearby. Melia is sitting in the chair by your bed watching you.

"Hi Fatso, did you sleep well? You certainly went to bed full."

"Mmmmhmmm," you mumble, sleepily fondling your still-full belly.

"Today is your appointment with Denise, get that wideload out of bed and get ready."

Your stomach tightens with excitement and you struggle out of bed. You shower and get ready. As you begin to dress in the outfit Melia has picked for you, she smiles,

"You're going to need help. You've gotten hoggishly fat since you last wore those pants."

You hold the pants up and see that they are the very same you wore to your last appointment. Good god, you think, my ass and thighs have gotten huge since I wore these. Melia helps steady you as you struggle to get them on. The fabric stretches and creaks and a few stitches pop as you squeeze your fattened, overfed body in. Just below your belly and love handles, the pants refuse to budge. Your waistline balloons embarassingly. The tight pants press your fat-stuffed waistline into an obscene, cartoonish muffintop. It quivers and bounces and wobbles distractingly as you reach for the pink shirt. Melia giggles devilishly.

You hold up the shirt and groan. On the front, in large glitter-gold letters, are the words "I did it!" with the Jenny Craig logo stamped below. Melia laughs loudly. On the back of the shirt, in the same lettering, "1-800-94-Jenny" is written.

"I got you a medium, I sure hope it's big enough," Melia gasps out between belly laughs.

You work yourself into the tight shirt. After much huffing and puffing, and plenty of teasing and fat pinching, you and Melia succeed in getting the shirt down as far as the bottom of your ribs. It will go no further. Your upper arms look like small pink hams packed tight in their packages. Your muffintop bulges even more grotesquely. Melia gives you one last long kiss, lovingly fondles your excess fat and sends you on your way.