Chapter 1

I got out of the car and looked for house number 32 on the street. I managed to park almost 300 metres from the right entrance and the digital camera and lights weighed me down nicely. It was getting dark and after a full day of filming at work I was ready for bed. But every crown is good, so I gladly took this side job. I'm a photographer and cameraman. During the day I work for television or advertising agencies and in the evenings I earn extra with erotica. Yeah, I shoot porn too. I'm discreet, reliable and not expensive, so the girls pass my phone number around when they want to shoot something better than a selfie on their phone.

Jane was a bit nervous on the phone, but nice. I warned her that I only film the videos and have no interest in performing in them, that I want the money up front and that I only have two hours for her. "We'll manage," she chuckled without hinting at what we would be filming, and hung up.
I took the lift to the fourth floor and rang the doorbell marked with a Peppa Pig sticker.
The door opened and I saw for the first time the person I was supposed to film today. And my jaw literally dropped. I had expected another artificial model with a cocaine nose and plastic tits. Jane was dressed in a bathrobe that was obviously too small and gaped open at the front. Her breasts were big, but definitely not silicone. And beneath them, from the open bathrobe, rolls of fat on her belly peeked out. She was simply one of the fattest girls I had ever seen.

She smiled: "You must be Thomas, come in."
I entered the flat and looked around. The studio apartment was nicely furnished, only the kitchenette was literally overflowing with empty food packaging. It was scattered everywhere.

My gaze wandered around the room and stopped on a large photograph of a pretty, slightly plump girl in a swimsuit hanging on the wall. Jane meanwhile heavily sat down on the sofa and watched me curiously.
"That's me," she chuckled. "Four years ago."
I looked at her in disbelief. The girl in the photo looked half the size of today's Jane.
"How the hell can someone gain so much in just a few years?" slipped out of me.
"That's because of my ex-boyfriend," she answered. Why did it seem to me that she was saying it proudly?
"He was a feeder."
"What's that?" I asked uncomprehendingly.
"It's a person who gets turned on when their partner gets fat," she answered calmly as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. But when she saw how uncomprehendingly I was looking, she added:
"Well, he just started fattening me up and I started to like it and I became a feedee. Pour yourself something and make me a whisky and Coke, I'll explain it to you."

I poured two shots and on her instruction almost filled hers with half a litre of Coca-Cola.
While drinking I learned that being a feedee means she gets turned on by getting fat. And that she overeats and gets fat on purpose. And that during the relationship she gained almost 40 kilos.
"And in the last year as a professional at least another twenty," she finished with visible pride, drained the Coke and let out a little belch.

I went to top us both up. I pressed the drink into her chubby hand and looked her over. I understood nothing at all. On the sofa sat a sprawled girl who was pretty in the face but morbidly obese, who was claiming to me that in four years she had fattened herself by 60 kilos and it clearly didn't bother her at all. And she casually poured almost a litre of Coca-Cola into herself in 20 minutes. Her thighs were so thick that she had to keep them spread and they still almost touched down to the knees. On her thighs rested like a fatty sack her huge belly, coming out in two folds from under the bathrobe. I knew that some people like chubby girls, but Jane had crossed the chubby line dozens of kilos ago. No wonder the boyfriend is now an ex. And what does she mean by being a professional, for God's sake? And what does she actually want to film? Does she seriously think someone will want to pay for a video of an obese model?

Jane must have read most of my unspoken questions from the expression on my face and between sips of her drink she started explaining.
"My boyfriend didn't break up with me, I broke up with him. At the beginning he had to force me to eat, but after a few months I realised I liked it. And after another year his feeding and care weren't enough for me any more. He couldn't afford to give me a princess life. He even made me go to work," she chuckled. "And I much prefer doing nothing, eating, lying on the sofa and getting fat. And there are quite a lot of feeders on the internet. So I dumped him and quit my job. And now I earn much more as a paid feedee. And guys pay me for being lazy, fat and constantly stuffing myself like a pig," she patted her thick belly with a smile. The folds on the soft layer of lard rippled for a few seconds.

I didn't understand. I couldn't imagine that this could turn anyone on. What was this girl telling herself?
"How many paying followers do you have?" I asked.
"About 5,000 now, and 4 VIPs who contribute to food and send gifts," she answered and blushed innocently.
I choked. The most successful online model I had filmed with had in three years of shooting porn fewer than 3,000 followers. And she had invested tens of thousands in plastic surgery and worked out in the gym every day. And Jane has twice as many? Just for fattening herself up? No wonder she strokes and jiggles that lard so proudly.
"And today I want to give them an anniversary video. So I want to do something a bit better than just a little film from a selfie stick."

A message pinged on her phone. Jane finished her whisky and Coke and with effort got up from the sofa.
"The food is here and I'm hungry, end of talking, let's film. Will you take it from the courier, please? And lay it out on the table in the bedroom. I'll get ready in the meantime."

I let the courier wish me a good party, took the large paper bags and carried them into the bedroom. In it there was only a double bed, a television, a PlayStation and next to the bed a small table. On it next to a two-litre bottle of Coca-Cola I laid out 2 large pizzas, 20 cream and chocolate doughnuts and 2 large strawberry milkshakes. Almost 5,000 calories. Does she seriously want to eat all that? Is she crazy?
The floor creaked. I turned and stared. Jane's preparation for filming consisted of her throwing off the bathrobe. She stood in the doorway in a T-shirt that was so tight it barely covered her huge breasts. The sleeves cut into her fat arms and left her belly exposed to my view. It rose respectably forward and in a massive fold of lard spilled over her lap. The only way I knew she was wearing knickers was that the red strings were digging deep into the side of her meaty, cellulite-covered arse. Her thick thighs rubbed against each other as she rolled with a slow swaying walk towards the bed.
"Looking at a proper woman, huh?" she laughed and shook her lard-filled backside in a bizarre imitation of twerking. The fat all over her body rippled again.

I should have felt disgust, revulsion and repulsion at the sight of her, but against my will I was fascinated. I tore my gaze away from her and set up the camera.
"What's the script?" I asked.
"First I'll weigh myself and then I'll stuff myself to bursting," she pointed at the food laid out on the table. "You just film and shoot me from all angles so the fans can enjoy it. Most importantly, under no circumstances stop filming, some scenes would be hard to do again," she added.
I started recording.

Jane puckered her lips at the camera:
"Hi darlings, today I have something special for you. As you probably know, exactly one year has passed since you've been able to feed me and send gifts. There are more and more of you and thanks to that I can spend whole days just lying around, feeding myself and getting fat. And that's why I've invited a professional cameraman today so you can see properly how I weigh myself. And since the effort will make me hungry, he'll also film my little snack afterwards."

I refocused from Jane to the pile of food prepared by the bed and back to the obese girl. She meanwhile with a loud grunt bent under the bed for the scale. I zoomed in on her arse and found that both enormous, cellulite-covered buttocks wouldn't fit in the lens.
I swung to a wider shot so it was clearly visible how Jane stood in front of the scale. The tight T-shirt hugged her and cut into her fat arms. It was so small that the fat folds on her belly had no chance of fitting into it. At the front it had rolled up under her breasts and looked more like a tight crop top than an XXL T-shirt. Her navel wasn't visible, hidden between two fattened lard tyres. The lower one reached halfway down her thighs, the upper one spilled in folds of fat over it.

Even through the camera lens it was clear that Jane was unbelievably fat. Does someone really pay her for this? I thought.
Jane lifted her belly and when she let it go it slapped loudly against her thighs. She looked straight at me, or rather into the camera.
"I was wearing this T-shirt when I weighed myself a year ago too, and it fitted me quite well then. As you can see, it's a bit tighter now. It must have shrunk in the wash, I can't have got that fat in a year," she smiled.
"Maybe a little. A year ago I weighed 158 kilos and I probably didn't stick to the diet completely," she added playfully and stepped onto the scale.
Her thighs were so overgrown with fat that they touched along their entire length down to the knees, so she couldn't put her feet properly together. The scale creaked under her weight.
She leaned forward curiously to see the display over her belly.

I zoomed in on the glowing number between her legs.
"188 kg"
I gasped for breath. So this sow had let herself be fattened by 30 kilos in a year? And there were clearly enough crazies who supported her in it. And what now? Will she lose weight again? Or does she want to stay this fat? Jane's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Fuck," she swore. I framed back on her face and saw that 188 kilos had thrown her out of character. No wonder, she probably understands herself that she's overdone it with her fatness. She quickly corrected my mistake.
"Yes!" she shouted enthusiastically and raised her arms in a victory gesture. At that moment the sleeves of the T-shirt couldn't take all those fattened kilograms and the seams at the sides and under the arms burst with a loud rip. Jane took a few steps to the bed and with a loud grunt rolled onto it. In front of the camera I watched how dozens of kilograms of lard rolled, shook and quivered for a few more seconds after she landed. Slightly out of breath in the torn T-shirt and with a flushed face she looked enthusiastically into the camera.
"So 30 kilos in one year, I didn't expect that. But it's clear that the decision to become a full-time fattened princess paid off," she muttered breathlessly.
"Thirty kilos, that's..." she calculated in her head, "... 2.5 kilos a month."

Suddenly she stopped. Thoughtfully she said: "2.5 kilos a month, that's actually not that much. I think I can do better. I just have to try harder."
Her face lit up with a sudden inspiration. "It just needs more food and less movement."
She stretched out a chubby hand for the first pizza and started feeding herself hungrily.
"After that hard workout with the scale I have to replenish the calories," she said with a full mouth.

The first pizza disappeared into her in a few minutes. Eagerly she reached for the second and continued eating.
It felt like I had been hired to film the feeding of a hippopotamus. Jane snorted while eating, grease ran down her chin and cheese fell onto her huge breasts which her belly lifted from below.
I circled the camera around her and shot in detail her folds and fat. With her hand she stroked her belly, caressed it and jiggled it, only to let it slap back into her lap. Her fat-marbled thighs were spread and the lower fold of her belly had spilled onto the sheet, so there was no chance of seeing her knickers.

When she noticed where the camera was pointing, she stopped eating for a moment and with both hands lifted the lower balloon of her belly as high as possible. Darker areas of the inner thighs appeared, marked from her legs rubbing together when walking. Where I was about to frame her sex there was only a large lump of lard that completely covered her cunt and literally overflowed from the tight red knickers. Jane let the belly slide down and spread over her thighs and into the fat flood between them.

She reached for the doughnuts, belched loudly and looked straight into the camera.
"So darlings," she began and licked chocolate from the first doughnut off her upper lip with her tongue, "I thought a bit while eating. And I've decided that if you keep supporting me, I won't leave this flat until I hit 200 kilos. I'll just stuff myself, lie around and sleep. The only movement will be to the bathroom and to the door when I go to open for the food courier."

She stuffed another doughnut into her mouth.
"And I definitely don't want to be locked in here for half a year, so try hard. I promise that everything you send me I'll eat," she was getting worked up.
"I'll be like a sow, I'll just eat and eat and get fat."
The doughnuts disappeared except for the last two, which she forced into herself only with obvious effort. But Jane was clearly getting aroused.
"I've been stuffing myself since morning today, after lunch I was so full I couldn't even get up from the sofa. And look at me now. After a few hours I'm overeating myself to bursting again."

I watched her breathless. This can't be real.
Jane continued: "When I finish this I'll be so stuffed I won't even be able to touch myself. I'll just lie there and pant until in an hour I get hungry again and overeat myself again."
She was massaging the lower part of her belly and clearly couldn't get past the inflated balloon to under the knickers.
Her belly had swollen during the meal, looked hard, tight and literally pregnant. There were even red stretch marks visible in places where the skin had often been stretched from overeating.

Jane was starting to fascinate me. It was obvious she was aroused. Is it possible that she is really sexually turned on by getting fat and overeating? And that she displays her fat so shamelessly because she knows it turns some people on? Evidently yes.
Jane confirmed it: "It's so delicious that I'm stuffed and I know you like it. I promise I'll just stuff and stuff myself. More and more," she panted with a full mouth of the last doughnut into the camera.
"Every day I'll stuff myself to bursting, I'll just rise and rise. I'm completely wet from it."
With effort she lifted the first milkshake to her mouth and started swallowing it with aroused breathing.

Her hand wandered more and more often from the folds on her belly between her thick thighs. I realised this wasn't acting, that she was truly on the edge of orgasm. And all of it just from stuffing thousands of calories into herself in front of the camera.
A trickle of strawberry milkshake ran down her chin onto her lard-filled cleavage.
"I want more," she moaned laboriously between swallowing. "I want to be stuffed nonstop... mhmmm... be fed... ufff... fattened... mmhm... ufff.... get fat... mhmmmm..."

The second litre milkshake she was already drinking with visible difficulty.
"I want more... more food... ufff.... more lard... ufff... more... ufff... more..."

Something in me started to break. Instead of disgust and revulsion I had to admire her. She was completely submerged in her own world, absolutely devoted to her fetish. I started to understand why someone is willing to pay to watch her in her hedonistic enthusiastic sexual feeding.

She was shaking with an evident orgasm, her pupils rolled up and she let out a long moan. She tipped the milkshake upside down so the last remains flowed into her mouth and collapsed onto her back on the bed.

She was panting as if she had just run a marathon. After a few endless seconds she came to and whispered: "Turn it off."
I switched off the camera and looked at her. Her eyes were closing, I didn't know if from the spent arousal or from falling into a stuffed coma.
"You'll send it to me via Dropbox, right? And sorry I won't walk you to the door, just slam it, okay?" she mumbled.

Quietly I packed the camera and headed for the door. At them I glanced back at her. She lay half-asleep on her back and with her hands stroked her distended belly which rose up like a beach ball.

I slammed the door behind me and in the lift I realised I had an erection.