Chapter 1 - Trust

Adding a ton more butter and sugar? What a feeder wouldn’t do for the calories, knowing how they do the adipose tissue so good and make those cells swell and multiply with more, more fat. These days even the mere act of eating is getting that heart to beat faster, and nothing is as hot as when you make a pig of yourself, with your feeder turned caretaker.

But what if the caretaker would turn into a full blown enabler. Cute? Dangerous?

C’mon, what could go wrong. Me and you, drowning together in your lard, what could go wrong. Severe and extreme Obesity, induced by the insane amount of grease constantly clogging your poor hugely closer to immobility lard blob body? An idea so simple yet so powerful it could get you wet any time at all times, knowing there’s no turning back. No matter how huge the amount of fat you're having to sift through to get a release, only growing more aroused as your fingers feel what have you done and next what your feeder has done to you, to make that idea a very tangible reality. “How is the new fat from yesterday’s cake overfeeding feeling, dear?” Getting that fupa heavier more full of cellulite, packing enough fat to make a chubby woman obese, because I want it hanging to your knees, so just imagine how far the belly would hang more.
To the floor, that’s your only goal.

Getting in the way of everything, as it used to make it harder to walk, and these days it’s starting to slow down your waddle too. Immobility never felt this close. Asking yourself “When will it be the last time I’ll walk?” gets your knees weak even if you’re not standing, feeling your obese pussy dripping, the only thing able to get your conscious mind back is thinking about the next dozen burgers I’m about to force feed into you, as your fat plops everywhere taking up most of the king size bed. The bed, the first and last place you would ever want to be, becoming the only place you’re able to stay one morsel at a time.

And I want you so fat I need your stretchmarks to stretch as wide as a finger because I promise you, I’m gonna fatten you up so much I want that skin to thin out so much I need you to actually feel the new fat settling in, no matter how dark your under belly and inner thigh rolls will be getting as you grow for me.

And there’s nothing you love as much as when your feeder takes care of your underbelly, nothing feels that intimate, nothing feels that safe, as you keep growing more dependent on me, because the lard laden food I keep cooking for you is doing wonders to your lard laden body, and I love it when you wear your oxygen, that cannula is such a precious jewel that helps you gorge on even more junk. I love you stuffed to bursting that even pumping the blood around your obese body requires an effort from it.
Your face is mostly fat and not much else, so full of lard you feel the flab brushing against itself when you’re fully immersed in your junk devouring sessions. So much that even the act of eating itself makes you want to eat more. And I swear I’m gonna get you too exhausted to keep chewing, and that’s what funnels and tubes are for, my dear.

Good piggies would rather get immobile than ever walk again, they feel so much how heavy they are looking forward to that day. My question is, are you a good one?

No matter how permanently damaged your body already is, you know you don't just want it to be the unhealthiest, you need it.

We gotta keep pumping, look at you, you're starving.

I don't want you emaciated, I want you nice and curvy for me. I gotta feed.

It all started with growing addicted to feeling how your belly was going to pop.

Nowadays, if its not your whole body feeling like its about to pop, it doesn't do enough to you.

You know you're going to be so full of lard, that the feeling you get with your belly being full will expand to your whole body.

I know it, you just want to grow closer to your own lard.

Your lard has done so much for you.

Your lard has always been with you, and has never failed giving you something more than happiness.

Trust your lard. Trust your feeder. Trust me. What could go wrong.