I Made You Too Fat- Audio Version

Chapter 1

Male Speaker: https://whyp.it/tracks/225153/i-made-you-too-fat-m ale-speaker

Female Speaker: https://whyp.it/tracks/225084/i-made-you-too-fat-f emale-speaker



Text:

Hey babe, I've got to talk to you about something. And please don't say anything, I know you're gonna try and comfort me and make me feel better and stuff, but just let me get through this.

You know how much I love your body. I never thought I would meet someone who would let me do this to them, who would let me put all this weight on them, but you’re getting bigger than I ever thought you would. I mean I love it, I literally can’t look at you without wanting to tear your clothes off, but when you first agreed to gain weight for me you only had a little potbelly. You still ate normal-sized meals, you wore a medium. Then you saw what your overeating did to me and it was like flipping a switch. You started to get so fat so fast you could barely keep up. You started eating whatever I brought you and asking for more, started lounging around the apartment in all of your old skin-tight clothes because you knew it drove me crazy.

Your delivery orders kept getting bigger and bigger until even I couldn't believe it. Remember when you ordered so much pizza that the Doordash driver asked if we were having a party? But it was all for you. And you're so constantly stuffed and bloated with all the greasy fast food I buy you that it's hard to even tell how fat you're actually getting. Your belly is never empty, so I never know if all of this is you or if your tubby gut is just distended from the family-sized meals you let me force down your throat.

You know how much I want you bigger and fatter, you know how much watching you pile on mounds of blubber turns me on, but at this point, I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. I feel like I'm taking this too far just for my own sick pleasure. I’m porking you up like a prize-winning pig and you’re just letting me, you keep opening your mouth for more like you're completely under my control. Even when you're so full you're panting and gasping because your stomach is too tight and swollen, even when you think you can't force down another bite, you still open up for me and let me feed you till I'm satisfied. It's so hot while I'm doing it, but I always have this tiny little glimmer of guilt because I know you like it too much to make me stop.

Watching you waddle around with your belly hang wobbling out of the bottom of your shirt and your chunky thighs packed in those tight workout shorts that are ripping at the seams makes me lose it, but also makes me think of when your clothes actually used to fit you. I mean, babe you actually used to workout in those shorts, and now if you bend over too far you can hear the seams pop.

You've just gotten so lazy and so greedy and it's all my fault. You can't even get on top anymore cause all your jiggling blubber has made you too massive for that much of a workout. I wasn't sure how to bring this up to you, I don't even want to bring this up to you, but after what happened yesterday, I just had to start this conversation. I can't believe you actually got big enough to get stuck in the living room chair. That chair could fit two of me, but you gorged yourself so full that your rounded hips were completely wedged between the arms.

It was so hot when you called me over to help you. You were red-faced and exhausted from trying to struggle out on your own, and every movement made the piles of rolls stacked on your sides start to wobble. Your belly was completely exposed because you'd bloated yourself out of your shirt, and you looked fatter than I'd ever seen you. Your face was swollen with fat, your flabby arms were straining against the sleeves of your t-shirt, you were breathing heavily, and you were barely even making any progress. You looked like an overfed piggy about to pop, and did I help you? Did I rub your fattened belly to make it less swollen and sore, did I help you get your fat ass unstuck from the chair? No. I just grabbed the funnel and made you drink another weight-gain shake. And you liked it. And you begged for more.

I've completely corrupted you. I've taken you from an athletic, in-shape, gym enthusiast to a bloated, morbidly obese slob who's been brainwashed to think of nothing but their next meal. I know you said it was all ok, that you didn't mind my weight gain kink and you would be down to try whatever, but you and I both know this has gone much further than trying. I know you told me that popping your first button while I force-fed you made you realize how much you're into this too, but now there's not a single thing in your closet that could even button in the first place.

Your belly bounces and wiggles when you walk, but you're usually so full that you can barely waddle. You're outgrowing things I didn't even know you could outgrow. You stopped wearing all your rings, your feet got too fat for some of your shoes, and your chubby little sausage fingers even got too fat for your winter gloves.

Aren't you worried about what everyone is gonna think if you just keep getting bigger and bigger? I know you like working remote so you can eat as much as you want, but when you went into the office for the annual all-hands meeting your friends were texting me to check on you. Analise told me she didn't even recognize you and Chet asked if you've been ‘stress eating’ lately. And you know they were just being polite to your face, but behind your back, they're probably gossiping with everybody you know about how enormous you got, how impossible it should be for anyone to fatten up that quickly. They're thinking you're just a piggish glutton with no control, but the whole time it's been me.

And before you say it, I know you've been stuffing more and more on your own lately, but that's my fault too. You’re well aware of how much it works me up to walk into the kitchen and find you groaning and rubbing that bloated beach ball packed so tight it barely moves, so you’ve started stuffing yourself just as often as I stuff you. All of this is like a fantasy come true for me, you know that, but it's starting to take its toll.

All this binging has really porked you up. I can't keep my hands off your belly, I love how deep your burps are getting when I bloat you up and push my hands into your quivering swells of fat. If you keep letting me do this to you, you're gonna turn into a whale. You're gonna get too fat to move. One of us has to take control here before it's too late, and since it's my fault, it has to be me.

I’m sorry for turning you into such an obese hog. It's just so hot to watch you shove cake down your throat by the fistful while you grow bigger and bigger. It's so hot to have you depend on me for more and more as you get too fat for all your regular tasks. It's so hot to watch your appetite grow, to watch you expand your stomach capacity to the point that you regularly eat enough calories to gain a pound of fat in one sitting. It's so hot to wake up to an even fatter version of you every single day, to roll over in bed and be able to grip your growing flab, knowing there will always be more of you. Fuck. I'm getting a little worked up. Well, maybe just one more day before we start your diet. I know you're hungry. What do you want to eat?


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