Till death do us part

chapter 1

How does it feel? Knowing I’m the last person you’ll see before you die? When those poor, tired lungs of yours finally heave their last pathetic breaths, I’ll be there; marveling at the gargantuan construction I’ve made your body into. How proud you used to be of that tight little tummy you had; not even enough fat for me to pinch at. Now I’ve got cubic meters worth of flab to grab onto.

Toned muscles long buried beneath slabs of body fat too thick to penetrate. A jelly-filled blob laid expanded on her throne of a mattress, ass wide spread to the corners as your massively expanded gut eeks out over your fattened little toes, adding further to the blubbery insulation. No wonder you’re sweating all the time. You’re literally your own weighted blanket.

Maybe I should move you to a colder climate, where you could live comfortably among the other walruses, but you’re far too out of shape for travel, especially at your size. Not only would you have to lug that fat sack of frame you have outside the bedroom, but we’d have to find a mode of transportation big enough to fit you; and I just don’t think that’s feasible right now. I could probably shove you in the back of an 18-wheeler, but you were always the better driver. I couldn’t afford to damage such “precious” cargo.

I assume you don’t mind staying in the room though. You’ve been in this bed so long I doubt you even remember what the rest of the house looks like. I still have up your old pictures. Shots from our wedding, from our honeymoon. You were so pretty in your prime. But I much prefer you this way. Anyone can be skinny, but how many people can say they’re too fat to walk? Now that’s an accomplishment worth being proud of!

Yes, you might have protested when I presented the idea (not that you were in much of a position to stop me at the time), but I know you’ve lived every minute of it. Your penchant for gluttony was always there. You just needed someone to push it into overdrive. To erase all those apprehensions and inhibitions telling you to stop eating when your full. To not outgrow an outfit every week. That your thighs shouldn’t touch and your belly shouldn’t hang. That being fat is something to be ashamed of. That obesity is something you should fear. But we both know better now, don’t we?

You know how much I admire your shape. Your endless appetite. The blob that you’ve transformed into. Too heavy to walk on your own, dainty feet like padded slippers, sore and inflated in seconds of hitting the floor. Lungs too heavy to pump their own oxygen, coated in chocolate and candy-caused calories. A heart that pumps harder but weaker beneath your heaving chest. You didn’t mind when I was fucking you windless at 300 lbs. Why would it be any different as the numbers kept on multiplying? If anything, I’d think I’d be more sensual with all that extra surface area you’ve got.

The two of us were destined to be together. I do believe that. Who else would’ve seen your magnificent potential for porking up? Who would’ve encouraged you to eat desserts until your tummy hurt? Who would’ve convinced you to quit your job? Who else would wash you when you had accident? Who else would keep you pampered and plumping for the rest of your life? When I said “Till death do is part”, I really meant it. I just don’t think you thought it come so soon