You Knew!

Chapter 1

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is what you were so excited about, so turned on by in the beginning?

You said you just wanted to try, to gain a few pounds – but you knew it even then. So deeply that you would never admit it even to yourself – You knew you couldn’t resist. You knew you would become addicted to the feeling of your belly swollen from overeating, its own weight pressing you down into the bed so hard you couldn’t even sit up. You knew that “a few pounds” would turn into five, and five would turn into ten, and ten would turn into twenty, before you could blink. You knew you would outgrow your entire wardrobe, that you would squeeze into too-tight T-shirts that would cling to your growing belly and the folds on your sides, showing the world what you had come to. You knew that the buttons and hooks of all your oversized pants would fly off in all directions, and eventually you would only be able to wear the elastic of your sweatpants.

You said that you wanted to try "filling your stomach" once or twice, just to feel what it was like—but from the second you bit into your first burger, you already knew that uncontrollable gluttony awakened a dangerous excitement in you. That having filled your entire belly with food—from the fullness of sensations, moaning from the heaviness inside you, when your stomach is tightly packed and feels hard—you will already reach such a degree that one touch, a light stroke, is enough for you to explode, screaming with pleasure.

You knew that your modest feasts will become more and more frequent. And that the amount of food you ate would grow along with your waistline, and one evening you would easily consume enough food for four people. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to resist, that you would have to spend more and more on food, that you yourself would become uncomfortable with how often you would meet the same pizza delivery guys and other restaurant delivery guys at your door.

You knew that soon you would have to struggle to get up from the couch, groaning from the strain and forcing your corpulent body to fight gravity. Yes, about gravity—you knew that your belly would be the first to pull you to the ground. That you would add kilogram after kilogram into your swelling belly, and it would become rounder and rounder, that it would become harder and harder to hide it under your too-tight clothes. You knew that one day it would feel like you were trying to smuggle a beach ball under your blouse, that your belly would enter the room ahead of you.

And you knew it wouldn’t be the end. You knew you would get even fatter. That your fat would hang out from under your blouses, jiggling with every step you take. That one day you would barely be able to hold your entire overfed manhood. You knew that your whole life would be dominated by your desire to get fatter. That it would rule your every thought, underpin every decision you made.

You knew how awkward it would be to see people you knew and be bigger than before, to show up for family reunions and have your cousins ​​not even recognise you. You knew that at first your friends would be polite, noticing that you ate three times as much as the others and silently looking away—and you knew that one day they would snap. That one day they would start poking at your belly and pinching your fat, offering to go to the gym with you, asking what happened to you, laughing at your gluttony and inability to put down your fork and knife.

You knew that at first you would be embarrassed, but in your heart you would adore such moments, recalling their worried faces and cute jokes again and again, gorging yourself in the evenings over and over again. You knew that you would outgrow your furniture. That the office chair, having reached its limits of its intended load, would start to creak under your enormous weight every time you moved. That you would have to take a screwdriver and unscrew the armrests when you got too fat to squeeze between them. You knew that this poor chair would eventually just break, that its legs would bend and crack after another uncontrollable gluttony, and you would be lying on the floor, on the wreckage of the destroyed chair under your own spreading stern, and puff for a long time, trying to turn over and stand up, fighting your own weight and the weight of your overfilled and jiggly belly. You knew that you would become more and more insatiable, that you would not be able to fight either your desires or your appetite, that food would become your main focus, and getting fat would be your main priority.

You knew how much you would like all of this. That when playing with yourself, you would constantly tug at your fat folds, that you would practically constantly be in a state of arousal, feeling like you were drowning in your own fat. You knew that your arms would become fat and swollen, and your thighs—abundant and meaty, that when you waddled somewhere, your whole body would sway. You knew that your cheeks would become plump, that you would grow a noticeable double chin, that even your plump fingers would become too fat for everything. You knew that you would promise yourself “enough” a million times, that every time you stepped on the scale and saw guys, your readings have grown, you will swear that you are done with gluttony.

You knew that you will look in the mirror, be horrified by how much you have swelled up, take a step back, analyse the situation, stroke your body, swollen beyond recognition, promise yourself to go on a diet and look where the nearest gym is—but that same evening you will binge again. You knew that when you come to see the doctor, you will see horror in his eyes, that he will declare an incredible degree of obesity and help you write out a plan to “lose at least twenty kilos in the shortest possible time.” And that on the way back you will drive through a Mac drive-thru window, guiltily looking away from the brochures on healthy eating lying on the seat. You knew that you will forget what your own toes look like, that you will have to buy clothes of larger and larger sizes and again and again they will turn out to be too small for your growing body.

You knew that those clothes would burst at the seams in public, and you would be ashamed of being so fat. You knew that when you outgrew the 130-kilogram limit of the old scale, you would swear that that was it, that you would start losing weight and lose the weight—but you also knew that the mere fact that the scale said "wham" would set a new gluttonous record that same evening.

You knew that food and sex would become interchangeable for you, that food and pleasure would mean the same thing. That the comments of fattening fans on your page would make you crazy, that the ridicule and deliberate humiliation would lift your spirits even more than the approval and admiration of viewers. You knew what a fat glutton you would turn into.

You knew it for sure, even when you pretended that it was just for fun. You knew exactly what it would turn into. And you know that you will not be able to stop.

This is why you even sign up for it in the first place, you knew how greedy I am, you knew from the start how determined female feeder I am. Because you saw me that day, big as a house and eating like a pig, in order to maintain this enormous body I have. After all I might be the biggest girl you ever met, but I want you to be even bigger than me.

So eat up, honey, you still way too small to break those records. Make sure you eat every crumb, consume all the things I am putting in front of you, making sure you will never be hungry.