PATREON EXCLUSIVE: "My New Neighbor is So Fat"

This is the sequel to "My New Neighbor is So Hot" which you should read first HERE if you haven't already.

Enjoy!

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My new neighbor is so fat.

You’ve been wanting for me to say those words so here they are once again.

“My new neighbor is so fat.”

It’s wonderful isn’t it? You just love getting the news that a hottie with a body like hers has gone full fridge city and fattened up into a total cow, a piggy, a whale of a woman. Let me say it for you one more time.

My hot new neighbor is so fucking fat.

I don’t know if you can technically consider her new anymore. She’s been here quite a while now, long enough to get very, very fat. But she’s still technically my newest neighbor… for now. But that’s getting away from the point which is that my new neighbor, who was so outrageously hot, is now incredibly, undeniably, fat.

And when I say fat, I don’t mean chubby. I don’t mean pudgy, tubby, soft, or any of those other euphemisms. I choose my words very carefully. And fat means FAT. We’re talking seriously chonky, morbidly obese.

Let’s be real, sometimes dreams do come true, and mine did. But hey, you want to make dreams come true, than you have to put in the work. And that’s exactly what I did. Kind words, patience, and lots and lots of food. That’s the key. I’m talking desserts, dinners, “leftovers”, you just got to keep coming up with ways to ply her with food. Then the habit is built and the piggy comes to you.

I knew she was done for the first time she made a request.

Brownies. She loved my brownies. She was dying for my brownies. So I was happy to make her a tray when she asked. When she asked again, that meant it became a weekly thing. Then, it became a twice weekly thing. I always made sure that the second tray was a “new recipe” , something I was trying out. Sometimes it was, but most of the time it was something I pulled out of my deep rolodex of dessert recipes. (You didn’t think this was my only time doing this. Did you?) I’d make blondies. I’d make brookies. One of the batches that went over the best with her was my smores brownies, so that became a regular part of the rotation when she kept asking. That got us to brownies three times a week.

And I just started taking care of Sunday dinners for her too. Chicken parm, lasagna, chicken alfredo, beef stroganoff. Every week, I made more and more fattening things just for her. I would eat a little bit myself and then give her my “leftovers”. She would eat everything and then give me back my tupperware which was the perfect time to give her something new. I started using this as a little trick. When she finished the food and gave me the container back, she got a new little treat. Soon, she was a well conditioned little piggy, eagerly finishing all her food faster and faster and getting the nice clean dishes back to me so she could get more food and the sinfully delicious treat that went with it, cookies, cake, anything I could think of.

I got her eating all the time, and once that happened it left no room for the gym. She was quickly cutting back on her sessions, skipping workouts because she was too tired or bloated to work out, or too busy actively eating- stuffing her face- to go to her personal training sessions. It became easy enough to get her to cancel those and save money, and she was rewarded with a double batch of brownies for that. My good little fatty deserved it.

And she is such a good little fatty. Would you like to know what she looks like now?

Like a pig, a big fat beautiful pig.

Those abs of hers? Gone. She’s got a huge flabby gut now. Remember when I said I wanted to see it pushing against her leggings and rolling over the waistband? It’s so much more than that. It’s really funny to see her with her big blubbery double belly now. She’s got that big thick lower roll tucked into her pants like that’s doing something to hide it. So now she’s got stretchy pants that cling to that gut like saran wrap and if anything draw even more attention to it. And she’s still got that upper roll that rolls over the waistband. So what is she even trying to hide? I suppose, if she took the time to pull down that waistband that’s strained for dear life, and let her gut hang freely, we’d all be witness to a great big apron of belly fat that sags uselessly onto her thighs.

And those thighs. Oh, those are some meaty, meaty thighs. They are thunder thighs alright and everything I wanted them to be. They’re big tubes of quivering fat. When she walks I can hear them slap and rub together. You have to really work to hear that, but it’s there. I promise. Her thighs are tremendously thick and possess none of the tone that had made them so powerful. They’re just thick with soft, spongy, useless fat and covered in cellulite. She’s still cramming them into legs and her saddle bags are so thick that they stretch the legging to the point of near transparency, and you can see the pattern of the cellulite through the fabric. That fabric is stretched so much, her tree trunk-like legs look like sausages ready to split their casings. And it’s not just the thighs either, which are so thick that she has to waddle about when she tries to move at all. She’s got ankles and calves that are swollen with fat and get more swollen when she waddles about, which is not something she does nearly as often as she used to.

It’s hard to believe now that she was ever an athlete.

Her arms. Remember how powerful her arms are now? They’re so fat and pathetic. She’s got great big flabby bing wings that wobble at the slightest movement, and she’s got these wonderfully chubby hands at the end of thick wrists. Her thick sausage fingers make her so clumsy now. She isn’t delicate in the slightest. She is weak though. Any power she once had is gone, replaced by fat. Her flabby arms struggle to lift things now. Sometimes, when I make her so kind of extra dense and heavy dish, like a full casserole, she asks me if I wouldn’t mind bringing inside and putting it on her counter. She’s not trying to seduce me. She just wants less work for her fat self to do. 

It lets me see the inside of her apartment which is a mess nowadays. She’s not just fat. She’s fat and lazy, and too fat and lazy to care about what I might think walking into her apartment and seeing all the dirty dishes and fast food containers and wrappers just laying about. Personally, I think it’s hot. Okay, sometimes I’ll admit that when I see a Thick Burger wrapper on the floor, I feel like she’s cheating on me a bit, but I can’t argue with the results, so I suppose I’m going to have to be willing to share my little piggy a bit. It’s just helping her get even fatter even faster.

And of course she keeps crawling back to me.

Thick Burger is great, but they haven’t mastered dessert like I have.

The way she practically begs me for food nowadays is so pathetically adorable. She has these big sad puppy dog eyes to go with her piggish body. I can see the need in them. Luckily for her, I’ve always got something planned, something ready to hand over so I can keep my piggy stuffed. And I love the way her smile lights up when I hand over another tray of food. She has such cute deep dimples now on her fat face thanks to the jowls that she’s also developed. And her doughy double chin jiggles with delight every time she knows she’s about to have another free and delicious meal. 

She must know on some level how fattening they are. She has to see and feel what they’re doing to her once firm and fit body. She’s definitely bought new clothes (though I’ve noticed she keeps stubbornly buying the same kinds of clothes and never in sizes that are truly big enough for her fattening figure because she’s clinging on to some shred of vanity and denial), so she must be aware of how much she’s growing, how much fatter she is. But if she knows how much damage my dishes are doing to her waistline, how fattening they are, she just doesn’t care anymore. She wants them too bad. She needs them. She can’t get enough of my fattening food. And I’m happy to give it to her and watch her walk- well, waddle- away. When she does…

That ass! Lord, that ass! It’s something to see. Her firm ass has ballooned, bigger than I could have hoped. She’s got hippo hips and a huge ass to go with it. My cake has caked her out. My cooking has turned her into a real fat ass. She’s got two bulbous blubbery butt cheeks that now move to their own rhythm. Those buns of steel are now incredibly soft and sag onto the back of her big fat thunder thighs. Her saggy ass cheeks are covered in cellulite, and they sway with the slightest movements. I can’t get enough of it. It makes me want to cook more and more.

And sure, her breasts have definitely gotten bigger. They’re heavy and saggy, and I love to watch her reach for her fat back rolls when she’s feeling their strain. But that ass of hers is the real trophy, the real prize for me to keep my eyes on. She’s got two saggy pillows, overstuffed, blown out, blubbery. She’s a fat ass. She’s a pig.

Still though, it’s not just her size, her incredibly fat size, it’s about the things that come with it. It’s about listening for the way she wheezes and has to stop and pause multiple times on her way up the stairs to her apartment. She used to be so fit. Now she’s fat and weak and pathetic. She used to be so in control of her life, but now so much of that control belongs to me and what I feed her, what I help her with around her apartment now that she’s too fat and weak to do so many things herself. She’s my pig, and deep down she knows it even if we never say it out loud. 

I don’t need to touch her to know how soft she’s gotten, how far she’s fallen, and how hot she is now as a big fat pig. She’s hotter than ever in my eyes, and I’m going to keep making her fatter, muh fatter.

Anyway, I’ve got other news to share too. My other neighbors, the one whose wife I may have accidentally started to fatten up? Well, she’s gotten even fatter. And then she got tired of her husband telling her how fat she was getting, so she kicked him out- which, honestly, good for her. But she’s not going to be able to afford the rent alone, so she’s also moving out.

And my landlord acts real quick, I saw a couple of ladies checking the apartment out just the other day. They are a pair of real hotties let me tell you.

I think they’re bikini models or something. They certainly have the bodies for it, generous but toned hips that support perfectly lush but tight ass cheeks. They’re got trip waists that then taper up into big, plush breasts. They both could have easily stepped out of the pages of a glamor magazine with their perfect hourglass figures. They came in wearing practically nothing, just really cropped crop tops and booty shorts, and my mind already started spinning.

I’m just thinking I’m going to need more tupperware, my shopping lists are going to get longer. Food budget might be making some other things a little tight, but I think I can manage another major project. I’ll tighten my budget to tighten their pants. Maybe they’re friends and just roommates. Maybe they’re lesbians. I don’t know. I don’t care. They’re both super hot.

Plus, when my piggy came waddling past them, I heard them snort at her. They actually made little pig sounds and then laughed about it. I saw my piggy’s face flush with embarrassment, and it was so hot. I’m sure my piggy used to be just like them, the hottie that made fun of fatties. Now she’s the fatty hotties like to make fun of.

Those two hotties, I watched them whisper some more catty jokes to each other and then laugh again. I eyed their exposed abs as they did so. They were too busy laughing at my piggy to notice my eyes lingering on their tight curves as I thought about how badly I wanted them to get the apartment. And I still hope they do. I’m eager for them to sign a new lease because I know just what I’ll do when those sexy bitches officially move in.

I’ll be sure to keep my oven going and bring them my usual housewarming gifts.

After all, we all have to be good neighbors. Don’t we?

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Even More BS tier patrons can read the extra exclusive sequel to this story featuring the two new hot neighbors right HERE.