"Face It. Those Pants Don't Fit."

Here's a quick addition to the "Face It" series of stories. I did not original intend on continuing the series, but they've been fun (and quick) to write, so I have this one and another patreon exclusive story (a prequel) coming soon.

Enjoy!

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How did you ever think those pants were going to fit you?

Like, really, truly… seriously. How did you think that you’d be able to get those pants buttoned? With the size that you are? With how fat you’ve gotten.

And you’ve gotten really fat. That’s why you can’t get those pants buttoned thanks to that big blubber belly of yours that is just sitting there, sagging uselessly. Your middle is just like the rest of you, soft and useless, squishy and weak. That’s why- try as you might- gripping those flaps with both of your chubby hands and pulling as hard as your fat flabby arms will allow, you can’t can’t get those gaps to close.

The red sea has been parted, and it’s not going back anytime soon. You can’t put the biscuit dough back into the container or squeeze the toothpaste back into the tube.

Your fat is just too fat and that fat isn’t going to just go away, fatty. You’re stuck with all that fat sticking to your formerly fit figure forever, Fatso. You’re the one who decided to pig out until you porked up, and that’s why you’re in this situation with these pants that just won’t fit no matter how badly you want them too.

Just look at you laying there on the bed sweating up a storm and breathing heavy just from trying to put on pants. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. You’re a pathetic porky piglet. I swear, your belly is still jiggling. It’s this quivering mass of soft buttery fat just jiggling, quivering. Can you even see over it?

I don’t think you can. Lay flat on your fat back and give it a try just tilting your head- Love the double chin by the way. But you can’t see over your greedy gut, that big heavy mound of mush, that stretched out spare tire of yours.

You just look really sad right now, sweaty and defeated with your fat arms at your side, bingo wings spread out. Your thighs just dripping with flab with half your fat body hanging uselessly off the bed and your pants still opened never to close again. You look so winded and red faced. It’s hard to believe you used to be an athlete, a fit slim and sexy hottie would could do whatever you wanted to do. You really felt unstoppable then, didn’t you? And now you’re winded and wiped out just from struggling to get one single pair of pants on.

You really are a fatty, a lard butt, a pig. You’re an oinker, a weak little doughball, 

I think the funniest thing to me isn’t just how fat, winded and pathetic you look in defeat. It’s not just about the fact that you were still vain and arrogant enough to think you could squeeze your fat ass into these pants. It’s the kind of pants that these were.

These were your fat pants.

Remember?

Fat pants.

You bought them because you’d already gotten so fat.

You grew so big and fat that you grew out of your other pants. So you got fat pants because you lied to yourself and said that these would just be the pants you wore as an adjustment while you were a little fatter. So you needed fat pants to wear while you were fat until you were no longer fat, and then you could set those fat pants aside and fit into your regular non-fat pants again.

But guess what? Here we are now, and- well, I’ll give you this. You certainly aren’t going to need your fat pants anymore. The problem is you’ve gone and gotten even fatter since you first got fat and bought your fat pants. So now you’re fatter than your fat pants will allow to fit into them.

You’re too fat for your fat pants.

I guess we’re going to need you to get some fatter pants now too, huh? I wonder how long it will take you to grow out of those. With the way you eat? Probably not long, I imagine. You can go and get yourself some fatter pants (because you’ve gotten SOOOO much fatter) and in just a few weeks- a month tops- you’ll be so much fatter that you’ll need even fatter pants. And after that I don’t really have clever names for them. You’ll just always need even fatter pants because every pair of pants you buy will be because you’ve gotten even fatter. That’s the secret.

You never get to the fattest pants.

And you never get to the fattest pants because you’ll never be at your fattest. Fattest implies that you’re going to stop gaining weight. And that’s never going to happen. You’re just going to keep getting fatter, you hog, you ham beast. You’re just going to keep getting fatter and fatter. It’s not just that you won’t be slim and fit again. You’ll never be as thin as you are right now, laying on that bed, fat and winded and too fat for your fat pants. You’re just going to constantly be getting even fatter from here on out until you look back at this moment and wish you were this thin.

A year from now? You’ll be looking back at the you from six months from now and wish you were that thin. Two years from now? The you from a year from now will seem like a twig compared to the you from two years from now. That’s your doughy destiny, your constantly getting fatter future.

You are like the universe, ever expanding.

Don’t believe me?

Look at all these other pants you were vain and arrogant enough to attempt to try on.

These pants? You blew out the back seat. These? They’re split right up the sides. And these pants? Hell, these pants you couldn’t even get around your thick thunder thighs. Isn’t that a shame? Can you believe you used to fit into these pants back when you were slim and sexy and athletic? Not any more. You’re not fitting into these pants, any of these pants- including your fat pants ever again.

One day you might just end up giving up on pants entirely. They’ll just be too much of a hassle, too constricting, too cost prohibitive to keep buying new ones, probably some combination of both. And that’s when we’ll know.

We’ll know when your fattest pants were, and it will be the last ones you ever burst out of, the last pants you ever wear before giving up entirely. Will you even recognize it in the moment? Who knows?

I just know that it’s a future that’s coming for you, your big fat pantsless future.

Fatty.