"You're Going from Fit to Fat"

Here's a fun little commission piece that I did for someone and then tweaked slightly to share with all of you. I am writing a follow up as we speak that should hopefully go up today so that I can post this one to DA. The sequel, which includes lots of eating and humiliation, will be exclusive to this patreon. You will need to be a paid patron to read it.

For now, there's this one....

Enjoy!

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You could never be fat. No. Not you. You’re far too fit for that, far too good for that. Fatties are losers and that’s not you.

You know how hot you are. What a toned, fit figure you have. You used to feel like you could do anything, didn't you? Of course you did. You still feel that way. Even after college, you feel like you’ll be in your prime forever. A three sport athlete, that’s a real accomplishment right there. You can only do that if you’re extremely fit, hard working, and talented. Fatties don’t play sports. Fatties are lazy. That’s why you’ve gotten to make fun of them. You’ve earned that.

I mean, look at your body in the full length gym mirror. What a hottie you are! You look perfect in your booty shorts that hug your deliciously round but perfectly firm butt. And your crop top showcases your abs. You are perfectly trim and toned in all the places you’re supposed to be and beautifully thick but still perfectly toned in all the right places. It’s no wonder you love to show off. Everybody should bow before your goddess-like body.

And you’ve always been like this. For as long as you’ve been aware of your own body, you’ve always admired it. Even when every other girl went through their own awkward face, you never felt a hint of self-consciousness. You’ve always been perfect, and you’ll always be perfect.

That’s why you’ve always surrounded yourself with beautiful people as your friends, people worthy of your time and friendship, like minded individuals who value their health and their looks and hate fatties, people who aren’t fat lazy slobs, who take care of themselves unlike other people that you know, fat people, gross, lazy fat losers.

Fat. That word keeps echoing in your mind. You can’t escape it. It’s everything you disdain and everything you fear at the same time. To be fat and weak, helpless, that nightmarish though lingers in your mind, and yet, as you focus on it, you can’t help but feel a strange warmth a sense of arousal that you would never share with anyone, a spark of curiosity of what it would be like to be on the other side, to be the fat lazy loser that everyone makes fun of, having people laugh in your fat face instead of being the one that laughs at them.

But you can never be like that, that’s why you have to keep hitting the gym. As tempting as it is to see all these fatties and wanting to let go like them, despite all your naughty dreams of switching roles, of becoming some kind of fat lazy loser who just waddles around slowly and awkwardly whenever they’re not sitting their fat ass down on the couch, you need to maintain your perfect image. You’re a beauty, not a butterball, an athlete, not a couch potato. There’s no way you’re going to let yourself become a total pig, a big fat lazy slob like the girls you used to make fun of.

Ha. You’ve got so many great memories of dominating fat girls, of showing off your own skill while watching their fat bodies flop about trying to catch up. How many times have you lapped them in gym class? Even today, when you went for your early morning run in the park. You make things look so effortless, and those hungry hungry hippos struggle through their whole fat lives. You remember two fatties in particular that you always enjoyed making fun of, Kristin and Marisol.

Poor Kristin, what a pathetic fat girl she was, just a roly poly slob who couldn’t get her life together. She would constantly be on a diet, but it never help. She would lose five pounds and then gain twenty getting fatter and fatter. Meanwhile, you always loved showing off your metabolism, making her jealous by demonstrating just how much your athletic ass could eat without gaining a pound.

And you can still do that too. You love to indulge, to stuff your face. But with your metabolism and your ability to work out as much as you do, you’ll never gain a pound. You’ll never get fat, not like Kristin and Marisol.

Marisol was always a shy, pathetic fat loser too. She was one of your favorite targets. You loved to laugh at her blubbery body, to poke her fat belly and call her names.

Hey look. There she is now. She’s somehow gotten her fat ass to the gym. Isn’t that funny? The tubby loser actually thinks she’ll be able to get herself in shape. And it looks like she sees you, recognizes you. Of course she does. You haven’t changed a bit. You’re just as slim and sexy, toned and gorgeous as ever. Strike a pose. Show off. That’s what you do. Maybe you should go over and make a joke, poke her belly. It’ll be good to get in a laugh for old times sake.

Then you see her open up a book and read something out of it as she points at you. She mutters some words that you can hear and waves her hand in a pattern that you can’t discern. What is that fat little freak doing?

Suddenly you don’t feel so good.

You can feel a tingling sensation in your legs, a warmth that spreads up your perfect legs and pools between them. You can help but feel your breath hitch in your throat as the tingling grows more intense, and you reach down to touch your leg, and then you feel it, not the tight bit of well earned muscle you were expecting, but a new bit of softness. Your fingers sink as your thigh gives way to a soft bit of fat. It’s like pushing down on a sponge, and the new fat that is filling your legs begins to squeeze itself around your fingers. You press harder, certain that this can’t be real, but you find your hand sinking deeper into the flesh because there’s so much more flesh for it to sink into.

Those legs of yours used to be so toned, so effortlessly strong. They were the kind of tightly muscled thighs that were thick but so toned that you loved to show them off, and now all of those years of work is melting away. You can feel it, it’s like a sudden drop as your muscles go slack, atrophying all at once and turning soft and flabby. And your thighs continue to grow bigger but not with the muscle that had made you so confident but with soft yielding, weak, pathetic fat. Fat keeps coming, straining your skin which simultaneously stretches and sags. It’s like dough that is being pulled outward growing in size and growing loose. Your skin is marred by stretch marks and dimpled with cellulite, and you wonder how any of this is possible, how it could keep happening, and yet it does. The fat keeps flowing freely into your now flabby limbs.

In your panic you stagger about, the lose of your muscles leaves you weak, and you fumble about pathetically. With each stumbling step you can feel your flabby thighs quivering, slapping together with increasing veracity. Then you notice that as they get bigger and bigger the frequency of the fat slapping together increases. Your thunder thighs strike at each other over and over again with a smacking sound that eventually lessens as you notice that that fat is now beginning to rub together. Any thigh gap that you might have had is filled in by flab, and your thighs keep growing thicker. They stop just rubbing together and begin to press together. The fat has nowhere else to go, and so it begins to push your legs further apart, forcing you to accommodate it. You try to run for help, but you can feel the chafing of your thighs slowing you down. Your athletic gait is no more, you will no longer be able to strut around with confidence like a model. You will no longer be able to run like the well seasoned athlete that you are.

You are turning into a fat penguin, a poor, pathetic, awkwardly waddling woman with fat that wobbles about with each step. You can do nothing but shuffle from one fat foot to another as your legs continue to swell. Your toned calves and ankles bloat as well, blowing up and fusing together into big fat cankles, and you can feel the pain in them, a build up of lactic acid that you previously only got from your intense workouts, something that you used to wear as a badge of honor at the end of your most enduring athletic achievements, and now you feel like you would need an hour in an ice bath just from standing on your fat feet for a few minutes. 

Those feet have grown bigger too. They keep swelling with the fat that fills the rest of your legs, growing wider,filling with enough fat to make wearing any kind of slinky shoes out of the question. They are big clodhoppers now, bloated feet that end in tiny sausage toes and add to the slowness of your shuffling gait

That gait is slowed down further by the feeling of fat that begins to fill your ass. Your tight butt was previously toned. It was packed with muscle that gave it a large, but perfectly round shape. Your ass was a juicy peach, something you could proudly show off in any outfit, tight jeans, designer dresses, it was an ass that drove everyone wild, that turned heads, and you loved it. 

But you can feel that all going away, sinking as the fat that filled your thighs is now filling your butt. Each cheek is growing bloated, ballooning with fat that leaves them soft and sagging and misshapen. Your chunky cheeks grow so big and flabby that the smacking sound returns. This time it is the sound of your bloated blubbery butt cheeks smacking down against the back of your tree trunk like thunder thighs. You used to have a fat ass you could really be proud of, one built by hours in the gym, squats and presses, but now that fat ass is flabby as hell and truly filled with rich butter fat and not the hard muscles you had prided yourself on. You can feel the weight of your chunky ass cheeks as the cellulite covered cushions pull you down. And you want to fall, but you fight against it even though you have to know by now that if you did fall, your ass cheeks would more than cushion the blow. It would be like landing on two big fat pillows, your doughy dumper is becoming increasingly squish.

The fat is squeezing out of your shorts, ripping the fabric around your legs and spilling out the bottom. Up above, those tremendous cheeks begin to crest over the top of the fabric of your shorts. A full moon rises and gives the view of a tremendous canyon, a permanent plumber’s crack. Your bulbous butt looks truly comical now as your blubbery behind sways with each stepping, bouncing up and down and threatening to blow your shorts off completely, you can feel the incredibly wedgie your fat body is giving itself as your enormous ass cheeks make their best attempt at eating your panties, the fabric becomes swallowed by the fat that is swelling around it.

Now you’re so pear-shaped that it’s laughable. You look so trim and toned above the waist, and then suddenly your hips have widened so radically and combined with your titanic thunder thighs and adipose filled ass, you look like someone has taken a picture of an athlete and lazily photoshopped them. It is unreal even as you can feel the heavy reality of the fat that has filled your lower half weighing you down. But you are filled with a feeling of both relief and horror as you realize that you will not stay this way.

Your abs begin to tingle next, and you barely have time to say goodbye to them as your trim middle begins to bow outward with fat. First your trim tummy starts to turn to mush. You vaunted six-pack which you were so proud of showing off loses all sign of tonnage and then plumps up into a generous pot belly. It is a soft squishy little gut that gives you the appearance of someone who has partied a bit too hard and gone from a well toned athlete to an ex-jock with a beer gut, but that belly doesn’t stop there. It keeps ballooning, growing fatter, sagging over the waistband of your shorts as it becomes a weak, useless, bloated sack of fat, a great turgid mass of squishy flabby that oozes downward and is joined at the side by thick soppy love handles, meaty bits of fat that form your now mighty muffin top.

It must have made you so proud, to have abs like you did. And now here you are, scooping up the massive amount of fat that now makes up your belly. You can feel the heavy weight growing even heavier in your hands as you try to push it back into your body. But instead your hands just get pushed further outward as your gelatinous gut keeps growing bigger. The flabby spills out of your hands; it oozes between your fingers. It is unstoppable as your stomach continues to spread out forming a sagging apron of fat that eventually slaps onto your fat thighs even as you’re still lifting its lowest roll up. Your stomach just protrudes too much to be contained. You lift it up but the back of it slides out of your hand and rests against your thighs. You eventually give up and let your belly slap down, and the fat that was in your hands now sags almost to you knees as you stay there struggling to stand.

You’ve got a big blubbery double belly now, a monstrous gut segmented into fat rolls that all quiver as you continue to panic.

But the fat isn’t done with you, not by a long shot.

The next thing to grow is your breasts. They swell with fat and start to sag under all of this new weight. They become soft and supple at first, but then as they continue to balloon they grow bloated and covered in stretch marks. You can feel the twinge in your fat back as the heavy weight of your breasts sag forward filled with fat. They are massive pillows of blubber that would hang like heavy pendulums if they didn’t end up resting on the shelf that is your massive double belly. Your massive mammaries show no sign of relenting, growing fatter heavy like bowling balls but far softer as the spongy fat stretches them out. The allure of their size is offset by the sag of the fat and by the pain in your back. You’re feeling like a great big bloated cow with massive udders. The cleavage that your new fatter breasts create is an absolute canyon, perfect for catching crumbs during whatever feast you might end up having, and, with the way that your big blubbery belly is growling with hunger, you know a feast is due pretty soon.

But before you can go anywhere to stuff your fat body with food, your fat body keeps growing fatter. The next bit of muscle that you lose is in your arms. Your well toned biceps give way to the fat, and once again all signs of your hard work and dedication are now more. Your powerful biceps are now pathetic bingo wings. The soft flab looks like it’s melting as it droops over your fat elbows. They look so pathetic, these weak flabby limbs of yours, your melted marshmallow arms. You look fat and pathetic with arms that look like they’re only good for bringing food from your plate to your face.

And that face is getting fat now. You can feel it growing fatter, heavier. You can feel the skin of your cheeks stretch as you grow new jiggling jowls. Your eyesight strains as your chubbier cheeks make your eyes look beady. You can even feel your nose swelling with fat. Without needing to look in a mirror you can sense that your fat face is making you look very piggish. Your delicate chin is no more, it is thicker and no longer alone as a doughy double chin joins it, wobbling like a turkey as it fills with fat. 

Your fat face really is the crowning achievement. It completes the full fat girl picture. You look like such a stereotypical overfed fat girl. Nobody could possibly mistake you for an athlete now even though you’ve got the clothes on still. You just look like a ridiculous fat mess, a blob in your athletic gear. It makes you look even more pathetic like a fat girl who’s trying to suddenly get into shape, but you are hopelessly obese. If anyone looks at you there’s no way they’d think you were ever fit. You look like a lifelong couch potato, a big fat lazy slob who has spent their entire life lounging around on their big fat butt and stuffing their big fat greedy gut. You are so much fatter, so much worse than anyone you’ve ever made fun of, you big lazy looking greedy cow. Your body is no longer built for exercise, built for showing off your fitness. It’s built for sitting down and eating.

And now you can feel your stomach really rumbling.

Marisol walks over and pokes it. You feel her finger sink into your stomach fat, and then she reaches down and gives the doughy lower roll of your blubbery double belly a hard squeeze.

“How does it feel to be the piggy now?”

You want to answer, but your neck feels hot and your stomach is rumbling louder than ever. She leans forward and whispers in your ear as she massages your blubbery belly with her hand.

“You’re a hungry hungry hippo, aren’t you?”

You can only nod in agreement as her hand continues to knead your doughy flesh. You know it’s true. You’re a big fat greedy piggy who needs to feed.

“Oink for me.”

It’s soft, but you can’t help but open your mouth and do as you’re commanded.

“Oink. Oink.”

Marisol smiles and gives your big broad backside a hard smack.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Waddle off and go stuff your face, Piggy. This is your life now.”

Your double chin wobbles as you nod your head like the good obedient fat girl you’ve become. You’re such a submissive piggy now. All you want to do is stuff your face, to spend your days sitting around and eating, growing fatter and being the hungry hungry hippo you deserve to be.

As you slowly and awkwardly begin to waddle out of the gym, a place you know you no longer belong, you see someone else enter, a familiar face in an unfamiliar body. It’s Kristin, your favorite fat girl target. But she’s trim and toned now. She’s everything you used to be. At first when she looks at you, her eyes go wide, and then she’s got a knowing smile.

“Is that… holy shit. You’ve really let yourself go, huh?”

You’re too ashamed to respond as she walks up and squeezes your gut.

“This is too much, what a big fat blubber belly you’ve got. You’re a real land whale now. It’s hysterical!”

You open your mouth to say something, but all that can be heard is the rumbling of your greedy gut.

“What’s the matter, too hungry to talk, Fatso?”

The truth is, you are too hungry to talk. You need to feed, to stuff your fat greedy face and fill your gut until you’re too heavy to move. So you push Kristin’s hands away and waddle out of the gym toward the nearest buffet only faintly aware of the sound of her following you.