POV: Your Feeder Forces You to Admit How Fat You're Getting

Hey babe, are you almost ready to go? We’re about to be…oh shit. Oh my god.

What do we have here?

Look at you. Just look at yourself. Poor little fat girl thought she could squeeze into the clothes that fit her before she became such a greedy, insatiable glutton. Before she finally gave in to those sick secret desires she always had and started letting herself indulge. You promised it was just a little bit, but this doesn't look like a little bit. This looks like a pile of lard who still thinks she can cram her bulging rolls into jeans that stopped fitting 40 pounds ago. 

Did you actually think those jeans would fit? I mean, look at the way you’re jiggling just trying to work them up your thighs, did you actually think there was a chance they'd button over all that gut? That swollen, wobbling, overfed gut. You’re getting so fat. All your greed is so obvious, all over your body. It's always obvious. How much bigger you’re getting, how tight your clothes are, how much you eat every day. You just eat and eat and eat until you’re gonna pop, don’t you? But you think you can hide it. You think you can cover it all up with those too-small clothes that are straining to keep all that lard at bay. 

Have you noticed that? Have you noticed how you still dress like you can hide what you are? You can't hide, piggy. Not from me, and not from anyone. And you especially can't hide behind clothes this small. 

Let me see, stand up. 

You fat pig. 

Look at the way your love handles bulge over the waistband of your panties. Those panties are so tight too, there's really nothing you own that fits you, huh? 

No? 

You disagree? How can you disagree when I'm standing in front of you watching you get out of breath just from trying to get your jeans on. Look at how much your body jiggles with each movement. I can't believe you actually let yourself go like this. I can't believe you let your desires turn you into a silly, mindless little farm animal getting fattened up for the slaughter.

I may have introduced you to all this, but I didn't do this to you. I just wanted you a little chubby. You’re the one that stuffed her face like a greedy hippo every day until you’re fat enough to crack a chair. Fat enough to blow out the seams of whatever you’re trying to force over all that swollen blubber. 

No, no, don't stop trying to get those pants up. I wanna watch the show. The spectacle. 

That's what you’ve turned yourself into, huh baby? A spectacle. A fatty, swollen mess that’s too big to fly under the radar. A sideshow freak that nobody can look away from. People are amazed. Horrified too, but genuinely amazed. How you made yourself so fat so quickly, how you could possibly think waddling outside in clothes a few pounds away from ripping off your body was a good idea. 

You know what the funny thing is? They think you know just how far gone you are. They think you know how fat you’ve made yourself. They assume there's no way you could be oblivious to just how wide you’ve gotten, just how far that belly protrudes out and how much that lower roll jiggles as it pokes out of the bottom on your t-shirts. 

You used to dress so cute before all this. You were always in those adorable tights with the designs and those little shorts skirts, you had an actual sense of style. Now you just squeeze your growing body into whatever mismatched sweatpants and t-shirts can actually accommodate all the weight you’ve put on. It's like you’ve completely given up on living a normal life and instead dedicated yourself fully to blowing up into an unrecognizable pig. That's what everyone thinks anyway. And you’re just the naive, dumb little thing who thinks her lackluster disguise is still working. Who thinks that no one can see just how tight everything is getting, who thinks no one notices when she has to unbutton her pants after shoving her face full in public. 

You’re in denial. 

You’re in denial about how fat you got. How can you be in denial when I know you feel all that heavy blubber hanging off your body every day? How can you be in denial when you eat triple the amount you used to? When you get stares every time you’re in a restaurant because of how much of a pig you’ve made of yourself? How can you be in denial when you can’t even see your toes anymore? When you have to suck in that flabby, wobbling mound of a belly and lay on your back just to have a chance of fitting into a pair of jeans?

It's almost funny. How much of a food-addicted pig do you have to be for your denial to outweigh your fat ass? 

No no, don't sit down. Keep struggling and jiggling for me, keep trying. 

I know you’re tired. But this is your consequence. 

This is what you deserve for eating yourself into the size of a fucking house. You porky pig. I bet you’re hungry right now, huh? I bet you’re thinking about stuffing your face even while I tease you for getting so big. I bet you’re thinking about what you’re gonna eat when this is all over. 

What? 

Did I hit a nerve? Am I right? Does all of this just make you wanna eat and eat and eat until you can't move? 

Of course it does. Everything does. 

All that denial isn't good for you. It's just gonna make you get bigger. And like I said, nobody knows that you’re refusing to acknowledge how much weight you’ve put on. Nobody knows that you still see yourself as a thin, fit girl, that you actually think the clothes you force onto your overfed body fit you well enough to get by. They think you’re a greedy, sloppy fatass who can't control herself. They think you’re just a gluttonous pig that can't stop putting it away, that you’re more concerned with your next meal than your health. And they're not wrong. 

Are they? 

Don’t just nod, say it out loud. Say they aren't wrong. Say you’ve become a greedy pig too dumb to think about anything but her next meal. 

You don't wanna say it? 

But baby, I can see it. I see it all over you, I see it whenever you waddle into a room. You’re getting so heavy. Those thighs are getting so thick and swollen and your arms just keep getting flabbier, it's like every part of your body has been inflated with lard. That belly pushes out further and further every day and you just let it. You don't even try anymore, all you ever do is eat. 

I wanna get you on the scale. I wanna see how hot and red your face gets when I force you to push all that belly back with your tubby little hands and read the number out loud. Denial will get pretty tricky then, won’t it? It won't be so easy to pretend that you’re just bloated or that you’ve just put on a few. It won’t be so easy to avoid looking into the mirror to see the way your waistband digs into your rolls of fat and leaves angry red lines across your spherical gut. 

It won’t be so easy to keep eating until you can’t breathe every night when you actually have to admit what you’ve done to yourself. 

Nice try, love. It is what you’ve done. Trying to blame me for the fact that you’ve blimped yourself into a pile of blubber waddling around in clothes so tight you look like a stuffed sausage doesn’t change the facts. I may have started this, but you’re the one who can’t stop. You’re the one who eats until they can’t get off the couch every night, you're the one who took every feeding and stuffing further than I did. You’re the one who was secretly stuffing your face night after night when I went to sleep. 

Yea. 

I bet you thought I didn't know about that. 

I bet you thought you were actually doing a good job of hiding what a whale you were becoming. 

You’d come back to bed at three in the morning with a gut so bloated you couldn't help but moan, and you think I had no idea? Every night I could hear you gorging yourself and burping non stop. Just smacking and slapping that gut to force out burp after burp just so you can have enough room to shove down more takeout. 

I watched you a couple times, you know. You’re so loud I could already hear the whole thing, so I thought, why not? You would've been so humiliated to know how much of a pig you made of yourself. I know you eat nonstop, but when you’re in front of people you have at least a hint of decorum, a modicum of adherence to table manners. You stuff your face, but at least you’re a normal human being. Not when you’re alone. When you’re alone, you turn into a literal pig. A porky little pig feasting on slop. 

You’re the fattest piggy on the farm, aren't you? 

Aren't you baby? 

Say it. Tell me what a fat piggy you are. 

That's right. 

Watching you was almost kinda disturbing. You were completely insatiable. It was like you were in a trance, just cramming more and more food down your throat by the fistful. You’ve turned into an addict. 

We're gonna have to sign you up for Overeaters Anonymous, won’t we? After we get you some more clothes. That would be fun. Making you stand up in front of everyone and admit how quickly you got so big. Making you recount all your meals for the previous day with the calorie counts included so everyone can know that you’re at least a pound fatter than you were the day before. 

Even in a room of piggies so fat they need rehab, you’d still be the biggest, jiggliest, greediest piggy there. You’d make the other fatties feel better about themselves. They’d think, ‘I'm pretty big, I'm pretty far gone, but at least I'm not that’. God, that would be hot. I wanna make you a regular at those meetings, I wanna make you go every week so they can watch you swell up in real-time. I want you to get so fat, so quickly that the other members of Overeaters Anonymous start getting worried. I want the other big girls to pull you aside and tell you you need to slow down. I want the group leader to stage an intervention where they try to get you to stop shoving cookies in your greedy mouth. 

I want you eating at every single meeting. Every single one, I want you waddling in with enough fast food for four, finishing it all, and then pulling some junky snack out of your bag immediately afterwards. I want you to be the reason some fatass changes her ways, I want her to look at you and think, ‘if I don't stop soon, I’m gonna turn into that’. I want the thought of being as big as you are to terrify her. And I want her to come up to you and rest a hand on your blubbery belly while she thanks you, tells you that without your unfettered gluttony she wouldn't have gotten her weight back under control. I want her to offer you diet tips and solutions you’ll never take, just because she's horrified at the fact that you can't stop getting fatter. 

I want you to get so big that they kick you out. That they finally tell you right to your chubby-cheeked face that you’re too fat to be saved, that you're too much of a greedy pig to ever stick to a diet plan or lose any weight. I want them to tell you that all your eating and gaining has been a terrible example for the other members and that you’re not welcome back until you can drop a few. I want them to tell you that the chairs they use are heavy-duty, designed for big fat porkers like the other piggies at the meeting, and that they’re still worried that one of them will collapse underneath you. That the creaking whenever you sit down is beginning to become ominous. That's what I want for you. I want you to waddle in there in the kinds of clothes you’ve been trying to convince yourself still fit on your body. 

Why do you look so embarrassed, baby? What's wrong? What could possibly be wrong? 

You didn't know it was that bad? 

Don’t lie to me. 

You know how bad it is. You feel how bad it is. Go ahead, feel. Feel how squishy and soft you’re getting. You like it, don't you? 

At first, I thought you just couldn't help yourself around food, but I think deep down, a tiny part of you likes all this. You like being teased and humiliated for getting so fat that you’re barely recognizable. You're exactly what you swore you’d never be when you agreed to start all this. You promised you’d never let it take over your life, never let it impact your day-to-day routine. Now it is your day-to-day routine. Stuffing yourself is the only workout you ever get, and it's clearly not been enough in the face of how much you’ve been eating. 

When I first showed you the kinds of stuffings I wanted to do with you, when you were still thin and in control, you told me you’d never let yourself get as big as the girls in the videos I shared. And now, you're bigger. Now you could make the stuffing videos, now you’re the fat girl. You’re so fat, baby. So fat. 

Give up on those jeans, you know they were never gonna fit. 

Yes baby, you can finally sit down. 

I know those little jumps that made your whole body shake for several seconds really wore you out. And they didn't even help. Those jeans are still stuck at the exact same place on your thighs. 

Are you even trying? 

My porky little pig. My poor, exhausted fatty. 

Wait. No. 

I know I said you could sit, but I don't want you to sit there. 

Come on, follow me. 

I want you to sit there. 

Why is your face getting all red again? What's wrong, baby? You don't like that chair? Or is there another problem with it? Is there another issue with the dining room chairs that you’ve been avoiding for the past few months? You thought I didn't notice. Go ahead piggy. Try. 

Little tight, huh? That ass has gotten just a little too wide to just sit down easily like you used to. Like anyone else could. 

Keep trying. Keep forcing and squashing down all that fat to try and wedge yourself in. 

Why are you huffing and puffing baby? A little bit too much work? Too much work to fit into a chair? How can you still be in denial? Babe, you're too fat to sit down. Trying to fit in a chair is a workout for you. 

Wow. I can't believe this. Look at all this. 

No, don't give up, keep trying. You’ve almost got it. 

Oh wow, listen to that chair creak. I wonder if it's gonna hold. Be careful baby. I wouldn't want that chair to break under you and for you to fall flat on your back with that mound of a gut sticking up into the air. I wouldn't want you to be stuck on the ground like a beached whale, too fat to push yourself to your feet. That would be just terrible, wouldn't it? 

Come on. You’ve almost got it. Keep going. 

God, look at the jiggle. 

Wow. You got it. There you go. You were right, you're not too big. Good job baby. 

Now go ahead and get up. 

Oh no. 

You can't get up? 

You’re so fat that you're stuck? Oh, poor piggy. 

You need my help? Then you shouldn't have eaten so much. You shouldn't have been so greedy. I can't help you. You’re too heavy. 

This is what happens, love. This is what happens when you constantly glut yourself like a pig. 

Don’t whine baby. 

This isn't a punishment. These are the natural consequences of your actions, a simple example of cause and effect. If you gorge, you’ll gain. If you tell yourself that it's not a big deal, that it's not that bad, you’ll keep avoiding the situation until it is that bad. 

When you told me you’d try all this, you had to know the risk. Don't act so naive, don't act like you were tricked. Don't act like this is my fault. You knew. You knew what was potentially at stake, you knew that trying out something like this could lead you down a path you wouldn't recover from. 

Don’t shake your head, you knew. 

You knew, baby. You can’t be dumb enough to think that I just wanted you to just gain a couple. You knew I’d only ask if I thought you were weak enough to lose yourself under all that fat. That's the only reason I introduced all this. That's the only reason you got fat enough to actually get stuck in that chair. 

Because I knew you would be so easy to influence. Too easy. I didn't even have to manipulate you. You force-fed yourself. You fattened yourself up. 

Now, you stay there. Not that you have a choice. 

I’m gonna go whip you up a little something to eat.