Out of Control 2

Out of Control 2
By FC Punk

Was it enough? Did you have all you could eat, Chrissy?

As I look at your sleeping mass I can’t help but feel proud of myself.

It was such an ordeal to get you out of our home, the fire department had to be called, roads were closed, all to save poor fat Chrissy. Forty men worked for eight hours, demolishing walls with sledge hammers and saws to make a ten foot by ten foot hole in order for a crane to haul your fat ass into an ambulance.

Oh, just remembering how you dangled in the air like a fat cow gives me goosebumps. The look of revulsion on our neighbors faces, seeing your naked flesh shaking in that harness with your massive gut front and center. They’d seen you grow over the years and always asked me how you were doing when you became immobile. I’ll always remember their reaction seeing you slowly get lowered from the house, hands over their mouths in disgust, it nearly made me cum right there.

Look at you now. You don’t even fit in that hospital bed all the way, your flab is overflowing the sides. The only thing louder than the beeping of the hospital equipment is your snoring. I was here when they rolled you into the ER. You were definitely the fattest thing the nurses had ever seen. I recall seeing a nurse holding a cupcake throw it away when she saw you.

I’m surprised they even had a hospital gown that fit an 840 pound whale like you.

Let me see it. Lifting it up is easy, it’s not like you can fight back like this. Even if you were awake you would be too weak to stop me.

This stomach, this massive slab of belly fat. I pat it and the wobbling doesn’t stop. I slap it with an open palm and the loud meaty sound that echoes in the room makes my clit tremble with pleasure and I let out a lewd gasp. Oh it’s just a wonderful stomach Chrissy, just an ocean of useless flab. There’s still a girl inside all this fat, but she’s absolutely drowning in it, surrounded and trapped.

I did such a great job on you, but you had a head start, didn’t you?

When you waddled into that party with that purple number that you thought was cute, but in actuality made you look like quite the plump little plum, overly ripened and heavy to drop into my waiting hand.

I told you my sob story, about the scar on my face. It hooked you right in.

I gained your trust, you immediately let slip you were well over 400 pounds. You confessed about being a chubby little piggy growing up, unloved and unwanted by your family and friends. Such a background made you putty in my fingers to use and shapen.

I became your feeder and you became my feedee and then the fun really began.

You quickly outgrew your clothes you had when you moved in with me, or more aptly, when you became mine.

Because by giving into your piggy desires you sacrificed your humanity to me. 

Remember when you first touched five hundred pounds?

I do Piggy Chrissy.

Oh that big wide smile lifting up those flabby cheeks. You even lifted up your arms, but I scolded you. You’re a messy dirty hog that smells like a barn where you belong.

You grew extremely tired from standing and sat down. You’d grown tremendously weak and out of shape at 20. But this was the price that came with being my pig. Too hungry too diet, too weak to exercise.

I remember the first time you needed the walker.

Oh how you protested! That was for old people you said!

But I smirked and had you demonstrate to me just going with me to the corner market to get some milk. By the time we reached the parking lot you were grasping onto me like a clutch, if I hadn’t been there you would have just been crawling on your hands like the sick barn animal I had cultivated.

Needless to say you were on the walker, hobbling about like someone three times older than you. I had transformed the health of a youthful twenty something into a miserable wreck that was more suited for an old folks home.

As time flew by you greedily glutted your heart to the most repulsive state of 600 pounds. You needed a breathing mask to keep you from suffocating from your excess.

And then came that time you just couldn’t hold it in. You cried for hours and hours on the couch, sitting on your waste like a complete pig in poop. You cry and cry as I try and lift you from your shit pond you created under your ass and I achieved the impossible, getting you to your feet.

It was only a few feet, but you cried all the way. And when sat down you smashed it, you ripped apart an entre half of the bowl, water and shit flooding the floor.

That’s when I put you on that bed.

No more walking you hoggish disaster. This is what you get. For being so weak as to let the fat win. It shouldn’t be possible, for all this tissue, all these rolls to dominate your body as it has. But you surrendered to it, to your pleasures as every treat was foreplay to an orgasm

And now here we are piggy. The doctor is going to make you lose weight for an icky Gastric Bypass. That just won’t do.

When they release my blue ribbon prize back into your girlfriend’s custody I’ll be sure to tell them the hog will be on a strict diet and exercise program to turn her back into a person.

I would nod politely and tell blatant lies to their faces.

You may think your done, lying in the hospital bed.

But you’re not nearly done now.

You are out of control.