FC Punk
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Four Years Later
🕑 Added 2019-12-01 17:33:29 +0000 UTCFour Years Later
By FC Punk
Four years have passed for you, the blushing bride and my have you grown.
Four years later and you tip the scales at 690 pounds. That is most repulsive indeed, to be greedy enough to have blown up like this. Four years you ate and ate and ate and ate.
The chefs in the kitchen resent you, in the kitchen they constantly make fun of you.
"The whale demands extra cream in this order."
"Just what a beached whale needs, more blubber."
A beached whale is an apt comparison, you're practically immobile. Not all the way immobile, no no, you can still get up with hired up but the days of you being able to rise under your own power were over 200 pounds ago. When you first learned of your new found immobility you stuffed yourself for close to eight hours.
But again, you're practically immobile, which means you can walk if you have to. You adore going out with your husband, going to fancy expensive restaurants in your fancy designer clothes made from a sweatshop in Vietnam. What must those poor souls be thinking, making pants and shirts and suits and bras and panties in such huge sizes. You love feasting in these expensive restaurants because they have the best food and you deserve nothing but the best. You eat and feast and glut yourself until you're a stuffed cow.
However, immobility isn't the only consequence of your sinful little lifestyle.
Around 500 pounds you had a heart attack. It was during an especially decadent meaty cheesy lasagna. You were eating handfuls of it like a pig when it happened. You felt the tightness, like some external force had gripped your heart into a vice. You felt pain like daggers of fire stabbing into you and your arm went numb.
You lived.
The doctors had never seen such a out of shape fat pig at only 22 nor imagined it. A quadruple bypass operation was performed on you, saving your fat ass.
It cost your husband 80K and after that he took a life insurance policy on you with you blissfully unaware. He had been disgusted at your monstrous obesity and your gluttony that ate into his money. He wasn't dare going to divorce you, knowing you would take half of his assets gleefully. He was going to get his money back somehow and this was it.
Since your little heart attack misadventure your health just continued to get worse. You became a diabetic, always thirsty, always hungry. Your big soft belly became a pin cushion for all the insulin injections you need.
But still you feast, still you eat, still you munch and munch and munch.
The entire staff at the estate are at your beck and call. They have to endure the nasty farts you rip without a care in the world. They have to wipe your ass for you. They have to give you sponge baths. You verbally abuse them all day long, calling them worthless and threatening to fire them if they make the slightest mistake. They have to be burdened by the big bitchy pig you've become.
This was your goal, this life is everything you've ever wanted, to be fat and lazy and eat whatever you want and to sleep for as long as you care. The sex every day part didn't quite live up to your expectations. When you hit 200 pounds your husband's interest in you descended to the depths of hell. He doesn't even sleep in the same room as you anymore.
Because of this you had no issue cheating on him. You regularly hired male prostitutes to service you. They did all the work, lifting your fat belly and fucking you until you squealed like the greasy fat pig you are. They were young, they were hot, and they were expensive. Not an issue for you of course, your husband's money was more than enough for three fucks a day.
Of course you had other options besides the various gigolos on retainer. Adam the pool boy, fresh out of high school and looking to make big bucks. He worked hard in your big fancy pool and while you stuffed yourself with cream puffs and tanning in the sun. You lucked out with him, he was a kinky sort of boy. You always rewarded him for his hard work with blow jobs.
The fact of the matter, the one real absolute truth of this world, is that people don't change they grow.
Yes, and you have grown in four years haven't you?
