>>18737>>18743Imagine being fattened to immobility in some dark basement, penned down by a literal ton of lard. Your feeder one day doesn't come down for the breakfast funneling of weight gain shake and melted butter. The hours pass, and your health monitor starts recording low blood sugar, your stomach rumbles and you're confused and frustrated. You attempt to dial and message your feeder with sausage fingers, but you left the phone in the bathroom anyway. You try to wriggle your bed of blubber you built on yourself around as you call out deeper and louder, chins wobbling, for your feeder to quit the games and come down already.
Silence.
Hours of silence. Days of silence. You wet and soil yourself after you can't hold it in any longer - your catheter and bucket overflow.
More days. Constant torturous pants of hunger. Bedsores and terrible odors, and boredom and fear and loneliness. Wriggling in (slowly shrinking fat).
A couple weeks of Hell pass...
Thirst (you licked back some neck fat sweat) and sepsis get to you before you can get skinny enough to get out of bed (you're too weak anyway).
The last thing you saw was a bright light, and then a sudden shift to a very chilling, ominous black. "I've been waiting for you, Anon..."
Feeder never returned.
Neither did you.
