Dr. Biggs: Faterinarian
In front of an unassuming suburban house on an unassuming suburban street, a large white van pulled up. Painted across the side were black letters that spelled "Dr. Biggs: Faterinarian" and below that, in slightly smaller font, "Treating Greedy Piggies, Land Whales, Hucows, and other Obeasts."
A man of not greater than average build in a white doctor’s coat got out and approached the front door of the house, knocked twice, and was greeted by a slender man in his early 30s. "Good morning, sir, which way to the patient?" the doctor asked, and the man led him into the living room, where he found a beautiful blonde taking up most of an oversized chair-and-a-half all by herself. Her cherubin face sat above a sturdy double chin, which gave way to plump upper arms and extremely full breasts, each one larger than a soccer ball, held up in a specialty cup sized sports bra. Beneath them, a globular belly spread out gloriously for all the world (or at least the good doctor) to see. Ample, creamy, white flesh with hardly a visible stretch mark and a deep belly button he could have easily hidden two fingers in. This took up most of what would have been her lap, covering thighs that were perhaps on the chubby side, but hardly remarkable. Her calves as well were, if anything, more shapely than fat, and he saw that she had an ice pack on each knee. "So, what seems to be the problem?" the doctor asked after performing a brief visual inspection.
"Well," the man replied, clearly speaking on the fat woman's behalf, "It's her poor knees. She can barely waddle to the fridge and back without them giving her trouble. I know that mobility eventually becomes an issue for almost all feedees, but she was only 375 lbs. at her last weigh-in." She looked a bit sheepish when he said the number but didn't say anything and instead just looked down into her own considerable cleavage. "Doesn't this seem a little premature?" her feeder asked.
"Hmm, it does," the doctor responded matter-of-factly. "It looks like you've done a fine job with this little piggie so far, but I'll be honest, she'll probably be one of my smallest patients today. It's a good thing you called me instead of a regular people doctor, who would just tell her to lose some of this beautiful weight, which obviously no one wants to hear." The man nodded. "You want her to be able to get around, at least for now, since all-you-can-eat buffets don't deliver..." he chuckled at his own professional humor. "I'm going to write you a prescription for a mobility scooter and some other equipment that will help you move this butterball around without her having to walk. Quite honestly, walking is just a waste of precious calories anyway. By minimizing that, she can still maintain some mobility, and as an added bonus, you'll likely notice the rate of her growth increase as well. However, I saw your car in the driveway, and at some point, you're going to need something larger, quite possibly with some modifications, but we can cross that fridge when we get to it." He smiled at his own joke again.
"Honey, maybe I could just go on a diet for a little while and see if that helps? Like Dr. Weinberg suggested?" the patient asked, finally speaking up for herself.
"Whoa there, easy girl," the doctor replied in a firm but caring tone, and he pulled a large wedge of grocery store cheesecake in a plastic container out of his black doctor's bag and offered it to her, placing it atop her shelf-like belly. At the sight of the high caloric confection, she instantly giggled, sending ripples across her expansive abdomen, clapped her meaty mitts together, and unconsciously wiggled her pudgy toes in delight. She immediately dug in, not even stopping to ask for a fork, and instead cramming the sweet treat right into her eager mouth.
The doctor gave bulbous belly a friendly pat. "There, there, that's a good girl," he said gently, then turned to the man, "She's a real beaut, you've got here, sir! Take good care of her, and we may have to talk about those vehicle modifications sooner than you'd think." He gave a wink and was out the door, off to his next appointment.
* * * * *
At the next house, Dr. Biggs was greeted at the door by a very full-figured pregnant woman. Clearly plus-sized before getting knocked up, her hips had spread out into a wonderfully maternal shape. Her thighs were nice and plump, and her whole body had a certain "softness" about it. Her tits, while not remarkably large, were incredibly perky. Her belly appeared firm on top but with some soft "mommy fat" toward the bottom and spreading out into generous love handles. She was wearing a tight white t-shirt, stretched across all of this glorious flesh, and a pair of black maternity yoga pants that looked like they were ready to split if she tried to bend over. Over all of this, she wore a pink polka-dot apron, which covered the front if not the sides of her belly. Her only adornment was a pair of earrings, which upon closer inspection, were shaped like tiny cowbells. Upon seeing the doctor, she removed the apron, revealing a crescent of bare flesh, about an inch at its widest, where her shirt and pants stubbornly refused to meet. As big as her belly was, it still had more than enough give that her belly button remained an ‘innie.’ "I'm so sorry, sir, I was just getting started on dinner," she said by way of greeting.
"Quite alright, my dear, is your feeder home?" He asked. She nodded and pivoted on her bare feet with surprising grace, given her size, and padded along into the house, the doctor following close behind.
"Oh good, you're here, please have a seat," a kindly gentleman said.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dr. Biggs inquired.
"It's Bessie's tits, I'm afraid," he began rather bluntly. Before the doctor could guess whether that was just a pet name or a remarkable coincidence, the man went on, "My little heifer has never been particularly busty, but this is her 6th surrogacy - her 4th one with multiples - and we really thought they'd have grown more by now. Her OB and midwife both say that her milk production is fine - superior actually - but even when fully engorged, they're still just C-cups." At this, Bessie looked a bit embarrassed but seemed to acknowledge her mammary deficiency. "We both want them much, much bigger, but obviously implants are out of the question, as this is a working dairy farm. Is there anything you can do to help?"
"Hmm, well, this is actually quite common," the doctor began. "Breast size and milk production are not as closely related as you might think. Even with fairly modest udders like your little Bessie here, it's entirely possible to achieve above average production, and I’ve seen some women with absolutely massive tits who can barely squeeze out a drop! However, if it's size you're going for, you'll need to fatten her up. Many preggos think they're overeating, when in fact they're barely getting enough nutrition. Remember, she's eating for... three, is it?"
"Four," she replied proudly.
"Ah, you *are* a good girl," the doctor smiled, patted her tummy, and turned back to the man. "It's quite clear her little ones are getting enough to eat, but at the end of the day, we need a surplus of calories just for the momma. We need her growing faster than they are if she’s ever going to reach her full potential. Also, nearly constant nipple stimulation is key to keeping those milk bags full. Breast pumps are fine, but in my professional opinion, nothing beats the 'human touch.' Have you been giving her enough attention?"
"Well, I certainly work her udders as often as I can, but unfortunately, I spend long days at the office. I don't like being away from her for so long, but it's worth it to have the financial stability so Bessie can stay home and graze all day long." At this, he gave his pet a loving smile, which she returned.
"Understandable," the doctor nodded and thought for a moment. "Can I put you in touch with another patient of mine in your area? She's a gainer who's having trouble breaking the 500 lb. mark and needs all the fat and calories she can get. Milking your Bessie here during the day could help facilitate the growth that both of these girls so desperately need."
Bessie seemed a little hesitant but also intrigued by the thought. "We'd have to meet her first of course," the man replied, "and as the man of the house, I would expect to be able to take certain... liberties with our guest?"
"I'll check with her feeder, but I'm certain something can be arranged," the doctor said, gathering his things and preparing to leave. "I'll be in touch, and until then, stop starving this poor girl," he added with a wink.
