Bree woke up naked, sore, bloated and hungry.
She was naked because she wasn't allowed clothes. He wanted to see her body change. And boy had it changed. She didn’t mind. It was one less thing to worry about.
She was sore because he had fucked her like a cheap whore most of the night. He bent her into positions she didn't think possible (and she used to be very flexible) while telling her what a fat slut she was and how much fatter he planned on making her. He told her how much cellulite she had on the backs of her thighs, how he had to lift her belly apron to get at her fat pussy, and how small her tits had stayed as she ballooned into a hippo.
Bree had come so hard she babbled incoherently which only made him laugh at her. She loved his pillow talk. She was so relieved to not have to deal with boys who played games and never said what they wanted.
Bree was bloated from the pizza he had fed her as she lay on the bed in a sweaty heap.
“God you can eat a lot now,” he teased. “You're getting to be an expensive pet.”
Bree was hungry because he had trained her to always be hungry. No matter how full her belly felt her mind told her she could eat a little more. Such a change from when she was forced to count calories and weigh each piece of food she ate.
Bree tried to get up and nearly toppled over. He had put the shackles on her again.
She felt the cold steel on her ankles and hear the rattle of the chain. It didn't keep her from getting around but it slowed her down and made stairs impossible.
He wanted to control her as much as he could even when he was away. Bree got wet just thinking about it. She wanted to lie in bed rubbing herself but she knew her assignment was waiting.
Bree shuffled out into the hall, her flabby thighs slapping together with each awkward step. The gallery of photos of her from before she had met him stared back at her. Back when she was so thin and tan and full of herself. With her long legs and toned arms she thought she was so smart and had all the answer, when in fact she had just been preventing her true self from emerging. What the hell would she have done as a gymnast anyway? She had deprived herself of pleasure just to stay thin for boys who didn't like her anyway and parents who were living out their dreams through her. Then she let herself be put in that prison of a campus trying to learn things her small mind would never understand.
Thank god he had found her.
She shuffled by the picture of her in a bikini from the summer she worked at the fitness camp. She had abs popping through her bronzed skin.
He hated that picture.
Bree's chubby hands gripped the sagging, pale paunch he had given her since she had moved in. No one would ever believe abs like that were buried beneath her blubber. He had told her he planned to make her huge. He was so good at it too.
Bree continued out to the kitchen. Eight cakes were waiting for her at the table. One for each hour he would be away. Some were round, multi-layered. Others were big sheet cakes. Some were chocolate frosted, others, vanilla, still others were brightly colored. All had one word piped onto them that together made a phrase.
Straight to your fat belly, you greedy piggy.
Bree sat down and started in on cake number one. She tore into it with her bare hands, shoveling mouthful after mouthful past her plump lips. It tasted so good she had to pause as the sexual tingle she had been conditioned to feel caused her to quiver.
The cake was rich and filling. The frosting was over an inch thick. If all were like the first, which Bree knew they would be, she'd be hard pressed to meet the goal.
Bree racked her brain for what day it was. What was the consequence for not succeeding? Was it milkshake funnel feeding. Perhaps it was treadmill day. Would she get a paddling or be forced to crawl on her hands and knees. Or would it be a new consequence. Bree was making herself wet just thinking about it. Her glorious transformation from society's ideal into his perfect pet.
Bigger, softer, hungrier, hornier.
Bree shook the thoughts out of her head and focused on her goal.
The first 2 cakes went down easy. She the platters licked clean in just over 30 minutes.
She was turning into such a pig.
After that it started to get tougher. She could feel her belly stretching with each bite. The stretch marks around her belly button started to get sore. She leaned back in the chair and let her distended gut fill her lap. She dabbed sweat out of her eyes with her frosting and crumb crusted hand.
Bree needed a drink.
All that was in the fridge was whole cream. The cold, thick liquid felt good going down but only filled her more.
Bree forced the third and part of the fourth cake down. It took a while and made her feel sick. Bree was exhausted. All the exertion was wearing her out. She pulled herself up from the table and shuffled to the front room on the big comfy couch.
Walking past the mirror above the mantle she caught a glimpse of her overstuffed naked form. Her belly was huge, sticking out in front of her further than she could reach. She looked like some obese woman pregnant with triplets.
He would fuck her so hard if he could see her now.
Bree had a hard time getting comfortable on the couch. She knew it was almost halfway through the day and was off pace for making goal, but she needed a nap.
The sound of one of his phones woke Bree up hours later. He had so many a few were often scattered around the house. This one was getting a flurry of texts. Bree had a hunch who it was. She knew she wasn't supposed to look but glanced at it anyway as she shuffled back toward the cakes.
It was her sister Bonnie. Or Bunny as he had renamed her. She was desperate to get to see him. But of course she had always been desperate. The texts begged for a night of sex. Detailed descriptions of what she would do to him flashed on the phone along with pictures of her sculpted body naked.
He had transformed Bunny as well, but not into a big spoiled pet. Bunny was his bimbo sex toy. Bleached hair with pink ends, cheekbone implants like a photoshopped supermodel. Lip injections that made it hard for her to talk normal, breast implants so large they tugged her shoulders into a hunch, a stomach lipo'ed of every ounce of fat so it can be redistributed to her ass and thighs that tapered out from her narrow waist to extreme jiggling widths, and of course a drug and hormone regimen that turned her into a horny slut machine.
Bree ignored the phone and started back in on the cakes.
Fourth and fifth went down slowly. Bree was so very full. She could feel her stomach muscles cramping. The heavy cream only made it worse. Her belly throbbed and ached. Her jaw muscles felt like jelly. She could barely reach past her belly to get to the sixth cake which she forced down most of before blacking out. For the next couple hours she would wake with a start, stuff a handful of cake in her mouth, moan and squirm from discomfort and fade again into unconsciousness. She got through cake six and seven this way. She felt like she weighed a ton. Then she realized it was time... Yet he wasn't home. Bree wondered where he was.
Bunny danced in front of his desk in heels so tall she was over 6' and a dress so tight every curve and contour of her man-made body could be seen.
“I couldn't wait for you, baby. I needed to see you,” Bunny panted.
He got up from his desk and walked around to the Gyrating slut. He backhanded her across her massive chest, sending her teetering back on her heels.
“You stupid cow! I told you never to come to my office. I don't need my staff to see what simple-minded, overstuffed whore I keep company with.”
Bunny's lips pouted even more than they naturally did. She looked down into her cleavage, batting her long lashes.
“Now get out of those heels and give me ten jumping jacks.”
Bunny did as she was ordered, starting off with a barefoot jump that would barely qualify but was still enough to cause her melons to bounce heavily. She winced and grunted.
Another, followed by another. Each jiggly bounce caused her boobs to flop closer to freedom of the tight dress and her skirt to ride up, exposing her plump pussy and plumper ass.
Bunny was sweating and grimacing by five. Her knockers hung out of her dress.
Six was barely a bob which got her another rap on her big targets.
Seven was almost a real jumping jack.
You skin is stretching nicely around your assets. You'll be able to go up another couple sizes soon.
“However big you'd like them, sir. Consider me your horny blow-up doll.”
He chuckled. “You'll be lugging them around in a hand cart before I'm satisfied. When I want to fuck you we won't need to look for a bed, I'll just bend you over your bean bag-sized fun bags.
Bunny shivered in anticipation as she continued with another terrible jumping jack.
“Stop jumping before you have a heart attack. Now get out of that ugly dress and give me some head, bitch.”
Bunny peeled off the dress and hurried over to kneel before the leather desk chair as he leaned back and lit a cigar. She tugged out his huge, semi-hard cock and struggled to lean down to get in in her mouth. Her tits pressed up against his knees and prevented her from lowering her head. He helped by grabbing a handful of blonde and pink hair and tugging her toward him. She wrapped her fat lips around his wand and sucked like a thirsty brat with a slushee.
He smoked his cigar like it was nothing, letting the slut slurp away until he was ready. He tugged her hair up.
“Bend that big ass over the desk, bitch.”
Bunny let her boulders flop down on the desk and braced for him to ram her, which he did like she was a stranded bumper car and he was a mean kid with a clean shot across the rink.
Bunny’s tits swung like wrecking balls, slapping up against her chin, knocking the phone and pens off the desk. She tried to contain them but needed both hands on the desk to keep him from sending her over the edge onto the floor.
Bunny wailed like a banshee as he brought her and brought her. Drool dangled off her full lips and sweat trickled around the curves of her swaying tits and dripped off her engorged nipples.
When he was done he slumped back into his chair, his cock still hard and throbbing.
“You couldn’t even make me cum, you freak show.”
“What do you want me to do, baby?” Bunny panted.
“Get you dress on and get the fuck out of here. I have to go home and make sure your pig of a sister has eaten enough today.”
Bree was passed out in the kitchen, her belly a throbbing pale balloon with blue veins pulsing just beneath the stretched skin. Cake crumbs and frosting were smeared around her face, tits and parts of her belly she could reach.
His pig had swollen even larger than when he had left her.
On the table eight empty platters sat scattered about.
He woke her by securing her hands behind her back. Or as far behind her back as he could get them. He really didn’t need to. She wouldn’t be getting to her feet anytime soon.
“Someone’s been a hungry girl,” he teased, poking a finger deep into her drum tight belly.
Bree shrieked in pain.
“Please, no. I’m so full. I literally feel like I might pop.”
He grinned devilishly and instead of stopping grabbed big handfuls of flap and shook her tender tummy. It instantly started gurgling.
“What’s the matter? Is all that rich, gooey cake and thick cream cheese and buttercream frosting too much for your fat ass?”
Bree turned even more pale than she was as her cheeks puffed up.
He stopped and took a step back.
“You are really full. We’ll have to work on stretching that belly even more. I want you to be able to eat so much I can see the difference after each meal. I want that belly dragging on the floor as you waddle around.”
Bree was too tired and full to respond.
“Oh well, piggy. Rest up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
He gave one last pat on the pig’s belly before heading off to make some calls. As much as he loved stringing the sisters along into thinking he was keeping them around the truth was their transformations were complete. He could sell them off for huge money.
A fat or feeding fetishist would pay top dollar for a promising but overworked and emotional fragile gymnast turned bloated, food addicted pig, conditioned to stuff herself sick. Of course he’d throw in the pictures for a few thousand more. Every feeder loves a good comparison.
And he could find a buyer for the overdeveloped slut in minutes. He had probably overdone it on the ass and thighs. Bunny was a little thick for the average middle aged executive to break out big bucks for, but those tits and lips would have her selling for six digits easy to some horny rich sap.