The Roleplayer - Part 3

 I rubbed her belly and she panted. I took in more details. A massive fat lump stuck out at the side and I realized it was her right ass cheek. It was covered in stretch marks and cellulite itself. I moved higher, and then her hands caught my wrists. "Down." She said, quietly. "Belly please. I... Please?"

So I did. There was a suddenly unmistakable sound of her passing gas. "Excuse me." She panted. "IBS, one of my problems." It wasn't the worst smelling in the world, but it hung around for a moment. I kept rubbing then she said "I'm... Sorry."

"For what?" I asked.

"I need... A favor." She was panting. Sweat was beaded on her forehead. "I'm stuffed. And every time I get stuffed... I get... wet. You know, turned on? Will you... masturbate me?" She gestured. "I can't reach anymore."

"I'll do one better." I offered. I reached for my pants.

"No, please." She said. "I couldn't... I don't think I could handle it. It's been so long since I've cum. I haven't been able to... orgasm in like 6 months." Tears again. "There's a toy in there." She pointed to the chest of drawers. "An aide found it and put it away when I couldn't use it anymore, I let them."

"Don't be ashamed." I said. I retrieved the dildo.

"You might need to move my legs. And... So I'm sorry. I'm going to probably be sweaty. Be careful, my left thigh is really swollen, and I have a catheter. Do you know what that is?"

"Not really..." I hesitate looking at the dark space under the covers.

"It's a tube in my urethra to take my pee away" She said blushing. And murmured "I can't get out of bed and it's hard to... clean." I pushed the covers aside. Her left thigh was on a chux pad of it's own. It was swollen, and I didn't touch it. I moved her right leg a bit, feeling her strain to help me, puffing and panting off the cannula. I expose a flabby blob. It takes me a minute before I realize that's her FUPA. I pull it up and there's the hair of her pussy. A yellow tube emerges from the tangle of lips and hair. I probe down with my fingers. White powder is spread across every fold, I probe with my fingers and then I start to tease the outer lips with the dildo. Then I gently ease it in part way. She moans and gasps. Fat hands grip the siderails of the bed. I gently ease it in the rest of the way and then back slowly out. She's panting and gasping. Clearly the poor woman is incredibly repressed. I move up the bed. She's moved her hand, and she starts pulling at her shirt, breathing hard. I help roll it up, then still teasing the outer lips with the dildo I watch as she start to rub her nipples. She's panting hard. I start to go faster, my other hand probing through the fat and pubes to try to find her clit. I rub the area around it with my fingers. She's moaning, and I start to move the dildo in and out, in and out, faster and faster then suddenly "Oh! Goooooddddddd!!!" And she grabs for the siderails of her bed. I withdraw the dildo and for a moment she lies there motionless except for her partially naked chest as it moves up and down, up and down. A wheeze slips out of her mouth as she gasps for air.

After a few moments, during which time I wipe off the dildo with some paper towels she says "Your turn." I turn to face her. "What?"
"Your turn." She's still out of breath but has a very determined look on her face. "I'm going to give you a blow job." Fat fingers find the bed remote and it starts to lift up from her partially reclined position that she's been in the whole time, to know, where she's almost completely sitting up. Her fat cascades down, rolling slowing, her huge belly covering her whole lap.
"Um... How?" I ask staring at her. Her face is red from the effort of breathing and sitting straight up.
"Take off your shoes, pants, everything, and climb on the bed." She instructs.
So I do. I take a hold of the headboard, my erect cock is straight out in front of me and then her lips are around my cock and her tongue is playing with the head. She starts to edge it in and out. With a slurp it slips out. I look down and see an almost... hunger in her eyes. "Thrust your hips." She orders. "In and out. Fuck my fat face."
So I start. The sexual tension has built in the air, and she's fantastic at giving head. "You're so sexy." I gasp. "So hot. Suck me off, you sexy immobile lardass." I don't know why I say it but she doesn't stop. After what seems like hours of edging I cum, my hot seed filling her mouth. She sucks hard on my cock, milking every drop out of it and swallowing it down. I lean on the head board. Then I slip off the bed and collapse into the wheelchair, my flaccid cock still wet. "That was the best blow job ever." I say, gasping. "You're amazing."
She blushes. "I've always wanted to do that. I think I've got an oral fixation or something."
"I'm not complaining." I assure her, and reach to squeeze my hand. "Do you need anything?"
She blushes. "Could you... Mom said there's a pack of cookies in the kitchen..."

The Roleplayer - Part Two

I of course said yes. I invested in a bunch of condoms and we started planning the trip. It would overlap her 30th Birthday and I was happy about that. I had plans for what we could do. I took my car, did a lot of research and drove down. It was a happy drive for me, but it seemed to pass so slowly, even as I approached her home in Southern Ohio.

The house was a double wide trailer located on the edge of a beaten down trailer park. The roads were potholed but the park was almost painfully clean. It was the sort of clean you get when respectable poor people are trying to appear proper. I knew immediately who lived here. America's working poor. The yard was weedy looking but there was a flower garden. A wooden wheelchair ramp led to the front door. There were no cars in the driveway. As arranged I walked around to the side of the trailer.

Her instructions had been extremely detailed, clearly she was very anxious about the whole thing. She'd begged me to be punctual, or late, but not early. She'd even asked me to park alongside the trailer, not on the road. She had also begged me to bring protection since she wasn't on any birth control and was too scared to ask her parents.

There was a pair of windows on this side of the trailer. An old window AC unit throbbed in one. Next to it was a window, a black curtain closed in front of it. A key sat there on the sill. I took the key and DM'd her. "I'm coming in." Then I unlocked the front door, stepping around an overflowing ashtray on a badly placed table. The house was dark. It was evening but the living room blinds were open giving me enough light to see old cheap and worn furniture. The house smelled lived in. Not disgusting but definitely lived in. There was a room with light coming from under a door. I knocked and the familiar high breathy voice said "Come in."

My brain recoiled at the sight. There was a standing lamp that was the only light in the room, but the form was so large. So wide and bulbous that it was almost inhuman. I couldn't even identify details for a moment. What hit me first was the smell. The air was close. It was faintly BO, piss, shit, but overwhelminly talcum powder and medicinal.

The first thing I saw that made sense were the eyes. They were blue, among the most beautiful blue I'd ever seen. They were set back and looked anxious, almost wet and teary. Then I realized she was upset with my reaction. I was staring slack jawed. So I lied, "Kel. You're so beautiful."

It was a lie because I hadn't taken in details yet. But it stopped being a lie in a couple more minutes.

Starting at the bottom by the window AC, a threadbare quilt was pulled up about 2/3 of the way up the bed. It bulged out at the sides. It looked like two adults in the fetal position were underneath it. Above that was a huge once red now faded to pink shirt. It was faded and threadbare, wear and tear caused by a mix of cheap fabric and dye washed over and over. It covered what was clearly a massive belly. One that flowed out to each side and down under the quilt. Above it, resting on it were two lumpy underboob folds. Then her breasts, clearly flat and very saturated with fat. They moved rapidly as she breathed rapidly and shallowly. The arm I could see was very fat, with a drooping upper arm, and large forearm. A chubby but small hand was lying on the bed. Moving up the stretched out neck of the shirt showed a fold where her neck should be. Then the double chin gave way to an actual chin which was dimpled. Her cheeks were big fat, and flushed red, her nose small and flat, with an oxygen cannula hooked into it. This led to a concentrator next to the bed which was under a bedside table. Her eyes were blinking away the tears, her forehead was normal and furrowing, and her hair was brown and slightly damp.

"What?" She said.

"You're so beautiful." I said, approaching the bed. "Your face... It's so beautiful. I love your hair. And your voice... It's so attractive." I meant every word. I couldn't help it.

"Um..." She blushed some more and cleared her throat. "Nice to meet you in person at last John." She offered me her hand. It was small in mine, and moist. How about you pull up the chair." Her upper arm jiggled as she pointed to a bariatric wheelchair in the corner. "It's the only furniture I have in here." She apologized. "I promise it's clean! I haven't used it for... a while." It was clean. I removed a bag of clothes on it. I took the opportunity to look around. The room wasn't the largest. Everything was squeezed in. A closet had only a few clothes hanging up, and a chest of drawers shoved in. There were no doors, just a curtain that had been thrown back. Boxes of medical supplies were stacked along the wall. Chux pads, cannulas, and some brand names that later I'd learn were catheters and enemas. One box sat on what was obviously a commode covered in a sheet. Her bed took up most of the room, almost a quarter. It was a bariatric hospital bed. Currently the back was raised. A TV was sitting on a table at the foot of the bed, (it was currently off) the AC in the window below her feet, and the window with the key by her left elbow. The bedside table had a minifridge on it, in easy reach, with the O2 concentrator underneath. A bag with a tube hung under the bed. A rolling table, like in a hospital, was pushed next to the bedside table. It held her laptop, closed.

A sheet covered the chair and once the dusty sheet was removed I rolled it over and sat. It was twice my width, and I'm not skinny. I locked the brakes and put my feet on the plates. "Here" I offered her a plastic bag. "Just some gifts. A thank you present." Inside was a pound bag of licorice, her favorite candy, a bottle of craft soda from a local company by me, and an amazon gift card. We'd done some pen pal style mailing back and forth. Her gifts had been about the same as mine. Books but also homemade gifts including a knit dog.

"Wow thanks." She said. And blushed. "I'm sorry, I'm not... Good with people."

"You've told me" I said. "But you're doing fine." I looked at the TV. There was a playstation 3 there, and a controller on the windowsill. "You know" I said. "The new season of the Ozarks is up. We haven't seen it but we both want to. Do you want to watch a couple episodes? I'll order us a pizza or something, and we can just chill, and enjoy ourselves."

I was watching her face and a gleam came into her eye when I mentioned pizza. Then she reluctantly said "Um I... I'd love to watch TV with you. But... Did you eat?"

"No" I said. "I was excited to meet you. I was too nervous to eat."

"Oh." She said. "Me too." I could tell she was lying. She'd certainly eaten before I arrived, her eyes flicked away from me for a second, ashamed. "I mean the aides got me something but..."

When she trailed off I said "Just have a slice as a snack or something. Where's the harm?" And it was like I'd given her an opening. She ordered it all on the website using her computer. She was quite the expert on local pizza. I thought I would have to press to get her to get the biggest but she did on her own. And breadsticks. Oh, and I had to try their garlic bread. She gave me directions to plates in the kitchen. They weren't were she'd said, but I found them, and when the delivery driver arrived he presented me with a stack of goodies. I staggered back to the bedroom. The table was pulled over, the laptop closed on the windowsill. She turned on Netflix and I took a slice of pizza. She took two. And breadsticks. And blushed. "I have... Well big girl big appetite." she said and tried to smile.

I squeezed her hand. It was greasy from the pizza. "Don't ever be ashamed of yourself around me." I said. "I don't mind your appetite or your size at all. You're beautiful and no one should starve themselves."

Tension was in the air during the whole episode. I didn't stint myself, but she ate most of the pizza. I had three slices and she had the rest. Once we were watching the TV she went on autopilot. Chewing and chewing working at each slice and swallowing. She'd take a drink of soda from her glass, the 2 liter bottle delivered by the pizzeria as well, and then start on a breadstick or another slice. She'd belch quietly occasionally and the first time she shot me a guilty look and blushed when she saw me looking. "Excuse me" she said.

From then on I switched to the TV when she belched after each drink. Then back to her. It was impressive. She was a machine for demolishing food. Her breathing, already fast, got faster, especially as she worked at the last of the pizza.


Finished her face was redder and she was breathing heavier. She had been leaning against the bed the whole time but now she sagged against it. I collected plates and dishes, and piled them all on the pizza box which was over a garbage can. The episode ended. "Excuse me while I use the restroom." I said. I took everything to the kitchen, placing the dishes by the sink and throwing the garbage away. Then I used the restroom. I walked back in and I caught her looking at the ceiling smiling, her hand under the covers moving... was she rubbing her belly?

"Good pizza." I said. She blushed and moved her hand. I stepped closer and then I pulled the covers down. "You must be full" I said. "My ex had a big appetite too. Once in a while she'd eat too much and she liked it when I gave her a belly rub. Do you want me too give you one?"

Her eyes gleamed and she panted. "Yes... please." At me. I pulled her shirt up. Her belly was pale, covered in stretch marks, and sagged down. I began to rub. It was incredibly soft and flabby. It was the fattest most swollen piece of flesh I've ever touched. And it felt like there was a hard football in the middle. Her stomach I realized. Massively oversized and distended. I gently rubbed and I heard her give a soft, panting groan. I grew hard inside my jeans.

The Roleplayer - Part One

  If I told you that one of the best things in my life started on Reddit would you believe me?

I love writing roleplays and found myself at a loose end one day. I met someone who went by the nom de cyber of "DarkDiva." We did a couple group RPs and then we started chatting more and more. Then one night I got a Discord Server invite from her and jumped in. It was a server for just the two of us. Over the course of the next year we spent a lot of time RPing and chatting.

I worked second shift and to my amazement she was online 7 days a week to RP with me. On my days off there were a few times we RPed for almost 14 hours straight. I enjoyed it immensely and she was there for me during a difficult breakup and while I was trying to salvage my love life.

You can't spend that much time talking to someone where you both share common interests and enjoy each others company without learning a lot without the other person. Sometimes we used voice channels and talked that way so I knew her voice. It was a nice voice, almost tentative, soft, and she ran out of breath quickly.

After fifteen months I realized I didn't know much. I knew her first name: Kelly but she preferred Kel, I knew she was unemployed, on disability, lived at home, and that she had severe social anxiety. I knew she'd been bullied and I knew she was 28, three years older then me. She lived in Ohio, about 5 hours drive from me.
But she knew so much more, including my preferences about larger women. I'd dated a BBW and I'd vented to Kel that my GF had broken it off because I wasn't supportive enough of her loosing weight. And during a couple RPs she even played heavier female characters. And we RPed intimate scenes, including one where a character made love to a massive immobile alien queen. But she never seemed to enjoy those characters as much as some of the others. She loved it when my characters took in outcasts and her favorite RP was a platonic one, where a woman with a birthmark on most of her body and is rejected by everyone finds love with a normal guy.

I'd been assuming that she was disabled, probably some variety of paralysis or a degenerative disease. Once for two weeks I was convinced she had cystic fibrosis, and that's why she spoke like she was out of breath and never went anywhere. There were times she'd say "Brb bathroom" and be gone almost a half an hour. In case you couldn't tell I had a pretty serious crush on the person who RPed with me daily. I even imagined her as fat more then a few times but never as fat as she actually was.

One day I couldn't resist it anymore and asked her "As your friend; you don't have to answer me if you don't want but I'm curious. Why are you online all day? Like you said you don't work, and I understand that, but you need to get outside sometimes."

There was a long long pause. Nearly ten minutes. So I posted "You don't have to answer me, please don't be angry."

Immediately "I'm not angry." Then. "Just... Embarressed." Then she spilled out her life story. And it was delivered in the most cynical and bitter way.
 

"I was born fat, to a fat family, in this fat town. That's what's wrong with me. I'm so fat that I never leave home. I can't work, I did when I was a teenager but not anymore, I didn't really quit because I was too fat but because I couldn't stand people. So I hide at home and I eat a lot and I don't really leave."
It went on. She'd never had a boyfriend, been bullied in high school. Her mother badgers her about loosing weight constantly, has since she was 8. It was like popping a cork.

One paragraph made me, much to my shame rock hard. I'd replied "I understand being overweight is terrible when it hurts your self esteem, but you know I find chubbier women attractive, and there's lots of guys out there like me who find a bit of extra curves, a bit of a belly, to be really hot." I was convinced she was probably more like 400 pounds.

She replied with: "My BMI at my last doctors appointment was 104.5." Followed by "I'm 5'3 inches tall and I was 590lbs then. That's the last time I left the house, and it was so hard. That was last October." Almost two years ago. "Now I haven't left my bed since June. I couldn't get up. They have a scale under my mattress but I won't look at the display or let anyone tell me what it says."

I begged her to call me. It was my day off, around 10pm. She did. I heard the breathy voice, and I could tell she was crying. "I'm sorry I asked and upset you" I said. "I was just curious."

"No it's fine." She said. There was a cough. "I should have told you long ago but I was enjoying this so much. Like, I can't get out and enjoy these things so I live them in RP. And I loved RPing with you so much!"

I tried to calm her down. I assured her that I didn't care about her weight. I promised her that I'd never ever pester her to loose weight. I told her that I didn't judge her on looks since I'd never seen her, but her writing was incredible. We stopped there that night but I made her promise to RP the next day.

I said nothing for a couple weeks but then I started to circle back in on the conversation. I tried to get her to realize that it was okay to open up with me. Mostly I wanted to hear details about her daily life and I started to get them after a while. She told me she really didn't dress anymore other then a shirt or gown because she spent so much time in bed. She was convinced that her immobility was due to swollen legs, making it too painful to stand, rather then just being fat. After none of that phased me she told me how her mother, father, and a couple rotating aides helped her with most everything. One day, after we'd been talking about two years she mentioned that her 30th birthday was coming up. And she complained about how she was going to "die a virgin." The death talk had cropped up a lot. She wasn't suicidal, according to her, but she would say things like "I don't think I'll live to see 40." But all I could get out of her was that she had "some health problems."

This time I stepped up. "Would you like to change that?" I asked. "I'll come down there, and we can have a romantic night. Watch a movie, and hang out. We can be close."

She blew me off at first, including with the line "No one could fuck this. I'm so ugly." But then one day she sent me this: "My parents are going out of town. The aides come by to care for me of course but that's only twice a day. Most of the day and all night, I'm alone. Do you want to come spend time with me?"

On Hospice - SSBHM

He was dying. The once pale white skin, pockmarked by stretch marks and occasional rashes was a sickly yellow color. His breathing was labored and he looked at the ceiling with dull eyes. Around him a huge mound of yellowed flab covered the large bed. His arms were huge and heavy, his legs shapeless, swollen to quadrulple their normal size by fluid and fat. So much so bandages covered his legs where the pressure had ripped skin. His belly covered his lower body, hiding a FUPA so big that it had swallowed his penis, making urination impossible without help. His moobs were big and flat, and there was a roll under them. His face was jaundiced, fat, and exhausted. It wasn't supposed to be like this.



He'd been rather thin but let himself go during highschool and his Freshman 15 was a freshman 50 in college. He went for 4 years and got a job in IT. And continued to let himself go. At 350lbs a websearch landed him in the world of fat fetishism. While not addicted to fat himself he'd discovered that he enjoyed his size. Soon he was piling on the pounds and posting pictures of himself online. That's how he'd met his feeder. A curvy brunette it had been her encouragement, with the help of those online, that had made him super obese. By the time he was 34 he was bed confined from his weight. He hadn't cared how fat he was, but his feeder did. He'd managed to walk till he was 780lbs.

Health problems had always been there, each one tackled squarely by him with new medications, and they'd doubled in 4 months after being bed confined. He'd ignored them. He wasn't delusional enough to pretend they weren't related to his weight, he was simply indifferent. A heavy drinker, he'd started experiencing stabbing abdominal pains and fatigue. The doctors had diagnosed him with Fatty Liver, and explained it was due to his heavy drinking and extreme obesity. Now with cirrhosis of the liver and heart failure he only had weeks to live. He was too obese for a transplant. He'd been transferred to Wilcox Farms, and placed in a quiet wing, overlooking a garden. They'd weighed him when he arrived. 902lbs. Oxygen was given for comfort, pain meds were plentiful, and the food wasn't unhealthy but it was good and their was plenty of it. After all it's not like a diet would help him any, not now.

His feeder sat next to him. She'd put on weight, making her curvy frame flabby. She was a BBW now in her own right. Her face was said. Finally she asked "How are you doing."

He huffed and then replied "I'm okay. Tired."

"They don't think you'll make it through the week." She said sadly. For himself he was surprised. He would've thought he was healthier then that. But he was relieved. The constant pain and hunger would go away, as would his horrible feelings of withdrawals from alcohol.

"Wow." He replied. "I didn't think I was so bad."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry I did this too you."

He stroked her face. "Don't be. I loved every minute of it." A thought struck him. "Do you think... I know that I can't make love to you. Not anymore." He had to pant to catch his breath, it was so much harder then it used to be. "But do you think I could get a blowjob?" No way he could help her get his penis, so swallowed by fat that it was only two inches at most, inside her.

"Of course." She closed the door and climbed on the bed. Carefully to avoid hurting his swollen and painful legs she carefully moved them aside. She climbed between them and found his fat pad. His now tiny penis was erect but buried inside him. Rubbing the fat pad and digging at his buried cock she got to it and then started to move it in and out of her mouth. She was an expert on giving him head, and he was horny with pent up sexual frustration. It wasn't long before he exploded inside her mouth. She wiped her face on the bed and looked up. He smiled weakly at her. "Thanks [pant, wheeze] so much. I love you. I'm just [cough, wheeze, gasp] sorry I couldn't make it." He paused to breath.
"Make it to what?" She asked, concerned.

"Make it to 1000 [wet hack] pounds." And he drifted to sleep. He was 36 years old, on hospice, due to his massive unhealthy obesity.

Practically Immobile

CW: Scat, obesity related health issues

I need to pee. Badly. I also need to shit. I am terrified. It's currently around noon on a Tuesday, the actual hours have no meaning for me anymore. And Mondays and Tuesdays I don't have help. The carers come the rest of the week and weekend to help me but not on these two days. My insurance won't give me enough money to afford it. In a perfect world I would get one at all times, 12 hours a day, and a second one for "active times" for me the morning when I need to be bathed and my skin care routine accomplished. But I need two for the whole period because my needs are so great and my health so poor. On Monday's my brother picks up money and goes shopping, and in an emergency he can clean up after an accident. But on Tuesdays I have no one. If I use the chux pads under me, the highly absorbent pads for collecting human waste, I'm sunk until tomorrow. If I can't get up to change them, then I will be sitting in a puddle of my own urine for the next 24 hours. The only option is the commode.

Made of white plastic with a reported weight capacity of 1000lbs the commode is situated right next to my bed. I look at it, sitting there, stalwart, so close I can touch it with my right hand. I can see the basin, it's about 1/8th full from my 4am pee. I don't sleep well at night anymore. But that was nearly 8 hours ago and my bladder is sending stabbing pains through my belly. I can't hold it anymore, but I hate moving. On days when I have caregivers I don't even use it, it sits on the far side of the room. I just have the caregivers put me on a bed pan and change the chux pads under me.

The problem for me is my massive belly. When I stand, it drops below my knees and pulls my back down. My knees, hips, and back constantly ache from the weight pressing on them. Making matters worse is my general weakness. I have a bad heart, one of the many issues caused by my high concentration of abdominal fat, so I've spent most of the last two years in bed. At first I could still get to the other side of the house, but now, I can barely make it onto the commode. I take a deep breath, trying to get my supplemental oxygen deep into my lungs and then I reach for the bed remote. I've found that the most comfortable position for my body, or the least uncomfortable anyway. I stay at a 70 degree angle in the bed, this helps my lungs, but it's laid down enough that most of my weight is removed from my back. I sit the bed up as high as it will got and then lean forwards.

I try to slide my butt forwards but I can't budge it loose, my weight has pinned my ass to the bed. All I succeed in doing is forcing out a rancid fart. I'm already gasping. I pause to take another deep breath and then rock myself onto my side. In a desperate convulsive movement I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I push myself into a sitting position gasping for air. The fluid in my lungs from my congestive heart failure, and my lungs are already crushed by fat, is giving me trouble. I cough and some of the wet mucus comes up. My breathing is terrible, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I fucking hate having to move.

I push myself to the side of the bed, getting my feet on the ground. My belly flows over my knees and pulls my back forward, breasts loose and dangling. I take another deep breath and my bladder aches. I need to get onto the commode NOW. I grab the two multi point canes next to the bed and force myself to stand, but I can't do it. My legs just can't seem to do it. I'm going to pee in a moment, whether I want to or not, and I don't want to think of getting my sensitive overstretched skin on my legs getting pee on them, not to mention getting pee all over my bed. I rock back and forth and then, in one desperate convulsive motion, I begin to stand. My boobs slap together. It's slow for most people but terrifyingly fast for me. Another fart bursts out. Pain fills my body, and I take a step, crushing an abandoned chip bag. Agony shoots through my back and knees. I'm gasping, and practically crying in pain. I take a second step, turning slightly. I'm terrified of falling. My massive belly and atrophied legs make balancing difficult. I gasp, looking behind me, adjust my direction a bit, and then collapse onto the commode. My dangling breasts slap back against my chest. I'm practically crying from the pain. I allow my bladder to loosen and gasp in relief. I also decide to empty my bowels and feel the shit sliding out of my butt.

My fat belly is still dragging down on me, bending me forwards, and I'm still struggling to breath. That small amount of exercise has left me sweating and my heart is pounding in my chest. I gasp "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this" to myself. I fart again, and realize that other then a few drops of pee I'm done. Which is good because the hard plastic of the commode is causing me more pain. I grab onto one of the bed rails and lean over on my left cheek. I take baby wipes and wipe as best as I can using a long stick made for the purpose, with the wipes secured to the end. I take a break on the commode for just a moment and then I use the bed remote to lay my bed flat. Its easier to get back into bed. I pick my butt up off the commode a couple inches and then pivot before sitting, half on the commode, partially on the bed. I adjust my footing and repeat till I'm sitting in bed. I then lay back and grab the bedrails and begin pulling myself up with my arms and pushing up with my legs. I can't roll onto my front because my belly's simply to big. So I drag myself up the bed. I can tell when I reach the perfect spot when my ass cheeks finally fit into the indentation they've worn in my mattress. I can't sit up anymore and begin to lift the bed, the fat in my chest and fluid in my lungs suficating me. Finally, once I'm back in my 70 degrees of comfort I allow a sob to escape my lips. I can smell the shit in the commode but I'm used to it. My folds chronically reek too so what difference does it make?

I can't believe I'm this out of shape that going to the toilet is nearly impossible. I rip open a bag of Cheetos and eat several handfuls. I'm starving from the exercise and... something else. I belch and then reach to the small bag on the bed railing holding several essentials, like my phone. I pull out my vibrator and then force my hand under my warm belly, smearing cheese across it. It's a struggle to find my clit because of all my built up fat but I force myself to continued. My immobility and just general obesity has really turned me on. I put another handful of Cheetos in my mouth with my left hand and then rub my left nipple with my stained hand. I gasp in pleasure, wheezing from the exertion. I'm practically immobile, extremely obese and unhealthy, potentially with mere months left in my life, and I'm loving every minute.

These four walls

For the last two years this room has been my world.

It's not a bad room, it's got windows that look over the park next door. It's painted a rather pleasant cream color, or it was the walls are now a rather tan/yellow. There's a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall with cable, and a video game console. I have a desktop computer, with the tower underneath my bedside table and the monitor mounted to a swingout arm on the wall next to my bed, and the bluetooth keyboard works pretty good.

I am massively obese. The last weight I had, two years ago when they put me in this bed was 711 pounds. I've probably put on at least a hundred more though. All I do is lay in this bed, and eat, and smoke, and eat. I probably don't have much longer left but I've accepted that. I actually enjoy being fat, being able to eat as much as I want, and having everything done for me.

All I've ever known my whole life was fat. I was born fat, to fat parents, in a fat Mississippi town, and then moved north to work in IT where I was surrounded by fat coworkers. Eventually I switched to online and phone tech support from my house because it was too hard to go outside and walk to my office. I downsized to an apartment. One day at my doctors, they found numerous fungal infections, and my blood pressure and blood sugar were out of control. I qualified for disability and moved into a different apartment, one in a handicap accessible building, where the rent is subsidized for disabled tenants. Needless to say about 2/3s of us were obese with 15% being disabled by their size.

The special day for me was when I found out my caregiver Macy was an FFA. One day she found me struggling to pleasure myself and just offered to help. Now she's my full time carer, lives with me, and takes care of everything. Macy is tiny, 5'0 and maybe 100 pounds.

Before she moved in full time, which was two months ago, I still moved around some, from my bed, to the living room, and the bathroom and kitchen. Most of the time I used my motorized wheelchair and limited my walking as much as possible. But one day I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't breath so good either and no matter what couldn't stand. Macy called 911 and I was dragged from bed, onto a too narrow stretcher and to the hospital. The doctors told me that everything was high that shouldn't be, from blood pressure and blood sugar to cholesterol. They told me that with my smoking I was lucky I could still breath. They told me to take my new doses of medication, quit smoking, and start loosing weight or I was living on borrowed time.
When the ambulance crew brought me back inside my apartment, with the new nasal cannula giving me oxygen and I saw my new bariatric bed against the wall I knew I wouldn't be loosing weight.

Now I lie here in my bed in the old living room, Macy has my old bedroom, and does all my cares. All I do for myself is eat and smoke. She wipes me, bathes me, gives me my insulin shots, and all the rest. She's small but muscular, and I get so hard when I feel her hard little body pressing into my  soft overflowing body. When I poop and she's wiping me with one tiny hand pressing into my massive butt cheeks I get sharp little pangs of pleasure in my chest. Every week she changes the catheter and that the day we make love. Sometimes its just a handjob, but sometimes she strips naked and lets me massage her tiny breasts, (Each one of my moobs is three times the size of her breasts) and she'll push my belly to the side and then rub her groin against my fatpad till my hidden penis become hard enough for her to find it. With only two inches exposed she has to do a lot of work for me to penetrate her.

Today I lie here, the smoke from my ever present cigarette drifting upwards, debris from my latest feast, which like all of them has a mix of good foods, like veggies (In massive amounts) and fattening deserts scattered about. The window is open, to try to let some of my funk out. Sweat pools in my folds, saturating into the rolled up towel under my massive gut. I pant, like I always do, and try not to worry about running out of food. Macy is off getting more food. I've shit myself, but I hardly notice anymore, Macy will come and wipe me down and change the chux pads, accidents happen. I belch and notice that it echos off of the four walls.

Hidden Away 1

"So you understand this requires the GREATEST of discretion."

Julie kept a straight face while internally rolling her eyes. Rich people more worried about their public image then their disabled relative. She responded "Sir I value your privacy but my first priority is always going to be the care of my patient. I promise that your privacy will be second only to that." So there, she thought. Julie was 25 years old, 5'-9" tall, curvy, with brown hair and honest brown eyes. She had 32D breasts and a tight wide ass. She was the embodiment of the perfect hourglass figure outside of a small belly, which was barely visible. She was currently single, and worked in healthcare first as a caregiver and now as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) to make ends meet after she'd been kicked loose from her foster home at her 18th birthday. She had no family she knew about, although she'd been told her mother had been an alcoholic who'd abandoned her at the hospital. She had been told about this job by her boss at the Brooklyn Rehab Center.

"That's good." The man rubbed his forehead. "You see our current caregiver is leaving us in two days. It's our son." He paused again.

Julie forced herself not to roll her eyes. Did they think they were the only ones in the whole world with a disabled son?

"He's super morbidly obese, like to the point he can't walk very far, and needs assistance with just about everything. So..." Pause.

The woman stepped in. "Do you have any experience with heavier people?"

Julie said "Yes." Her mind changing gears from a severely disabled adult to one who was fat, "When I was working at Brooklyn Rehab I worked in the bariatric care section."

"Do you have any problems working alone?"

"No. Not if your son can stand and walk."

"He's extremely limited in his movements. It's a very difficult situation for us as a family."

"I understand. Are you currently working on a weight loss program?"

"NO!" The man snapped. "It's his choice."

"You see" the woman stepped in. "We don't want you to strain your relationship with the boy by pressuring him. That's our job as his parents. We just need you to help care for him since my husband and I have very full schedules."

"Not a problem." Julie said "If all I have to do is assist with personal care that makes my job much easier."

"Remember complete confidentiality. In the circles we move in our son's... condition would create many problems, including the bad publicity for my corporation."

"Not a problem" Julie answered.

"Good. Now some lifestyle questions. These have nothing to do with you getting the job or not. Do you drink alcohol?"

"Not often. Only socially and never very much."

"Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

"Did you take smoking breaks at your last job?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Have you ever tried drugs?"

"No, my family raised me very well in that regard."

"Okay. Are you married or in a relationship?"

"No."

"Religious?"

"Yes, but not often."

"Thank you for humoring me. In case you were wondering I was curious as to whether or not anything in your personal life would need... adjusting on our end. Childcare for instance. As it appears the only thing to do is to offer you the job. The hours are 8am to 6pm 5 days a week with Tuesdays and Saturdays off, although if you're in town we need you to be on call for an emergency."

*************
Madison was a heavyset African American woman in her 30s with slabs of excess poundage on her thighs and bottom giving her what would have been a majestic waddle if she didn't move so fast. Instead it was sort of a penguin looking waddle as she shuffled along rapidly, talking over her shoulder. "So Max is a very sweet guy. I really wish I could stay on but I got this great job offer with a good raise and they'll pay for my LPN license"

They were on the far wing of the mansion on the ground floor. The house, shaped like an 'L' was perched on top of a hill but then the builders had dug into the hill creating a large basement that opened onto a small gravel circle behind the main house looking over a river. They were in the bottom arm of the 'L', the part that opened onto the back of the house and a hidden driveway. It had been created, Madison explained, as a deluxe suite for either a live in servant, a temporary residence for corporation employees, or a family member who wanted to be partially separate from the rest of the family. Say an in-law. Now it was being used as the exclusive residence for Max. His bed, and indeed world, were in the living room, a massive room with floor to ceiling glass windows, his bed where he spent most of his time. To the right was a large open area. To the left of his bed was the commode he used, and next to it his oversized wheelchair. He was snoring and Madison led Julie back to the office that they had. It used to be the bedroom but now there was just a narrow bed, a small TV, a desk with PC, landline phone, and neat stacks of paper. Julie sat on the bed and Madison plopped into the chair and explained.

Max's Father owned a massive healthcare conglomeration. Everything from Medical Supply, to nursing homes, including Brooklyn Rehab, to an Ambulance/Wheelchair Van Transport company. Because of that word getting out that his son, who would have been the heir to the company, wasn't disabled, which was the unofficial story, but extremely life threatenly obese, BY CHOICE, and he'd be the laughing stock of the healthcare world. Or so he thought. Personally Madison didn't think anyone would care.

Madison showed her around the rest of the suite and told her that she should park her car on the gravel circle, (There was a wide spot specifically for the purpose), showed her the walk in closet with spare equipment, like a power wheelchair, and medical supplies, told her that deliveries came through the garage, and into the closet through a door put in specifically for the purpose. They weren't to see Max because word might get out. Inside the garage was a minivan with a wheelchair ramp. Madison explained that the vehicle's suspension had been modified to handle up to a thousand extra pounds. Madison also explained the weight limits. Max was believed to be in the neighborhood of 675-700 pounds. While the manual wheelchair next to the bed was rated up to 850lbs, the motorized one, the one he used if he went out in the van, or upstairs to spend time with his family, was rated at 650lbs which meant Max was at or above the maximum weight limit for the chair so she was to be very careful helping him into it. All this was explained to her outside, just around the corner from the top of the bottom arm of the "L." Essentially where the period is while they took a cigarette break. There was a picnic table and ashcan all set up.

As for food the kitchenette was stockpiled with snacks. Three meals a day for him were prepared by the cook in the kitchen but snacks in between and beverages were her responsibility. Madison advised her to check on the supplies and order replacements at least every other day. There was a pad of scratch paper next to a laminated list of what to have on hand.

Finally she introduced her to Max. She immediately liked him. He had a charming smile and was surprisingly clean, although he did have the smell her trained healthcare senses associated with super morbidly obese patients, the smell of old urine, feces, and sweat. He told her "you're in charge except for when I eat and when I go to the bathroom. Otherwise we do what you say."

Madison supervised her for the rest of the day. Julie handled it just fine. Max was strong enough to stand and pivoted to the commode by himself and only needed to be cleaned up afterwords, something he was incapable of doing. Julie could understand why he'd need help after number two but then she found that only the head of his penis was visible with the rest buried inside his pubic fat. Madison was going on to say "Occasionally he has... accidents..." When Max jumped in saying "Sometimes I stuff myself with so much food I can't move. Sometimes when I do that I piss or shit myself because I just can't hold it, I'm working to hard on not throwing up." And he winked at her. See what I mean about a sense of humor?

Outside as they were smoking one last cigarette together and Madison said "If you have any questions give me a call. I'll be happy to come back and cover for you on vacation or something."

"Who takes care of him on my days off?"

"I don't know. I believe his mother helps out although I don't know who cleans him."

********
Inside Max lay on his bed smiling. He couldn't believe it, he got a super hot care assistant to look after him. He couldn't wait!

Past and Present - SSBBW

Past:
    She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
    Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
    Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
    Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.

Present:
    She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
    Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
    Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
    She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.

Past:
    For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
    Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.   

Present:
    Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
    Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.

Past and Present - SSBHM

    His younger sister was born 9 months after Mom and Dad’s 400lbs celebration sex.
    He grew up watching Mom as she lusted after the way Dad moved, his arms held away from his body, belly swaying, wheezing for breath, taking it step by step, thinking “I want my wife to watch me like that.”
    He “shared” some of Dad’s “Snacks” as they sat together on the couch, Dads belly jutting between his massive thighs. 
    He grew up breathing in his father’s smell, the smell of sweat and B.O. that couldn’t seem to get washed away.
    But the scene that probably had the greatest impact on his life happened when he was 13. He was around 140lbs then and sitting in the kitchen. He glanced up as he saw his father scooting forwards on the couch. He saw his father take the plastic urinal and begin fishing around under his belly, gasping from the effort. Finally with a wheeze of success he got the urinal in place and drained his bladder before scooting back on the couch and resuming where he’d left off on a bag of Doritos. It wasn’t till years later that he realized that his father had been struggling to find his penis which was buried deep within his folds having been swallowed inside his father’s fatpad.

Present:

    An overworked GI tract, leading to incredible amounts of flatulence, constant warmth, leading to constant sweating, and the simple mass of fat packed onto his frame making bodily functions difficult, leading to difficulty wiping, have given him a smell all his own.
    He lives for the gentle caresses, ass smacks, and jiggles from his feeder. And when he waddled around a lot more feeling his feeder’s eyes on his massive jiggle ass could make him erect.
    He eats four meals a day, with constant grazing in between. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Supper. Breakfast at 8am, Lunch at 1, Dinner at 5, supper at 8pm. Supper is usually the biggest while dinner is the lightest.
    He’s much fatter then his father. At his Father’s largest he was able to walk from his bed to the bathroom in the corner of his room but for him getting from the bed to the commode next to the bed presents an almost insurmountable challenge.
    At his current size reaching his penis for pleasure or relief is impossible. Even if it wasn't buried deep inside his fatpad his massive belly, which jets out in front of him, pooling around his knees would make it impossible for him to reach with his own hands leaving it to his feeder to dig around under his belly and find it. His feeder has to massage the fat to make it erect so they can find it and that’s how they change the catheter. He’s been to fat for urinals for at least 3 years.

Past:
    Watching his Dad eat was like watching a man at work. Serious, dedicated, a task to be completed. That didn’t stop him from overindulging in delicious mountains of food. To him, food was work, and his work was to become incredibly fat to satisfy the insatiable appetite for massive obesity possessed by his wife.
    At night, unless he was sleeping sitting up on the sofa, a more common sight the heavier he got, his father used a CPAP system to keep his airway open at night. The massive amount of weight in his body had distorted his anatomy making it easy for his airway to close.

Present:

    For him food holds an almost orgasmic pleasure. Each bite lights a spark within him, a warmth, that he needs. Physically this addiction to the orgasmic pleasure he derives from food has destroyed him, with a life expectancy of less then a decade, heart problems and aggressive diabetes, but he still feels the shifting inside his immobile fatpad of his penis becoming erect as he chokes a whole cake down his maw in an effort to satisfy his insatiable addiction to feeling full
    His body lies in its bed, almost too fat even for the two steps to the commode, leaving him to soil himself with the undigested remains of his food. Breathing is a struggle even at the best of times and an oxygen concentrator constantly hums, giving him a stream of life giving oxygen, compensating for the fat that is crushing his lungs making breathing without it almost impossible. He knows, daily, that his death is near, similar to his fathers, a heart attack in bed after a massive meal but inside him the knowledge, and what a scary thought it is, keeps coming up. “What if I never feel full again? I’ll go crazy and die! My feeder might leave me!” Those thoughts, and the instinct of a man born to be a Goliath of adipose drive him to food.

New Year, New You (Wilcox Farms Short Story)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I work for a pharmaceutical and medical supply company. While my employers originally planned to only provide home medical supplies when they opened shop our biggest clients are now nursing homes. We contract with several dozen nursing homes supplying their residents with prescription medication. Through this work I have met many other healthcare professionals including Nurses, CNAs,  and Paramedics. Why does this matter to you? Because this next (Short) story was partially based off of a story told to me by an EMT friend of mine over a beer New Years Eve.

New Year, New You

"Where are we going?" The two EMTs from Julian Ambulance had been the last to arrive. They'd only been told they were an "Assist." The Paramedic glanced down at the mess of paperwork spread out on the counter in front of him. "Some subacute place, Wilcox Farms. Ever heard of it?"

"Isn't that the place with the bariatric vent unit?" His partner, the other paramedic, asked.

"Something like that." The original paramedic scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the second assist crew. There were now 6 EMTs and Paramedics gathered in the hallway of the hospital. The newest EMT looked around. "So... What's up?"

The original Paramedic slid a sheet of paper over to her. It was a treatment summary.

Inside the room their patient lay in the massive bed. Her body was touching the sides of the bed. She was in agony. Constantly. Three months ago she'd started having chest pain that wouldn't go away. Finally, barely able to breath, even with constant oxygen support her husband called 911. They'd found her on a filthy bed, the stench of her unwashed fat folds making their eyes water. After getting her onto the stretcher she'd died. Using an automated CPR device they'd stabilized her and gotten her to the hospital. Doctors there placed 13 stents and then discovered the true extent of the damage done to her body. Massively obese her whole life as well as a chainsmoker, with prolific cocaine and other recreational drugs use in late high school and college, then finally bed confined for 3 years by her weight, her health had been destroyed by her bad habits. Her husband, who worked full time, was also a feeder and had helped her body expand to it's current size which the hospital had measured at 830lbs or 59.3 stone.

During the heart attack she'd stopped breathing and hadn't started again so now she was on a ventilator that did the breathing for her. The hospital had discovered that her kidneys were failing, and in spite of their best efforts they had finally failed completely and she'd been placed on dialysis. Sores were all over her body from lying in her own filth for hours at a time, and several toes had to be amputated from her uncontrolled diabetes. Her liver was swollen and approaching failure, and her lungs, crushed by her weight and destroyed by her smoking, could barely supply her body with oxygen even with a machine pumping them up for her. Her legs were swollen with excess liquid and leaked onto pads placed underneath to absorb the liquid. As far as she was concerned the worst was the diet. She NEEDED food desperately. She was constantly, psychologically, hungry. The smoking hadn't been nearly as hard to quit as the food. She had to eat something and the small portions the hospital provided her didn't come close to satisfying her. It was like a heroin addict getting a low dose opoid every day and that was it. And the pain... She was constantly being moved, she was far to fat and weak to move herself, to be cleaned, probed and massaged. Her wounds were being dressed, her folds cleaned, and her urine was whisked away by a catheter. But the pain in her chest never went away. The anxiety, her heart problems, and the pressure on her lungs, left her in constant agony. Her joints were also in constant pain as the lack of use led to muscles wasting away.

Meanwhile the 6 EMS techs moved in and out of the room, preparing the XL stretcher for her, setting up their equipment, and preparing to transfer her to their ventilator, the heaviest EMT still narrower then her leg. But she didn't care about that. She only cared about getting something, ANYTHING, edible into her mouth that she could swallow. But there was nothing in reach and she was far too fat, weak, and lazy to get up and get something herself. Meanwhile, ignored by everyone, was the commercial currently playing on the TV advertising "A new year, it's time for a new you."