My flabby hand waves away the annoying, over-doting maid to its rightful place in the kitchen. The burden of this exertion tires me out almost instantly and my elephantine appendage falls back to relax at my side. Two more maids stand by my deluxe bed feeding me handfuls of Ferrero Rocher, brazenly cramming the luxurious treats into my mouth. I'm still small enough to feed myself but why should I when I have slaves to cater to my every desire?
I should tell you about myself. I'm 19, blonde hair, blue eyes, button nose, very sexy. I suppose I'm 5’3” but that's moot since I don't stand anymore, I weigh about 2,000lbs. I lay here reclined in my giant bed, my hips stretching to each edge of the mattress, my colossal titties straining by 4’. My arms are practically obsolete now, only used for touching myself. All I do is eat literally all day. I live a life of perfect indolence and self-service.
I was only 600lbs when I met my husband but as soon as we got married three years ago my weight hit the stratosphere. He's worth billions so I fast tracked that shit, telling him I loved him and wanted to be with him forever. All bullshit, all I've ever wanted is food. Anyway, he was mine, he loved my me me me attitude. Soon, me and the silver fox 58 year old were married. I got a good pre-nup too so even if he dies or we divorce I get more than enough to bankroll my ample appetite forever.
My life has been perfect since. Now I can really dedicate myself to eating without the constant unwelcome distractions of responsibility and friends and family. I've been fed and pampered so much since moving into my husband's mansion. My room is surrounded by kitchens, the smells excite my appetite and cause my hunger to erupt exponentially. I get my nails done every other day, my hair done just as regularly. I’m always online shopping since I don’t fit in any of my Benz, Mustangs or Teslas anymore. I go on vacation 5 times a year no matter how big I get and last year the celebrations for my half-birthday were so expensive hubby had to lay off hundreds of his dirty workers. Ugh, I hate poor people. I’ve also been toying with the idea of making my sugar-daddy fund a movie all about me so I can show off how awesome my life is.
The maid returns with several jars of peanut butter and begins spoon feeding one straight to me. It's been microwaved so it's melted heavily, a goopy, sugary brown mess with less of that ghastly effort having to chew. I used to just scoop it out with my hands like a bear with a honey pot but my wrists have gotten too laden with fat and gold to fit. Now I mostly have it melted as much as possible and drink the peanut butter back.
“GIMME THAT!” I snap at the stupid servant. She’s beautiful, I vet my staff of uglies, but I still look down on her. She’s disgustingly poor, in fact I think we only pay her $45,000 a year. She probably lives in the ghetto with black people and doesn’t own a TV and eats bugs. She absolutely stinks even though Husband thinks I’m imaging it. I make all my servants constantly bow and grovel and know their place and how much more important I am than them. I tell this girl constantly how grateful she should be to be allowed near someone as rich and special as me.
I lift the extra-large peanut butter jar to my lips. The oily membrane dribbles warmly down my gullet and overspills my maw. Peanut butter oozes into me, crunchy, smooth, so salty. I smack back jars of jelly and Nutella too. Twenty minutes later my lips and chins are smeared and dripping with peanut butter and jams and I greedily lap at my own face. Having to chew on measly morsels like 300 tubs of ice cream and 60 chocolate cheesecakes is starting to make me hungry. I demand to be fed something more substantial so two of the rat maids scurry off to warn the kitchen staff that my dinner has been rescheduled from 10 minutes from now to immediately.
The double doors at the end of my room open and Husband enters. I barely notice, too enamored with my food. He smiles at the site of his engorged bride glutting on a couple trays of quadruple fudge brownies. He always knew I was going to do nothing but eat forever once we got married. That’s why he loves me so much, my appetite, my greed, my selfishness. We’ve been fucking since two years before we married and he could never get enough of me. I made him work for it, of course, prove his dedication, but as soon as we could legally marry he signed the papers (no ceremony, waste of money) and took me on a 3-month around the world honeymoon.
Pretending not to have noticed him, I begin to coquettishly rub my giant belly, playing with my rolls and saliva soaked breasts and moaning potently. My hot body is just one weapon I use to get what I want out of him. Four seconds later the temptation of whatever food he might have brought me is too much and I drop the charade.
"SCHLUUUUUNN Wad did yoo bwing NOOOMMNOOOMM me to GLOMPF ead?"
He gives me another stupid smile, cocky that today's tribute will be enough.
"I didn't just bring you something to eat, angel, I brought you a gift!"
Ughh! It annoys me when he brings me stuff that isn't food when he could be using that money to buy me stuff that is. He used to get me lots of expensive jewelry but my sausage fingers are too fat to accommodate rings.
"It's a brand new fur coat since you outgrew your last three, this one took seven grizzly bears to make!"
Oh goody! I actually like when he brings me a fur coat because it means I get to eat whatever was left over of the animals that made it. It turns out the kitchen crew has been working on cooking up the previous owners of my fine new furs and carefully wheel out each of the 800lb beasts on spits over to the bedside of their massive mistress. It takes about 45 minutes for my slaves to winch me up the small amount needed to fit my new coat on, not helped the whole time by me rapaciously ravaging the irresistible animal carcasses one by one. By the time I'm finished my glorious new garb is already perma-stained with grease. My face is a wreck with masticated meat. My stomach is distended and reaches much farther beyond my feet.
A lesser woman would almost be full by now, or perhaps stop eating all together, but this delicious disregard for Mother Nature's work only serves as a warm up to a proper meal. My stomach roars like the departed beasts. I turn to my husband, annoyed I'm not yet content. I forgo thanking him as always.
"GYNNUUMUMUM You bedder ave GLOOMMGLOMM broad me somefinn SCHMACKK from yoor drip!!!"
Husband goes away on business a lot which is good because I get to have boys over. He always brings me back some exotic treat and lately I've had a particular taste for endangered species. Last month his company went to Alaska and he got me 28 fat sea lions! They were so cute and more importantly so nummy! I was angry he didn't bring me more but he made up some lame-ass excuse about international laws and some of of his hunting crew dying while catching animals for me. I said I would forgive him if he got me something really good from China and now he’s back!
"Well, angel, actually I got you one of the rarest most endangered animals in the world!"
I'm already drooling, saliva liberally pours from my pouty lips, down my numerous chins. My stomach gurgles, primal. My useless arms wail and strain towards Husband despite not knowing what they strain for.
"I got you not one, not five..."
I scream at him to cut his bullshit and just tell me, or better yet get it into my stomach.
"...I've brought you TWENTY giant pandas!"
Like their grizzly cousins before them the 350lb beasts are laboriously wheeled in on their giant spits by a troop of slaves. Huge hunks of their flesh are ripped off and Husband lovingly crams them into my poor neglected maw. Between mouthfuls I berate him for only bringing me a measly 20. He carries on with some shit about how they're very quickly becoming extinct to which I reply he better get me some more soon before they're all gone.
By the time I've polished off my delicious gift it's 4 in the morning. My face is lost beneath layers of bear flesh, my hair is disheveled and slopped with grease, my fur coat is ravaged and ruined with shredded food. My stomach arches upwards about 6-feet in the air. My husband and slaves are looking ragged from the Herculean task of keeping me fed and pampered and each one of them looks like they could drop dead from exhaustion any moment. This only spurs on my rapacious appetite and I scream at no one in particular to start my desert. Cart after cart of pies and cakes are wheeled out to me and frantically delivered to my impatient maw, my slaves ever fearful of incurring the wrath of their beautiful mistress.
I yell to my stupid waste of space husband that the next country he visits better have killer whales and I want at least 50 of them!
I'm not gonna stop until there's nothing left on that endangered species list!