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DO Candy2
“DAAAAAAAAAADDYYYYY!!! I WANT ICE CWEAM!!!”
Golly, I’m such a typical little girl, apart from weighing almost 7000lbs. I’m sooooo cute! I bawl, pathetically kicking my manatee legs like I’m treading water in my own oceanic body, splashing my chubby fists and bubbling for treats. The 3 hour snack I just finished is exactly that, finished!
“ME STILL HUNGWYYYYY!!!”
“Lunch is nearly ready, Princess” Daddy answers with obedient love, blowing raspberries on my exposed tummy to elicit piggish giggles. I’m adorable, such a sweet widdle baby girl! My life is dope, in my 13 years of obese bliss I've done nothing but eat and sleep and eat and sleep. I deserve no less, Daddy says I’m the prettiest little girl in the universe. I’ve always got what I wanted and all I’ve ever wanted was to EAT.
Fiiinally my useless Mommy brings my ice cream out, helped by one of the retarded kitchen staff. They deliver 20 huuuge tubs of different flavored ice cream, half melted so it’s easier to just shovel straight in. I guzzle down double chocolate fudge, cookie dough, peanut butter and banana, Neapolitan (although each flavor was from separate tubs) Reese’s Pieces, Bonka’s Brownie Batter Blast, Cherries Jubilee, Coffee (really makes me bratty) and my faaave, strawberry cheesecake! It’s not just this measly main course though, an entire ice cream bar is brought to me. Huge jugs overflowing with syrups and chocolate sauce, mixing bowls filled with sprinkles, M&Ms and nummy sherbert. Mmmmmm!! These toppings and condiments are meant to decorate my little snack but I eat them separately, glugging jugs of syrup and raspberry sauce before washing that down with thick chocolate milk. I’m so happy. I first experienced an ice cream bar at my 5th birthday party and now I have at least 3 a day.
After 20 minutes of this undignified gorging I’m completely exhausted and my chubby face is glittery with a messy mask of sprinkles. I order one of my little brothers to feed me. There’s always one constantly in waiting in case his beautiful big baby sister needs anything, which I always do. I can still somewhat move my arms but really prefer not to, so often end up crying to Daddy for someone else to feed me. I giggle as Brother takes a box of donuts from the stack by my bedside, many wait there like monuments to my hunger. Obelisks of obesity. Brother opens the donuts, eliciting a demented flood of babyish drooling down my chins and general excited jiggling. He grabs 4 in his hand, all different types, and shoves them wantonly into my smacking, mewing mouth. I inspect Brother, he’s 11 but somewhat muscular, having to serve his princess sister so arduously all day. His twinky body is tight in his diaper, which all my slav-- whoopsie! I mean servants-- all my servants have to wear diapers because they cannot waste time going potty when I need them! Other Brother, his twin, appears at my side. I always forget their names so I just call them both Faggot! I’m soooo funny. Actually I call them my Puppies because they obey all my commands and even do tricks. They wear dog collars around their necks that chain them helplessly to my bed and they eat from bowls off the floor and I have Daddy beat them up for fun. I love them so much when they’re not being annoying. They’re my bestest workers, together they massage my gut back and forth and it feels sooooo good.
While Brothers #1 and #2 feed me I can relax for once and talk about myself. First the obvious, I’m 13 and I weigh about 6,900lbs. Only one word describes me, CUTE! I’m as sweet as a little pie, such a special baby. I’ve the most adorable blue eyes and an upturned nose between rosy Rubenesque cheeks. My moist plump lips sit impatient above a row of 3 jiggling chins. My hair, clumped in food, is sunflower blonde and wavy. My delicate arms rest heavily at the side of my mammoth tummy which stretches out beyond my knees and touches the top of my sweet little feetsies. I wear a mercilessly stretched Minnie Mouse t-shirt, the material so thin as to perfectly outline my enormous tits and perk tween nipples. Despite this shirt being made for me just a couple months ago I’ve widened in that time and warped the cartoon face. My plump little trotters are snug in plush pink slippers, so warm and comfy. I also wear my diapey, I’m a helpless widdle baby I can’t be expected to get up (eww!) just to go potty. Each of my diapeys is made of soft fleece, so squishy and warm around my bum and noo-noo. They’re about the size of tablecloths to start but as they’re wrapped around my cow-sized thighs and equator-waistline they look so sweet and tight on me. They even have widdle duckies and bunnies on the outside. I’m waaay cuter than your baby, Daddy’s little piggy!
As far back as I can remember I’ve done nothing but eat. Eat and eat and eat, I’ve never wanted to do anything else. From the moment I was born I wouldn’t stop crying unless I was eating. Daddy had a group of wet nurses to sate me as a baby, I would go through 8 at a time before napping it off then repeating the process. By the time I was 5 I weighed 600lbs. I remember my parents asking me if I wanted to go to school, but fuuuuuck that! Who wants to do boring learning when I can just stay home and eat all day? Well, the part of the day I’m not busy napping. Daddy loves me so much he lets me do whatever I want and constantly dotes on me no matter how fat I get. In fact, my little brothers can’t go to school because I need them to stay home and help feed me. They sleep together in the garage with my used diapers. They love helping their big baby sister, especially since I’ve been fully bed bound for 2 years now.
Servants enter with carts and platters of food. My upsettingly small lunch consists of just 50 roast chickens, 100 burgers, 75 huge pizzas, 60 bottles of Pepsi and Coke, 200 quesadillas and thousands of fries. I cry and throw a fit because of how small this meal is but I perk up a bit when Daddy tells me this is only one of the starter courses.
“WELL HUWWY UUUUUP!!! YOUR WIDDLE ANGEL IS STARVING!!!”
My Puppies climb up either side of their beautiful Princess and start cramming all this food into my guzzling gulping glugging gullet. For the next 2 hours I lay here like a puddle and let them feed me. Chewing and swallowing is the only exercise I’ve ever had. At the end of my titanic lunch my big pale tummy is swollen and strains painfully towards the end of the bed. Food and drool is splattered all down my pink Minnie Mouse shirt which now only reaches below my breasts, curling up under them like a tube top, or more accurately a hammock. My entire face and most of my hair is slathered in the ruins of my repast.
BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRPPPPPPPPPPPPP
I’m as close to satisfied as I’ve ever been.
After lunch I take a quick nappy-naps to get my energy back, this is also usually when I empty my stomach to make room for the meals waiting when I awake.
“DADDY! ME NEED CHANGING!!”
While Mommy feeds me a couple-dozen birthday cakes to keep my stomach occupied, Daddy takes off my diapey. Mummy and Daddy have made cursory efforts to get me out of diapeys but it’s far too convenient to consider any other option. Do they wanna move me to the potty 9 times a day? Didn’t think so. Daddy unravels my diapey and the smell is gross. I giggle as he cleans me out, so in love with his perfect baby Princess, and fixes me with a nice new clean diapey.
“DADDY!! GLOMPPPP SMAKKKK I wand my BUUUUUURRPPPPP pwe–din-din supper! SLLURRRPPP Huwwy CHEWWWWW SLUSHHHHH up! Baby huuuungwyyyyyyy!!!!”
Cake debris flies everywhere as I scream my petulant orders. Everyone scrambles to fetch me food or inform the kitchen crew I’ve tripled my lunch demands again. Everyone except Mommy, someone has to stay behind to make sure I’m eating.
Mommy and Daddy used to have a life, now I’m their life. Their precious little Pwincess. They were rich to begin with which is good because they have no time for jobs and I can be quite high maintenance. Their amazing angel can’t be expected to stay at home and starve to death, can I??! Every day of their lives since I was born has been spent appeasing me, a life of servitude towards me is all my Puppies have ever known. As it should be. I really don’t give a fuck as long as I’m happy and pampered, me getting everything I want all the time is all that really matters.
What can I say? They should never have named me Candy!