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Your eyes slowly open as light breaks from the small staircase above. Slow, methodical footsteps trail down each creaky wooden step. You fully open your eyes as you realize it’s morning again already, stretching your thick and heavy limbs after another uncomfortable night on the chilly floor. The passage of time is lost to you, having no windows in your living quarters. There’s a rough tug on your leash as a single word erupts from your brother's lips.
“Up.” he says in his typical gravelly tone before tugging again, this time much harder. “I said up, you insolent sow! You would think at such a tremendous amount of time together you’d be able to follow a simple command.” he finishes up saying, his small hands roving over your cascading rolls of flesh. A small smirk plays against the usual scowl on his face as he feels the level of plushness and give your weight has to it. You’re only able to usher a small squeak and grunt before putting in the monumental effort to sit up, leaving you properly winded. Between huffs, you manage to reply.
“Good morning brother…” you say with half-lidded eyes, in a constant state of grogginess. Your exhaustion only makes his smirk wider.
“Ironic, isn’t it ‘dear sister’? So much sugar goes into that repulsive form of yours day in and day out, yet you’re always so sluggish and lethargic. I’d call it poetic if it weren’t so disgusting.” he chides you continuously with barely contained lust, always describing his perverted affections towards you in such a cruel way.
He prods his clawed fingers around your collar, noting how much it’s struggling against a fair swath of neck fat.
“Only a short while longer before it bursts…yes…” he seems to trail off, gently licking his lips before snapping out of it. “Come now, pet. Onto the scale.” he snaps his fingers and points to the industrial grade scale he’s so lovingly supplied your room with. You struggle and grunt, shifting your titanic body round and round as you attempt to build momentum, lunging forward so you can crawl on your hands and knees towards your destination. The air is punctuated by your oversized stomach gurgling and sloshing, no doubt still processing last nights feast. Caliborn applies a hefty spank to your similarly hefty rear, relishing in the way you jiggle and undulate all over for a whole second. The smack leaves you with a bright green handprint on your ass.
“I said MOVE!” he barks, deriving every ounce of pleasure from your weakened state as he can. You whimper pathetically and do your very best to shuffle faster across the cold concrete floor, joints aching under the increased stress. It’s painfully obvious Caliborn knows you can’t move any faster. When you finally make it to the scale, Caliborn flips it on with a sinister chuckle.
“Now, let’s see what the damage is…” he says with bated breath, watching as the number climbs higher and higher while you sit there and twiddle your fat thumbs, anxiety coursing through your wobbling body. The number comes to a halt and he steps up to grope you once more, his hands trailing the apex swell of your gut and squeezing at its abundant squishiness, eyes completely transfixed with the number above. You look down and away at the floor, feeling like a piece of meat under his attentive gaze.
“Uh, do you mind not telling me what it-”
“532 pounds.” Caliborn says flatly, cutting you off. You grimace heavily at the number, feeling like an out of control glutton and a lost cause. How were you ever going to slim down from such an egregious number?
“Is my punishment going to be over soon, brother? I’m already so…voluptuous.” you ask dejectedly, expecting one of his many excuses. Voluptuous is a word that helps you feel less gigantic about your current obesity.
“Bah! Slim down??? You’re practically wasting away as it stands.”
He chuckles at his own comment.
“‘As it stands’, unlike you dearest sister.” he finishes with a sneer. “You can still crawl and that means you aren’t large enough. Only until you’re fully immobilized will I be satisfied and CONSIDER letting you free from my grasp.”
Against your instincts, you trust him. You don’t know why you trust him, he’s shown you nothing but cruelty. You use your foggy, mushy brain to dig up the memories of exactly what got you into this situation. What earned you this punishment after all? You seem to recall Caliborn finding your computer and rustling through it, finding rather flirtatious conversations with a plus-size quirky human girl named ‘Roxy’. Certain phrases like “If you want to mingle with a pig so badly then you deserve to become one” and “A human is too low for our prized genetics. Only a Cherub can understand another Cherub” ring clearly in your head.
You’re dragged out of your nostalgic musings with a sharp tug to the neck, leaving you coughing and sputtering.
“My ministrations aren’t nearly as satisfying when you’re lost in daydreams, swine!” Caliborn commands sternly. He gets a blood pressure cuff snug around your soft flabby arm, gently jostling the dark green flesh, before tightening the cuff and looking at the results. He grins creepily, sharp fangs peeking out from under his lips.
“One-sixty over one hundred. Getting there.” he says with a dreary sigh before clinging to your plush body, two fingers being held against your neck to read your heart rate.
With all the equipment he’s gotten you already, you’ve asked previously why he doesn’t get you a monitor to make the process more efficient. His only answer was that he’d “miss the quiet minute with his sister”.
The minute drags on as he holds his fingers there, and besides the guttural wheezing that constantly emanates from your overworked body, Caliborn seems to have his own form of heavy breathing as he listens, letting out a soft moan any time your heart skips a beat or emits a weaker one. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“One-hundred and twenty beats per minute. Higher and higher it climbs…” he says with a swallow and lick of his chapped lips. “One can only wonder how much higher it will climb.” he says with a dark grin, relishing in the way you squirm under his obvious fascination for your size. His lustful hands wander to your sagging breasts, fingers trailing underneath to feel the sweat accumulated from such a humid environment.
“Brother, do you think you can manage not telling me the numbers and just keeping them to yourself? They make me a little queasy…” you ask timidly, hoping he’ll abide by your request. It’s met with a resounding kick to your side and a snarl as he comes close to your face, beady red eyes peering into your soft green ones.
“Don’t you ever think of asking me something like that again, heifer! Your statistics are your own, mine to record, and it’s a disservice not to share them back with you. It would be abuse if I didn't let you know just how much this overfed body of yours is suffering under all that excess pudge. You would do well to understand the dangers of excess consumption, but I believe your brain is far from comprehension now, isn’t it?” he finishes off with a soft kiss to your greasy lips, small specks of frosting still spattering your mouth from your binge last night.
You tremble and whine, knowing that there’s little you can do to satisfy him when he gets like this, however in this situation a simple reply is what he’s looking for.With lightning speed, his claws grip into your soft and supple blubber, digging in slightly.
“Did you forget how to speak, fatass??? Answer me!” he demands, pinching your dark green nipple between two of his fingers until it stiffens.
“Yes! My brain is just much too…uh…glazed with the thought of eating more to reply to you, my sincerest apologies brother!” you say with a squeamish smile, trying not only to ignore the physical pain but also choose words that you know he’ll enjoy hearing. The look he gives you only spells trouble. Perhaps you did too well appeasing him.
“Oh dear, my poor sister. Such a voracious body must constantly be supplied, how silly of me to forget. Let’s never let such a mistake be made again, hmm?” he snickers to himself as his eyes bore into you. He heads up the basement stairs and shuts the door, locking it. You don't know why he still locks it, the few wooden steps descending into your room surely couldn’t hold your excessive bulk anymore. The thought makes you whine, gentle tears forming in your eyes as you miss your independence . You decide to focus on one of the main things you feel in control of; Food.
Your enormous belly growls and grumbles something fierce, not used to being the entire daily medical checkup without at least a snack. It’s then that you hear groans from outside the door, along with heavy sloshing, and this time you know for sure that it isn’t your belly. Caliborn reenters, lugging down three large industrial-sized barrels labeled ‘CHOCOLATE’. As he struggles down the steps, he looks at you fiercely.
“Aren’t you so lucky with your atrophied muscles? You get to sit on your lazy fat ass and watch your physically fit and capable brother struggle down the stairs.” he grumbles, eventually getting them placed in front of you. “Frosting. Sugary nothingness. Pure empty calories for that insatiable stomach of yours.” he describes with rapt anticipation, no doubt inspired by wanting to watch you gobble it all down with nothing but your hands.
You gasp sharply as he brandishes a knife. He turns away from you and slides it an inch below the top of the containers, prying their lids off. You sigh in relief that the sharp instrument wasn’t meant for you. The smell of fudge quickly permeates the room, still with undertones of your own sweat. You feel a bit sickly, processing so much sugar daily gets tiring, but your belly growls even more fervently, craving gratification through gluttony.
“Listen to that symphony from your poor starved stomach. One that no orchestra could recreate…” he puts the knife down and quickly comes to rub your soft gelatinous midsection. “Like dough, sister…it needs to be kneaded.” he continues his groping session, every so often instinctively rutting into you, a bad habit he picked up from watching human pornography.
After he’s done, he pushes the first of the three containers towards you. Before you can delve your plump fingers into the decadent substance, he tuts and stops you from enjoying your meal straight away.
“Ah ah, just what does my plump piglet think she’s doing?” he asks, wagging his index finger in disappointment.
“Please brother, I’m hardly mobile as it is…I don’t know if I can even lift myself up and over the lip of the container.” you plead with him, knowing what he wants to see. His horny gaze crumbles into one of impatience.
“I’m not going to ask twice. In.” he snaps his fingers again, pointing towards the frosting, leading you around with commands like you really are a pet. Despite not asking, he lends his services. “Ugh, fine. I’ll help you.” he says with a faux-begrudging attitude. Thin arms wrap around your arms as he struggles to lift you, all the while rattling off insults. Your legs scream out in pain, knees threatening to buckle as you attempt to get to your feet for the first time in who knows how long.
“Up, you fat fucking blob! How much could you possibly eat that you can’t even stand anymore??? If that drunken whore ‘Roxy’ ever laid eyes on you now I guarantee she’d be mortified and never bother contacting you again. You're so lucky to have someone like me willing to put up with all your high maintenance idiosyncrasies. If it were up to me, you’d be on a calorie-deficit and a strict exercise regimen!” he lies so plainly, being the reason you’ve ended up so utterly obese and helpless.
Twinges of deep embarrassment wash over you as you see just how thin his limbs are compared to yours as they rapidly shift position to try and support various parts of you during your short yet arduous waddle. You feel like a freak at a sideshow attraction that humans would watch for entertainment. A mindless slovenly creature, bred for nothing more than greed and excess. You know you were meant for more than this. Despite your grumbling stomachs protests, you really don’t feel like eating, especially after hearing so much about what a strain your weight is having on the rest of your body. Nonetheless, you know deep down that resistance will only lead to more bruises, so you oblige.
Once on your feet, you still require full body support from behind, which Caliborn is more than happy to provide as you waddle to your ‘meal’. You wince and yelp as you attempt to lift your large sweaty thigh, the concept of flexibility long being lost on you. With a sigh of relief and much wheezing, your foot and most of your right leg is submerged in chocolate frosting. The sensation makes you shudder a bit like you’ve just eaten a bitter candy. With a sweaty yet steady grip on the sides of the large container, you manage to just barely manage to yank yourself in the rest of the way, your entire lower half becoming submerged in the stuff, wide jiggling hips brushing tightly against the sides of the tub, barely making the squeeze. Displacement forces some of it out and down the sides, and you hear a distinct squelch as you relax your muscles into it, your belly cascading over the edge of the container. Your cheeks flush bright green in embarrassment at such an odd scenario, knowing your brother finds this to be totally intoxicating. You look up to him nervously, his expression being far more than pleased.
He sticks a finger into some that’s spilled over the sides and licks it up, all the while making eye contact. He gives your hefty belly a nice smack before speaking.
“Delicious. Like a pig in her natural habitat.” he says, biting his bottom lip as he walks circles around your engorged form like a hungry shark, sizing you up. “This slop was meant to be used at a factory, icing donuts or being used as filling for other delicious confections, and here you are wasting it all, wallowing in it like the swine I’ve so patiently trained you to be. It’s so delightfully depraved and you should feel proud that you have a sibling that understands the beauty of such a situation.”
He finishes his obvious adoration by reaching his stubby arm down the inside of the tub, impressed that he can barely fit it in there with your bulk nearly clogging the whole thing up. Out comes a nice glob, one that he so slowly decorates his thin bony hands
with. Like someone with fingerpaint, he slaps his chocolatey hands onto your obese stomach, letting out a moan not dissimilar to that of a lion tearing into a fresh catch of prey. He gently rubs them around, one of the only softer touches he gives you. There’s clear fascination as he dirties your dark green gelatinous flesh.
“I can’t believe you do this to yourself…you just sit there and take it all like the good little bariatric patient you are.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be calling you little anymore. Just look at all this…I want to create a map, a sketch of your folds, rolls, and crevices. There’s so much ample flab to play with, I just don’t know when to stop…” he says through gritted teeth, totally aroused by the prospect of coating every last inch of your enormous lard-filled body with frosting.
You lift your short stubby arms as you let him get everywhere. Your back folds, triple chin, underneath your breasts, deep into your cavernous belly button. No amount of your naked body goes undiscovered by his lustful grasp. Once he's done, he stands back and looks upon you with a shiver of ecstasy.
“I believe, sister, that I’m feeling the effects of a sugar rush. You’re just so positively drenched…” he trails off before going to crack open the next container. “You know how this works, my pet. Now lick it all off of your revolting frame. Anywhere that that tongue can reach, I don’t want to see a drop of chocolate, you hear me?” he says, still as horny as ever, but now stern as a way to remind you who’s in charge.
“Yes brother…thank you for letting me dine like royalty.” you say meekly as an attempt to return affection. You are grateful that you’re being fed, even if it’s in far excess. Caliborn however doesn’t take kindly to you calling yourself ‘royalty’, however. He stomps right back over quickly, giving you a hefty chocolate smack across your chubby face, leaving you slightly dazed.
“What in the ever-loving hell did you just say??? You think you get to dine like royalty, you slobbering whale??? You’re a peasant, if anything! A farm animal! Although it’s tough to give you that much credit, seeing as farm animals can actually provide benefits.
You sit around, glutting yourself every hour on any morsel that comes even REMOTELY close to that gaping black hole you call a mouth, and you have the nerve to think so highly of yourself. Let me bring you back down to size, shall I?” he once again bores into your very soul, undoing your tight collar which helps for a moment. He lets out a quick chuckle, not only due to watching your neck fat flow forward unrestrained, but also at the slight bruising that’s come from it being so tight.
Attempting to choke you, he wraps his two hands around your soft squishy neck, squeezing sharply. It’s not enough to cut off your air, for once being so fat actually comes to your aid. Caliborn grumbles in great frustration at it not working, administering another smack and putting your collar back on, the next setting tighter. That’s enough to do it. You start gasping and wheezing, more so than usual. Your sticky fat mitts come to claw at the collar, desperately trying to yank it off. The entire time your lungs are sent into a panic, Caliborn stands there watching, that twisted grin appearing on his face, his heavy breathing apparent as his shoulders slump up and down quickly.
“Yes, YES! You want it off??? Then SHOW ME. Show me just how fucking bad you want it off, cow! How much do those pretty little overworked lungs crave oxygen??? Claw at it all you want with those plump sausages you call fingers, it’s no use!” he shouts at you callously, wanting to drive you to the very brink of suffocation before stepping in to make sure you don’t expire too early.
It’s then he sees your eyes roll back into your head, and finally, with one last smack to your face, he undoes the button, the collar plopping to the floor as it could barely hold. You wheeze and sputter from the harrowing experience, using it as an anchor point in your head for who you truly belong to. You can't tell if you’re fully crying or not, but tears stream down your fat chocolate coated cheeks. Your thick flabby legs wiggle and jostle in the tub of thick frosting. You feel like you’re having a meltdown and want out of your brothers sexual fantasy, at least for now.
“What’s the matter my lovely albeit piggish sister? Did you not like the sensation of being near death? It’s something you simply must come to terms with one day, I’m merely preparing you for the inevitable. You should be thanking me.” he says, no regard to your life, except for keeping you hanging on by a thread. He smirks, but you don’t know at what. You assume it’s your fervent jiggling and sloshing as you whine and grunt, unable to unplug your large curves from the tight confines of the frosting container. Surely you can't be this fat that you don’t even fit anymore, right? With a pathetic yelp, you gasp and brace for impact, the container tilting too much towards one side and falling over. Frosting oozes from beneath your plugged form onto the floor. Caliborn rolls his eyes in mock disappointment.
“And to think of the effort I went through to get you such large quantities of your favorite meal! Yet here you are wasting it on the floor! It’s a wonder why I even put up with you sometimes…” he trails off, folding his arms and watching as you desperately try and find a way to get yourself unstuck. “This is exactly the kind of post-meal entertainment I’ve been craving all these years.” he says with a sinister chuckle.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to free your bulky body with a nice wet pop. Caliborn is quick to approach you and start scooping up excess frosting from your excess blubber, insistently shoving his fingers into your mouth and not taking them out until they’re clean. The whole time, he gives you gentle praise, seeing the way you’re still silent and emotionally shut down after the brief encounter with death. He wipes your tears with his thumb and gives his best sincere smile, still feeding you frosting.
“There there, shhh…don’t cry. Just eat. It will make all your worries go away, I promise. And it will make your big brother happy. Isn’t that what you want, dearest? For me to be happy? Yes it is, I know that’s what you want.” he fills in the answers for the entire time you remain nonverbal. You merely nod, agreeing with whatever he says due to your brain being in an unsteady place. The last thing you want right now is more abuse.
You swear you’ve never felt the flavors explode on your tongue like they do right now, post-breakdown stuffings always tasting better. You think it’s good that you’re eating currently, with how happy it makes him and how hungry you are. You want nothing more in this moment than for Caliborn to be proud of you when your legs can no longer hold up your ludicrous tonnage. Right now all that exists is you, him, and sweet sweet frosting. Much to your surprise, he cuddles you, his small form snuggling against your infinitely jiggly lard. He cracks a small smile and shuts his eyes, prepared for a nap while using you as his mattress.
“I expect you to lick the floor clean of any remaining frosting, little sister, as well as finishing the other two containers. Can’t have you starving on me. Every pound is a blessing.” he chuckles softly, before reopening his eyes. “Hmm. ‘Little sister’, ‘big brother’. Those don’t sound quite right with our current proportions now, do they?” he muses before relaxing again against your gargantuan softness with a very satisfied sigh. You let out the cutest little giggle before being told to shush.
You have the best brother in the world.