U literature [USSBBW, Force-feeding, Bad End] Fit to Burst Deviation Actions Cirque-de-Kink's avatar By Cirque-de-Kink Published: Oct 1, 2021 Literature Text [3rd person. Barely-mobile NEET and slasher baddy. Health issues, force-feeding, mobility struggles, internal bursting and death.] “Ugh, g-gohd dammit…” A flustered Zoe groaned as she cracked open another can of cheap energy drink, her free hand resting on the trackpad of her laptop. No matter how many times the obese young woman pored over the information in front of her, she found no answers. There had been so many disappearances back then, people just up and vanishing without a trace. Everyone told her it was normal; after all, who wouldn’t want to leave a small town like that? And for the longest time, she believed it herself. She pushed down her gnawing fear, convinced herself that it was irrational. Then her friend was found dead one morning, a vomitous heap in the middle of the sidewalk, claimed by cardiac arrest. Everyone was quick to write it off as a freak accident -- it wasn’t a secret that Becca was… more than a little out of shape. And it wasn’t out of the question that her heart would simply give out after years of glutting herself on junk food and avoiding exercise as much as possible. Like every other disappearance, Becca’s demise was written off as a coincidence. But Zoe couldn’t be convinced; there must have been something else - someone else - involved in her fatassed friend’s passing. It struck her as suspect that she’d leave the house of her own accord, when she was so vehemently against the idea earlier that night (and against the idea of leaving her house, period; if it wasn’t for her lectures and classes, she’d have probably been a total shut-in). But no matter how much she revisited the accounts of that night, the testimonies from the people who found Becca the following morning, she couldn’t find anything to vindicate her suspicions. There were a few trace bruises on her broad hips, roughly matching up with the damage on her doorframe where she had unceremoniously gotten stuck; some abrasions on her forearms, presumably incurred after getting herself unstuck; cardiac arrest, likely as a consequence of overexertion. The only oddities were a busted window in her living room, (evidence of vandalism or an attempted break-in, but that was about it), and her having puked her guts up a few feet away from where she collapsed (something that Zoe couldn’t even figure out. Was it a result of stress? Had she just overeaten?). Even she had to admit that there was little evidence to go on, save for her gut instinct. Nothing had changed in the years following her friend’s death; no new evidence came to light, no miraculous witness with a photographic memory of her assailant, no fingerprint-covered weapon. People still continued to vanish, and even after graduating university, Zoe continued to fixate on the whole thing to an extent some might consider… obsessive. Her paranoia dissuaded her from leaving her apartment, save to grab groceries or takeaway, and her once-athletic figure gave way to a downright enormous one. Her perky chest filled out into a pair of sagging, ponderous udders, her flat tummy ballooned out into a knee-length avalanche of flab, and her thighs became too thick and unwieldy to manage anything more than a glacial, aching waddle from her bed to her kitchen (and even then, she was dependent on a walker to navigate her apartment; anything beyond that, and she needed her mobility scooter). Really, she had picked up where Becca had left off, becoming more of an unhealthy NEET than her best friend was. With a little grumble, the obese woman drained that can of sugary swill into the depths of her ravenous gullet, crushing the can and setting it down on the dining table alongside a dozen others, slamming her laptop shut as she pulled a half-empty carton of lukewarm takeaway over to her, shovelling forkfuls of fried rice and chicken into her awaiting maw. “Urp… Dohn’t wohrry, Bec’, ah’ll… mmnf, figure thish out…” As she idly grazed on her leftovers, her phone began to ring, drawing her out of her distracted state. Stifling a little belch, she swiped her pudgy thumb across the screen, raising it to her ear. “Hello?” For a moment, her phone was almost silent, save for the occasional sound of someone shifting around. She went to speak again, only to be cut off by her late-night caller. “Hey, am I speaking to Zoe?” The speaker’s voice was a whisper, devoid of accent or affectation. “Mm-hmm, that’sh me.” She poked at her food with her fork, hoping to get this little call over with, and get back to her dinner as soon as possible. “Who’s thish?” “I heard you were looking into Becca’s… passing. I had some information for you.” Her fork fell from her grasp as she straightened up in her seat, feeling a little twinge in her back as she tried to correct several hundred pounds of poor posture. Grimacing, she tried to ignore that mild ache; it was common knowledge around town that Zoe had been fixated on what happened to her friend, and she’d received the occasional call or message to express condolences or encourage her to move on. But offering her information? Now that was new. All at once, she felt revitalised, a smile creeping its way across her face and dimpling her tubby cheeks. “R-Really?” She cleared her throat, pausing to try and calm herself down. “Wuh… what kinda infoh d’ya hahve?” “Ah, well, I don’t know if I feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, you know?” For a moment, a bit of inflection crept into her mystery caller’s voice, a tone of contrition replacing their previous lack of emotion. “Would it be possible for me to come over? I won’t take up too much of your time.” For a moment, Zoe felt a twinge of uncertainty, her heartrate growing a touch faster (relatively speaking, that is; even at rest, her pulse raced like that of a sprinter); it’d been months since she had a visitor over. Well, a visitor who wasn’t delivering her numerous fast food orders, anyway. And spending so long as a maladjusted, anxious NEET made it an intimidating notion, indeed. Yet she still felt that gnawing desire to know what this person knew; maybe she’d get some answers, or some closure, and she could get on with… Well, she didn’t have much of a life to get on with, but she’d figure something out! Preferably something that involved leaving her apartment as little as possible. Clearing her throat, the porcine young woman adjusted her sweaty grasp on her cellphone. “Wehll, my place ish kinda messhy, buht… sure. Lemme shend you the addressh.” “Wonderful, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” With that, her late-night caller hung up, leaving Zoe with little else to do but send him her apartment’s address over and wait. Despite her earlier nerves, she found herself feeling renewed, and expressed her sudden surfeit of energy the only way she knew how: eating. Grabbing at the edge of the table, the blubbery girl slowly inched her chair back, each little movement accompanied by a loud creak from the seat and an equally noisy grunt or huff from Zoe before she finally had enough room to stand up without her belly apron bumping the table. Swinging one of her elephantine legs out to one side, she tightened her grip on the dining table, bracing herself as she took a deep breath. “Ohkay, jush’ gotta… g-get uhp…” She assured herself, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Really, it should have been, but her weight and months of relative inactivity hadn’t been kind to her. Leaning forward, she began to pull herself to her feet, aided by her free hand gripping the back of her seat to try and push her substantial bulk up and away from it; sweat ran down her plump, reddened face in uneven rivulets, her belly swaying to and fro as she fought against gravity and her own massive body. With every inch of progress she made, she felt her knees crack and creak noisily, a painful amount of tension and pressure bearing down on her joints as she struggled to stand. “Nnh, fuuuhck…!” She groaned out, her back twitching and aching while she slowly straightened herself up; with one quick, clumsy and desperate movement, she relinquished her grasp on her chair, instead snatching the handle of her walker and pulling it over to her as the burning ache in her joints grew to be too much. A gasp escaped her lips, and she leant against the reinforced steel frame of her little mobility aid, her arms trembling from a mix of exhaustion and discomfort. Still, no amount of discomfort would dissuade Zoe from her goal; scooching the walker forward with a quiet thud, the almost-sessile sow of a woman awkwardly shuffled along, her waddling gait broken up each time she had to move her walker across the linoleum floor of her kitchenette. Even if she had the strength to lumber around her apartment unassisted, it’s likely that the sheer amount of sway and jiggle in her cellulite-dimpled ass would make waddling around a chore regardless. Though, that wasn’t to say that getting around was easy for her, even with that steel frame supporting most of her heft; each step was punctuated by a grunt of strain, a jolt of pain shooting through her overtaxed legs and along her long-since buried spine, little signs that her body was well and truly struggling to keep up with itself anymore. What should have been a simple second or two walk across the room took up a solid two or so minutes, and by the time Zoe was within arm’s reach of her goal, she could barely hear anything over her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, and her ragged gasps for air. Flinging open the refrigerator’s door, the rapacious young glutton began to rifle through her supply of snacks (the likes of which dominated more than half of the space in her fridge), picking out whatever took her fancy and setting them behind her in a haphazard pile on the kitchen table. A six-pack of soda, the last few cans of cheap beer she picked up on a whim some weeks ago, a half-finished pack of miniature cakes, two bars of caramel-filled chocolate; all things considered, it was a light snack, compared to her usual pig-out sessions. Though, she definitely intended to indulge her appetite after her late-night caller came and went. Slamming the fridge shut behind her, Zoe began the equally-awkward process of turning herself around, each shuffling step followed by another adjustment of her walker before she angled herself towards her chair, waddling as fast as her incredibly limited mobility would permit and slumping back into her seat with a loud, protracted sigh of relief as the weight was taken off of her feet. “Hah… Ah’m shtartin’ to… s-see why folksh end up immohbile… thish shit’sh tirin’...” She chuckled to herself as she wiped her face with the back of her flabby forearm, that thick layer of sweat replaced almost as soon as it was rubbed away. She tugged at the neck of her t-shirt, fanning herself lazily in an enervated attempt to cool off - really, trying to move her jiggly arm so much accomplished the exact opposite, and she gave up as the pangs of fatigue shot through her shoulder, opting to crack open a can of beer instead, and upend it, letting loose a greedy moan as she gulped down that half-litre of lager. A half-second later, a deep, gurgling belch rose up from the depths of her capacious gut, filling her apartment with the guttural sound of her gluttony and leaving her just a tad winded after the fact. As the minutes ticked past, Zoe carried on her little snacking binge; those cans of beer were soon followed up by her chocolate, messy smudges of the stuff left on her clumsy, sausage-thick digits and plump lips as she bit off mouthful after mouthful of the stuff, washing it down with some soda to cleanse her palate between bites and the occasional, half-muffled belch. It was just as she began to unwrap her second bar that her phone went off once more; a chocolate-y smear was left on the screen as she swiped her thumb across, picking it up. “Hello, Zoe?” There it was, her little informant’s sibilant voice once again. “I might be a little, ah, late.” She rested her head in her tubby hand as she other trailed along the side of her phone. “That’sh fiiihne, ah usually shtay up late anyway.” “Oh good, good.” There was another pause, and for a moment, Zoe swore she could hear this person chuckling to themselves. But with how breathy their voice was, it was hard to tell. “Well, to make up for that, I wanted to give you a little bit of info about your friend. Something to tide you over until I arrive, you know?” Well, that was certainly odd, but she wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that. “Go on?” “Well, your fat little friend, Becca?” They began, their voice dropping a touch lower, a little growl creeping into their tone that made Zoe’s heart skip a beat. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, but they seemed to spit out her former friend’s name. “Someone was trying to kill her that night. But they didn’t get a chance, her heart gave out before they got her.” Right away, Zoe felt her body tense up, sitting up in her seat with a degree of speed that she hadn’t shown in months. Her mouth felt dry, and her arm shook as her grasp on her phone grew ever tighter. The doubt that had been plaguing her ever since that day was finally gone, and years of questions were finally pared down, broken away until she was left with just one. “How d’you know th-thaht?” “Heh, you’re a smart woman, Zoe. I’m sure you can figure that out before I arrive.” With that ominous warning filling her head, her caller hung up, the dial tone dominating the silence of her kitchen. Her phone slipped from her grasp with a clatter. She didn’t need it spelt out for her; for all her overly-cautious tendencies, the promise of finding out what befell her friend was far too alluring for her. And she’d given a serial killer her home address because of it. Her breathing steadily grew more and more erratic, and her hands fumbled for her walker as she forced herself to her feet; her knees creaked and ached from the sudden burst of movement, and for a moment she was stuck in place, unable to so much as budge her legs until the pain subsided. She let out a frustrated cry, trying to will herself into moving. Mercifully, she didn’t have to wait long; the throbbing ache in her limbs, while hardly ignorable, was at least manageable enough that she could slowly waddle towards her scooter, flicking the switch on the handlebars. The headlights briefly sputtered into life, before going dark once more; the motor gave a perfunctory little whirr as it tried to start up, but fell silent once more. “N-No, no no no, c’moooohn!” Zoe whined as she toggled the scooter’s power over and over again, each pathetic attempt at starting up being less successful than the last; her gaze trailed over to the charging cable, hanging limply from the wall and disconnected from her scooter. Of course it wasn’t plugged in; she hadn’t planned on going anywhere for another few days, after all, and she certainly didn’t expect to be fleeing her home in the middle of the night. Trying and failing to even out her spasmodic breathing, she turned her attention to the front door of her apartment. Mercifully, there was an elevator not too far from her place, so she wouldn’t need to brave five storeys worth of stairs, but given just how little actual walking she actually did? That little stroll from her kitchen to the lift may as well have been a mile long. But what other choice did she have? It was that, or just wait for her friend’s killer to come and get her. Gritting her teeth, Zoe gathered what resolve she had, and began the torturous walk to the front door, every other step punctuated with the heavy *thunk* of metal as she shifted her walker forward; what began as a dull ache radiating through her knees and hips became a pain that seemed to occupy every joint, every muscle, every nerve on her body, as she fought to keep herself standing, to keep moving now matter how much it hurt. While her sweats and shirt were hardly clean to begin with - what with her lackadaisical attitude towards washing her clothes and her messy eating habits - by the time she was halfway across the room, they were saturated with sweat, clinging to her innumerable rolls and folds and bunching up awkwardly, leaving much of her tanned flab on display. But she didn’t care how much she looked like an unkempt blimp; once she was safe, she could worry about her looks. “A-Ah… ahlmosht theeeere…” She reassured herself as she neared her door, her voice coming out as a husky, breathless whisper as she unlocked the door, pulling it open… only to be stopped dead in her tracks by a leather-gloved hand on her walker, keeping her from moving it, and by extension, herself. Her heart sank as she looked up; a battered old field jacket, loose fitting cargo pants and a burlap mask, adorned with a roughly-stitched smile, a single eyehole, and… dried blood around the nose? “Going somewhere?” In that instance, all her aches and pains seemed to fade away - or rather, she couldn’t bring herself to give any of them any semblance of attention - and she froze in place, not even daring to flinch as this monster brought their other hand up to her face, their gloved digits sinking into her yielding, wobbly cheeks. “Man, I always thought that fatso friend of yours was the biggest girl I’d ever seen, but you? You’re something else entirely.” That masked murderer took a step into her apartment, shoving Zoe and her walker back as he all but marched her back in the direction she came from; the initial shock began to subside, and she grabbed her assailant’s wrist, able to find the strength to wrench their hand off of her face, leaving a couple of red marks where they had brusquely grabbed her. “F-Fuhck you!” She spat, balling up her fist and taking a wild, careless swing at them; her blow glanced off of the side of their face, and it was enough to get them to take a step back all the same… and immediately close the gap between the two of them once again, grabbing at her flabby wrist -- their hand couldn’t quite wrap around her forearm thanks to the sheer heft of it, but they still had a solid grip on her. “Easy there, you cow.” They growled, kicking her walker out from under her and wrapping their arm around her waist as she almost immediately slumped forward, keeping her from collapsing into a heap… and keeping her right where they wanted her. “Wouldn’t wanna end up like Becca, would you? I bet your heart’s in worse condition than hers, too.” With that, they began the arduous process of ushering her back towards the kitchen she had fought so hard to waddle away from, and Zoe pounded her fist against that murderous ghoul’s arm and chest with her unrestrained hand, lacking the room or strength to throw much of a punch. Each blow, however weak and desperate, was punctuated by all manner of obscenities, impotent threats about what she intended to do to the person that had killed her friend and plagued her thoughts for so long. Inarticulate and ineffective cries, months of built up grief and rage released all at once, to no avail. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor cuts through her tirade, and she finds herself carelessly dumped into her seat once more. Her eyes closed, and she looked down at the floor; her anger had petered out into quiet, exhausted bitterness, whatever semblance of energy she had left was promptly burnt out of her. This was it, there was nothing for her to do but await the inevitable. The killer took a few steps, and she was met with the sound of… her fridge door opening? She looked up, and sure enough, there they were, grabbing various different things from the refrigerator and setting them on the table alongside the remains of her snacking session; whatever snacks, leftovers, sodas and candies she had, all of it was promptly dumped onto the dining table, alongside a tub of butter. “Wh-What the fuhck’re you doin’?” She hissed, trying to stand up once more, but unable to find the strength to heave her flabby ass more than an inch away from her seat, droplets of sweat noisily hitting the floor around her. “Well, you seemed awfully weak, just now~” Their voice was mockingly sweet, dripping with thinly-veiled sarcasm, “I figure you must be starving… so I’m gonna make you eat.” To drive their point home, they cracked open a two-litre bottle of soda, roughly pressing the bottle against her lips and slowly tipping it upwards; she tried to turn her face away, but they persisted, roughly grabbing a fistful of her greasy blonde hair to discourage any unwanted movements. Without many other options, and fearing what this bizarre sadist might do if she refused, she screwed her eyes shut and began gulping down mouthful after mouthful of soda, feeling that syrupy swill pour into her awaiting stomach. Between the fizz, and the sheer volume she was forcing into her, she already felt uncomfortably bloated, letting a few muffled belches out where she could. “Feeling full already, piggy?” Zoe narrowed her eyes as they taunted her, giving the bottle a little squeeze just to force that much more soda down her gullet at once. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you feel like you’re fit to pop, ‘cause I’m gonna feed you until you do pop.” Not long after that little threat, Zoe had finally managed to drain that bottle completely, her fiendish feeder letting it fall to the ground as they grabbed a pack of cakes, tearing open the foil wrapper on one before grabbing her jaw, forcing her mouth open (and drawing a pained yell out of her in the process) before stuffing that cake into her gob, keeping their hand clasped across her lips until she had swallowed it down. And once she had, she barely had time to let out a deep, rumbling belch before another was jammed into her mouth, then another, then another still; cakes gave way to chocolates, then donuts… it became a blur for the blonde butterball, who was more transfixed on her stomach as this masked degenerate force-fed her. It already felt as though she had swallowed a medicine ball, much of the gas being gradually forced out of that overstuffed sack of food and grease that she called a stomach, replaced by a dense, sugary slurry that sat in her gut like a lead weight. More troublingly though, was that it was starting to look as stuffed as it felt, which was no small feat; the thick layer of flab that made up her belly apron would normally hide any degree of bloating, but she could see a distinct, unmistakable bulge in her midsection, her stomach’s strained growls and gurgles becoming more prominent. “Ugh… w-why the fuUUUUUUOORP-- f-fuhck’re you… doin’ thish?!” Zoe managed to sputter out during a lull in her feeding, while her tormentor was preoccupied with opening up a tub of butter. “Well, I didn’t get to kill that friend of yours, did I? She did herself in before I could finish the job, technically; I figure you’d make a good substitute.” They shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Before she could probe them further, they set that butter down in front of her, slipping their gloves off before scooping up a handful of the stuff. “Now, shut up and open wide~” She didn’t get a say in the matter, really; her captor didn’t need to force her to keep her mouth open, the overwhelming fullness in her gut was enough to leave her panting and gulping down air, leaving them free to grope and press down on her gravid middle while they crammed a mass of butter into her mouth. Almost immediately, the slightly-salty, creamy taste filled her mouth, and she fought the urge to gag, willing herself to swallow it down, and keep it down. Her stomach’s gurgling eventually fell quiet as fistful after fistful of butter was packed into her gut - there was barely any room left in there for gas bubbles to form. But with each mouthful, she felt her stomach creaking like a rubber band being drawn taut. Even her breaths grew shallower, to avoid putting more duress on her gut than needed. “Puh… Pleashe, shtooohp…” She mewled as her captor teasingly wiped the dregs of butter from her lips, before resting both hands upon the drum-tight swell of her stomach. For once, they didn’t say anything in response; no mocking remark, no jab at her weight. No, their response was more insidious. Slowly, they began to lean onto her gut, sinking their palms into her flab and putting more and more pressure on either side of her stomach, as though they were trying to squeeze that overfull organ through her flab. Inside, she could feel that creaking, groaning sensation growing as they bore down onto her stomach; no matter how much she wanted to, she didn’t have the strength to even puke, no way of alleviating that mounting pressure within her gut as it grew to rival the pressure without. All she did have the strength to do was to let out a hoarse, lilting scream as it grew too much for her. *CrrrrrrRRRRRK-- SNAP* It was as though somebody had burst a balloon under a blanket; a loud, barely-muffled pop. What was originally a singular, densely-packed mass of half-digested food lost all integrity, filling out the space in her abdomen as her stomach burst. If she was any slimmer, there would probably be a gaping hole in her midsection, but her flab had kept that detonation contained. Finally, much too late, she found herself actually puking something up: a mouthful of blood and bile splashing onto the floor and soaking her chins, tits and belly apron, and steeping her tormentor’s - her killer’s - arms in gore. Her breaths grew slower, and her eyelids lulled shut as Zoe slumped into her chair as consciousness left her. And with an untreated injury like that, her life would soon follow.