>>13084
Since you correctly identified Part 10 as what sold me entirely, I'll share a bit of what I have (also since I have no idea what I'm ultimately going for here).
This takes place right at the end of Part 10 in my mind. Maybe the mother is a bit less slobby than it starts out with, and this part isn't very slob related. Just kind of...I dunno a continuation and expansion.
That's not to say we weren't already degraded in some ways; we were both well past morbidly obese, my mom somewhere around four hundred pounds and me in the three hundreds, we wore underwear only at home, my mother was chugging cooking oil like it was water semi regularly, and I had just explosively cum to both my own and my mother's greedy laziness and hedonism. There really wasn't anywhere to go but down.
For the first several months after that encounter, we continued as is. I slept in my bed, she slept in hers, I went to my menial job at the grocery store, and she did some stay at home email…data…whatever job. With that income, plus the alimony my mother had deftly negotiated out of dad, things were actually okay. We could afford food (even for our monstrous and growing appetites) and new sets of clothing as the weight began pulling the old ones too tight. We kept pretty respectful out in public; our clothes covered everything and we could even manage to eat like human beings. At home, things were similarly even keel. I might have been masturbating endlessly to my mom's juicy bottom, but I kept it to myself. If she was doing something similar, she didn't let on either.
The first chink in the armor actually came from outside the house. Near the end of my shift at the grocery store, I had finished stocking the display of snack cakes. It wasn't hard work, but I was a fat hog and I was sweating like one, all while being horribly tempted by the wall of sugary delights. Having placed the old, out of date boxes in the cart, I wheeled it to the back where I bumped into the stock manager.
“Alright you finally got it done Trent, and it looks like you didn't eat any of the new stock.” I'm sure my face was visibly flushed even over the lingering sweatiness. “I'll take it from here.” He took the cart and wheeled it off to the back wall and started tossing the old boxes down the refuse chute.
“Whoa what are you doing?”
“What? Just tossing old stock. Can't sell it anymore.”
“Are we not going to like…discount it? Or donate it?”
“Come on Trent. No one bought it the first go, and these things are barely edible when they're ‘fresh’. They won't last a day longer.” I must have had wide eyes or started drooling or something, because he figured me out in an instant. “What do you want them or something? Fine take ‘em, but don't come crying to me when they rip up your insides like one of those metal cereal pieces fatty.”
God, I really was a fatty. I was drooling over food that was literally on the brink of being actual garbage. I taped over that dashboard warning light though and heaved the cart full of free treats straight to my car.
Once I got them home and told the story of the humiliating manager to my mother all she could say was “Oh my poor fat baby. Why don't you cheer yourself up with some snacks?” And placed a wrapped snack cake in my hand.
The haul didn't last through the night. A dozen boxes with a dozen cakes in each, split between two gluttonous hogs. We sat doughy flank to doughy flank on the couch, speckled with endless cake crumbs, devoid of thought. That was actually the first night we shared a sleeping space together as we hit a serious food coma from the expired snack cakes mixing with the mountain of chinese takeout we combined it with.
The coma actually prompted the next degradation of our lives the next morning. Waking up in what had to have been a pre-diabetic haze, I realized that my phone alarm failed to wake either me or my mother. It had slipped between two greasy rolls and become muffled under hundreds of pounds of blubber. Realizing this meant that I must be exceedingly late to work, I hustled as much as someone as fat as me could, tossed on my work shirt from yesterday (again tossed being relative to my size). The hustle built up a sweat of its own, and my old work shirt was still damp in places with yesterday's sweat, and in the rush I entirely skipped even trying to squeeze into the shower and hose down my numerous folds.
This all culminated in an olfactory disaster. I truly reeked. I definitely had become a bit nose blind because I simply was sweating more and more and there's a limit to the effectiveness of deodorant, but even I could constantly smell a vicious BO rising from my arm pits. I tried to hide in the back for most of my shift, and most of my coworkers were happy to let me the second they got within a few feet of me. Eventually I got used to my own stench and I came to enjoy the peace and quiet of being left alone. Plus, again another cart of outdated merchandise got left in the back to calm myself at home with.
Returning home, coming through the door with a heap of more food for my gluttonous parental roommate, her motherly instincts could tell I was down.
“Uh oh, looks like my big fat son had another rough day. Give your big soft mommy a hug.” She struggled to lean forward and used all of her arms strength to push herself off the sagging couch to stand. Once up she wrapped her bingo wing arms around my moobs and mushed her own soft belly into mine. After just a second of embracing, I could hear her huffing. “Oh dear, Trent baby, you must have worked really hard today. You downright stink.”
“Yeah I know mom. I didn't have time to shower this morning.”
“Hygiene is important young man. You know that.” I scanned up and down her own body, mentally noting the oily sheen it all had. I wasn't really sure the last time she had a proper bath either. “Don't you give me that look. I'll scrub you myself if I have to.” My cock stirred a bit, but I still had some restraint. She pulled a tub of wet wipes left on the coffee table cum dining table and pulled two sheets out. One in each hand, she stuck her hands into the warm pockets of bulging, soft flesh that were my armpits. She scrubbed back and forth a couple times and pulled her hands out. I could almost hear a sucking sound as her hands pulled clear of my blubber. “There you go Trent baby. Fresh again.”
I was hardly fresh with an eight second scrub in just one of my sweaty folds. I just smelled like BO with a bleach spritzer. But I didn't care. I liked my mom's doting and I was too lazy to do anything else. I was tired of squeezing my big hips into the shower and barely being able to even get wet, let alone reach everything, and then the big pain of drying myself off, it just didn't seem worth it anymore. So from then on, except for rare occasions, my bathing was just my mother rubbing sanitary wipes under my arms before work every day. She always helped me put on the shirt after and gave me a kiss too, so it wasn't all bad.
So we kept on growing together for months. We were basically spending every penny we got on food and rent within a year. We certainly had to have a place to live and neither had the willpower to cut back on our gluttony. I legitimately had no idea what to do. Neither me or my mom were employable beyond what we had. We were unrepentant fat asses who struggled with basic tasks. Finding something higher paying was a snipe hunt.
Sitting (as I often was) in the backroom of my work, I was in both an emotional funk and literal funk. Breathing in my own fumes, I realized I got a text. It was from my mom.