Furry Force Eating

A rich Furry Business mongrel Hyena builds the perfect wife. She, however, has a malfunction, she needs to get her husband off, it is her addiction. What better way than to fatten him up through addictive food and domination? Poor guy build the perfect 70’s step-ford wife — who just so happens to be unhinged.

When you are on top of the world, very few things can bring you true joy in life; not when practically everything could be bought and appropriated with little fuss to you and your massive finances. Over the past couple of decades, you started off as a lackey in the meat packaging industry: barely being able to make ends meet despite the long and grueling workdays. You knew that this was not where you were going to be for the rest of your life, that you could do so much better and deserved so much better than this. And so, when the opportunity arrived, you took it without any hesitation.

You saw a young, gullible entrepreneur trying to make a name for himself by establishing a business for creating AI’s that are both operable in computers as well as in humans. The idea was incredibly niche and novel at the time, and so many were afraid to invest in this bunny-man’s ambitious project to get it off the ground. You, however, were not. You saw a massive opportunity to make it big with this highly zealous upstart, and so you took what money you had in your savings account and approached the white-furred hare with your acceptance to aid him in his attempts to create a new enterprise.

It took years, but with your savvy of people, your connections made over the years as a lowly meatpacker, and your strong sense of good judgment, you were able to get Jimmy’s little startup company and make it into a massive, multinational empire that was raking in billions of dollars. The hare counted his lucky stars, for he truly felt blessed to have accepted you and your offer when everyone else was turning him down. But if only he knew how much of an insidious, sinister hyena you really were. He would have had enough scrutiny within himself to doubt the honesty and integrity of your intentions. One day, you had him offed in a freak accident down at the bio-engineering labs. It happened late at night and was done in such a way that none of the investigators could determine your meddling in the gene-splicing systems and brain-scanning systems that went awry just as Jimmy went inside to run the usual diagnostics.

He was turned into a hideous, monstrous blob with no sense of individuality or intelligence, and thus he had to be put down by the government before he became a threat to other people. And so, you were left with the reins over Jokola inc, it’s billions’ upon billions’ worth of assets now belonging to you. The first few years were spent in utter decadence: buying incredibly expensive cars and aircraft, decking yourself out in the most expensive of threads and hosting extravagant, exorbitant parties in one of the many buildings that you owned every single night. The high life made you high as a kite, and because the AI’s and programs that were developed in this corporation were super efficient at managing all of the assets and the workforce, you barely had to lift a finger when it came to doing any actual work.

Everything was perfect in your life, you no longer have to struggle or want anything anymore. Well, there was one thing that you were still without, and that was a wife. No, the billions of different people and animals that he could easily pick up and marry were not good enough. The hundreds of gold diggers, busty bitches, and babes that hit him up online or in person could never meet his insanely high standards and stringent expectations wrought from being a self-made, unassailable tycoon. Many hearts were broken when he used them for one-night stands, only to then block them on all accounts and have them escorted out of their premises as if they were invading his home to steal some of his billions; and they were, just not in the literal, criminal sense.

In order to satisfy his incredulously lofty desires in terms of relationships, he took it upon himself to create the perfect wife. His company had the tools and the means to produce all sorts of amazing creatures and machines, so why not use these very things to build his dream girl from the ground up? Even better, he would be pioneering another invention that many in the world would fork over massive sums of cash to get: the tailor-made wife with a tailor-made mind. Say goodbye to mail-order brides. This one had to make you happy, it was in their design. If they didn’t satisfy, they would go crazy beyond the pale.

Even with all of the advanced AI’s and similar undertakings that he could use as the baseline, this project would prove itself to be a massive challenge for the entire enterprise. Many design plans and schemes were iterated upon and implemented, only for them all to blow up in smoke or lead them to seriously malformed, unappealing products that were not unlike the freakshow that the company’s original CEO became. Some of the failures were especially terrifying to behold, for they looked like they belonged to a horror movie or video game. Yet none of this ever stopped you. You were dead set on getting that perfect wife with a fully premade conscience manufactured and perfected, and you cared not if billions of dollars would be funneled into this endeavor. You needed it, needed her.

A few years of constant trial and error and a couple of billion dollars later, success was finally attained. The ten thousandth version of project infinitas was a success, the specimen coming out of the gestation chamber not looking any bit deformed or unhinged at all. Per contra, she possessed an immaculate frame and an angelic countenance. Standing at 5 foot 7 with a comely hourglass shape, this fox-mouse-dog tribrid possessed smooth, white fur covering her body; as well as golden, back-length tresses that were naturally wavy and glimmery. No need to use any shampoo or conditioner to maintain those plentiful, lush waves.

Those cerulean eyes were suffused with so much life and warmth in them, the type of heavenly warmth a devoted wife had for the husband she had wholeheartedly chosen to spend the rest of her days with. Hell, even her black pupils were shaped in the form of hearts to symbolize the unending love she had for the man who had carefully designed and created her; and the wave tempering on one side of those pupils was intentional because it looked cool. Couple that with naturally large, lush lips and a meter-long, neutral-type tail that was likable to those you’d see on lemurs, and she was picture-perfect; just the way you envisioned her to be. Hell, even better. You outdid yourself! The button nose and the beauty mark on the left cheek were the lagniappes that tied everything together.

You named her “Alissa Eternia”, your dream wife that was created as an adult and designed to retain her beauty for centuries to come. Her aging was designed to be infinitesimal, taking a decade for a single year to pass in contrast to the average person. Even better was the fact that she was forever fertile, her eggs were self-duplicating and could be made unimpregnable through her will. Perfect for those situations where you wanted to finish inside of her yet did not want to have to worry about getting her pregnant. Even better was the fact that her fur was never shed unless you wanted it to, and you were not among the niche set of people who found shedding to be attractive.

But the most impressive feature of this carefully designed woman was her mind, which was designed to make her an ideal and devoted wife in every sense of the word. Nary did she have any concept of pride and selfishness, always putting your needs above her own no matter how insane they were. There was never a time where she was not ready to be with you and please you, for you were the only person that mattered in her life; the only one who could ever give her life meaning. She was ready to go anytime, anyplace, not caring about the consequences nor possessive of shame. You could spend half of the day doing her in several different parts of your headquarters and she would eagerly oblige. You did make her after all, and so she rightfully revered you like a god.

The first year with her was nothing short of paradisaical, spending much of your days indulging yourself with her in every possible way. In the mornings, you had lengthy sessions between the sheets with her. In the evenings, she stood by your side and sang high praises as you did your menial work that looked over your massive enterprise. She made you wonderful meals on a daily, far better than the automated meals that were created and delivered to you by food-making AI’s and robots. And best of all, there was never a time where she showed contempt nor argued about anything. You could run roughshod on her and physically beat her within an inch of her life, and she took it with a big smile on her face. Truly an immaculate angel that wanted nothing more than for her husband to be happy.

All of those wild escapades and romantic get-togethers began to blend into one another with how frequently they happened, and like with everything else, it palled over time. Love, apparently, for you had diminishing returns. Her interest in you never waned though, for she was designed to prioritize your prosperity and happiness over all else. And yet despite all of the lengthy, variegated, and exotic fun times you have had, they dulled and waned. Who knew that someone could grow weary of a pristine lady that never said no and always jumped at the opportunity to praise and please? You gradually withdrew from her to spend your time and energy on other matters, returning to those previous forms of decadence you engaged in hitherto creating her.

She was able to notice this declination, and it strongly irked her. No, it unhinged her. The one true love in her life and the sole reason she was created in the first place was now drifting away, and it upset her greatly to behold this unfolding since she knew no other form of happiness and recourse than through you. Though she tried to amend this by being more proactive and doting towards you on a daily basis, you simply brushed her praise and advances with a neutral smile whilst going about the things you were doing. It was not long before her disapprobation and disconcertedness became obvious, beginning to vocalize it to you and your underlings. She was starting to fear that she was not good enough and that she was failing as a wife and your perfect creation. This… had some rather bat-crazy consequences. Something in her was beginning to snap.

Seeing her behaving so somberly and flummoxed made you rueful as well, for you still remember fondly those good times you had in the past. Now, in order to inflame those old passions you had from her back in the start, you had to resort to some darker niches. Besides, you were curious and she was willing – so why the hell not!? Lengthy nights were spent out in your massive sexual dungeon, wherein Ms. Eternia would be trained to be more assertive and dominant than before. Maybe that was the problem. She was perfect… she did everything you asked for and more and yet you were unhappy. Perhaps the issue wasn’t her but you. She was trained to use whips, leashes, chains, and gags on you. Though this dominatrix side of your wife was enticing at first, it did pall over time. All of that shit-talking, sensory deprivation, whipping, paddling, and femdom did add some new spice to your life, but it still was not enough to keep the relationship as firm as it was in the beginning.

Even when footage of the escapades was recorded and published online in all of the adult entertainment websites and your own adult production label, Wild Furr, the thrill that you had from seeing millions of people joyously imbibing you getting railed, ridden, and prostate milked by your deeply devoted wife were just not enough to thrill you anymore. But at least you raked millions of dollars through your exhibitionist escapades. Even so, you still longed for something more, some way to take things further beyond.

And so, your devotedly vicious and assertive wife had begun to brainstorm other ideas. Behind your back. Nothing was good enough for you and she realized that she needed to think independently of your narrow mind, your narrow concepts. If you couldn’t be pleased by your own devices, she would create her own — and that manifested itself in food. It was only natural, she wasn’t a chemist, she wanted a drug deal, but you know she was good at? Cooking. Tailor-made to be a godsend of the dinner table. A kitchen guru. So why not spice that food up with a little… addictive properties. Everybody was happy when drugged. She was. She knew from her genesis that her happiness originated from the addiction of pleasing you, and when she was successful, god, it was wonderful.

It was currently the afternoon at your main headquarters, and you have currently gone through the daily checkup of your enterprise and assets on your massive computer screen. Having flicked the last of the checkboxes in your checkmark questionnaire green to confirm that everything was good, you were about to get up and out of your seat when you heard someone knocking right over at the massive door that lead to your head office. A delighted smile appeared in your hyena maw as you checked the cameras to see who it was: your beloved wife holding a massive platter up in her left hand and a platter holder in her right. You reached down to press the unlock button for the door, allowing her to come inside. The marriage might be strained, but that food… truly, at this moment, was the only thing you appreciated about this wilting marriage.

She emerged with a desirous and accomplished look on her pristine, milky face, bedecked in a lush, red dress with a puffy white apron worn in the front. Watching you venture over to the dining table you had installed on the Eastern sector of the room, she strode in her 6-inch black heels whilst keeping her head up high. The miniature chef’s hat that she wore bobbled alongside her massive jugs, gracefully making her way over to the table before setting the platter holder down and putting the platter atop it. Setting your suited, furry rear against the marble-legged table, you reached over to take a spare napkin to tie around your neck as a makeshift bib.

“What did you make for me today, sweets?” This never mattered. It all tasted divine. Even dishes you disliked previously, she cooked to your delight.

You were already able to pick up the lush scent from the covered platter even as she set up the cutlery on the table, picking up light spices, hearty greens, and the rich scent of salt. Fluttering her lashes at you whilst you finished tying the knot for the napkin, she reached down to pull up the lid that covered the hearty dish she long had spent making.

“Your favorite, darling. Roast beef platter with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.” She smiled, mischievousness like a knife in that coquettish smile.

A massive pall of steam wafted from the platter when the lid was lifted, imparting a much stronger scent that made that hyena snout of yours twitch and tingle in utter delight. The sight of the hearty roast coupled with the even helpings of truffle-salted mash potatoes and large, steamed broccoli crowns was enough to make your eyes shimmer in jubilee, your tongue juts out from your sharp-toothed maw, and saliva visibly flow out and stain your bib. This platter had, what… five or so pounds of foodstuffs in it? Enough to feed both of them. And yet this was all for him. Looks like leftovers for a midnight snack, you surmised. You took the fork in your right hand and the knife in your left, clanking against the table in a firm clash when gesticulating approvingly.

“It looks delicious, babe… come on, give it to me.”

She did so, placing her gloved hands up against the assorted dishes to place them down before you. A sneering grin and a demeaning chortle were given by her upon beholding how hungry and ready you appeared to dig a hole right into the table. Even though you could sense the demeaning intentions in her heart pupils, that did not stop you from sticking your fork and knife into the roast beef to immediately start sawing away at its side. As this happened, a hover drone from the winery had brought on over a decades old porto to complement the meal; complete with a magnum-sized wine glass.

“Look at you, so desperate for food that you’re drooling all over yourself. Have you no manners, hm?”

You did not bother to reply to her, instead taking the newly made slice of roast beef to stick into your mouth. Closing your eyes and nodding your head upward, you savored the rich body of the hearty roast. The consistency of the meat was just right: the temperature mixed well with the light spice rub placed all over its surface prior to getting roasted. Just enough salt was applied to get the full flavor of the meat out, a delighted groan being sounded when you rolled the masticated flesh against your tastebuds. Nodding back down when swallowing, a delighted sigh came before the effusive answer. And the chemical-laced food that would make you addicted to eating started its work.
And fast.
“With the way you made this roast beef, who needs manners?”

A broccoli crown was scarfed down right after, a prolonged “Nmmmh” happening as you quickly chewed the properly steamed green. Just as the hover drone had emerged with the bottle and glass magnetized to the topside of its circular surface, a lengthy laugh was given by her prior to reaching over and grabbing at the wine bottle, she produced a corkscrew from the pocket of her apron to stick it in and pry it out. The degrading look in her eyes remained ostensible when removing the cork and then grabbing the magnum glass off of the drone to put against the table.
She never looked at you with such contempt, it added spice of its own variety to the situation.

“You’re less of a hyena and more of a pig, engorging yourself without shame nor esteem. This is the man I have devoted my life to?”

You have just downed three spoonfuls of the mashed potatoes, enjoying the proper amount of crunch included in the truffle-salted goodness. Seeing your demeaning wife pour two-thirds of the wine glass, you lowered the fork down to reach on over, take the glass from her dainty little hand by the stem, and bring it towards your lips. Swaying the glass a couple of times to swirl the wine, you took a big whiff of the nose before winking at her and replying eagerly.
“Hey, now. I did design you to perfectly cater to my every whim, and you know it!”
And she did.
You didn’t quite realize the lengths that she would go to for such whims.
A hearty swig of the tonic happened, washing down the mashed potatoes and beef that still lingered on your palate. Planting the glass down to resume going through the platter, she had her hands against her hips while giving her repartee.

“You may have designed me to be perfect, yet you want to devolve yourself into a complete slob with the way you’re indulging yourself right now… but that’s fine. Go ahead and pig yourself out, let yourself go, and show me how much of a helpless little doggy you really are.”
You were not used to her speaking like that to you, not unless you were in the dungeon – which you abandoned some time ago. You wanted to reply.
And found more food in your mouth instead.
Going quickly through the entirety of the roast and downing the entire bottle of wine, you enjoyed every last morsel and ounce of the meal. She remained by your side, continuing to remind you to wipe your face clean and desist salivating so much, that your voracious manner of devouring the meal was unbecoming for a prominent business tycoon like you. Those shameful jabs only invigorated you to scarf your food faster, taking masochistic glee in the way she chuckled at you and pointed her finger at your mashed potato-stained, broccoli-pricked maw. This meal alone had made all meals prior to it insignificant, lesser. This was both an eating experience, and she somehow crafted it into a sexual experience.

Once the last piece of beef was downed, you placed the cutlery on the empty plate before reclining and planting your hands against your slightly bloated belly. After a couple of pats and then a little shimmy of the tummy was had, feeling bloated enough for the dress shirt to strain. And yet, for some reason, you were not full. A part of you still felt hungry, with a little bit more room remaining in your stomach for a pound or two of more delicious stuff. Typically, this would be more than enough to sate you for the day; but not today. The chemicals that she had secretly added to the food beforehand were responsible for this, powerfully addictive additives usually found in fast food to artificially create cravings. Albeit she had chosen much more concentrated versions of these chemicals so that even with this large quantity of food scarfed, you would still be craving for more.

You brought your gaze over to the amazing cook that was your wife, a perked right eyebrow joining a slight, upward nod of her head when she inquired, “What? You look like you’re not satisfied, hmn? Does the glutton want more? Have I not made enough for your insatiable appetite?”

Those demeaning words merited a soft chuckle from you, smacking your stomach twice with your right, fuzzy hand when openly admitting, “Yeah, I do.. got any dessert for me?”
And yet, you remembered that this meal was sized for the both of you…
She leaned herself up close to you, reaching over with her right hand to pinch at your left, fuzzy ear to toggle it a few times. Thereafter, she pulled firmly against it to bring you to a full stand, dragging you by the ear away from the table and toward the door, “Of course I do, you disgusting slob. I am the perfect wife, am I not? Come with me, I’ll make sure you’ve pigged out so much that you won’t be able to walk by the time I am done with you.”
Why did that sound so… delicious to you?

A month later.

Never did she ease up on the cooking and feeding, enjoying every last moment of watching you go through every hearty meal, every fizzy drink, and every carb-overloaded dessert she made. As the days went on, she made her meals ever larger and unhealthy. One day, it would be a pot roast loaded with dozens of bacon strips and several pounds of butter. The next, it was fifty pieces of fried chicken with fifty different herbs and spices mixed in. Meter-tall burgers and high-fructose fruitcakes were the latest additions to the buffets she was giving you, and you always went through them without much of a fuss because of how addictively delicious it all was.
How spot-on that thought of yours really was.

Having set the table up in the dining room of your manor located at Jerome Grove, Chef Eternia and her team of hardworking cooks had gone out of their way to load the entire surface of the three-meter dining table with a variety of carefully cooked and prepared foods; a feast fit for a dozen people was set up solely for one. When the last of the platters were set up, the queen of addictive cuisine took a good look at everything to make sure it was all set. She gave the thumbs up for the butlers and cooks to depart. They all did so, vacating the capacious room just as she prepared the triangle chime with her left hand and the chime rod with her right.
Even before the bell was chimed, you were able to smell the variegated, enticing smells through the closed doors. Oh, so badly did you want to emerge through and devour everything, but you refrained as per the command of your immaculate wife. She really had you by the balls, or the stomach, at the very least. Hearing those oh-so-splendiferous chimes, you burst through the doors. You were delighted to see the entirety of the dining table filled with dishes before you; ranging from an entire roast turkey to a giant lobster fully steamed. There was even a wedding cake made just for you to consume, a four-story cake designed to feed a hundred people. And yet this was all for you.

A lot had changed in the month your wife had begun this painfully morbid diet for you, having now reached double the weight you had before this ever began: 450 pounds. Your formerly taut, the toned stomach had now become overly bloated and rotund; inasmuch that the buttons of your white collared tuxedo shirt were straining greatly. Your smoker top could not even be closed anymore because of how bulbous the belly had become. The belts you had used in the past now could no longer fit your size 50 pants, and the last one that you wore ended up breaking just seconds after you struggled to put it on. The bottom of your weighty stomach now went past your crotch, covering your little-by-proportion pecker in the process. Your thighs have become so vast that they strained the dress pants that you wore, friction being a commonality as you plod your way through the door and into the room.

Every step felt so much heavier than before, insofar as that you could no longer sprint nor jog if your life depended on it. You would get winded way too quickly. So greatly had your gait devolved with the doubling of your weight that you wobbled from left to right with every step. Such a stride was less suitable for a hyena and more suitable for a penguin, someone whose limbs were glued against their body rather than flexible and opposable. Your peers were beginning to show great worry about your gained weight, but not you. Eating felt like sex, more than sex, better than sex. Your wife didn’t help the matter. The constant teasing, the chuckling, the cutting bitter words, the way she degraded you, calling you names. Once she refused to feed you, putting you on a diet. You begged. You begged and pleaded. You debased yourself. You cried. You crawled on the ground like an animal at her instructions. Only then did she feed you. The honest truth was that he quite enjoyed his transformation, even if it was unhealthy. What was more important than that was the sadistic glee that your wife took in fattening you up.

Plodding your way over to the chair that she had pulled out for you, you took a moment to catch your breath due to how hastily you were pacing. She would then push the seat against your rump just as you were recuperating, making you land on the chair with a resounding thump and a telltale creak. Thankfully, this chair did not break apart like others have in the days prior; thank goodness she chose a metallic chair to handle your weight. The flabbergasted look you gave was quickly annulled when she spoke to you, gesturing to the multitude of plates covering the table.

“It took me six hours to make everything for you, piggy… so you better eat every last bit of it or else I’ll be greatly displeased. I might even put you on a diet.”
“No, no, I will eat it all.”
“I might just put you on diet anyway.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” You whimpered. You wanted to sound playful, charming, and amused… instead you sounded pathetic, weak, and desperate.
“Look at how pathetic you’ve become.” She licked her lips and spat into the dish before you, “Gunna still eat everything?”

You did not need to be told twice, bringing your hands out to take the football-sized lobster tail that was right before you. Not bothering to use a fork or a knife, you quickly gnawed into the exposed, buttery flesh of the shelled tail to savor the rich, fatty body and flavor. That first bite was enough to quell the immense hunger that had been assailing your bloated stomach for all this time, a strong hankering to devour taking its place. You quickly went through the lobster tail, not caring for the juices that stained your training suit and shirt nor the morsel that lingered upon the fur beard and mustache you had. After finishing off the tail, you took the shell cracker to crack open the arms of the lobster for further engorging.

She remained by your side, her left hand close to her lips whilst giggling at the shameless pigging out that you were doing.
Her presence always seemed to enhance the experience. Food alone would not sate your hunger. Her presence completed the experience.
“So pathetic… you have the voracity of a swarm of locusts… not a trace of that disciplined, wise man that I have proudly called my husband… hmph… you’re devolving into an animal, an unrestrained animal.”

Those degrading words only yielded a shameless grin from you as you continued to tear through the lobster, then transitioning to the roast turkey right afterward. It was hard to show anything but an absolute delight. This was heaven. You did not even bother to use the fork or the knife that was situated right before you, for you had no sense of etiquette or cleanliness anymore. Anything that slowed down the process of eating was an inconvenience. It was so much easier to just be feral with your style of eating and worry about the mess later. In fact, the mess was generally self-induced because you knew that your wife seemed to love it, love that transformation, love the way you debased herself. You in turn loved the attention, affection, and animosity she heaped on you as you devolved yourself. It was a vicious little feedback loop. You pried off the left leg of the turkey with a singular, strong pull, then turned to face her and point it over to her face.
“But at least I will be YOUR animal, right?”
Another hearty chortle was had by the chef-wife, nodding her head approvingly while you brought the turkey leg over to your maw to clean the meat off the bone within seconds. So bestial you have become in your feasting, many would consider you an utter barbarian instead of one of the biggest CEO’s in the world. In a matter of minutes, Turkey was reduced to a cleaned-out skeleton. Without any signs of abatement, you washed it down by drinking a gallon of highly sweetened fruit punch. Taking the punch bowl and tipping it over to your lips, you downed it as if having been dared to.

As you did so, the straining buttons of your top finally burst open. Starting from the bottom of the stomach, seven of those eight buttons were ripped open in quick succession. Your bulging belly now protruded further, inasmuch that the fly of your pants also ripped open. Yet this still was insufficient to bilk any guilt from you, still focusing on finishing every last ounce of the 80-ounce bowl. Your wife was laughing her heart out, finding the wardrobe malfunction to be utterly hilarious. “God… you’re going to blow yourself up if you eat everything so quickly… please refrain yourself before you’re on Evylynn Daily as the Tycoon who ate himself into a big bang.”

Amazingly enough, you were able to go through every last piece of the banquet: even the entire wedding cake. The additives she had liberally used in everything really did work wonders to keep you hungry and desirous of more, even if you have just consumed 500,000 calories just now. It all felt as if you simply had a light snack, a little salad to help you start the day off. By the time you had finished it all, you could not even find it in yourself to leave the chair anymore, let alone walk out of the room. Good thing she was able to get someone to bring a mobile chair for you to switch onto.
“Anything else?” You inquired.
A dark, devilish smile crossed your wife’s lips. It was chilling, “Why yes, yes there is.” She produced from her pocket a sumptuous strip of bacon. Just one. She mused, looking over it as if it was the most precious thing she possessed. It wasn’t even a meal. It was just one strip of bacon.
It would have to do, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“May I have it?”
She took a bite of it. You were crestfallen. She chewed on just a sliver of it, “It is the last thing in the house and I am quite famished.” She spoke it in a whimsical manner.
“The only thing!?”
“Please? My lovely, perfect, beautiful, wife?”
“Sure.” She gave it after a long silent pause.
And tossed it on the ground. Far from your reach.
“Crawl. If you want to eat like an animal, look like an animal. I guess it is time you start acting like one too.”
It took many, many minutes to pry yourself free.
And crawl.
“Ahh ahh ahh. Nope. No hands. Eat it off the floor with your mouth.”
And you did.
It tasted so much better than all the food you ate prior.

Another month later

All of that feasting and feeding has made you gain so much weight that it was now impossible for you to comfortably walk any distance, but at least your insolent and demeaning wife was there to help your fat ass. It was currently the morning, you at your main headquarters, having just awoken to the smell of a hearty, heavy breakfast that waited for you outside the door to your master bedroom. Because you now weighed half a ton, it was impossible for you to sleep recumbent without your lungs getting crushed from the sheer weight of your blubbery, flabby folds. Ergo, your bed was now a standing bed to ensure that you could comfortably sleep without the risk of suffocating under your kilos of fat overnight.

Closing the doors behind her after painstakingly making the 200,000-calorie breakfast, she had arrived with a bag containing your tailor-made, quadruple plus-sized formalwear for you to put on. The old robes from a week back no longer fit you and had to be discarded and incinerated, fifty thousand dollars worth of threads gone to waste in such a short span of time. A demeaning look was discernible in her heart-shaped pupils as she plodded her way over to you. “Good morning, you morbidly obese blob…. Ready to be dragged out of bed and get a few more folds of fat is added to your Hutt-like body?” Oh, that was a new one: likening you to Jabba.

Once standing to the right of your standing bed, she dropped the bag of clothes down to press a button located on the right side of the bed’s frame. This activated the pulley-bindings system from the ceiling above you, lowering multiple fasteners and a swing-type seat for you to situate yourself against. Once lowered, she took the arm fasteners as you painfully raise your blubbery, stubby right arm to have her close the right cuff against your forearm. As she did so, she chortled at the lugubrious look that was obvious to witness from you. “What? Did I wake you up from your fattening slumber too early? Well too bad, you blob-baby. You have a strict feeding schedule, and even if you lack the will and strength to get out of bed, I will make sure that you will stick to it.”

This was said whilst buckling the fastener tight, then moving around to the other side to do the same with your other arm. During this, you looked on over at the closed door where her plentiful breakfast was waiting; your demure side showing when you said: “But darling, I am starting to have doubts if I should keep on going with this… Look at me, I can’t even get out of bed anymore. I cannot do anything without your help.”

His voiced doubts only made her a bit brasher in how she fastened your other forearm to the tether, a menacing scowl being given when she reached over to grasp at your blubbery, folds-rife face to turn it over to where she was. Pinching strongly against the quad-chin that he had, she spoke in a more solemn tone compared to before. “When we agreed to this feeding program, you had me promise to drag you through it no matter how doubtful or defeatist you would become. While I agree that you have become a pathetic shell of your former self that has lost all freedom and autonomy, I would be greatly disdained and disappointed if you were to go back on what we agreed after all the progress you have made… At least have the decency of being thorough in your gluttony and self-defecation, you self-deceiving swine.”
It was true. You did agree to this. But you agreed when you were hungry and she re-framed from feeding you unless you said it.

She refused to break her piercing from you, watching observantly for the demure to efface from your mien. Eventually, you nodded your head whilst sighing deeply. It was true that you made that binding vow over to her, and it was one of the few decent things that you two were on the same page on. “Yeah… I did… and you’re right…”
“Your just saying that because you know it is either this or nothing. Spineless little… huge disgusting animal, you.”

That being said, she closed the other fastener and pressed the lift button on the bed to activate the pulleys. Gradually, your arms were raised in the air before you were suspended from the ground. Being carried by the arms over to the aforementioned swing seat. First, she unfastened the knots of your bedgown from both the front and back to get it off of your person. Then, she took out the newly made dress pants to forcibly pull them up your blubbery legs that were no longer useful for walking and standing. It took some time to get it all the way up and close it around your waist, the supersized bottom wear not needing a belt to put on. She lowered you onto the seat and made sure that your greatly oversized, blubbery ass fit in the extra-long seat prior to unfastening the arm fasteners.

With your arms now free again, you were able to extend them outward so that she could put on the new dress shirt that was tailor-made to accommodate your girthy extremities. Starting with the right one before going to the left, you began to show further doubts when commenting. “Maybe we should lighten up on the meals, or put some healthier options to slow the process down… just so that I won’t be at risk of going into a coma when I’m finished.”
“We tried that before, remember? You begged for more, you begged. You cried. You acted like a little bitch until I shut your damn mouth up with a whole turkey.” Yet again, she became a bit more aggressive in her dressing, forcing your arms through the sleeves before closing the cuffs with cufflinks. She pulled at the fur against your back from time to time, enunciating venomously. “What did I say, you pussy of a blobby hyena? The one redeemable thing about you was that you followed through on your plans no matter what, and now you’re having second thoughts? There are many things about you that are repugnant and insufferable, but even I would find it unbecoming for you to back down on your feeding regimen… Is this doubtful pussy the husband I have been made for? You better not be, else I’d finally have a good reason to take this ring off.”
No ring meant no food.
Those words were enough to shut you up and remain in place, allowing her to close the cufflinks and the buttons of the shirt from bottom to top. Once that was done, she placed the tuxedo blazer over your bloated body and closed the singular button. A clamp-on bow tie was fixed to your popped-open collar, therefrom she made her way over to the moving chair to have it roll over to where you were. Once there, she lowered the pulleys on your seat to ease your gargantuan blobby ass right against the chair. Having done this seamlessly, she reached down to grab the seat and pull it up from under you; a struggle to do even with you shimmying yourself to unwedge the seat from your bulbous body.

You were now in your mobile chair and able to move yourself, grabbing the control lever on the right armrest to drive yourself over to the door. She followed along, commenting whilst moving ahead of you to open the door for you: “We’re going to have to invest in a better engine for this chair, because your fat ass is starting to slow it down.” And this was a new moving chair, too; the last one broke down because of the enormity of your gains. Rolling on past the open door, you stopped before the plastic table that had been set up nearby.

When she meandered to the platter to pull open the lid, you were greeted with the lush smell of bacon, eggs, cheese, and macaroni. This was a 10-pound bowl of omelet macaroni that had been made just for you. The amount of cheddar, mozzarella, and jack infused into the platter entailed how heavily bloated you would become from just eating this; and yet this was the first platter of many your relentless bully of a wife planned for the day. Reaching over to grasp at the spoon and fork set before the bowl, you looked up at your sinisterly grinning wife that now stood opposite the table. The fiendish look in her glimmering pupils still insinuated the contempt she had towards the doubts stated earlier.

That, alone, was enough to induce you to refocus on the food and start grabbing spoonfuls and forkfuls of mac, sausage, and bacon. The first morsel you masticated on brought upon familiar surges of stimulation and tasteful delight, those hunger-inducing, addictive chemicals registering the moment you gulped the fattening foodstuffs down. You take another morsel, this time with more verve in your blobby, stiff arms. To egg you on with downing the egg-full meal, she intoned in a soft tone of voice. “That’s right, pig yourself out with pride and enjoy every last bit of the omelet I took hours to make for you… You better not leave a speckle of food in your bowl by the time you’re done, else I’ll tube-feed you another helping to teach you some gratitude.”

You did not, for you were able to scarf the whole thing down with the same vigor and shameless voracity as before. You knew better than to forego your perfectly menacing wife.
Or at least you tried. Your wife looked positively pleased. This always came before another shocking shake-up. She grabbed the tablecloth and pulled……. Slowly. The table’s contents were now the floors. Everything was a jumble.
She tapped her high heel on the ground impatiently.
You knew what she wanted.
And you couldn’t be happier to provide.

Five months later.

Long gone was the proud, strong, and fit hyena tycoon that took the world by storm. You were now a shell of your former self, a massive blob that could no longer even stand or move. All of the food that your beloved wife had given you over the months had fattened you up to a staggering 5 tons, the enormity of your gains having made your limbs fully inoperable due to the extreme weight bearing down on each extremity. The beds you used to sleep on were now easily crushed by your sheet weight, the chairs that you used to sit on no longer could fit you, and certain floors would crumple immediately if you were to make contact.

How is it possible to live when you were so morbidly obese? Well, Miss Eternia had solutions to that problem; especially now that she had taken over the entirety of your enterprise due to you being incapacitated. After having signed away your assets, money, patents, and copyrights all to her, she employed the creation of a hover pad large enough to accommodate your massive form: which now spanned 3 meters by 5 meters. Indeed, it was a miracle that your face had not been fully obfuscated within the manifold folds of fat.

Another amendment that had to be made was the widening of all entrances just for you. Doors had to be replaced by automatically sliding doors wide and tall enough for you to squeeze in. The doorways had to be widened as well for you to seamlessly move through Otherwise, you would be stonewalled trying to go on through; breaking through the walls before you could slip out. And of course, stairs and elevators were out of the question for you. How fortunate that the hover pad was able to ascend and descend at will, enabling you to go wherever you needed to go.

You were currently in the massive washroom that was just made for you, a team of cleaners currently tasked with washing your smelly body up using power hoses, extra-long scrubbers, and sponges. Given the amount of stink that was loaded in the huge flaps and folds of fat, they had to wear gas masks and hazmat suits in order to do this job comfortably. They were atop hover pads of their own, multiple showerheads shooting out conditioner-laden water to smooth out your heavy mane of fur. You have been here for the past half hour, having to be rolled to the left just so that you can lay prone against the hover pad (and that meant having to use tethers to perform the roll).

Also in the shower, bedecked in a bikini, was your demeaning boss wife who oversaw your new life as an eternally indebted blob-band. Situated just to the left of your head via the use of a hover pad, she had placed a large, plastic cup of supplement-infused meal juice for you to drink up. You did so without hesitation, looking over at your beloved with a bright smile.

“I love you,” you uttered in a guttural, hoarse tone.

“I love you, too, you fat slob,” replied the degrading wife, using a sponge on her right hand to wash your hair and mane

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