Rescue

The emergency services workers look at me like I'm some sort of monster as they arrive to take you out of our home. It's no wonder why, looking at the gigantic mound of lard that has become your body. Your gigantic, fat tits and belly hang off of you as a bloated, wobbling mess, obscenely jiggling and quivering with the slightest movement. The sheer volume of fat covering you, obliterating your former curves. It's just so goddamn hot. It takes all my willpower to keep my hands off you.

The look on their faces when they see you is priceless. How could someone get this big? How could I have let you do this to yourself? How could you have allowed yourself to become so grotesquely fat? I don't really give a shit though. I love every inch of your gigantic body.

Not that you don't love it either. You're a real pig. Even after your obesity became so extreme that it was physically painful to even move. Even after it became so extreme that it became difficult to even breathe. You just kept on getting bigger and fatter and gorging yourself on the most fattening, decadent and greasiest foods we could find.

But eventually, things did take a turn for the worst, as I had to call the paramedics after some particularly bad breathing problems- the sheer weight of your body literally crushing your own lungs. They say it's not going to be easy to get you out of here, they have to cut a hole in the wall to get you out of the house. Another goal ticked off for you, then.

Your flabby face looks at me with such a mix of pleasure, embarrassment, shame, and fear. It's almost too much. I run my hand up your leg, across the fat encasing one of your thighs. I run my fingers through the creases where your thigh and your enormous gut meet, making you gasp in pleasure. My hands run along the rolls of lard covering your massive belly, then up to your gigantic, floppy tits, then back down again and no, I don't know if they noticed.

I give you a quick kiss on your soft lips as they start cutting the hole. Your moans and heavy breathing are drowned out the sound of the power tools tearing into our wall. As soon as the hole is big enough to get through, the workers begin the laborious process of extracting your vast body from the house.

There is an intense struggle as they attempt to lift the mass of blubber you've become off the bed, trying to roll you over onto a special cart that has been designed for fatasses like you that can no longer move themselves under their own power. I sit beside you the entire time, caressing and kissing you, whispering reassuring things in your ear as the emergency workers wrestle to remove you from the bedroom.

The sight is so goddamn sexy, watching your enormous body jiggling and quaking with each attempt. It takes almost an hour of pushing and pulling and maneuvering your soft and squishy body, but they finally manage to get you onto the cart. The frame of your bed creaks in relief as they take your massive bulk off of it. I watch with fascination as your rolls of fat rub against each other as your body rolls back and forth. The cart is clearly too small for your body to fit on it, and as such you spill over the sides as they place you on top of it. Fortunately it somehow manages to hold your weight.