BBW The treatment

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New Member
May 24, 2022
New York
The Treatment
by Storyteller

You were dragged in by your stepsisters and mother, four chic blond nymphs out of place in the gray waiting area. “She’s here for the special treatment,” your step sister said, smug in her expensive athleisure. A well manicured daily Pilates devotee, she pulled you up to the desk with surprising force. Pretty for sure, but she may as well have been invisible next to you. You were impossibly fit, toned, and curved in all the right places.

“The special treatment,” repeated the lady at the front desk. “Why does she need that?” she looked you up and down, taking in your flat tummy and natural curves, enhanced by hard earned muscle in your thighs and ass. "She doesn’t look dangerously underweight. She looks fit and healthy.”

Stepsister scowled. “Mentally,” she spat. “Our sister's not well. She’s become obsessive.”

“But I haven’t become obsessive!” You protest. “I lost 50 lbs through healthy eating and exercise!”

“Obsessed,” your other stepsister agreed. “She’s always waking up early for jogs, drinking green juice.” She scrunched her nose in distaste. “She’s supposed to be the chubster.”

“Yeah! We want our little roly poly back!” The sisters smirk as you shake your head, a whirlwind of pale blond.

“I worked so hard to shed the weight,” you plead. “Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m healthy.”

“That’s not what the court says!” The first stepsister oozes with satisfaction as she waves an official looking document in your face before handing it over to the front desk. “We have full legal authority over her mental health, and we want her to get the treatment! We want her nice and plump.” She grinned broadly.

The treatment is usually reserved for wealthy anorexic girls, a more luxurious and lengthy alternative to a traditional hospital stay. Unlike a traditional hospital, the treatment we offer here will restore you to a weight well above a healthy BMI.

“I don’t want to be chubby again,” You whispered. “I worked so hard! Please don’t do this to me.”

But your stepsisters, jealous of your beauty since you had lost 50 lbs of baby fat, had convinced their mother to use her wealth to make you their legal ward. Now here they were, committing you to 6 months at a facility for treatment resistant anorexics. You would be fed a huge surplus of calories, fattened up, and wouldn’t outshine them anymore.

“We want her filled out here, especially!” One indicated your belly.

“Oh yes! A big fat belly on our dear little sister!”

“Remember how stout she used to be!?”

“How squishy!”

They cackled with glee at the thought of your svelte figure melting away, overfed and softened up like dough.

“We just want what’s best for you,” they assured you, as you looked around desperately.

“Becoming thin isn’t healthy for you,” your step mother agreed. “You’ve become self-absorbed, vain.” She tisked. “Have you packed her size 14s?” She asked your stepsisters.

“I don’t want to be a size 14 again!” Angry tears burned your eyes.

“See? This is the vanity I mean,” your mother scowled.

“We all liked you better chubby!” A stepsister blurted.

“Don’t worry, girls, she will be.” Stepmother smiled wickedly . “She’ll be so chubby we’ll hardly recognize her next time we see her.”

“Ohhhh mom, can I take that outfit she has on?” One said. “She won’t be able to wear it very long!”

“I’d like to see how it fits her when we visit,” stepmother said cruelly.

You were crying now, and I willed them to leave so I could take you away.
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New Member
May 24, 2022
New York
“Would you like to see your room now?”

You jump, surprised, even though I walked straight up to you, and blush when I meet your eyes. I smile, pleased that even a girl as cute as you isn’t immune to my boulder biceps and angular jaw line. “I’m Adam.” I offer my hand, which closes almost completely around yours. Every bit of 6’1, I hope that you’ll be comforted rather than intimidated by my size. “Don’t worry,” I reassure you. I’ll take good care of you.” I really mean it, too.

I lead you through the grounds, up to the bunker the staff call the “pig pen,” but I’d never tell you that. You are just starting to smile again as you tell me about the colleges you plan to apply to while you’re here. “Will you be my doctor?” You ask hopefully at the door.

I smile again, tightly this time. “I’ll be your feeder,” I tell you.

You look puzzled, then shrink away from me as you infer the meaning of my title.

“It’s just what we call nurses here,” I recover hurriedly. “I’m going to help you feel better, less obsessed with your body and your weight.”

“I’m not obsessed!”

“Then you won’t mind having a little snack now will you?” I can’t help my smile from widening, feeling like the big bad wolf as you stumble over yourself backing up into what’s to be your little pigpen. It’s a small but comfortable bedroom with a table and chairs where you’ll eat your meals, a fully stocked fridge, a feeding tube tucked behind a curtain.

“I’m not hungry,” you say. “Thank you for showing me my room.” And you turn your back on me, as if that’ll make me disappear.

“It’s time for your snack,” I say firmly, a note louder than I’ve ever spoken to you. I open the fridge and retrieve a pre made milkshake, 1,200 calories of rich chocolate and appetite stimulant. “Just drink this and that’s all you have to eat before dinner.”

You are sitting on the bed now, where you clench your lips. “I won’t.”

I tower over you, tilting your face up with a finger under your chin. “I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Hurt me!?” Your blue eyes are watery with tears again and my resolve is softening.

“Tube feed you,” I explain. “It doesn’t really hurt but it’s not comfortable. And my rule is that if I have to use the tube you get a double portion.”

Now you are crying and I almost feel like forgetting about the milkshake altogether. But you are one of the piggies now. And it is my job to fatten you.

“Come on.” I sink down on the bed next to you and press the milkshake to your lips. “Have a taste. I promise it tastes so good.” Its hard for you to meet my gaze. I imagine not many men like me have paid you their undivided attention before. You’re fit for the first time ever, after all.

“Go ahead, sweet thing,” I nod encouragingly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Then there’s pressure on your straw. You’re slurping. “Good, that’s very good.” Once you start you can’t seem to slow down. The cartons empty in record time

“I bet you haven’t had one of those in a while, have you?”

You shake your head, cheeks flushed. “It was good,” you admit.

“I know it was!” I let my hand linger on your hair and scratch gently behind your ear. “How about another shake for you, since you liked it so much? I’ll subtract the calories from your dinner.” This is a lie. I certainly won’t. But it’s a white lie. Besides, these shakes induce such incredible hunger I know you’ll be begging me for seconds.

“Okay.” You don’t meet my eyes when you accept.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I chastise you as I get your second milkshake and hold it out for you. “That’s why you’re here. To eat and enjoy and be cared for.” You relax when I tell you that, and even look at me as I guide the straw back to your lips.

“I bet you’d like a snack now, wouldn’t you?” I ask seconds later, another 1200 calorie bomb polished that one off. This is a guess based on both the appetite stimulant and my knowledge of you as a former fat girl. You haven’t had anything so decadent in months, and with any luck the old switch has been flipped on.

“I shouldn’t have a snack now,” you say quickly.

But I am already texting the kitchen, ordering up an enormous meal to feed you after your snack.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I get up to rummage through the fridge and can feel your eyes tracing my back, hulking with muscle, down to my tapered waist.
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New Member
May 24, 2022
New York
Stay right there,” I order when I see you squirming out of the corner of my eye. I am doing my best to balance three creamy dips and a giant bag of chips in one arm, while reaching for a heaping bowl of cold pasta drenched in mayo and bacon bits. “There we are!” I manage to grab a plate of cold cuts and cheese cubes too.

“Oh my!” Your eyes go wide at the sight of such decadent treats, the kind you used to live on but haven’t touched in months.
“Looks tasty, doesn’t it? Here,” I set your first course down at the foot of the bed and move to the head in one long stride. “Let me fluff your pillow for you.” I do. “You come right here.” And you’re coaxed into a reclining position. “Comfortable?” You nod happily. “Ready for your nice meal?”

But I don’t give you a chance to answer before I’m shoveling pasta in your mouth “oof!” You gasp, surprised, but are still able to keep with my frantic pace. Chewing as fast as you can, you’re soon stuffed with 1000 calories of pasta. And I’m on to the chips, scooping huge pools of dip into every one. You are chomping away, equal parts delighted by the tastes and blindsided by my speed.

I am about to start you on your cold cuts when your hot dinner arrives. I’ve picked for you two chicken parm heroes and a plate of French fries. I unwrap one and place the other on your belly.

“Oh no,” you protest. “I’ve already eaten so much!”

“5,000 calories at least!” I agree. “That ought to put a pound of fat on you! But you’re not done yet, sweet thing. We’re going to feed you up right!” And in my characteristic style I cram the front half of hero in your mouth, chuckling at the undignified shock on your face. “Isn’t that good?” I ask without expecting an answer. You are in a trance. Of artificially stimulated hunger, ridiculously palatable foods, and a growing crush on me.

You gobble up every last bit of your meal. I have to feed you another shake to keep your appetite going and you are ready for the mountainous pile of frosted chocolate cake I’ve picked for your dessert. This I feed you slowly, allowing you to savor every bite along with the affection I’ll lavish on you for eating so well.
“You were such a good girl for me tonight,” I whisper in your ear, close enough to feel you shiver.
“I ate so much,” you sniffle.

“You did,” I chuckle. “There’s still a greedy porker in there after all, isn’t there?”

You pause between chews, contemplating this for a moment when an idea strikes you. “You have some!” You declare, trying to turn a forkful of chocolate cake on me.

At this I can’t help laughing out loud. “I don’t eat stuff like this,” I tell you. “Every bite is packed with sugar and fat, this will really stick to you.”

“I don’t eat food like that either,” you say quietly.

“But just look at you.” I prod your distended belly with a long finger. “You’re eating so well.”

You don’t say anything more, but chew your cake thoughtfully. Every fattening spoonful finds its way down to settle as soft cushion on your perfect body. When you’ve eaten to my satisfaction, I take my time pulling the covers up to your chin. “Good night, piglet,” I whisper, leaving you tucked snugly into bed, stuffed and content.

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