Published: February 14th 2020, 2:31:31 am
Disclaimer: This is an incomplete quick write from the perspective of a horny, deathfeedist psychopath after spending a weekend watching the ID Channel with my mom (a channel dedicated to crime and murder). I never planned to post it, but a friend convinced me I should. It’s unedited. It’s dark and taboo as fuck. I haven’t hurt anyone nor do I intend to hurt anyone. There’s something about this piece that just seems darker than the others. It’s 100% fiction. Sometimes I feel like the $7 tier doesn’t get as much love, so I’m including y’all in on this too. Read at your own risk! Anyway, a new Bad Habits at 8am tomorrow!
The Way to Your Heart
I wanted for you was to live a guilt free life, but I also desired you pushing yourself harder and harder each day. You didn’t know it back then. Now it’s like I stabbed you in the back with a knife, but instead it’s bite by bite making your body pay the price for our sins.
Your sin are gluttony and sloth. All it took was just a little encouragement here and there, combating your laziness by doing everything for you including bringing you each meal. How could you not see this coming? You played video games in bed all day and ate entire bags of chips. The numbers on the scale climbed each weigh in, yet you were flabbergasted by just how extreme your gains were going. Despite watching the fat accumulate on your body like an out of control snowball, you kept shoving slop down your throat.
Now look at you. Your a disgusting pig. You can’t even get out of bed to do a simple function like using the toilet by yourself. Your legs can’t support nearly half a ton. If you somehow managed to stand, you’d soon be on the floor as the bones in your feet and legs would snap. You’re at the point of no return. Don’t feel bad for being the biggest person alive. Don’t apologize for filling doorways, breaking furniture, or taking up an ungodly amount of space just for yourself. I can’t find a tape measure to accurately wrap around the circumference of your sagging gut just like there’s no way to measure how much I love you.
Oops, did I say I love you? What I really mean I lust you. My sin that surges through my body is lust. I’m already pre-cumming because I know you’re a diabetic mess and I still don’t give a shit because your failing body is all that I care about now. Sorry, but it’s true. This isn’t love. How can you love someone who is so big they are a burden? How can you love someone when the thought of having to amputate their diabetic foot or burying them in a custom casket makes you shoot ribbons of cum with no hands and the force of a firehose that it leaves you breathless? That’s not love. That’s fucked up. I’m a sick fuck that should be in jail and you’re just one of many pigs I plan to farm for sexual pleasure until I find the one to live a normal life with.
Don’t look at me like that. There’s no reason to be sad, but you should be afraid. I love seeing the fear in your eyes as I make you mindlessly suck down a slurry of melted butter, sugar, and heavy cream. A pig who works hard will be rewarded. Is the reward food? What about sex? Sometimes, but what’s a better reward than the sweet release of death when you’re suffering from as many obesity related ailments as you are at my hands.
Living a long, healthy life is overrated. Eat yourself beyond immobility. Eat yourself past 1,000 pounds. Eat yourself to death for me. The best part is how you don’t even try to stop me anymore because you need it as much as I do. You always have something in your mouth whether it’s shoving a greasy burger into your gullet or deep throating my thick throbbing cock.
Fuck. I’m so horny. I can barely collect my thoughts. I’m wet and sticky from already shooting my load, but it’s not going to stop me from orgasming multiple times. I impulsively buck my hips into your jiggling belly and funnel feed you faster. You try to pace yourself. You don’t want to drown in the deadly concoction, but listening to your struggling gurgle only makes me want to speed up the process even faster. As much as you struggle, as much pain as it causes, you secretly live for it. Food is the way to your heart. What I actually mean is the greasy food clogs your heart.
Speaking of hearts, I have one final goal for you, pig. It ends tonight. I’m going to watch the life leave your mortified, oxygen starved body as your heart fails. It’s fitting that this is the day I have my strongest orgasm and, unfortunately for you, pushing your destroyed body over the edge. It’s Valentine’s Day. Giving someone a heart on Valentine’s Day culturally and historically means to give over one’s existence to someone. You’ve clearly given over your existence to me. I can see it on your face. The chambers of your heart are failing to fill and pump adequately. Tears run down your face as your chest convulses causing you pain.
I buck harder and faster to the rhythm of a your failing bicuspid valve and overworked aorta. You try to scream out in pain as I yell out expletives because my cock explodes with the same god damn intensity your heart does at the exact same time.