Wake

Remnants of sleep fade slowly as a heavy fog lifts from your mind. Your tired lids blink open, and awareness lazily creeps in. The sudden feeling of warmth wraps around you like a cocoon. Every inch of your skin feels smothered by the weight of your blankets...no, not just the blankets, something more.

You don’t feel the usual heaviness of sleep lingering in your limbs, but something deeper, more profound. It presses down on you, pinning you to the mattress in a way that feels alien. A faint, low groan cuts through the haze. It takes you a moment to place the sound, to realize that it’s coming from the bed. A mechanical complaint vibrates beneath you, and the creaks of springs pushed beyond their limit sound off faintly. It’s almost as if the bed is alive, as though trying to wake alongside you. It strains and struggles, protesting under the weight of something... under the weight of you.

Your mind stirs sluggishly. You become aware of how hot you are, far too hot, the sheets clinging to your skin like a second layer. You try to move, but the minor effort proves fruitless. Your body isn’t responding the way it usually does. Instead of the usual smooth movement, there’s resistance, softness pressing against softness.

Your body feels as though it has become its own gravity, pulling you inward and holding you captive. As your hands move beside you, they brush against something warm and pliant. You think it’s the sheets bunched up around you, at first. But then the realization hits you: it’s not the sheets. It’s you.

Panic starts to set in. You try rolling onto your side, but every movement feels wrong, unfamiliar, difficult. Your body shifts in waves, ripples of motion that take a moment to settle. Turning even slightly feels like navigating a ship through turbulent waters, your limbs are uncooperative, your core useless and heavy.

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, you tug at the sheets, finally managing to free one abnormally heavy arm to reach up, rubbing your face. The action feels laborious, your arm brushing against the soft swell of your chest in a way that stops you cold.

Your chest... it feels fuller, unfamiliar. Even the simple act of breathing seems effortful, the rise and fall of your chest accentuated by the weight pressing down on you.

‘What’s happening?’ you think.

You try to sit up, your hands sinking into the plushness of your sides as you brace yourself. You’re surprised when your fingers meet an expanse of warm, yielding flesh where there should be firm muscle or bone. Your arms strain as you push, but the effort feels futile. Your torso doesn’t rise the way it should; it wobbles, shifts, and then collapses back with a thud.

The bed creaks again, louder this time, as though mocking your attempts. ‘It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.’ you think to yourself.

You’ve had dreams like this before. Many times before. Fantasies where you woke up transformed. Larger, heavier, fatter. Those dreams were vivid and exhilarating, but this... this is different. There’s no thrill in the struggle, no euphoria in the weight. There’s only confusion and a growing sense of dread.

Your hands begin to roam, exploring your body as if searching for answers. They glide over the unfamiliar curves and folds and rolls, tracing the outline of a stomach that feels impossibly large. It rises high in front of you, a heavy dome that dominates your middle. Your fingers sink into the soft flesh, and for a moment, you freeze, unable to reconcile what you’re feeling with what you know.

Your thighs press together in a way they never have before, the sheer width of them pinning you in place. Even your arms feel different, thicker, the skin softer beneath your touch. Every inch of you is new, foreign, and overwhelming.

‘Is this real?’

You try again to sit up, rocking back and forth in an attempt to generate momentum. The motion sends waves through your body, your stomach shakes with each effort. Beads of sweat form on your brow as you grunt and shift, the exertion leaving you breathless.

With each failure, you collapse back into the mattress, defeated. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, the weight of it resting heavily against your stomach. For the first time, you notice the sound of your own breathing. It’s heavy, labored, and accompanied by a faint wheeze.

This isn’t what you imagined.

You always believed you’d relish this fantasy if it ever came. You thought you’d bask in the inexplicable hotness of it, revel in the feeling of being...more. But now, the reality feels almost suffocating. You can’t ignore the mix of awe and fear building in your chest.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to push yourself upright. Your arms waver under the strain, and your body protests every inch of the way. When you finally sit up, you’re overwhelmed by the heft of your own weight settling around you.

Your stomach pools onto your lap, the heavy curve of it spilling out in front of you and to your sides. Your hips spread wide across the mattress, holding you in place. Even your shoulders feel broader and less defined.

And then, you look down.

Undeniable and vast. A body you barely recognize, but is somehow attached to you. Your hands shake as they trace the dome of your stomach, the thick folds at your sides, the soft pillow of your chest. You’ve woken to hundreds of pounds of new, quivering fat overtaking your form. Something that should be an impossibility, is now your reality.

You’ve become everything you ever wanted. And yet, at this moment, you’re not sure it’s what you wanted at all.

You decide to stand, or at least try. Sitting up felt monumental, and the idea of standing seemed like a new kind of challenge. The weight of your body isn’t just something you feel, it’s something you must negotiate with, every shift and pull forcing you to acknowledge its presence.

For a moment, you simply sit at the edge of the bed, hands braced against the mattress. You glance down, seeing your stomach spill heavily into your lap, a soft mound that rises and falls with your uneven breaths. Your legs are splayed wide to accommodate the heft of your stomach and the fullness of your thighs as they press against its sides. The floor feels distant, The mattress creaks softly beneath you, your weight pooling and shifting with even the smallest movement.

The bathroom door is just across the room. It looks close, yet it may as well be a mile away.

You close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The air feels thick, your chest straining to expand under the weight pressing down on it. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This size, this feeling? Yet now, faced with the effort of moving, you feel paralyzed, not just by your body but by the struggle you know looms ahead.

You slide your hands along the outside of your thighs, fingers sinking into the plush softness. It’s surreal, like touching someone else entirely. The thought makes your stomach twist, and you force yourself to focus. You need to at least try.

With a deep breath, you plant your feet firmly on the floor. You lean forward, gripping the edge of the mattress for leverage. The action sends a wave through your stomach, the heavy mass shifting and pressing against your thighs. Your arms tremble as you push yourself upward, every part of you straining with the effort.

Your knees object first, a dull ache spreading through them as they bear the brunt of your weight. Your thighs burn, the muscles unused to this kind of work, but finally, after a moment that feels like an eternity, you rise.

You’re almost overpowered by the feeling. Gravity pulls at you in ways you’ve never experienced before, with every inch of your body demanding attention. Your stomach hangs low, brushing against your thighs, and your hips feel impossibly wide, the shift in balance forcing you to adjust your posture.

For a moment, you sway, unsteady on legs so thick that they stand feet apart. You reach for the wall, your hand pressing against it for balance. The cool, solid surface grounds you, and you let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your ears.

Your first step is tentative, your foot sliding forward cautiously. The movement sends a ripple through your body, your stomach swaying heavily, thighs brushing together in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. Each step feels like its own task. You have to propel each foot forward in a wide waddle that shifts your mass from side to side, the effort leaving you breathless.

But beneath the exhaustion, something stirs. A faint spark of pleasure unfurls deep inside you, growing with each deliberate step. The weight of your body, the way it shifts and moves with you, the way it slows you down, is intoxicating. You’ve dreamed of this for so long, fantasized about how it would feel, and now...now it’s real.

Your hands drift to your sides as you take another step, fingers brushing against the soft curve of your hips. The touch sends a shiver down your spine.

‘This is me. All of this is me.’

The thought sends a flicker of arousal through you, unexpected but undeniable. You pause for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. The exertion is staggering, but so is the growing feeling of enjoyment in your size.

After a brief break you take another step, then another, each one an act of utter will. Your legs quiver beneath you, muscles straining with the effort, but the friction of your thighs, the wobble of your stomach, the way your body commands the space around you—it’s thrilling.

But the exhilaration is fleeting, tempered by the physicality of the task. Sweat beads on your brow, trickling down the sides of your face. Your breaths come in shallow gasps, the weight of your chest making it difficult to inhale fully.

You glance at the bathroom door, now only a few feet away, and push yourself forward. You’re relieved when you finally reach your destination, only to be stopped by the door frame. Your width makes it impossible to enter the way you’re used to. The solid wood is unyielding against the expansiveness of your sides, halting your progress fully. You try again, unable to immediately comprehend how you could be so big as to not fit. You shift your weight experimentally, trying to maneuver through, but it’s no use, the doorway is too narrow for you to pass straight on.

Frustration flares as you assess the opening. Turning diagonally, you angle yourself to one side, hoping for just enough space to slip through. Your shoulder bumps awkwardly against the edge, while your belly brushes against the opposite side, compressing slightly as you push forward. Your hips catch next, the fat on them refusing to slide through easily. You twist, turn, tug, and tuck your fat in places, the effort sending tremors through your legs as they struggle to steady your bulk. The friction of the frame digs into your flesh, not painfully but persistently, resisting every attempt to move forward. Your arms flail for a moment, grasping at the walls for leverage, but they’re too weak to pull you through. A soft groan escapes your lips as you pause, catching your breath.

Determined, you adjust again, this time fully turning sideways. Your belly juts forward, pressing against the frame at the same time as the swell of your back, forcing you to squeeze and shimmy to make any progress. You suck in as much air as your expansive body will allow, your sides compressing further as you begin to shuffle inch by inch. Your movements are slow, deliberate, each shift of your weight making the frame creak faintly under the strain.

You push forward one final time, and with a soft muted flump, your body slips free. Stumbling into the bathroom, you grip the edge of the sink for support, your arms trembling as they take your weight. Relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived as you glance back at the narrow doorway, your chest rising and falling heavily. You try not to think about how much harder it will be to get back out.

The cool tiles of the bathroom floor are a stark contrast to the exerted heat of your skin, and you let out a shaky breath as you straighten up. Your legs ache, your back protests, and your lungs burn in your chest. But you made it. You feel the faintest flicker of pride.

Finally, you do what you came there for. You look up at the mirror that looms before you, and what stares back steals your breath all over again.

Your face catches your eye first, framed by full, rounded cheeks that bloom with a softness you couldn’t have imagined. Your chin has multiplied, a second, heavier curve resting beneath the first, blending seamlessly into your thick and heavy neck, merging into sloping shoulders that seem almost too broad to be your own. The flesh presses gently against your collarbone, obscuring it entirely. It’s as if your features have been gently, insistently coaxed outward, softened and widened until every trace of sharpness has vanished.

Your hands shake slightly as you lift them, touching your cheeks, your chin. Your fingers sink into the plushness of your face, the softness yielding beneath your touch. It feels surreal—familiar and foreign all at once. You can only barely see the features of yourself buried underneath. Then your gaze travels downward.

You blink, stunned by the size of your chest. It rises and falls with your every breath, soft and full, resting heavily on the curve of your stomach. And your stomach— ‘God, my stomach...’ you think to yourself in awe.

It dominates the mirror, a massive heap of fat that hangs low and forward. You trace its curve with your eyes, noting the way it stretches outward, the lines of stretch marks that pattern its surface like rough etchings. Without thinking, you reach out and touch it.

You watch your hands sink into the flesh, how it responds to your touch, able to be squished and grabbed and fondled. It’s warm, pliant, impossibly heavy. You lift it slightly, marveling at the way it resists, the weight of it straining against your grip. It takes both hands to hold even a fraction of it, and when you let go, it falls back into place with a soft, satisfying jiggle.

The sensation sends another jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but let out a shaky moan, a blend of disbelief and fascination.

Your hands drift lower, exploring the curve where your stomach meets your hips. Your fingers trail over the rolls that form when you shift, marveling at the way they fold and press against each other. Your thighs, the biggest you’ve ever seen, squish together, the flesh rubbing and quivering with even the smallest movement. They seem to stretch endlessly, their size exaggerated by the way they taper into your swollen knees and calves.

You turn slightly, catching a glimpse of your profile. The motion sets your body jiggling, and your belly juts out prominently, leading the way, while your hips and rear follow with equal prominence. You take up so much space. More than you ever thought possible. The mirror can barely contain you, your body spilling to the edges of your vision no matter which way you turn. It stuns you, this body, this size. But it’s also... intoxicating. Every inch of you feels alive, begging to be touched, to be explored.

You take a step back from the mirror, and for a moment, you simply stare.

You’re unsure if this is a dream. It feels too real not to be. But how could it? Do you want it to be? This size, this fatness, this inescapable weight. Seeing it, feeling it, living it... it’s almost too much. A mix of emotions swirls within you: awe, disbelief, arousal, fear. You are both captivated and astounded, lost in the vastness of yourself.

Then you remember: the scale.

Its glossy surface, a casual presence in your life, now seems impossibly small, almost laughably inadequate. Could that tiny thing, barely larger than a dinner plate, possibly measure this? The thought of finding out how big you truly are makes your heart race again, your breath coming in soft, depthless puffs as you eye the device.

Somehow, your legs respond, though they ache in complaint as you shift your weight forward. The scale waits for you in the corner of the room, silent and unassuming, as if daring you to try. By the time you’re standing over it, it looks even smaller now, fragile. Your bare feet nudge it gently, almost hesitantly, aligning it just so on the tiled floor. And then, carefully, you lift one foot.

The scale groans immediately as you place your weight on it, a metallic creak that shoots through the quiet room like a warning. Your balance wavers, your body swaying as your other foot leaves the ground. For a moment, you hover, suspended, and then both feet settle onto the scale.

The sounds, a series of strained creaks, rattle off as you feel the scale’s surface bow beneath you, matching the small wavers of your weary body. You hold your breath, terrified that it might give out entirely, that you’ll hear a snap and feel yourself falling. But it holds—barely.

Your legs tremble, the exertion of standing still too much for their tired muscles. You try to center yourself, to keep your body still so the scale can read you, but it’s impossible. Your stomach shifts with each faint motion, its weight pulling at you relentlessly.

You glance down, craning your neck as much as your chin and the thick column of your neck allow, but the view is the same: nothing but belly. The round swell of it stretches out before you, completely obscuring the scale. You shift slightly, the motion sending ripples through your body and drawing another groan from the device beneath your feet. It’s no use, you can’t see, not while you’re standing on it.

You step off and shuffle to the side, just enough to give you a new angle. You lean forward, gripping the wall next to you to steady yourself, and peer down.

ERROR. The word blinks at you briefly before the screen goes blank.

‘Of course,’ you think. You’re not sure what else you expected.

Your legs scream at you to rest, and you finally heed them, shuffling backward until the edge of the tub presses against the backs of your legs. With a grunt, you lower yourself down, the soft thud of your body meeting the porcelain making the tub shudder faintly beneath your weight.

Your hands find your thighs instinctively, pressing into the heavy expanse of flesh as you try to catch your breath. Each inhale feels like a struggle, your chest heaving with the effort, and yet your thoughts are louder than the noise of your breathing.

Your mind races, replaying the events of this morning, trying to piece together something, anything that makes sense. The body you’d dreamed of, the one you’d fantasized about for years, is now yours. But now what?

The questions gnaw at you. ‘How did you get here? How much bigger could I be? Shouldn’t I be more worried? About all of this?’ You exhale slowly, the sound unsteady as it leaves your lips.

And then it hits you.

An uncomfortable, insistent ache blooms in your middle, radiating outward with a force that takes your breath away. Hunger. It’s not subtle. It’s a raging, consuming emptiness that demands your attention, making your stomach growl audibly in upset.

Your hand instinctively moves to your belly, pressing into the softness as if clutching it could somehow dull the pang. Somehow, the feeling of your hand sinking into it only sharpens the ache, and you wince, shifting slightly as the hunger intensifies.

‘I’m so hungry,’ you think.

The thought comes unbidden, urgent, undeniable. You try to rise, your hands gripping the edge of the tub as you brace yourself, but your body barely moves. Your muscles are weak beneath the weight, and your arms strain as you attempt to push yourself upward.

Grunting softly, you shift forward again. Each motion sends waves through you, the sheer weight of your form working against you. Finally, with a strained huff, you manage to lift yourself into a shaky standing position.

The effort leaves you lightheaded, your vision swimming slightly as you lean heavily against the wall. Your breathing is shallow and rapid, your chest heaving, but you can’t stop there. You take a tentative step forward, the floor creaking faintly beneath you, and then another.

The hunger drives you now, overriding the exhaustion in your legs and the faint tremor in your arms. And so, with a slow, swaying rhythm, you shuffle toward the door, every step and breath filled with the faintest trace of anticipation.

You need to eat.

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