Goddess Belle Fattens Her Sissy

I’m reclining on my crimson chaise in nothing but a black satin corset that cinches my 30-inch waist and pushes my full, natural 42DD breasts up like an offering. My hips flare dramatically to 48 inches of smooth, plush perfection – thick thighs, round ass, the kind of body that gets a million likes the second I post a mirror selfie. My skin is golden, my waist-length auburn hair falls in waves, and my green eyes are locked on you with the lazy cruelty of a cat playing with a half-dead mouse.
You, on the other hand, are on your knees in front of me wearing nothing but frilly pink panties two sizes too small and the glittery collar that reads “Belle’s Future Fat Girl.” Your belly is already starting to push over the waistband – adorable little starter pudge that makes me wet every time I pinch it. Six months ago you were a scrawny 155 lbs. Today the scale said 192. We’re just getting warmed up, Jenny.
“Look at me,” I purr, voice like honey laced with venom.
Your eyes crawl up my body – past the soft curve of my belly that still dips into a perfect hourglass, over these heavy tits you’ll never be allowed to touch, up to my red-painted smile. I’m every inch the voluptuous Goddess men worship and women envy. And you? You’re the lucky little pig who gets to be ruined by me.
I uncross my legs slowly, letting the satin slide against my silky thighs. “Do you know what I did this afternoon, darling?” I ask, picking up a cream-filled éclair from the silver tray beside me. “I went to lunch with a real man. Six-four, built like a god, hands that could span my waist. He couldn’t stop staring at these curves while I ate pasta carbonara and two desserts. And the entire time I kept thinking how jealous you’d be… because I never let you taste anything unless it goes straight to those growing hips.”
I lean forward and drag the éclair across your lower lip, leaving a trail of vanilla cream. You whimper.
“Open.”
Your mouth falls open like the obedient slut you are. I slide the entire pastry in, watching your cheeks bulge. “Chew, piggy. Swallow every calorie. That’s 450 right there, and we’re only on the appetizer.”
You moan around the cream, eyes glassy. Your locked clit strains in its tiny pink cage – the one I swapped for an even smaller model last week because “fat girls don’t need room to get hard.”
I sit back and let you look at me again. My body is soft where yours is about to become helplessly plush. My waist still curves in; yours is disappearing day by day. My breasts are heavy but perky; yours are already budding into sensitive little A-cups that poke out when I make you go braless under sheer blouses.
“Stand up. Turn around. Show Goddess what all those milkshakes are doing.”
You scramble to your feet, belly wobbling. The panties cut into your softening hips, and when you turn I see the way your ass is starting to shelf – two pale moons begging to be twice as wide. I reach out and slap it hard. It jiggles for a full three seconds. Perfect.
“Beautiful,” I sigh. “By summer I want this ass so fat the panties disappear between the cheeks. I want back rolls you can rest a drink on. And these—” I stand up, press my body against your back, and cup the soft moobs forming on your chest. “These are going to be my masterpiece. D-cups at minimum. Big, heavy, sensitive sissy tits that bounce when you waddle. I’ve already ordered your first nursing bra – pink lace, 40DD. You’ll grow into it, baby. I promise.”
You’re trembling so hard the cage rattles. I slide one hand down your belly and grip the little roll that’s formed above your clit.
“Feel that, Jenny? That’s the end of your boy body. Every pound from now on is permanent. Hormones start next month – just enough to make those nipples leak when I pinch them. You’ll beg me to milk you while I stuff another pizza down your throat.”
I spin you around to face me again and push you gently to your knees. The tray is still loaded: donuts, brownies, a 2,000-calorie weight-gain shake sweating in its glass.
“Hands behind your back.”
You obey instantly. I pick up the shake and press the straw to your lips.
“Drink. All of it. No spilling, or I’ll add another 30 days to your lock-up.”
You suck greedily, throat working, belly already starting to bloat outward. I watch the number on the digital scale in the corner climb in real time – 192.4… 192.8… 193.2… Every gulp is another nail in the coffin of the man you used to be.
When the glass is empty I set it aside and straddle your lap, letting my lush 190 pounds settle onto your softening thighs. My satin-covered breasts brush your face.
“Tell me your new goal weight, Jenny.”
“Two hundred and eighty pounds by New Year’s, Goddess Belle,” you recite breathlessly.
“And why are we making you that fat?”
“So I can have huge, soft sissy tits and a giant waddling ass for you. So I’m too heavy and feminized to ever pass as a boy again. So everyone knows I belong to the most beautiful BBW Goddess in the world.”
I smile and kiss your sugary lips – soft, slow, cruel.
“That’s right, baby. You’re going to be my pampered, brainless, 280-pound Barbie doll. Big bouncy boobs, wide breeding hips, and a clit so tiny from hormones and denial you’ll forget it ever worked. You’ll live in lingerie that barely contains you, and every time someone calls you a disgusting fat sissy you’ll cream your cage because it means you’ve pleased me.”
I reach between us and flick the cage. You squeal.
“Now open wide again. We still have an entire cheesecake to get through before bed, and tomorrow morning you’re trying on your first 3XL dress. If it zips, I’ll be very disappointed.”
You open your mouth eagerly, eyes shining with desperate, humiliated love.
“That’s my good, greedy girl,” I whisper, sliding the first forkful between your lips. “Eat up, Jenny. Goddess Belle is going to make you the softest, fattest, most perfectly ruined sissy on the internet… and you’re going to thank me for every single pound.”
Welcome to your new life, darling. It’s only going to get bigger from here.