Sabotage Part 2 (Patreon)

Author’s Note: A fan suggested a scene of a reluctant McAlister in a shop looking at mobility scooters with his boyfriend. Sometimes I get too busy to write everything I want, but I was ahead of schedule on writing and liked the idea. I’m always happy to pocket your ideas for later or put them in polls.

[Content Warning: Extreme weight gain, abuse and gaslighting, and non-consensual fattening.]

Sabotage | Part 2

The salesman appears to be around 40 years old and has black hair with gray streaks. He greets us as soon as we walk in, our entrance causes the door to chime. We’re an odd couple. I’m reasonably fit. McAlister, on the other hand, is more massive than he’s ever been before. I can see the sympathy in the salesman’s eyes as he looks at my partner, waddling around slowly. I also see a hint of repression, avoiding the fact that he’s going to make a sale to yet another fatty who can’t walk properly. We are both younger than his typical clientele, who, I’m sure, are older. I once found a meme that said, “scooters are for the old and frail, not the whale.”  I know it must be startling to see someone so young and morbidly obese. 

“Hello gentlemen, my name is Gus. How can I assist you?” he asks politely.

The answer is obvious, looking at McAlister. There is no hiding his grotesque and incurable obesity. He’s lucky his clothes are still intact, but it is obvious they are ill-fitting. Afterall, McAlister is a big guy, and he’s only getting bigger by the day. All of my methods of sabotaging his weight loss worked better than intended. Only I see everything underneath the clothes; The increase in fat strained his skin, causing dark stretch marks to multiply on his low hanging pannus. Others can only imagine, although I would think that they don’t want to imagine what all of his blubber looks like naked. 

The salesman counts his blessings; he only has to see the whale covered up. He is polite about it, but he is only grinning and bearing the transaction because it is his job. I can see the gleam of concern or rather disgust in his eyes as he examines my boyfriend up and down. Gus tries not to judge McAlister’s red shirt that barely covers his bulging bulk and slip-on shoes designed to take the work of reaching to tie his shoes, something he can’t do anymore. The tattered, gray-sweat pants cling tightly to his body. McAlister never tucks his belly into the pants because the band leaves a red ring on his stomach. Besides, the pants are already so tight that the elastic would snap, trying to haul all that gut. Instead, the mountain of flesh called his belly hangs over the waistband. 

McAlister is too shy to answer the salesperson. He doesn’t want assistance. Coming to Scooter World as an option was my idea. McAlister tried to convince me that he’s okay. He is in denial of how bad he’s let himself go and overestimates his mobility. However, he can’t deny the evidence of his personal experiences. Last week his morbid obesity finally caught up to him. We went to Destination XL to buy bigger clothes. McAlister shames himself by calling the store Destination Fat Man. The staff sees us once a month, trying to find a bigger size than the last. I’m confident we will need to order custom clothes by the end of the year.

 Regardless, McAlister tried to show strength by shopping the whole time by standing and walking. His weak, fat-swollen legs protested until the pressure became too much. When he finally caved by admitting he needed a break, it was much too late. The huge man crashed to the ground and hurt his knee. It took three employees to help him up. The scene was terrifying for him. The store is my solution to the problem, even though he tried to convince me his fall was a one time concern. I anticipate another fall to the floor and another fall from grace. 

“Hello, my boyfriend, McAlister, and I are browsing for mobility devices for him. I’m scared for his safety and want to give him a new lease on life,” I say, acting as McAlister’s proxy. 

The scooter should be the last step for a man of McAlister’s size. There are plenty of other options, but this is the one I demand. Gus has the same thoughts. “We have plenty of aides here with different weight capacities and functions that I would be happy to show you. Unfortunately, we don’t sell wheelchairs, canes, or walkers at Scooter World,” Gus informs us nervously. 

“That is fine. We want a scooter anyway, which is why we are here. Can you show us some of our options in the bigger range?” I urge the salesman. Gus is not about to lose a commission, but deep down, we all know what will happen with a purchase of a scooter. The device will humiliate McAlister for needing one due to his size, bind him to a life of reduced and then no mobility, and accelerate his weight gain. The thought scares the shit out of McAlister but excites me beyond belief.

Gus leads us to the back wall. There are plenty of models and brands sprinkled through the store, but they all look small. These are the models that the elderly must buy. He knows we need something with a larger weight capacity. “Here we are. I think everything lined up against this wall is most equipped to meet your needs. Take a look around and let me know if you want to know the features.”

McAlister waddles to the middle section along the back. He scrutinizes the scooters. All of the floor models of the scooters appear small next to the behemoth. He settles on a sapphire scooter to start. I know he doesn’t care about getting a scooter, but he knows I will be disappointed if he doesn’t make an effort to find something he might like, even if we don’t purchase a scooter today. 

“Do you like that one?” inquires Gus.

“It looks a little small for me, but maybe it would work if I wanted a scooter,” McAlister suggests nervously. 

McAlister is underestimating his weight by a long shot. He’s in denial that such a small scooter might be able to hold him. Gus knows this model will never hold him, but he appeases McAlister anyway.

“This is the Big Man Roller. The seat is a little short, designed for shorter individuals. The width of the seat is up to 32“-wide on these models. The wheels are solid material. Speaking of wheels, you’ll notice there are four of them. Think of scooters with four wheels as a four-wheel-drive truck. It should be good for uses on roads, sidewalks, and other rough terrains. The load capacity is in the upper range for its class. They don’t make this brand any bigger. Do you know how guys in the 300 to 500-pound range refer to themselves as big guys instead of obese? It’s for individuals between those weights,” Gus informs us of the essential details. 

“Oh…” McAlister mumbles. He’s well over 500 pounds now. “Do you have any suggestions for something… just a little… bigger?” McAlister blushes. He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed. 

“Sure. Let’s look at the Heavy Duty Deluxe scooter at the very end. It is sturdy and resilient for, ahem, bigger folks,” he starts to lead us toward the end of the row. 

“I don’t think we just need to see something bigger. I think we also need to know a little bit about what we should be looking for in a scooter. It seems like this is more complicated than just choosing one that looks pretty,” I suggest. 

“Absolutely, sir. There are plenty of considerations when trying to find the device that is right for you. Weight capacity is a hefty consideration. If an individual’s weight exceeds the scooter’s capacity or even close, they need to move up to a higher capacity. For example, with our last model, if a customer weighs 490 pounds, a 500 capacity is not the best option. You want to make sure that the scooter will sustain its power and move at an incline. Sometimes, weight fluctuates with injury and usage, so you don’t want to choose something with a capacity you may exceed easily soon. You want to be in the middle of the weight range. That’s just the beginning. A customer wants to be comfortable in their purchase, so we must find the right motor type and speed, seat type and width, and tires,” he drones on until we get to the gray scooter.

“Tell us more about this one,” I command, interested in every detail. The particulars are like porn to me. 

“The seat on this one is 50“-wide. This model mostly comes with a high-back support seat, which benefits taller individuals. A brushless motor inside is durable and efficient for larger weights. Once again, this one has four wheels and anti-tip tires so that you can use it anywhere. For those who love the great outdoors, this one is excellent. I like this one because it has a modern, sleek build designed for comfort.”

“Okay, but what is the weight capacity on this one?” McAlister asks. I can tell this is an agonizing experience for my fat boy. 

“Well, Heavy Duty Deluxe should work for most people, but it is perfect for individuals in the 500 to 700 range. What do you think about this one?”

The color drains from McAlister’s face. I swear I can hear his heart thump behind his pillowy tits. “None of these are going to do,” pouts McAlister.

“Are you looking for anything specific? A certain brand or style? Maybe even a weight range? Can you give me any more details?” asks Gus.

“I...weigh,” McAlister takes a deep breath. “726 pounds,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. What was that?” Gus walks up closer to McAlister.

“I weigh 726 pounds, and I can’t stop gaining weight no matter how hard I try,” he says with humiliation.

“Oh sir, I didn’t mean to upset you. There is one I have in the back that I’ve not put out yet. I don’t sell a lot of them because the idea is unsettling, but it is a nice model. It’s called the Bariatric Boy 1000. The weight capacity is in the name: a generous 1,000 pounds,” Gus tells us. I try to compose myself to prevent an erection.

“1,000 pounds!?” gasps McAlister in disbelief. The idea sounds absurd to him, mostly because he’s not thought about letting himself get that big despite his body ballooning and his mobility deteriorating at an alarming rate. It’s cute that he doesn’t know that’s my intention for him. 

“Yes, sir. Don’t let that scare you. I think as long as you’re comfortable, it doesn’t matter if the weight capacity is so high. It just ensures comfort and strength,” our salesman reassures him. The salesman bites his tongue, but what he wanted to add “don’t worry, you’ll be immobile in a bed before you reach that weight.” The salesman heard rumors over the years regarding his former customers gaining ridiculous amounts of weight after giving up walking for the rolling life.

McAlister appears to be uncomfortable. “Let’s at least see it, huh, Big Mac?” I break the awkward silence.

“Fine,” McAlister agrees silently.

“It’s just right through that door,” Gus points to an opening on the sidewall. McAlister starts to waddle toward the door slowly. Watching McAlister must be comical to Gus, but it’s fucking hot to me. I love his huge ass, so watching it bounce and jiggle with every pitiful step makes me want to bend him over a scooter and take him right there. Gus can’t help but stare either, but for a different reason. When we walk inside the door, we see a warehouse-like room with multiple scooters. In the middle of the room is the crimson scooter. It’s made for an absolute blob of an obese person. 

McAlister hesitates to say anything. “Let me start by letting you know there is a one year warranty on this entire chair. This scooter also contains some luxury features that the others don’t for the ultimate comfort. I find the features to be practical: an anti-theft alarm, secure storage areas, and a basket attached to the front. As a customer, I also know you’ll appreciate a double-wide seat, removable arms to give you more space if needed, and cup holders for big drinks.”

McAlister picks up the tag hanging off the armrest. Below the brand name is the tag line “We make the world a bigger place.” I can tell his anxiety is starting to spike. There’s not a larger size of scooter. He knows if he outgrows this, any pathetic chance of mobility is over. 

“Do you think this is a good fit for him?” I ask.

“The seat has lumbar support and is made by a company that makes a lot of memory foam mattresses and office chairs. The seat is “double-wide,” meaning it’s twice the size of the first scooter we looked at today. It seems more like a comfortable bench than a seat. This model also has a brushless motor to be durable, and it has three wheels, which works best indoors like in your home or at the mall.”

“How much does this model cost?”

“This model’s typical price is $4,000, but it’s on sale. You can imagine that with a weight capacity as high as this one, customers are smaller and purchase a lighter model, or they end up so big they don’t bother to buy a scooter and resign their mobility. If you’re willing to buy it, you’ll get a huge discount. I can make this work for $2829 as a base price, but I’m sure with insurance the price you’ll pay even less out of pocket”Gus tells us.

Damn, it’s practically a steal from other heavy models I’ve seen online, plus I’m getting flustered thinking about McAlister using the mobility device. I’m impressed. Then, McAlister speaks out unexpectedly.

“I’m feeli-huff... feeling dizzy...” McAlister huffs. McAlister exhibits all the warning signs of collapsing. His breathing becomes rattled, and even though the room has an air-conditioner, sweat forms under his armpits and chest. His face turns pink with exhaustion from just standing. His knees tremble. “M-may I please...huff...take a seat?”

“Go right ahead. See for yourself how comfortable the Bariatric Boy 1000 is for you!”

McAlister waddles over to the side of the scooter. For a moment, McAlister has trouble lifting his feet enough to leverage himself up onto the floor of the vehicle. He feels his drooping, massive belly pushing against his knees. Once he fights his bulk to get on the device, he lowers his fat ass as slowly as possible, afraid to cause an issue with the scooter. He pants as he leans back in the seat and reaches out for the handles. The damp spots of sweat on his shirt grow, and his enormous ass takes up most of the chair. 

McAlister looks close to an anxiety attack. His massive ass fits the scooter like a hand in a glove. I see the cogs moving in his mind. I know him well enough to understand the mental analysis: this scooter is made for him, which only makes him feel more like a freakshow. How did he let it get this bad? Somehow he still doesn’t want to believe it’s me who sabotaged him to this point. I watch the tears start to form in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, he’s having a tough time with his weight, “I whisper to Gus, who nods and gets the hint.

“I’ll be back in the main room if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Gus,” I say looking at McAlister as he stares blankly in front of him, tears streaming down his bloated cheeks.

I turn to McAlister. Tears pour down his face. “What’s wrong, Big Mac?”

“What’s wrong!? Do you have to ask me that!?”

“It’s a scooter, not a forklift,” I assure him. Now, there's a thought. 

“Do I need to remind you what happens in all of the movies? Think about the fat sacks of lard in WALL-E or that mayor in Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs!”

“Just breathe. I don’t want to downplay your feelings, but I think you have a cognitive distortion. Buying a scooter is not the worst possible conclusion. Those are children's movies. Do you know anyone that happened to in real life?” I think I have a point.

 “No, but a mobility scooter is the first step of giving up. Once a person goes the wheelchair and scooter route, its a sharp downward spiral with their health, and their weight explodes. I’m not cute anymore. I’m disgustingly obese. Even Gus could tell this has gone too far. If I stop walking part-time, I’ll cross a line,” he rants and sniffles.

“You’ll always be cute to me,” I hope to make him feel better.

“I know you like your men big, but do you like them so big they get completely immobile and dependent? That’s a death sentence.”

“Are you trying to imply that I want to make you do fat you have health and mobility issues? What the fuck, McAlister. I’m only trying to help you,” I practice my gaslighting on him. I mean, it is what I want.

McAlister sighs heavily. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just frustrated and scared. This is not a decision to make lightly, especially when I can still walk on my own. It's not that bad,” he tries to convince me. 

“Not that bad? Do I need to remind you why we are here? You collapsed while shopping. What will happen if you collapse when no one is around to help? I love you, and that’s why I’m worried.”

“I don’t know,” McAlister cries out.

I wish I could feel terrible about his emotional state. He’s eating himself helplessly obese for me, and I just don’t care. He needs more. I need more, but for now, I search for a distraction. “Do you want to get out of here and go get some pie? There’s a Homemade Ice cream and Pie Kitchen across the street. It might calm your nerves and help you think everything over,” I offer. I know the dessert will cheer him up. McAlister always finds himself in a euphoric state after consuming sugar. 

“Do I look like I need Pie à la Mode? I’m a blimp, and I’m going to be stuck in this scooter soon!” he huffs.

“Can’t you have a cheat day? You need something to calm your nerves.”

“That’s why I’m like this,” McAlister sobs and grabs a large handful of belly. He struggles even to lift what he can reach, but shakes his blubber and violently as possible. ”I’m a fat freak!”

“You’re not a freak! Yes, you’re fat, and it’s okay to be fat.”

“Everything I have to buy is supersized for people who struggle to live normal lives! Pants the size of circus tents. A scooter with a capacity to carry all of this. What have I done to myself?” McAlister puts his head in his hands. 

“Listen, Big Mac. That’s the reason these stores exist. No one here is judging you as the outside world does, and I’m certainly not here to judge you either,” I tell him while rubbing his upper back softly.

“What do you mean?” McAlister wipes his tears away.

“They make scooters with larger weight capacities and huge pairs of pants because people need them, and that’s okay. Please don’t torture yourself. Use them if you need them instead of suffering. I hate seeing you suffer, babe. You can’t lose the weight you want if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

McAlister gives me a pouty face. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right, babe. Look at how comfortable you are in the Bariatric Boy 1000.”

“The seat cushion feels really nice and soft. I like the lumbar support and the drink holders,” McAlister admits, starting to come around to the idea of the scooter after all. 

“I think you look relieved to be sitting in this model. There’s less strain in your knees and back. I'm certain this scooter will help you get your independence back. I’ll also never have to worry about you collapsing ever again,” I reassure him, doing my best to seal the deal or seal his fate. It depends on how one looks at the situation. 

“Won’t you be embarrassed to be seen with me, morbidly obese and rolling around in a scooter?”

“I’ll never be embarrassed by you. You could be running marathons, or rolling around in the scooter, or even breaking it at over 1,000 pounds. I’ll always love you. I just want you safe and comfortable.”

McAlister pauses to process my words. Thirty seconds later, he responds. “Hey, babe, I’ll take it, but...” McAlister trails off. He blushes and sheepishly looks down towards his feet, but there’s too much belly in the way to see them. 

“What’s wrong, Mac and Cheese?”

“How serious are you about getting pie and ice cream? You’re right about the scooter, and I think you’re right about treating myself to a snack too.”

I pat McAlister on the back. “I’m always serious about treating you, babe. Always.”