Fat Suit (Patreon)

Content Warning: Fantasy and magical elements are included in this one. I prefer realism and slow burns, but I’m also pleased with how this one turned out. The content is the standard you’re used to, so do I really need this content warning? Ha!

Fat Suit

Fire Chief Crowe groans and puts his hands over his face from the point of view of his subordinate. Myles King is a confident, fit young man with a tendency to run his mouth. Myles really did it this time. He couldn’t keep his comments to himself, landing himself into some hot water with his boss. “Jesus, Myles. You’re not making this any easier. What happened next?” Chief Crowe asks reluctantly, trying to verify Myles’ actions with the story reported by Felipe Hernandez’s boyfriend.

“Well, as I said before, Felipe was around my age, probably 25, and weighed in the neighborhood of 800 pounds. What was I supposed to do? The kid needed to go to weight watchers or something,” Myles snorts.

“You don’t tell that to a citizen you’re supposed to be rescuing!” Chief Crowe fights back.

“Whatever. Anyway, that fairy’s lover kept trying to tell me how to do my job as we were trying to figure out how to move this bloated sack of lard out of his house. I can’t handle a bitch howling at me to get a fat fuck out of there. I don’t care if he’s struggling to breathe. I’m not destroying my back for some fat fuck. We had to wait for a bariatric ambulance and equipment that could help us move him while his boyfriend wailed at me.”

“I understand that can be a frustrating experience, but you can’t treat people like that.”

“People? More like cargo! Listen, if pig boy hadn’t eaten himself into oblivion, he wouldn’t need a fire crew to come to rescue him and take away from real emergencies.”

Chief Crowe sighs, shuffling his papers with frustration. “You’re not one for human dignity, huh? What happened next?”

“Fat boy tried to stand up, but his pathetic body was too weak. I tried to help at first, but the pig’s sausage fingers couldn’t grasp onto these guns,” Myles flexes his toned arms. “He just kept crying out that it hurt.”

Chief Crowe scribbles on his pad of paper. “Let’s move it along.”

“So, then, we had to get the big ‘ol boy on the bariatric med sled, which took forever as he was so heavy that we could only move him inch by slow and painful inch. It was so disgusting to have to help him roll from side to side to get him on the plastic board.”

“And when he was on it, you said and did what?”

“I slapped his naked belly and called him a blubber ball.”

“Fuck! You mean you actually did what they said you did?”

“Sure did. I put that pig in his place,” Myles states proudly.

“The report also says you told him that he was a dumb pig who didn’t know how to stop shoving slop into his face and that he’d keep stuffing himself until a crane would need to remove his 1,000-pound corpse,” Chief Crowe recalls the comment through his gritting teeth.

“It’s all true,” Myles grins. Chief Crowe slams his hands on his desk, causing Myles to jolt back into the back of his chair.

“I’ve heard enough, Mr. King. I don’t think you know how serious this is for us, especially you. I have the mayor’s office contacting me because they are threatening to sue the city. It won’t be long until I’m asked to resign because of your bad behavior under my supervision,” Chief Crowe shouts.

“Relax, he’s just—,” Myles tries to defend his actions but is cut off by his superior.

“You neglected to provide care for the citizens you served and went out of your way to harass and make comments about his size,” Chief Crowe speaks slowly, trying to calm his growing anger with Myles. Myles just rolls his eyes. “Most Chiefs would fire you on the spot, but...” Chief Crowe pauses. “I’m going to give you a second chance.”

Chief Crowe stands up and walks over to a locker. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Myles dismissed his boss. Then, Myles’ eyes get wide as Chief Crowe pulls out a pale pile of fabric with an enormous shirt and pair of pants. “What’s that?”

“It’s a fat suit. You’re going to wear it for the next two days to understand the experience of a person of size. Sensitivity training starts right now.”

“Holy shit, it looks like you cut the flesh off a 500-pound man.”

“Here’s the deal. I’m going to zip you up. You kay onto take it off for your morning shower. That’s it, and then it comes back on. Two days is all I ask if you.”

“What if I refuse to wear the suit?” Myles rolls his eyes.

“Then, find another career.”

“You can’t be serious! You’re fucking kidding me, right? This job is my life!”

Chief Crowe walks forward with the suit and a grin for the first time in the conversation. “Then, I guess you better comply with my requests, brat. This suit lets me know if you take it off. You better not take it off except to shower and use the restroom. That’s it,” he throws the heavy fat suit into Myles’ arms as Myles sighs heavily. Myles gasps as he starts to put the suit on. The suit feels weighed down by something like sand, placing pressure on Myles’ body like a cumbersome weighted blanket. He pouts, upset with the decision.

“Now go home and get some rest, fat boy,” Chief Crowe winks at his subordinate.

Myles goes home frustrated about his situation. He decided it’s best just to do nothing for the next two days: avoid public with fast food delivery, call into work sick, and wear the suit around his one-bedroom apartment, so he doesn’t lose his job. “This is such bullshit,” he thought, driving home in the suit that pushed against his steering wheel. Why is he being punished for someone else going whole hog? However, once he clicks onto the delivery apps and selects contactless delivery, his stomach growls deep within the fat suit. He convinces himself that carrying the extra weight is making him hungrier. He orders a pizza with wings and a dessert. When it arrives, he shreds through it like it’s nothing and orders another one feeling something strange. After he eats his fill until he goes to bed for the evening.

At 7:00 am, Myles’ alarm beeps from his phone to wake him up for work. Myles reaches for the phone from his nightstand with his eyes still shut. Something feels strange, his body feels heavier than he remembers, but he brushes it off as being tired. A weight on his stomach makes him think he’s bloated from his binge the night before. Myles lifts his tired arms to his face to rub his eyes. He notices they feel odd. Then, he feels pressure on his chest. His eyes open wide as his groggy mind realizes something is horribly wrong. Myles looks at his enormous body. “Right. Must be this shitty fat suit,” he mumbles. “I almost forgot.”

He sighs before he decides to try to shift himself out of bed. The suit is much heavier than he remembers. He feels anchored to the bed. In a quick swoop, he rips the blanket off his body. The fat rolls on the suit look so distorted compared to his memory of wearing it the night before. “Why is this so heavy?” he starts to pant. That’s when it hits him. The fat on his body isn’t a suit! It’s his body! It’s as if the suit molded into his frame and then inflated another 250lbs.

Myles’ eyes go wide, and he screams. “What the fuck! No, no, no!” He grabs a handful of belly in a panic. “My fit body! What happened? The...the suit!” Myles cries out. His body shakes as a reaction to the shock and the motion of his movements.

Myles notices his folds are disgustingly big, with unmanageable slabs of fat hanging off every inch of him. He can’t see anything except two watermelon-sized breasts and a belly folding over his body like a blanket. “This has to be fake! It’s a prank!” his attempt at making sense of the situation is as weak as his newfound body.

The new, unfortunate reality begins to sink in for his poor emotional and physical state. “I’m so fat! I’m...I’m huge!” His belly rises and falls with every deep breath. “How is this possible?”

He struggles to sit up but manages to prop his back on the headboard. The metal frame cuts into his back, causing him to cry out in pain. After minutes of struggling, he finally sits upright, breathing heavily with his belly spilling into his lap and over the side of the bed.   He gives himself a moment to catch his breath. “I’m not useless,” his voice trembles.

Myles manages to slide his right leg off the side of the bed. His foot brushes against the floor as he dangles It off the bed to try to find balance. Then, with an incredible challenge, he scoots himself to the edge of the bed, allowing his left leg to fall as well. He breathes heavily, trying to get air in his lungs. Myles places his left hand on the mattress and his right hand on the nightstand beside his bed. He almost shouts in pain as his bulk pulls down toward the ground, threatening to split off his body. He rocks back and forth quickly, building momentum to stand up. As soon as he manages to stand up, his legs wobble and give out, causing him to crash toward the ground. Fortunately, he falls on his ass.

“Shit! Fuck! God damn!” he shouts while on the floor, withering in pain. He tries to roll over onto his stomach but can’t. There’s too much fat on his body to turn over. He noticed his phone that is just in reach and calls for emergency help.

The twenty minutes it takes for a viable crew to make it to his home feels like hours, helplessly flailing and struggling to survive on the cold, hard floor. Myles lays on his rolls of back fat, struggling to breathe from his chest's intense pressure crushing his lungs.  He scrunches up his face in pain as his breathing becomes more labored.

Finally, Myles hears the sirens of emergency vehicles pull into his neighborhood and enter his home.

“Mr.King, fallen out of bed again, have we?” says the team lead as several men follow behind him with a tarp.

“Again!?” Myles chokes out between wheezes.

“Don’t worry; we know how this goes. You’re a frequent flyer. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

“The...the fuck? I’ve n-never...” Myles says, but the group ignores him. What do they mean by frequent flyer? Just yesterday, he was fit and healthy doing their job!

Myles felt helpless and exposed on the floor, completely naked and unable to move in front of strangers. All Myles can think about is how blissful it will feel when he’s back in his bed comfort eating and watching television. The fat suit continues to alter his emotions and body, welcoming the idea that he may never leave bed again unless he goes to the hospital. He feels an intense desire never to have to deal with this again and accept that he’s a prisoner in his own body. The idea scares him as he tries to tempt his mind to snap back to reality and wanting out of the situation he finds himself in with no choice of his own. He feels a slight pain all over his body.

The team of men places a flat object that appears to be a mattress mixed with a tarp with plenty of straps and a supportive metal bottom. “We’re going to push you onto this tarp, and then we will lift you back into your bed,” says one of the firefighters. Each man, in the best shapes of their lives, grabs a different part of Myles’ fat, bloated body. Their hands sink into the pockets of fat as they slowly push his fat ass onto the equipment necessary to lift him.

The workers try not to look the extremely obese man in the eyes as they try to get their job done so they can go back to doing what they deem more important work. Myles’ blubber jostled back and forth with every push or attempt to lift his side to put him on the equipment.

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” one of the crew members teases.

The pain becomes unbearable at this point. Myles loses touch of reality, of his five senses, as his vision gets more blurry and his heart thumbs inside his chest. His muscles, or rather his lard stuffed, atrophied extremities, ache from being on the ground so long.

Sweat pours off Myles’ body despite him doing absolutely nothing. His lips and throat are dry. “Can I please have a glass of soda? It’s really hot in here!” Myles’ voice trembles with his request.

One man who is incredibly fit and somewhat familiar-looking scoffs at the idea. “Do you think someone your size needs to drink sugary soda? Diabetics don’t need soda. I’m not your servant. Get your own damn drink, but it really should be water,” the man shuts Myles up. Myles practically tears up from the abuse.

“Stop your whining. There’s a whole team taking important time out of their day to help a whale get back to his bed just so you can overdose on McDonald’s.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Myles starts to cry.

The team ignored his tears, exhausted from the bi-weekly calls of dealing with a man this massive. They continue to roll him over onto the tarp until he’s flat on his back entirely on it.

“Right. Well, the hoist is in place. As usual, you might feel uncomfortable,” says the leader.

“I’ve never done—“ Myles tries to explain but stops himself. No one believes him. They think he intentionally inhaled pizzas by the dozen and got himself this big.

The fit men around him begin to hoist Myles up using the handles on the sling.  “This would go a lot better if you just purchased a bariatric Hoyer... or if you stopped trying to get out of bed.” The men groan and strain, beginning to lift him. Myles is nervous that they won’t be able to hold his weight. What if he busts through the sling? What if he’s too heavy for an entire unit to lift? Slowly but surely, the professionals are able to maneuver Myles’ body over to his bed and lower him back on it as he breathes heavily in terror. Then, the men take turns rolling him over on his side to pull the sling out from under him. Finally, he’s safe in his bed, and the fire crew begins to leave.

“You all go ahead. Mr. King and I have unfinished business,” Felipe tells the crew as they start to leave Myles’ home. Myles looks at Felipe with exhaustion and confusion as to the room empties. Felipe shuts the bedroom door.

“Poor Myles, unable to do anything for himself.”

Myles is still shocked and embarrassed by the whole ordeal. This is not what he signed up for, and now an abrasive stranger is walking to the foot of his bed. “Shouldn’t you be going? Why are you still here?” Myles asks with fear in his voice.

"Calm down, pig. I’ll explain everything to your fat-filled brain,” the man says with a mischievous smile.

“Why are you so mean!?” Myles asks.

“You really went from beast to blimp.”

“Do...Do I know you?” Myles asks through the abuse. Why does this all sound so familiar? Why does the firefighter look familiar?

The man has an evil look in his eye. He looks straight and Myles and slaps his belly incredibly hard, making Myles yelp and leaving a red mark on his body. The fat rolls violently jiggle, making it harder for Myles to breathe. “You’re a blubber ball,” says the man in a deep voice. Myles still can’t piece it all in his head.

“Did you forget about me? You’re a dumb pig who doesn’t know how to stop shoving slop into his face. You’re so close to quadruple digits. You’ll just keep stuffing yourself until a crane needs to remove your 1,000-pound corpse.”

“Oh my God,” Myles shouts in fear and disbelief. “It’s you! Philip or something!”

“Felipe Hernandez,” the man smiles.

“What the fuck! Is that actually you? I rescued you just yesterday, and you were...you were my size!”

“Oh, yes? Do you remember that? It wasn’t yesterday; it was five years ago. I used to be immobile like you, but I lost the weight from the public humiliation you gave me.”

“That’s not possible! You’re a beast now!” The fact that Felipe remembered him and knew what happened to him makes his stomach churn with embarrassment. What is happening? He somehow traded places with Felipe.

“Your awful attitude made me thousands of dollars for settling my lawsuit against the city. The mayor also paid for my gastric bypass and free skin removal surgeries. It appears you’ve essentially switched places with me,” the words flow from Felipe’s mouth as sharp as his jaw.

“But—.”

"My God, you've put on 700 pounds in the last five years. Disgraceful,” Felipe’s smile curves. “Nearly dead now.”

“What have you done to me!?” Myles shouts in anger.

“I’ve done absolutely nothing. Are you seriously blaming me for eating yourself to oblivion?”

“The fat suit! You and my boss did some kind of magic thing, and now I’m fat!” The color drains from Myles’ face.

“Myles, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wish I could take credit for this because this revenge is sweet. Don’t you see that it’s you that’s destroyed yourself with all this extra weight?”

“It’s not my fault! It’s the suit!”

“As a former fatty, I’ll let you know it is your fault. You’re the one who has eaten himself off his feet!” Felipe accuses Myles. “This is the beginning of the end. Your time is running out fast, fat boy. When the body gets this fat, when the body becomes immobile, your health deteriorates a little more every day. I’m going to help you.”

Myles begs for mercy. “Thank you, sir! I’m so sorry for all the bad things I said to you! Help me live! Please!”

Felipe walks over to the bedridden man and bends over to Myles’ ear before he whispers, “Oh, I didn’t tell you how I was going to help you. You made fun of me and slapped my belly. You were willing to let me die. I’m going to help you wallow in your obesity. You’re going to pay for what you did, and it doesn’t look like you can stop me, you fat brat. You’re mine now. I’m going to funnel sugar, cream, and lard down your throat until your little piggy heart bursts, and you’ll be hoisted out of here by a crane. Now, open wide pig. You deserve a good feeding.”