Nagatoro's Unhealthy Display (Patreon)

Tags: Slob/Gas, Blob immobility, Health Issues

Hayase Nagatoro moaned as she felt the truck lurch. Her stomach turned as she felt another bump in the road. BBBBBLLLLLRRRTTTTT! She farted, the increasing rocking of the truck making her stomach turn in circles. FFFFRRRRRMMMMMTTTT! Another bump, another dislodging of gas from within her massive gut. She moaned again, the noise was guttural and deep, but unable to compare to her gaseous explosions. She rode in a semi-truck, the only vehicle capable of hauling her bulk around. She rode in darkness turned fetid and humid by her bulk. The only lights in the truck bed were those of her various health monitors, they shone upon a network of cables that ran to various parts of her body. Extreme obesity had come with extreme health complications. Nagatoro was a one-ton medical emergency, constantly on the brink of needing attention. Though beyond her senses, the blobby woman knew that a pack of ambulances followed her semi like remoras swimming after a shark. Only, it was the remoras that kept the shark alive. The thought ran through her mind glumly, making her sink back into her folds. She was coddled by her blubber, though it was rancid and spoiled. The gentle rocking of the semi combined with her miles high blood sugar lulled her back into a food coma. She did not stir until she felt hands gripping her heavy cheeks.

“Ahhh, my little project awakes.” Nagatoro blinked, able to see only large pale breasts. These were not Nagatoro's, those though loomed in the background. These breasts had been the largest pair of boobs that Nagatoro knew of. Now, however, they were infinitesimal when compared to her sagging mountains. “Tell me, Nagatoro, are you ready to make a masterpiece today?” The breasts jiggled, bobbling against the oxygen mask which bit deeply into Nagatoro’s sagging face. They moved out of the way slowly, replaced by an intense face with purple hair. Sana Sunomiya, art visionary and Nagatoro’s loving caretaker had come to stir her greatest art project into action. “Tell me, are you ready to bring OUR grand vision to light?” Sana said, always a hair's breadth away from a soliloquy. She was greeted with her tan companion’s response. FRRRRRRRMMMPPPTTTT! The gaseous eruption burst forth with such force that the trailer shook. Nagatoro’s lake of ass fat sloshed back and forth, smacking the sides and roof of the trailer. Sana, lost amongst the sweaty and disgusting folds of her art project, held on to rancid jowls. Heart rate monitors beep cautiously, sensing forthcoming danger. Sana’s eyes gleamed with alien and unknowable passion. “Good! Summon all the stink you can muster.”

“Ooooouuggh. . .Schana. . .I don’t. . .can we. . .BBBBLOOORRUUP. . .not.” Nagatoro tried to call off her demanding master. Though her voice was deepened by yards of blubber, it was pathetically weak. The partially tan blob had to squeeze her lungs in order to speak, even then she was only able to muster a few pathetic words. The once playful and talkative woman had become pacified by a body that could not support itself. “I’m. . .UUURRRRPP. . .scchick.” Nagatoro murmured, her words muffled through her oxygen mask. The mask shoved into her round face, the strap hidden between neck rolls larger than a man’s thigh. Her body moved perpetually, seeming to act in accordance with her stomach’s grumbling. Her monstrous gut was a well of trapped gasses. “Can. . .bbbblleeerruup. . .we. . .scchttooop?” She put the request out, knowing that Sana would reject it. The only requests that Sana granted were for more food.

“Absolutely not!” Sana’s tone turned sharply, protective of her planned demonstration. “You are at the brink of history. Today is yet another grand unveiling of your body.” Sana spoke, climbing over Nagatoro’s humped layers of fat. The damp and seemingly endless mass shifted as Sana walked. “You need to summon that sickness, revel in the filth, own your corruption. That’s what we are presenting to the world.” Nagatoro frowned as she felt the other woman's movement. Though Sana was tall and curvaceous, with breasts nearly as large as pumpkins, she was little more than a fly atop Nagatoro’s grease-soiled expanse. She stood on shoulder fat that would have buried her alive, unconcerned with balance or poise. Artistic fervor would guide her, just as it had every step of the way with Nagatoro’s development. Sana had done mighty work with her pet, and had yet more to do. “Sickness is your gift to the world, a statement about the transformation of beauty into stagnation!” Sana spoke, drawing a hose from along the wall of the truck. The long, thick tube unwound from its holster and Sana brought it to Nagatoro’s mouth. “We shall make you more rancid, turn your body into a polluted cathedral of indulgence.” Sana began to work the hose into a special attachment on Nagatoro’s face mask.

“Ooooh. . .Presscch. . .pleasscchh. . .mmgghlppgh!” Nagatoro’s demands were cut off as sugary sludge was pumped into her mouth. She had never understood what the concoction was, only that it was Sana fed her just before every display. It would push her diabetic mass into a near comatose state whilst plunging her intestines into chaos. Her already putrid, gas-bloated body would begin to erupt. Nagatoro would be the center of a firestorm of gas. “Ssccchaannaaa. . .” Nagatoro whined, already feeling her body absorbing the mal-nutrients. The sludge was sickeningly thick, settling into her stomach like custard mixed with peanut butter. BBBBLLLLRRRRFFFTT! A noxious, brown gas tornado spun from buttcheeks big enough to flatten cars. Nagatoro tried to fight the mask, but her hands were long buried. Fingers too thick to close properly writhed in fleshy prisons of arm blubber. She gasped and spluttered, spilling formula from under her breathing and feeding mask. Yet, in the end, she still drank it down. She was Sana’s art project. A pig to be dressed up how her master desired. The art show was coming and she would be ready.

----

Nagatoro was still being fed even as she was hauled out of the semi-truck and towards where she would be displayed. Between belches and burbles she begged Sana to call the display off. However, her begging only earned more food being pumped into her. BBBRRRRMMMPTTT! Warm and oily farts burst from Nagatoro as cranes pulled her tonnage from the semi-truck. She dangled cables and entire medical devices as she was pulled out. The few that managed to work blared warnings with the young Japanese woman again reaching another crisis. Suspended as she was by the cranes, Nagatoro could do little besides hope that her landing was soft. Beneath her the sound of the ocean rolled through. Salt spray burst from sandy rocks and tickled the vast underside of her gut. She dangled from industrial cables, those typically used to haul construction parts. Her fat dripped grease and sweat, littering the earth with her rancid leavings. FFFRRRRPPTTTT! The fog horn blasts from her ass had such power that they threw the cranes off. Nagatoro was wheeled through the air drunkenly, her body proving unwieldy even for industrial equipment. Below her, Sana addressed the assembled crowd.

“Witness Man’s impact upon the earth!” Sana said, a showman at all times. Her voice was strong and clear. She stood below Nagatoro, having little trouble handling the smell of unwashed fat and pervasive flatulence. The cranes wheeled overhead, teetering back and forth as they tried to put the enormous woman into place. “We destroy ourselves through consumption, bloating. . .” FFFFFLLLRRRRRTTT! Sana paused, letting the dense gas clouds part. Her assistant's fat clapped just as loudly, wet slaps of blubber filling the otherwise silent air. Sana looked up to see breasts dangling towards the earth, bigger than dumpsters. The true size and extent of Natagoro’s degradation was displayed to the assembled crowd of artists. Though held over ten feet in the air, the young Japanese woman’s gut came close to dragging along the beach. Her ass was even lower. Wheezes and splutters could sometimes be heard, reminding the world that a woman rested at the heart of the nest of fat. “Hayase Nagatoro embodies the whole of our species. She has indulged to such a degree that she has destroyed her health, her body, and the world around her!” Sana’s voice rose in time with the placement of the crane. As she spoke the final word, they dropped Nagatoro onto the beach.

Nagatoro gasped as she thudded onto the soft sand and salty water. “Huuuh-uuugggh. . .bbblooorrup. . uuufffhh!” She gasped for air, finding her lungs tight from the small drop. She jiggled wildly, looking like a partially deflated bounce castle. Sand shifted under her weight, allowing her fat to lodge itself into the beach. With her tanned body spreading out in all directions, the comparisons to whales became ever more apt. She could not support her own mass, drawing ever more from her many oxygen tanks. Her chest burned with anxiety as a heart pleaded for intervention to calm its erratic dances. BBRRRRMMPPPTTTT! She farted, the sludge she had been fed provoking her delicate system. Vast plumes of water and sand were sent backwards as the superheated gas broke from her cavernous butt. “Ssscchannnaaaa. . .BBBLOORTRRUUP. . .'' Nagatoro's voice was weak, only able to whine and gasp for air. Waves rolled in, dousing her large and sloppy rump. It was the closest she had come to a bath in years.

“Hayase, much like ourselves, has become a pollutant.” Sana looked back, smiling at Nagatoro. Sana’s immobile blob whined and meweled, though they went unheard over the sound of her flatulence. Sana returned to her speech, ready to close. “She now creates nothing besides the biggest, most toxic deluges in history.” Sana finished her remarks, waving a hand backwards at her pet. Nagatoro’s folds shifted in time with the ocean swells caressing her butt. She belched and farted, pushing out gas into the ocean. Grease stained the water, visible as a top layer. Steaming mist, equally as poisoned, drifted up from her rolls. The crowd was silent as they took in the full majesty of Nagatoro’s filth. When it came to these demonstrations, she always prayed that Sana would reach too far. That this was the display that shocked the art community into stopping her. However, it was never the case. The crowd applauded, clapping and cheering for the brilliant but insane woman. Sana basked in their cheers, just as Nagatoro basked in her own filth.