You have to turn off the motorized dildo that hasn't let you think or barely breathe in minutes. You reach toward your crotch where the box is. With your legs pulled up by your belly, it's easier to reach, but moving over your large breasts is challenging. The motion of your arms sliding along your sensitive breasts doubles the feeling. Quivering, your fingers fumble with the motor box. As you do, the straps tug at your legs and your inner thighs burn with shivers. You are bent up in a sit-up position, holding the box with one hand as you try to turn it off with the other.
"Are you sure you want to turn it off?" the woman asks. You expected her to stop you, but she doesn't. She merely says, "This prolonged orgasm is the only good thing you have left in your life."
You find the switch just as an overwhelming wave of pleasure shoots through you. You want to lie back and scream again, letting the sensation take you over, but you fight against it. You hold on, curled up by your legs, and you flip the switch. As the dildo slows its pushing up and down, you lie back, relieved that you at last have some control over your life, or what's left of it. The dildo slows to a stop, but not before triggering a last intense beat of pleasure that gets you to let out another scream. You give in, open your mouth, and squeal. You immediately put your hands over your mouth. Before, it had at least began as a scream.
"That's right!" yells the woman before laughing. "Squeal, you pig! Squeal louder! Squeal for me."
She puts both her hands on your tummy and you feel it burn. "Squeal, you fat tub of lard!"
Your belly begins to swell, and you recoil, as if you could crawl away from your belly. Your belly bloats, a thick pad of jiggling fat growing between your muscles and your skin. You try to cry out with the horror you feel, but again, it's just a squeal. "You're just a fat pig!" the woman yells gleefully.