Becoming the Toy

I started out by telling people I’d been in an accident.

It was the only explanation that didn’t entirely freak people out, aside from a few very intimate friends online who knew the real truth: I hadn’t lost my good arm in an accident — I’d had it deliberately removed.

Funny how such a simple thing as that can divide the world into two groups: the ‘NO, BILLY, WHY?!’ group and the ‘Oh, Billy, wow’ group. Naturally one is larger than the other; naturally I let their hysterics fall on deaf ears.

Mama didn’t raise her kit to succumb to peer pressure.

Anyway, I didn’t really want to lose just the arm — I wanted to go all the way. To have all my limbs removed and just be another of those big balls of pure fat you see so many of on the Internet.

But an arm went first, because my doctor said I needed time to get used to living without, and to make sure it’s what I really wanted. It’s like getting a big embarrassing tattoo on your face, he said: you’ll want to wear a temporary one for a while to see whether or not you’re really brave enough for it.

Whatever. Like I said — one does not simply give way to peer pressure.

So I went the trial week telling people all about the gruesome accident. The story I eventually went with was ‘I was doing a daredevil jump on my waterskis and landed in a shark tank’. (It’s easy to remember ‘a shark took my arm’ when your doctor is a shark.)

When Friday came I was excited for my appointment — the other arm was due to go.

Dr. Hayes liked to reassure his patients that just because he had a back-alley office in the shade, it didn’t mean he was a shady back-alley doctor. His credentials were legitimate, his ratings online were decent, and not only did he not shy away from unorthodox procedures, he advocated for them publically — theoretically elevating potentially unethical acts to the level of civil disobedience, which was ‘practically patriotic’.

I wasn’t so sure about that rationalization, but given what I had been coming to him to do, I wasn’t exactly about to talk him out of it.

“So!” he said. “Did you have any trouble this week?”

“Nothing worth speaking of! I mean, a couple of things were harder, but nothing that a fatball would be worrying about doing.”

“It’s not just about what you can do for yourself, Billy. You’re going to need people to support you in all those things you won’t be able to do on your own. Have you made those arrangements?”

He frowned and thumped his heavy tail as I hesitated to answer.

“Billy…”

“I tried! I just…don’t have anyone in real life I can come out to about it. And I don’t want to deal with all that! I just want to leave that old life behind. I just want to be a big ol’ sack of blubber and not worry about any of that anymore.”

“If I recall how hard our discussion on paying for this procedure was, you won’t be able to afford a private caretaker, will you? How did you plan on getting by?”

I pulled a brochure out of my back pocket. It was a little worn from being read over so often, but detailed my dream life: The Fat Ranch, a little community downstate for fat lovers. Endless feedings, amorous attentions, and even internet fame supplied by the most devoted fetishists in the world.

I’d hesitated to bring it up to the doctor — it seemed a really personal lifestyle choice, even more than going down this road to begin with — but he only shrugged as he looked it over. “It looks like they specialize in fat people, not inanimate blobs like you’ll be — ”

“They have a page on their website!”

“ — but if you’re sure you’ll be welcome, by all means we can ship you there when we’re done with you.”

“Yeah! So when can we get started?”

Dr. Hayes returned me my brochure and handed over the last of the paperwork to sign. “The timeline doesn’t change, Billy. We still start by taking the other arm today. Two weeks from now and we can finish the procedure. Are you sure you’ll be able to get by in the meantime without any help?”

My dick got hard immediately at the reminder of why I’d come. “I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

I pulled off my shirt (which is actually not too difficult with one arm — you just grab the back collar and pull upwards) and lay back on the table for the doctor to operate.

Now, Dr. Hayes had what you might call a hands-on approach to this type of work, if you overlooked the fact that he doesn’t use his hands at all. My heart rate went up, as heart rates tend to do when a shark sits down beside you and eyes your shoulder with open hunger.

“Ready?” he asked.

I shut my eyes to brace myself and nodded. “Ready.”

I felt the shark’s jaws close around my arm. One crunch, one tear, and one slow, tender lick of a harsh tongue across the space where my arm had been connected to me, and it was like there had never been anything there at all.

And yet when I walked out of the doctor’s office with both arms removed…I realized I was going to have trouble even getting home at all. The loss of one arm is mostly just a little awkwardness; the loss of both becomes a barrier.

Like, I did know beforehand that it’d be silly to drive to the doctor’s office today, because driving back would be problematic. But as I stood at the bus stop, I already felt the trouble that I’d be having: my first instinct was to pull out my phone and check the bus schedule, but there was no way that was going to happen. Even paying the fare was going to be difficult…

There was nobody else waiting that I could explain my trouble to, and as I boarded I was worried about explaining my need to the bus driver (“Uh, could you reach into my pocket…?”) but fortunately they waved me on and didn’t insist on payment.

When I got home, I stood in front of my own front door, at a loss for how to get in. It was a little frustrating, but the helplessness was still a little arousing: When it’s all gone I’ll be even more dependent. Just a big ball of fat to be served and cared for…

That would be a good day.

I swallowed my pride and thought of that future as I went over to the neighbor and pressed the doorbell with my nose.

I’d never bothered to officially meet my neighbors; it was a graying terrier in a sweater vest that answered the door.

“Oh dear,” he said. “I might paraphrase from Oscar Wilde — ‘to lose one arm may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness’.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can you just help me get in my house? I can’t exactly manage my keys.”

“Well, I don’t see any ’arm in helping — ”

I wanted to growl at him — this was not the kind of fun I’d signed up for.

He saw my expression and raised his hands. “Relax, son, it’s just an ’armless joke.”

I’ll try the other neighbor,” I said, and marched off.

The old dog followed me. “Ol’ Ms. Jakes doesn’t find it easy to answer the door these days. I’ll help you.”

“Fine.”

He reached into my pocket, pulled out my house key, and let me in.

“Thank you,” I said, heading off in a rush as by now I was feeling the need to hit the restroom.

He was still waiting in the doorway when I came back a moment later, having run into the obvious difficulty: I wasn’t even going to be able to get my own pants down.

“Hey, um,” I started. “I…don’t have anyone to help me.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “You do look a bit…shorthanded.”

I groaned, but let him help me along.

The old dog — Jeremiah — stayed with me that day, helping me with all the stupid minutiae I couldn’t handle on my own anymore. The teasing was constant, but was at least good-natured; by the time evening came, I felt comfortable enough to come out to him about why I’d done what I’d done.

He didn’t answer right away, but placed a paw on my broad belly and looked me in the eye.

“I know, I know it’s weird,” I said, trying to preempt The Lecture. “I understand if you want to leave, just…at least pull my phone out so I can nosedial someone else for help?”

Jeremiah sighed. “C’mon, son. You know what they call a fox in the water with no arms and no legs?”

I saw it coming, and winced.

“Billy Bob!”

“I’m fine with not having hands to wipe my own ass with, but right now I’d kill to have a palm to facepalm in…”

“Too bad,” he said, picking me up with arms that were surprisingly strong and carrying me back to the bedroom. “If you really want to be a fatball, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He laid me on my bed and started undoing his belt.

“Whoa hey, pops, what’s this about?”

“It’s not like I haven’t been watching you, kid. You start comin’ home a week ago without an arm, then the other one’s gone — anyone who knows about what you’re goin’ for knows that’s what’s happening.” His pants dropped to the floor, showing off a thick sheath with a few inches already showing. “I didn’t think I’d be so lucky as to — ”

“No, I mean — hey!”

He’d started pulling off my pants as well. “Relax, boy, nothin’ I ain’t already seen.”

“But, I mean, it looks like you’re trying to — and we were only talking — ”

“Talking about how you want to be a sex object.”

“Well, yeah, but — ”

“And I’m going to guess they had you sign the paperwork before they took away your writin’ hand?”

“They had to, yeah, but — ”

“So you’re officially a sex object already, isn’t that right?”

I’d been trying to ward him off by flailing my legs, but he had managed to grab hold of them, and his growing shaft was already pressing under my tail, forcing a whimper from me.

He looked down at the sound. “Are you seriously trying to object? Are you…honestly surprised?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he plunged his dick in deep, gripping my sides to pull me close against him. “Legally I’m alone in this room right now, playing with a sex toy. Isn’t that what you signed up for?”

My body shook as he thrust into me. “Y…yes…”

The sense of betrayal I was feeling warred with the rising realization that this was exactly what I wanted. The fantasy that had been so real in my mind for so long was finally meeting the real reality — it wasn’t at all as I expected, yet my dick began to respond anyway.

Being a toy meant being used even when you didn’t know you were going to be used. It meant not having a say. It meant not being able to reach my poor hard cock to try and get off. I shut my eyes and thought about how good a toy I could be as Jeremiah’s knot pounded for entry at my hole.

“You’re a chunky toy, but you’ve got a lot of weight to put on before you’re truly a ball of fat,” he said, slapping the side of my gut. “Lucky for you, I can help with that a little…”

He pushed his cock in deep, and with a soft plap I felt his knot pop in.

I took my first load as a toy.

Jeremiah throbbed inside of me, and the gush of his climax rushed against my inner walls as he started to unload. He grinned down, panting hard, as he continued rocking his hips against mine, gently tugging his pulsing knot against my hole just to feel my tightness.

More and more of his seed poured into me, and I was fuller than I’d ever felt before. I wanted to reach down and stroke my gut as it filled, but I’d never be able to do that again — my comfort would always be at the mercy of whoever chose to use me.

There were loud gurglings as the weight of my belly put pressure on the torrent of Jeremiah’s seed, forcing it out to all corners of my insides. I felt heavier and heavier as my body metabolized gallons of cum into dozens of pounds of fat.

And still I grew. I watched as the horizon of my gut creeped up my legs, which were hanging over the old dog’s shoulders. It wasn’t long before my knees were lost to view and I felt the sheer weight of me push back, forcing Jeremiah’s knot out of my hole.

Cum shot out of my loosened ass in a thick stream until I could recover control of it again. Even without earning a climax of my own, I was still worn out from the extra weight and the exertion of being so well-used.

Jeremiah flopped down on the bed beside me, rubbing his paw over my bloated gut. “Gonna take good care of you, toy. When’re you due to get the rest lopped off?”

I couldn’t hide my blush. “Two weeks…”

“Imagine how huge you’ll be by then.”

Two weeks later, Jeremiah called in a few friends to roll me into his pickup truck, since I had no chance of getting up on my own at all.

I could hear Dr. Hayes’ impressed “oh, wow” as I was wheeled in to the procedure room. I could feel his hand on my belly, wobbling waves across my flab as he spoke to my neighbor, but couldn’t see either of them over the swollen mountain of fat I’d become. “I told him he could do with help. Glad he found it. He all ready for the Fat Ranch?”

“‘The Fat Ranch’?” Jeremiah asked. It had been hard enough to tell my doctor — I hadn’t really opened up to him about my plans after conversion. “No, I claim ownership of him now, he isn’t going anywhere.”

“Fair enough,” the doctor said, at the same time I said “hey, what?”

“I built you up, toy,” Jeremiah said, as the doctor called out to have the ranch-hands cancelled. “More than half of you is improvements I made, so I have the controlling interest. Of course I’m keeping you.”

I felt Dr. Hayes lifting up my gut to find my buried thighs. “Ready to finalize the procedure?”

“No!” I said.

“Go ahead, doc.”

I felt the shark’s jaws close around my left leg and tighten with a sharp crunch that made my dick hard: this was happening, whether I wanted it or not.

Everything that happened from now on was going to happen whether I wanted it or not.

He ripped my leg off at the hip and gave the torn area a rough lick to heal it, then swiftly did likewise with my other leg and my tail.

It was a disconcerting sensation, when he let my gut fall, to feel my underbelly land directly on the operating table.

The doctor’s bloody grin came into view and was the last thing I saw: as those powerful teeth severed my head from my body, cutting me off from sight and smell and taste and hearing altogether, I knew the memory would haunt me for a good long while.

I was rolled over on my side and was given a quick injection at my back. My body tensed up at first, but then felt looser than I’d ever felt before — my rib cage dissolving and letting me slosh into place. I wasn’t lying down like a person now, but spread out like a water balloon: no bones, no organs, just soft fat under soft fur.

I’m a toy now, I thought, in the darkness of my mind. A pure ball of fat, once and for all.

Hands were exploring my body already, and anticipation added to building arousal had my dick leaking cum along the underside of my gut — along my underside. Would they use me right then and there, in the doctor’s office?

I felt a mouth around my cock, and I couldn’t help but spurt my load immediately — Jeremiah hadn’t really been interested in helping me get off, so I had gotten pretty pent up.

A rough tongue slurped up the mess I left before that mouth closed around my genitals again.

Chomp.

Tear.

Lick.

And Jeremiah took me home.

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Luis Walker

I write kinky erotica involving fat gay furries. I might have some opinions too. Writing Twitter: https://twitter.com/muskwriter