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Plump rolls of fat draping across your every inch of skin, glistening with sweat and rippling like an ocean of voluptuous velvet at every shudder, because no shroud could cover your insatiable beauty. Laying across a sturdy bed, limbs uselessly splayed out from your padded belly, with every inch enveloped in a cocoon of flab. Cramming endless mouthfuls of pure indulgence into deliciously ample cheeks, buttery ambrosia dripping down your chin and quelling the hunger in your eyes.

An artist running their hand down the tender curves and supple valleys of flesh on their masterpiece, their finest creation; because with each reassuring look, each morsel coaxed past your lips, each gentle caress across your canvas of softening skin, they moulded your body as surely as any sculptor chisels at stone. They carved pound after pound onto your slim frame, shaping cold marble and jagged granite into the warmest plush, the smoothest silk. Wiry muscle turned to creamy cushions, hardened sinews coated with layers of neglect, the slightest hint of slender bones and contours hidden forever beneath years of blissful gluttony and the most wonderful prison of desire.

A teasing fingertip wiping the hazel stain of chocolate from the corner of your moistened lip. A wandering hand delving deep into supple folds of flab, searching for the heat of your burning core and eliciting a deep moan from the depths of your laden chest. Every inch of your skin blazing to life in an inferno of sensual ripples and piggish desire.

The artist observes this landscape of helpless, corpulent, burning need and selects a sugary cream from their palette. With practiced ease they soothe the sculpture's panting, baited breath.

A sigh of contentment, your mind becoming numb with sweet, ravenous satisfaction. The bottomless void carved from your gut momentarily sated by the generous administrations of your lover. Your heart pounding for freedom, but your body and mind a slave to the hunger, the need to be filled. Desperately clinging to the last threads of churning fullness, the last droplets of nectar on your tongue, the last whispers of willpower trickling out with every pleading breath. The rumbling from far inside your jiggling body which sets every tingling nerve on end, every ounce of being screaming out for more.

Remembering the fullness permeating throughout your slender frame after your first taste, the artist's first stroke. Emptiness following soon after, starting in the corners of your stomach and encroaching farther throughout your body with every feeding. Feeling the cravings return, knowing they would only return stronger than ever, but unable to face the thought of emptiness forever. Worrying as the void spread from your innermost depths to the tips of your plumped fingers. Trembling as the tendrils of hunger clutched your soul, as a hole was torn in your heart which only feasts of gluttony and added pounds could fill, as the world paled in contrast to the warmth and release of the artist's work. Dreading as the emptiness filled your mind at last, as you lost yourself in the delightful pleasure of weight enveloping you; as "No" became "More", as meals became days, as your feet bore the weight of your lard-draped form for the final time. Ecstasy as you gave yourself to the fever dream of constant pleasure, stuffing, and burying yourself under piles of extra weight.

The artist smiles and lovingly responds to your desperation with a cooling selection of sickeningly sweet cream and frozen treats from their palette. It is delirious relief to your cavernous belly, your toes wiggling in bliss, the apron of flab spreading across your lap expanding millimeter by millimeter over your trunk-like legs. A slight flick of a fingertip on your dimpled, rippling thigh results in a shudder of renewed craving pulsing throughout your body. The artist licks the chocolate off their finger, admiring the sight before them. Their signature, smeared in crystallized, oozing chocolate, is laid bare on your side for the world to see. It is their mark, their admiration, their promise, made on a voluptuous mountain of cascading velvet folds and gelatinous, flabby euphoria.

A magnum opus in the medium of gluttony.