Min-Ji's Experiment Epilogue

Previous Part: https://www.patreon.com/posts/min-ji-story-108930693

Finally back! Sorry for being away the beginning half of this month. Life is starting to settle down again and I'm more mentally equipped to write. Hope you all enjoy this extended epilogue to Min-Ji's story. I probably won't return to this universe anytime soon, just because I don't think there is a lot of gas left to the characters. Still, I think this is a fitting conclusion to everything!

--- Endless Dosage --

The world is dark twice over. Firstly because my cheeks now scrunch my face up and secondly because the warehouse that I am stored in is dark. I only know it is dark because I cannot feel the heat from the lights. Bereft of sight, my other senses have begun to compensate. I feel minute changes in pressure, temperature, and the flow of air through the sweat which seethes down my porcelain mass. I smell through great snorts, fighting with my collapsing lungs and nasal plugs. Those moments when I can breathe clearly bring back premonitions of what I will be fed next. Feedings and heart attacks are my life now. I am pumped full of some sort of sugary fluid at all times, keeping my blood sugar at a constant high. I’m drowsy and sluggish, drooling between slurps. Sometimes it is hard to even remember my name. Min-Ji, the woman who conquered obesity. My serum worked, albeit in a way that consumed the life I once had. I am part of the serum as much as it is a part of me. There might be more serum in me than blood now.

The air conditioners kick on with a sweet hum, as much music as I will hear in a given day. The wind winds through the grove of medical tubing. The plastic tubes have clustered together like an oceanic kelp forest. I’ve birthed a synthetic eco system. My sodden, sagging, bubbling fat forms the land. The mountain which formed around my head and torso gradually slopes down into plains of jiggling fat. At most you can distinguish my breasts, which have grown as large as submarines. Milk spills from them, the hormonal chaos in my body creating effects that even I could not foresee. These rivers of milk feed into the swampy plains of my lower body. The kelp strand tubes rise from all areas, denser or lighter based on the whims of the doctors overseeing me. Amongst them flit the faux-animal life of drones and service platforms. I’m a complex system, always failing in one way or another. Drones are needed to tend to my sensitive tubing systems or the sensors within. Meanwhile, platforms for doctors move like sharks around the obstructions. 

“mmmmBBBBBLLLURRRRUUURRRRPPTTT-HOOOOORRRRBBBLUUURRRTTT!”

My belch is like the venting of an undersea volcano. I spew toxic gas and hot spittle into the air, my feeding tube knocked loose to gout fluid down my blubber. Platforms slowly lower via cranes, the doctors trying to put my feeding tube back in before the spraying fluid can damage other component parts. They wear hazmat suits, afraid that I might be gestating entirely new diseases within my body. I’ve gone beyond what humanity can produce in fat, thus I might have gone beyond in other ways too. Gloved hands and rubber booted feet soon sink into my flab. I feel the jiggles even into my womanhood. I moaned, sending deep bellows through the building. My lungs are tortured by my size, but the chambers of fat turn even the smallest mewl into a resonant boom. The feeding tube has not been shut off and continues to pump sugary fluid into the recesses of my folds and cracks. I gasp, sexually stimulated far in advance of that days schedule. That will cause problems, but only for those that tend to all of my needs. 

“Aaah! Fuuuuuuuccck!” I moan, feeling the waterfalls of feeder fluid forming. The men walking on my bulk slip and fall as they try to get a hold of the massive tube. It is as big as a sewer pipe, the only size that can adequately feed me now. Lancing pain strikes my heart and long buried appendages. I’m close to cumming immediately, the sensation of being covered in food-mess too hot for my addled brain. Without the proper medical attention, sexual stimulation in my case is dangerous. Any bit of excitement translates into cardiac arrest. I moan again, lips turning color as blood isn’t properly pumped to my face. “Aaah. . .aaaah. . .MOOOORE!” I yell, using up the last bits of oxygen in my lungs. Milk sprays from my breasts, mimicking the sexual release happening under a mile’s worth of fat. 

I hear shouts and screams as warning sirens blare. They are prepping the defibrillators. Entirely new systems have been developed to handle me. I gasp and wheeze. Though the oxygen plugs in my nose are turned up high enough to create tornados, air is not reaching my strained lungs. I cannot relieve the pain in any way. For years now I have been subject to daily, almost hourly heart attacks. The pain would be enough to drive anyone else crazy, maybe it had driven me insane. I cannot tell. I can nonly tell that I love the feeling. The sludge in my veins grinds to a halt as my inflated heart struggles to muster any cadence. Pacemakers have been attached in key areas, but even they lack the strength to fix my heart. Other methods must be used to prolong my corrupt, torturous, exquisite life. Underneath me, electric panels are starting to heat up. Their warmth and vibrations warm my gigantic ass. 

It is easy to forget individual parts of myself. Rather than a woman with breasts, butt, and limbs, I think of myself as a singular mass. I’m sloppy and disgusting, with only long black hair trailing out of the hole which marks my face tunnel to distinguish me as remotely human. However, the charge reminds me of how singularly huge my ass is. As the jiggles and undulations intensify with the charging of the electrical paddles, I feel the walls of the warehouse shaking. Like creeping vegetation by butt had bloomed and grown up the sides of the wall behind me. I’m more supported by it’s dump truck sized mass than the actual walls of the warehouse. Even if the walls were to collapse, I doubt I would feel anything. The same could not be said of the shocks from the defibrillator panels under me. 

“AAAAAAH” I’m shocked back into full consciousness by the discharge of electricity. My heart stops entirely, then is reset into ponderous thumps once more. Rather than my subdued, diabetic shock induced semi-consciousness, I have full awareness of my faculties. I feel my heart thumping at the walls of my chest, the sizzle of sweat as it turns to steam, and the myriad of needles penetrating my flesh. The moment fades as soon as it arrives. The effects of the shock used to last longer. I settle down, returning to enjoying the sensation of my slop-pipe being turned to my waiting maw. 

Men covered in fluid that is so sweet that it has become toxic struggle to hold and move the feeding tube. Within fleshy prisons, I struggle to squeeze my hands. Swollen from fat and from impending heart attacks, they have reached balloon proportions. They can not move more than a few precious centimeters. Even that movement squeezes out hidden wells of grease and sweat. I can no longer hurt or help myself, everything that happens to me is out of my control. That’s perhaps the greatest source of sexual release. My fate is decided by the scientists, doctors, and other people the government has brought in to study me. I moan again, making the same realizations I’ve made a thousand times before. Opening my mouth draws in the salty mist which permeates the warehouse. I taste myself stronger than I can see myself. Within the tunnel of fat that I have created out of neck folds, I am reacquainted with my own taste and odors. Now hungry once more, I try to scarf the runoff of perspiration trickling in. I desire constant sustenance more than anything else. Thankfully, the workers are returning with my tube again.

It was fitted in with shoves and pushes. The workers treated me like the piece of meat that I am. They shove the tube in, pushing and shoving it with all their might. I gasp, once again feeling the creeping death of a heart attack. My lips are open from the shock and pain but are pushed wider apart as the pressurized meal-fluid begins to pump in. I cannot even splutter, the force of the liquid is too strong. My only choice is to drink and fatten further. Even with the second heart attack coming, I cannot avoid the diabetic shock coming. I slump down, or at least as much as my mass will allow. My vision is blurring, brain overcome by the sugary sweetness filling my stretched gut. A deeper darkness is taking me. I’m happy because I know I will continue to eat even through the next food coma.

--- A New Dosage ---

“Aaaah. . .come on. . .deeper!” I moan as the vibrator is sent into my pussy. Tampering with Min-Ji’s formula was always going to be risky and I’m not sure if my tampering has paid off. I’ve exchanged rampant hunger for sexual cravings. I can’t go a minute without sex, without someone fondling my gigantic tits or putting their face between my thighs. I’m spread over a mobile bed or platform, tan bulk filling every possible inch of it. “HARDER. . .fuck you. . .HARDER!” I gasp and shout. The depths of sexuality has turned me into a tyrant. Lust has melted into all my emotions, making them more powerful than anything. Ashka the scientist has been replaced with Ashka the fuck pig. The two women below me giggle, teasing me further. Their hands pull my log-like legs apart, making it easier for the sex machine to work. I beg and froth at the mouth, hoping for any extra spare crumb of sensuality. 

“Ashka!” A voice that I dimly recognize through my haze of sexuality. Min’s mom runs into the observation room, not even startled by the orgy taking place. I suppose when your daughter becomes the size of a small house, few things surprise you. “How is Minnie? I heard the alarms.” Soo continues to talk, which only makes me hornier. I reach a hand back, too enraptured with the pulsing of the sex machine plunging into my pussy to speak. She trots forward, moving with her wiggling, bouncing ass. I’ve studied that little slab of pork for years now, yearning more for it every day. “Asshiiiee! You need to be paying attention to her, not fooling around!” Her scolding drives me into further lustful hysterics. I try sitting up for the first time in hours, moving muscles that have long degraded into sludge. 

“Uuuugggh. . .Shessccch. . .fine. . .jusscchtt . . .aaaaah. . .” I’m so horny that I can’t even finish my sentence. Rolls compress as I’m brought into a sitting position. I’m brought into this position rather than achieving it naturally. Muscles no longer obey my commands, save for when I’m so erotically charged that adrenaline is pumped through my bulk. Rather, the bed senses my feeble attempts at movement and obeys my will. The corrupted mass that is my body is slowly brought upwards. Sweat, grease, and bodily fluids from my many. . .many sexual encounters are sent seething out. My breasts hump over my subdivided gut, formed into tear drops. They slap back and forth as I strain my arms to reach under my paunch. My pussy is an orchestra of finely tuned sexual impulses, and I wish to conduct it for once. However, I am denied that opportunity. I flail and throw my arms, never gaining any purchase. At most my tan skin grows ever more lubricated with sweat. I give up when I feel the heart palpitations. My health issues are not as common or horrific as Min’s, but they are becoming stronger. I have been working on tampering the formula to avoid those issues. Min might worship near death experiences, but I do not. However, I am distracted often. 

“You are so terrible!” Soo bops my head again, hand freely mixing with the unwashed strands of dark hair. There is no time for hygiene, unless it involves me up against the walls of a bath getting my nether regions tickled. My days are eating, fucking, with only bouts of observation of Min to help add variety. Even then, my observations often lead to sex anyway. It’s my tribute to the woman that has revolutionized my world. “You have to keep my daughter safe and cared for.” Soo is leaning down, wrapping her arm around the thick chin blubber which doubles as a bib. Her arm is small and pale, seemingly the opposite of everything intrinsic to me. However, there seems to be a similarity. “Why are you always getting so distracted? You have a job to do.” She kisses me.

Soo’s lips smoosh deeply into my bulging cheeks. I gasp, my heart skipping a literal beat. There are times when the lust becomes even too much for me. Spiking blood pressure, lungs burning, and chest beating erratically. The symptoms are all there, studied a hundred times over with Min. In moderation, a heart attack or two is great seasoning for my sexcapades. “Fuck. . .UUURRUUP. . .you’re gonna. . .ooooh. . kill me.” I wheeze.  My hands grip the frames of my mobility bed, turning pale as blood struggles to make its way into my beefy arms. Soo keeps kissing me. I wonder again if my body is venting pheromones. Those who stand around me always get sucked into my vortex of whirling passion. She’s licking my blubbery neck, investigating the folds with her tongue. At the same time she fiddles with something in her pocket. I gasp as a sharp prick finds my arm. A needle, longer than average slices through my fat like a hot knife through butter. It is an extended bee sting, pumping something into my sludge-blood. 

Soo laughs, retracting the needle. “Just a little something your division whipped up. I wanted to be the first to give it to you.” She laughs, tossing the syringe away. “They replicated your formula with the improvements you suggested. Minnie’s formula, but with an Ashka spin.” She talks like the lab was mixing cocktails or coffee drinks rather than life altering, body destroying chemicals. “I wasn’t sure if a woman could be hornier than you. . .but we’ll find out.” Soo starts to squeeze my breasts. Meanwhile, my aching heart pumps the formula throughout the strained canals of my bloodways. Soon it will be taking effect, making me even greater than I was before. I spiral my way towards the behemoth that Min-Ji has become.