When I'm sitting, only mere inches stand between my belly touching my knees.  The thick fat on my midsection juts out over a foot in front of me. Try as he might, my feeder simply can't get his arms all the way around my ever-expanding waistline.  Although my fat is soft and supple, he's unable to squeeze enough of it inward to make his fingertips meet.  He has to slide his arms up under my breasts to be able to clasp his hands together. I can feel his touch, but when I look down, all I can see is his thumbs.  My view is obscured by the mountain of fat that is my stomach. I assist him in positioning his hands to lift up all this lard.  I can feel his erection pressing into me as he comments on how heavy it feels.  I know he's proud of himself.  After all, he did this to me.  All those nights continually pushing my limits, pressing food to my lips when I was already too full to move.