Subject Report: Exposed and Tormented [NC][F20s][Surreal][Bondage][Big Belly][Humiliation][Lingerie][Exhibitionism]

Initial Interview
Subject 2025 1174

Subject: Why am I here?

Dr. Alizay: To give us some information about what happened in your apartment.

Subject: Wh– Are you doctors? Where am I?

Dr. Alizay: You're in a licensed center which specializes in cases such as yours. We would–

Subject: I just want to rest. I'm not sick and I'm not injured. Just tell me why I’m here!

Dr. Alizay: These occurrences, such as that you just experienced, are exceptional and fraught with danger. You are here so we can rule out any unforeseen side effects. For pattern analysis, we would like you to write down everything you remember, including extraneous feelings and observations.

Subject: It was really– personal. Like, in a–  very invasive way.

Dr. Alizay: These events are often traumatic and often of a sexual nature. We know that they are closely connected to the feelings of the people they happen to. We will not publish or disseminate the writing in any way beyond what we need to make the public safer.

Subject: Can I leave after that?

Dr. Alizay: Yes. You’re also going to need an inoculation shot. It will help to clear any psychological contamination by the event and is necessary in cases such as this.

Subject: Why doesn’t anyone seem to know about these things? What field of science is this?

Dr. Alizay: Information related to these incidents causes them to spread and intensify. That’s all we can tell you.

Subject: So, you want me to write down both everything that happened and exactly how it felt?

Dr. Alizay: Yes. We need you to write down everything you remember, with a focus on your emotional reactions to it. We encourage you to quote yourself with what you remember saying. Alright, are you ready for the shot?

Subject: Yeah

Subject’s left arm is injected with the inhibition moderator.

Dr: Alizay: Now you can start writing your account.

Subject: Alright.

Several seconds later, the inhibition moderator takes effect as subject begins to write.

Subject Report
Reality Error White-VZRA
Instance 17890d

It started slowly. It was almost imperceptible really. Could have been a good mood as much as anything. As I stood in my apartment living room I felt the carpet under my feet grow softer. I didn't think anything of it at that moment but it felt weirdly good at first as I walked around. I felt lighter and nimbler.

Soon I started to notice that something was off though. The carpet was too soft. My steps seemed to get less traction on the ground. My feet swept across the floor like they were floating just over it and I began to feel off-balance, like my whole body was being lifted. I could feel my fat kind of get more floaty around my bones. It rose up and protruded, and it made me feel sort of apprehensive. I remember trying to push it back down with my hands as my feet slid like they were on a weird, warm, fuzzy ice. It tickled the soles as they went over it.

I threw my arms forward, trying to swim through the air where my feet had failed me, but it was no use. Air isn't water, and I didn't move a centimeter. I pumped my legs in a rising panic, making to run and overcome the lack of friction, but I pedaled in place like I was on a treadmill. I felt my butt jiggle wildly and my shorts began to jostle around. They shifted as the floundering fat beneath them flared in all directions. I didn't notice they were falling off until they were at my thighs tickling the underside of my butt, and by then it was too late. 

My legs faltered and stumbled mid-air, suddenly constrained by the stretchy nylon, and I would've tripped if I'd been actually running, but I remained floating where I was. I rose a little higher into the middle of the room until I was right in the center, halfway between the floor, ceiling, and the walls. My shorts kept falling as my clumsy hands slapped my flabby thighs trying to get ahold of them. My fingers brushed my suddenly bare skin desperately, unable to get a grip on those flimsy shorts I wore around when no one else was there. 

They fell until my feet became entangled in them. They were all the way to my ankles when I bent over hoping to just pull them back up, and it was then that I felt my ankles start to slip backwards involuntarily. I couldn't control it and tried to stop it. I instinctively snapped back up and arched my back, reaching behind me in a futile attempt to cover my ass as it wobbled, framed by the lacy fabric of a wavy black thong. No one else was around, but the suddenness and impossibility of the whole situation caused a rush of panic to wash over me. 

With my back bent, my legs continued to fold until they were behind me. My knees jutted out downwards at awkward angles and it was clear by this point that nothing normal was keeping me off the ground. I was suspended in the air with no part of me near the floor, and as I tried to reach my feet to free them from this strange invisible restraint, I felt my arms seize up as well. My wrists clung to my ankles as though tied to them, even though no ropes were there. I just couldn't move them away from a small random spot right behind my lower back.

I repeatedly pulled with my limbs, but they remained stuck. I rocked my body back and forth, trying anything to escape, but only succeeded in dishevelling my black shirt, which gradually crept upwards, wrinkling as it receded. Without my shorts to hide it, the bottom of my belly hung out from under the hem, nervously quivering as I felt the cool air on my most sensitive skin. It was even more sensitive now because I couldn’t reach it to cover it back up.

With my arms bound to my ankles, I writhed floating in the center of the room, unable to get back down. Unable to get back down. My shorts hung from my knees, seemingly still affected by gravity, and my wrists were pressed firmly into my bare back. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn't reach my shirt to pull it back over my trembling midriff. I needed to and I couldn't reach it. I pictured myself, what I must've looked like hanging there weightlessly with my thong out and the swirling blue patterns of my tramp stamp showing as my shirt failed to contain the mass of my overweight stomach.

It was embarrassing, but I could deal with my ass showing. It even made me feel kind of sexy. Ha. What I couldn't handle, what I'd never been able to handle as long as I could remember, was my belly. Not my belly. It was like a glaring symbol of my deep-seated issues with food and an undeniable proof of my weight. 

Ironically, it was my lack of weight at that moment that made it all the more noticeable. It rippled and jiggled like I had never seen it do before. It undulated like it was liquid. Every movement of my struggling body sent it into a fury of motion as my shirt was whipped up and pushed out of its way. I was helpless as the cloth rose past my belly button and I felt the open air in its vulnerable indentation. I was helpless as I watched my belly button carried around in circles with the rolling of the squishy, oscillating mass around it. It felt like an unseen presence was trying to expose my belly and make me feel the vulnerability of its defenseless yet expansive softness. 

I started to speak aloud then, in frenzied whispers and gasping shock.

“Help me! Oh god, please"!

 “I can't move. I’m stuck”.

Things like that. I wanted so badly to be set free from all of this. My mind was hit with increasing waves of this obsessive fear of my belly, like a deep, unconscious insecurity was being dredged up and used against me in a conscious state. It felt like something had got into my perception and was mocking me. After a while, I began to vocalize this particular distress.

“My belly! My belly! Not my belly! My belly’s showing”!

This punctuated the periodic calls for help.

I was so mortified. I felt like I was falling backwards into myself. It got so intense  that I was also kind of aroused. I know it's weird, but I felt this sexual crescendo in being pantless with my midsection hanging out like that. I felt a thrill in how fucked I was, and how whatever was doing this to me could see my darkest fantasies, the ones about my big belly that I didn't tell anyone about. I felt like it knew all the things no one else knew. It saw everything and I was so ashamed. I needed to get out of this thing’s gaze, but I couldn’t run away in my head and I couldn’t run away in my body. It felt like I was strapped to a table and being examined under a harsh blue light. I don’t know why the impression was blue, but for some reason the light in that metaphor is always blue when I think of it.

It came further into view as I violently rocked in the air against my bound wrists and ankles, rolling my fat-laden hips back and forth as my shirt bared them in all their absolute fragility. It was a dance of obscenity and systematic obliteration of self-image. All of my confidence and hiddenness evaporated. My shirt crossed the slope of my curves as it arrived at my waist, leaving the lower half of my abdomen on display. I couldn't control it. I couldn't pull my shirt down. Its mass bounced and moved like a water balloon as it hit my hips while I tried to stretch my body forward to free my hands. I pulled, but nothing gave.

As I curled my back, I could see my belly more clearly. It was pale, creamy, floury white, like a plant in a cave that'd never felt the sun. It was like alabaster or pearls, shining in the window light woven through the blue, blue rain. My belly button cast a tiny, nervously quivering shadow at its center, while its surface was cold and clammy without covering. Yeah. It was like a barrel of butter floating around my waist, pregnant with the results of a lack of discipline. Yes. I felt punished for my gluttonous laziness with embarrassment and exertion. Sweat beaded on my skin and my breathing got shallow as I kept trying to pull and get loose. I hyperventilated and felt the waves passing through it. 

“Help me. Help me”!

“I'm stuck. Help me. My belly”!

I kept saying “help me” in an almost tic-like way. I don’t know why. I remember a heady combination of terror and pleasure, a forbidden and sacrilegious indulgence of a chained and horrible melancholy. I didn’t want help, but I also did. I didn't know what I wanted. I almost didn't want anything, or maybe everything. It was dizzying.

I felt a familiar but invasive sensation between my legs as my knees spread. I felt so exposed, my big belly so laid bare, that it started to turn me on. Offbeat, delirious pulses of orgasm began to pump through me as I felt my belly heave and shift, and the thin fabric of my lifted shirt’s hem tickled my skin far above my navel, causing me to giggle rapturously.

“Ah! Ahh! Oh my god. Help me”.

“Ohh, oh fuck. I can't breathe. Help me”!

I felt so out of breath and out of shape as I frantically struggled to resist this imprisonment. My breath was an exhausted gasp by this point, and it felt dry and cold in my throat. I begged for help again and again, but no one came. I was not only alone in my apartment at the time, but also alone in much of that area of the building, so no one heard my pleas for assistance until you people showed up.

I arched my back backwards again, this time just enjoying the forbidden pleasure of feeling my belly stretch and stick out. My navel felt resplendent in being both vulnerable and safe from anyone else. I was alone, but also alone with my secret desires, so I began to moan with satisfaction at being unable to pull my shirt down or my shorts up. I felt the lack of control in being unable to hide it or pull it in. There was an awful but amazingly hot aura in being so fat, with such a big ass and wide hips, and being caught like this in a cute little thong, hilariously insufficient to cover any of it and almost more scandalous than nothing at all would have been.

I thrust my hips involuntarily as my knees waved beneath me. I felt my glutes contract rhythmically around my underwear, carrying the fat with them as it followed lazily behind each motion. The cheeks of my ass moved independently against one another in a cyclic procession of inertia. I was in heaven and hell at both extremes. I couldn’t take it anymore a while ago, but it just kept going.

I was frustrated. I couldn’t move to escape, but I also couldn’t move to reach my pussy and fuck myself, or move against an object to satisfy the craving building up my abdomen. I shoved myself forwards, trying to make my body jiggle as much as possible. I wanted to show my belly to the world and hide from it forever at the same time, and the intoxicating reality of it drove me mad. 

“Ha. Hoh. Ah. Ahaa. Aha. Aaa. Aaaaa”.

Breathless, my voice rasped incoherently and frantically. Weakened from exertion, twitching and shivering, I felt the constricting fullness of my distended belly as it continued to lightly reverberate. I heaved and sucked my muscles in, but I couldn’t put my belly back in my shirt. It was all the way up to my waist, and I felt like I was being forced to dance for an invisible observer. 

It reminded me of when someone I won't name would pull my shirt up in a cruel attempt to encourage me to lose weight. It felt like when he forced me to wear shirts that were too short so I wouldn’t eat as much, because I’d have to walk around the house with my belly showing all day. The shame, the humiliation, the terror of my every move being turned into a belly dance to make me stick to a diet all came rushing back to me at the same time. I remembered the nights alone on the couch, touching myself as I lay there, still in the crop top. I remembered the endless half-dreamed fantasies taking shape as I felt my belly bare against the cold, even as I pulled on the shirt as hard as I could. I felt the sides of that little shirt stretch down over the tops of my hips, while my plump fucking belly just kept sticking out. It was too big. I couldn't get it in. I could only push it down as it jiggled.

I thrust my hips as I floated in the air, my breath escaping in rushes. My belly tumbled around chaotically and my ass bobbed up and down violently, crashing against itself and sending the fat into a shimmer of random motion. My pussy dripped with complete and utter sexual madness as my belly churned halfway out of my shirt.

The next thing I remember is screaming as I heard my apartment door burst open behind me. I had forgotten that I was calling for help and that I wanted to be rescued. I wasn’t prepared to be discovered like this, to be seen in nothing but my thong with my big belly all exposed. I nearly passed out from the sheer emotional overload as I heard the hum of some kind of machine and I fell out of the air in a heap on the floor. Everything was a blur as I failed to collect myself. My entire logical view of reality had been shattered while my mind had been probed and inverted, and I just could not process any of it at that moment to any degree. Why me? why

There are flashes of the trip in that weird windowless shuttle bus I was taken here in, and flashes of the white coats and the dimly lit rooms. I don’t remember a lot after that until I woke up a few hours ago. And here we are.

End of subject account

Subject was administered Substance Y and returned to their apartment. Minor psychological disturbances have been observed, but no error incidents have been reported in the area since.