Fat Trimmings by BS Writer (WG)

[B$fan]

“A Big Fat Prologue”

She’s fat and getting fatter.

That’s what you want to hear.

She’s bulging forward, taking big heavy breaths as she hungers for more.

This is not a place for plot. You’re not here for high art. You’re here for quick and dirty fat fetish fiction. You want to read about big bellies and even bigger breasts, or vice versa. There’s no judgment here, just pure unfiltered content coming right at you.

So let’s cast the pretentious literary aspirations aside and get right down to it, shall we?

What do you want?

You want name calling? Sure. What’s your trigger word? Is it piggy? Porky? Sow? What’s it matter? As long as they’re oinking for you, it doesn’t matter. We’ll call ‘em piggies alright. We’ll call them piggies, hippos, and whales. I’m sure we can sprinkle in a cow or two.

Anything goes here, anything you want.

What are you in for?

Stuffing? Maybe you want to read about big bellies filled with an impossible amount of food expanding ever outward. You want a woman who pops buttons and rips her pants, and I’ve got plenty of them. There are plenty of busted seams to go around.

You got a favorite food to read about? What do you want to see people gorge themselves with? Buffalo wings dripping with sauce? Ice cream that gets sucked down even as it melts? Heaps of crumbly chocolate cake? Should they stuff themselves with sandwiches or guzzle down soda? Scarf down sausages or make a mess with some mayo? Salty and sour, sweet and stick, it’s all here.

This is a feast, a veritable smorgasbord of smut just waiting to be consumed.

No need for names. No room for character development. This is too stuffed to the gills with action, packed full of description of pound after pound. You’re going to read about swelling bellies and heaving bosoms, doughy double chins and luscious love handles.

Here there be fat rolls and plenty of them.

Or do you want names? Pretty names like Daphne, Alessandra, Naomi, Natasha, Isabella, Giselle. They could be here. Fancy names and beautiful girls made fat. More beautiful? Ruined? Your choice. We aim to please. We can give you what you need. All you have to do is read.

What kind of stories do you like? You like reading about those first couple pounds, those ones that creep up on her when she’s not expecting it until suddenly she’s rocking a pot belly that she can’t suck in no matter how much she tries? Or do you want to read about fatties struggling to move, girl so large that every desperate trip to the fridge is a struggle. Por que no los dos, friend? Por que no los dos? You want to read about those who embrace their curves? Who love their blossoming bodies? It’s here for you.

Or are you into revenge?

You want to read about hotties becoming hogs- cheerleaders, models, bitches becoming big fat fatties and facing tons of humiliation as the tables are turned on them and the taunting they use to do bites them in their big fat asses.

We serve all kinds here with fat every way you can get it. And when you’ve reached the end for now, feel free to ask for seconds.

We’re happy to oblige.

So what are you waiting for? There’s gaining to be done. There are plenty of fat trimmings to be had. Search and you’re sure to find some premium cuts. Let’s get to feasting.

______________________________________________________________

“Fat in a Flash”

She’s thin for now, but that won’t last for long.

At this moment she has exactly the body that the media says she’s supposed to have. She is lean, but curvy, athletic, but not overly muscular. She has what many would call a model body, the kind women love to flaunt around and taunt others with. It’s a fit frame with just the right amount of junk in the trunk.

And she’s also totally naked.

She’ll still be naked when this is all over, but the slim body the she posses now, the one perfect for cheerleading- climbing to the top of the pyramid and soaring through the air, will soon be gone- replaced by a hefty body much more suited for sinking into couches than somersaulting.

Where should we start with her? There are so many ways this could go. Which part of her slim figure should we fatten first? Shall we take it top to bottom? Bottom to top? Nah, let’s cut right to the middle and turn those abs into flab.

She’s worked hard for that six pack you know. She’s been working out every day. Those abs are precious to her. She loves wearing crop tops to show them off. Well, soon every shirt she wears is going to be a crop top that rolls up her spongy belly.

Watch those abs melt. Look at the years of effort turning to soft buttery fat in an instant. The new fat bounces as it grows outward first into a starter belly, then a paunch, and then to a full blown gut. Of course, just leaving her with a bouncy belly won’t do. No. She grows a nice set of juicy love handles and suddenly where there was once a slender hourglass there is now a big bulging muffin top.

Ah, watch her hands. She’s trying to shove the fat back into her body as if that was even possible. No turning back now. That fit figure is being wiped away forever and replaced with a much fatter one.

Of course, with just a pot belly and love handles, she looks kind of ridiculous. So let’s help her out and start working our way from the bottom up. It’s simple at first, she might not even notice her feet swelling, her tiny toes turning into tubby little sausages. Then her ankles grow and merge with her calf to form those dreaded cankles, but the fat doesn’t just stop there.

She’s going to have a real hard time running as her lithe thighs turn into thick thunder thighs and press themselves together. She won’t be doing laps around a track anytime soon unless she can find the energy to waddle around with these babies rubbing together. (Spoiler alert, she won't be finding the energy to do anything other than stuff her face anytime soon.) And the dumptruck ass that she’s growing isn’t going to help matters at all.

Her cheeks are ballooning and filling with cellulite. She used to have a firm heart shaped ass, and now it’s a quivering mess of cottage cheese flesh. But hey, at least sitting is going to be more comfortable than ever, and she’s going to need to do a lot of sitting because all this added weight is going to make standing very tiring.

She’s panicking, but she’s powerless. There’s nothing she can do. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so vain and haughty in the first place. If she wasn’t so caught up in what the media says she should be, she’d realize that she’s growing into someone far better than the skinny bitch she used to be.

As her ass expands outward, her belly surges forward as a nice counterweight.

Then there’s her breasts. They’ve always been pert- if on the small side. We’ll take care of both of those things. They swell with fat and begin to sag onto her belly. No more cute bras for her. This cow is going to need big ugly heavy duty ones to keep these udders in check. Moving at all with these (forgot about running) is not going to be less than comfortable. She’s definitely going to be making good friends with her couch.

Her muscular arms jiggle with fat and her newly fat hands are perfect for digging into cake and shoving it into her mouth.

That just leaves her face. It might be comical to leave it just as it’s been, an angular face juxtaposed with outrageously bulging curves, but let’s finish what we’ve started by giving her some swollen chipmunk cheeks and a nice thick double chin. There’s no hiding how fat she is now, there will be no camera angle she can use to pretend she’s other than an obese woman.

This is who she is now and who she will be forever more, a true fatty.

_________________________________________________________

“Daphne”

Daphne loved to eat. Hell, she still loves to eat (even more so now); the only difference is that Daphne used to be able to pride herself on eating whatever she wanted without gaining a single pound. It was a fact that she loved to brag about and hold over people.

There would be Daphne and her friends, them with their salads and her with an overstuffed burrito and a side of cheese fries. She lived a life full of decadent, bordering hedonistic pairings. And when those around her would complain about the slightest bit of weight they may have gained, the smallest beginning of tightness in the waistband, Daphne would be there with a package of cookies or a bag of chips to eat right in front of them.

Daphne loved that. She loved being able to lord her shape over others, but more than anything she loved being able to lord her ability to eat whatever she wanted over them. Day in and day out it would be a repetitive cycle. It was a cycle that would remain unbroken.

Unlike her metabolism.

Like most people, Daphne’s metabolism eventually gave up the ghost. It started with a crack. Two pounds. She thought nothing of it. She normally didn’t even weigh herself. It was just something of a whim one day. Then, when it was five more pounds, Daphne assumed it was just her time of the month. A little bloating. She put away the scale for a long while after that. No need to stress. She was perfect. She didn’t have to be like other women and worry over the scale. Why deal with that anxiety? She didn’t need to weigh herself. She never needed to worry about her weight.

That was a mistake.

It’s amazing how quickly five pounds can double into ten and then ten can become fifteen, especially when one tries denying it hard enough. Daphne’s laundromat was just being careless and shrinking her clothes. They were new after all. Of course, they were new because Daphne’s slowing metabolism and constant junk food sessions were leaving her too lazy to do her own laundry, so she had switched to a new place that did pick up and delivery. It would have been great if they could put her clothes away too. Daphne was picking up a bad habit of living out of her laundry bags now with her “shrunken” clothes often becoming wrinkled from simply sitting in the bags so long.

Yes. She decided. The place was the problem and so she must find a new new laundromat, one that wouldn’t shrink her clothes and leave them wrinkled.

And then she would find another new place.

And another.

It’s amazing how long you can blame laundromats for shrinking your clothes when you keep switching laundromats on a monthly basis.

But eventually all good things must come to and end, and that includes the comfort of blanket denial.

Daphne had gotten fat. And her friends were more than happy to let her know that. If ever she had called any one of them names, those names all found their way back to her. The accusatory fingers were pointed in her direction and very often found themselves poking her spongy pot belly. The unforgiving fingers were quite at home sinking into yielding flesh.

In short order, Daphne went from being the queen of her friend group to being that fat friend, the one whose new social purpose was to make all the other ones seem better. And it wasn’t just her weight that kept increasing. So did the amount she was eating. What was decreasing quickly was her lack of caring about her appearance.

Daphne’s friends were used to watching her binge it, but as her body grew, her binging grew bigger and messier. Crumbs and sauce stuck to her body and clothes like a Jackson Pollock painting. She was fat. She was careless. And in her carelessness she grew clumsy which meant that spills of all kinds were not uncommon. This unadulterated piggishness was a major turnoff to most. It made it easy for Daphne’s friends to redirect attention away from her. And that lack of attention led to sadness.

And that sadness led to ice cream.

Sure, Daphne could have dieted. Or, at least she could have TRIED dieting. But it’s hard to go from a bad habit back to a new one. It is damn near impossible to start a good one that one has never bothered to learn. And Daphne couldn’t even be bothered to try. The hunger was too great. The food was too good. Her so called friends were more than happy to enable her. To keep her around as a source of amusement for themselves. So Daphne stuck around (and got stuck in several undersized chairs in her oversized body.)

Daphne was no longer the hot one. She had once been slim and sexy and could eat whatever she wanted. But no more. Long gone were the days of being queen bee. Now she is forever what her friends love knowing her as…

A pathetic, fat, greedy, lazy pig. A sloppy sow destined to grow fatter.

___________________________________________________________

“What If”

She’s so perfect. Perfect body. Slim waist. Fine abs. She is everything society says she’s supposed to be, and she knows it. She loves to flaunt it, to show others what they’re missing and then to rub their faces in it.

She has a perfect ass, the kind you can bounce a quarter off of. It’s the kind of ass that people love to stare at. She’s a big fan of walking away and knowing that people are still looking at her. She can feel their eyes on her dainty shoulders and then following her slim back down to her plump but tight ass and her lean but muscular thighs. She is the kind of model that other models event.

And yet… what if she wasn’t.

What if she just let it all go? She can’t help but ask herself that. Wouldn’t that be something? To indulge just a little bit?

Or perhaps a lot.

What if she were to purposefully eat too much, to eat whatever she truly wanted. Wouldn't she be pathetic, if she let herself go, let her body soften out of control?

She would be pathetic.

And it would be so hot.

This could be it. She could eat and eat and grow out. Her tight abs could be a soft pot belly. Her thighs could thicken and run together.

She runs her hands between the tight muscles and imagines them softening.

It brings a little moan to her lips.

She could be a fatty. She could be a weak, pathetic fatty. She could absolutely ruin herself, and it would be the hottest thing ever.

She could be the one people make fun of. Wouldn’t the irony be delicious? She could be the victim of karma. So many people would enjoy it if she let herself go.

Including herself.All it would take is saying yes just once, one extra helping, one ice cream, one slice of cake.

Just break the diet one time, give up one time and that would be the start of the spiral. What an intense moment that would be.

But can she do it? Can she give it all up.

She can picture it. That’s for sure. She can picture herself chowing down on juicy dripping burgers and letting their fattening greasy roll down her chin. She could picture cramming her face with chocolate cake and covering her cheeks with chocolate icing. She could imaging chips being consumed by the bagfull with their crumbs falling down into her breasts, already large and subtle but soon to be massive and covered in angry stretch marks.

She could see herself growing fat and lazy, too weak to even bother exercising, helpless. She could picture the names her former friends would call her: piggy, cow, whale.

She twitched and moaned as the thought of her former friends enjoying her downfall, turning on her like that. It was delicious.

Almost as delicious as the cupcake she was holding.

She could eat it. She knows that. She could do it and get this whole thing started, one bite, one bit of wasted calories turning into pounds of pudge, one small step and the fat rolls down hill to obesity.

Just. One. Bite.

Will she do it?

To be continued…

[Nelo]

These snippets are incredibly concise and to the point. Just giving so much detail with so little word count. Love them!

[B$fan]

“Feed Me. Tease Me.”

Listen to her moan.

“Feed me.” She pleads.

“I want to get fatter. I NEED to get fatter. I know you know that. You’ve seen how much I’m begging for food. I’m aching for food. Won’t you give me some? Won’t you help me grow? I want to get bigger and bigger. I want to feel my belly bulging outward as you feed me. Stuff me silly.”

She grabs her round already stuffed belly to prove her point. You’ve already filled her past where so many others would go, could go. But she’s panting, not from a struggle to eat but with desire for more. She looks at you and quietly oinks. It’s a whisper. But it’s there. A soft, gentle oink.

“I want to be a pig, a BIG - FAT - PIG. Won’t you make that happen for me? Make me your not so little pet piggy. I want to be your pet piggy so bad.”

As she snorts and oinks some more, she gets up and begins to dance. Her fat flows every which way as she swings her large and sensuous hips. Her hands slide up her sides and cradle her underbelly as shakes it with both hands moving in opposite directions like she’s shaking a set of maracas to a rhythm all her own.

“Watch me jiggle. Watch me shake my big fat butt. Is it big enough for you yet? It’s getting bigger by the day you know. I popped another pair of pants just this morning. You keep feeding me and soon enough every piece of clothing I own will have burst at the seams. I’ll have to get a brand new wardrobe. Of course, with the way you feed me I’ll outgrow those clothes quite quickly too. It might just be more economical to lounge around naked.”

She flops onto the bed, and you can hear it creak under her weight. It is a symphony of strained wood mixed with popping seams.

“Would you like that? Would you like to see my waddling around here naked with my big belly bouncing and my pendulous breasts swinging free? You can make me jump as I beg you for more food. Every time I need to eat you can watch my whole body jiggle as I hope up and down and plead for you to feed me. And it takes a lot of food to keep me full. I need to be full. Won’t you be the one to fill me?”

Her eyes are wide and wistful. She wants it. You can tell. There’s no lie here. She needs it. She needs to be fed in more ways than one.

“I’ll be a good piggy for you. I promise. Would you like to see me jump now? Watch out. All that motion might just make my bra pop off right now. Everything on me is so tight. I bet you if I move enough all this fat will just spring free.”

You can see that her prediction is already coming true. You don’t need to wait to see the results of what you’ve been doing with her. Already fat is bursting forth from clothes that won’t last much longer.

Her double chin wobbles as she nuzzles your arm.

“You want to call me names? I know you do. I want you to.”

She licks your fingers looking for chocolate. She kisses your hand and begins to plead.

“Won’t you call me names? You want to. You do.”

She sits on her knees with her fat hands pressed against her fatter thighs.

“Come on. Let’s hear it.”

She bounces up and down in anticipation, and you watch as her entire body jiggles. She moves in waves of fat with each section of her dancing to a different time signature. Her double belly is thick and heavy and moves more slowly than her pendulous breasts which, even in her barely fitting bra are wild and seem to move in all directions at once.

“Call me a piggy. Call me a cow. Come on. I deserve it. Look at what I’ve done to myself. Look and how fat I’ve gotten. Shouldn’t I be ashamed of all this? Tell me how ashamed I should be. Tell me just how fat and naughty I am. That’s right. I’ve really let myself go. I should be ashamed of myself. I should just bury my face in cake. Would you like that? You did bring the cake, didn’t you?”

She oinks and moos and slaps her own ass. She is back and all fours a crawling toward you with every part of her wobbling.

Then she pulls away from you in a way to tease you, but you can see the genuine fear in her eyes as she does so, the anxiety over the possibility of not getting to stuff her greedy cake.

“You did bring the cake didn’t you?” She repeats, trembling like a junkie as she does so.

“Please tell me you brought the cake. You know how much I love to stuff myself with cake. Go ahead. Put it right on the floor. I’ll show you what a good piggy I am. I’ll get on all fours for you. I don’t need my hands. I’ll just shove my fat face right into the cake and wolf it down. I can’t help myself. You know that. I need cake inside me right now. My tummy can’t bear not eating. So watch me. Watch me stuff myself with cake. You like that don’t you? Soon enough my big apron of a double belly will be dragging along the floor as I do this. You might as well get me a trough- or a funnel.”

She rubs her flabby thunder thighs together as she writhes in pleasure on the bed. She doesn’t even need to be touched, though she sure will welcome it. Just the idea of what you’re going to do to her is enough to get her going.

“Get me a funnel and feed me more. Make me fatter faster. I’m all yours. Feed me till I can’t hold anymore. Stuff me. Feed me more. More. MORE.”

You’ll never truly be able to fill her. You’ve made a monster, and she’s all yours.

“Oink oink. Please. Feed me. Oink oink. Feed me more.”

_____________________________________

“Laurie’s Eating Habits”

Laurie can’t stop eating.

Whatever she sees, she needs to consume. She is not picky in the slightest. More than that, there is nothing she wouldn’t try, seemingly nothing she hasn’t tried.

Laurie is a foodie. That’s what she likes to call herself. She likes to pretend that she is adventurous, that she is culturally aware, that she enjoys the community aspect of food and eating.

“It is a beautiful thing,” she says, for people to gather together and share their time and their bounty. It is a beautiful thing to welcome others to your table and enjoy joining them at theirs. If the whole world shared their food with others, the world would be a better place. This is how Laurie justifies her actions. She is a connoisseur, a cultural ambassador, a friend to all. And this may all be true. But it’s not the whole truth, or even the most important truth.

The truth is Laurie is a glutton.

And fancy food be damned. She doesn’t need a five star meal from a gourmet restaurant. It’s just the same as anything deep fried at a fair. Laurie is just as likely to eat pork rinds as she is to eat foie gras, chicken wings as frog legs. She will stuff herself silly with whatever is in front of her. She doesn’t give a damn about culture either.

Call them chips or crisps, it’s all the same to her. Hell, serve them however you want. She loves potatoes every which way. Boil them. Mash them. Stick ‘em in a stew. Serve them fully loaded with sour cream and bacon, the more cheese the better! That’s probably Laurie’s favorite, but she’ll eat everything else. Laurie doesn’t judge. She may tell you that she prefers curly fries to straight ones, but she doesn’t really care. It’s the same with preparation. She’ll eat them naked, but she prefers when they’re being used as a vessel for cheese, and gravy, and ranch, and bacon.

Always. Bacon.

But even without the bacon, she’ll eat french fries (or chips for those across the pond), by the platter, by the bowl, by the whatever serving vessel you wish to serve them in full. She’ll eat them fresh or soggy! It doesn’t matter.

Laurie won’t stop eating.

She used to be thin, you know. But now she’s quite bulbous. Fat upon fat. Her gluttony is evident. It seems like everything about her has doubled. Her weight has doubled. Her chin has doubled. Her belly has doubled. She is twice the woman she used to be and has twice the appetite she used to have, and her appetite started out as enormous.

People have asked her to stop. Family. Friends. They’re worried about her. She used to be so pretty. They’re worried about her health. They’re worried about the state of their furniture when she comes to visit. They beg with her. They plead with her. They berate her, call her names, shun her. Refuse to eat with her once they’ve realized that her habits and unwanted pounds are rubbing off on them as well.

None of this phases her though. There is always food to be had, and Laurie is going to have it. No matter how many times she rips her clothes in public. No matter what the cost is either in coin or abject humiliation. She’ll pay it every time because, in the end, there’s always one simple truth that she keeps coming back to.

Laurie can’t stop eating.

_________________________________________

“What If? Part 2”

Yes. She could do it. She would do it. At least….she would give in just a little bit with just one little bite of this cupcake and see how it feels. No more than that! Just the slightest bit of a sweet treat…

Her teeth grated against the cream cheese icing and she rolled the dollop of sweet cream on her tongue letting out a soft moan as she did so.

It all felt so bad and yet so right.

Just a nibble.

That was what she would allow herself, a small bite of the cupcake as she thought about what she would look like if she let herself go, if she let herself become the truly obese whale that she knew she was capable of becoming.

She pictured her apron of a belly rolling out over thick cellulite covered thunder thighs that pressed together as she sat, as she walked- no, as she waddled. Yes. She pictured her entire body swaying from side to side as her thighs chafed together. She pictured her giant ass cheeks crammed into ripping sweatpants and bouncing up and down in every direction, too fat and soft to be controlled.

She shuddered at the idea of being a slave to gravity with roll after roll of jiggling flab far beyond her own control. The thought of herself being so fat that she needed to take heavy breaths just from standing was giving her heavy breathes right now.

The nibble became a full on bite. The bite became second and then, without a second thought, she was cramming the remains of the cupcake into her mouth and licking the remains of the frosting from her lips.

Then that first cupcake became a second, and a third.

Why had she bought a pack of six?

She was supposed to bring these to other people. Right? Yes. Her fat cousin’s birthday. She was going to taunt her with an entire six pack of cupcakes with plump pig faces piped on just for her fat cousin to eat.

But now…

She could eat them all herself, couldn’t she? She could be a naughty little piggy just like her pathetic fat ass cousin. She could give in and gorge herself.

Yes. Just another. And another. Finish the pack. Just this one time.

But what if this really is the start of something? Something so much bigger? What if this is the first step down a road she can’t come back from. She could be running into a future from which there is no escape and walking down this path now would mean waddling in the future.

And wouldn’t that be great.

These cupcakes were so moist just like she can feel between her legs right now. The thought of that future… it’s… alluring to say the least. She could give her gorgeous life up and let her cousin be the one making fun of her for a change.

Could that happen? Could she really become fatter than her pig of a cousin?

She could. She could dwarf her cousin completely. She could see herself being so big, so stuffed by deserts that she needs a motorized scooter to get around.

No more perfect life just struggle and weakness and all she would have to do is to keep giving in. Let things take their natural course. Be the fatty she has always secretly wanted- no - NEEDED to be.

She could start by eating another six pack of cupcakes… or more.

Yes. She still needed to needed to get to her cousin's birthday. And it would be rude not to bring a gift. So she’ll pick up another six pack of cupcakes for her fat cousin…

And another dozen just for her… a baker’s dozen and a scone!

Could she really eat all that? Could she really bring herself to binge in such a display of gluttony?

There was only one way to find out.

She was going to get so fat wasn’t she?

[B$fan]

“Belly Bursting Button”

Look at that belly hanging over those jeans. That’s a solid pinch an incher right there. Yup, look at that flesh just oozing out from under that shirt.

A while ago, someone might have described it as cute, a cute little sliver just peeking out for the world to see. A small bit of tummy fat just trying to say hello. How adorable.

This isn’t adorable. This is a whopper. It’s a fight too. Just look at the jiggling pot of jello pressed up against the button of those jeans.

Give ‘em hell, Blubby!

That’s right. This is the kinda pot belly that deserves a name. Blubby’s due to burst that button any day now. Any moment really. If you look closely enough you can see where the thread holding button to pants is beginning to fray. There are bits of it already dangling. Hairs have split and the rest is not long for this world.

Feel bad for that little button. If it manages to live through the day, and if those practically painted on pants can even be peeled off, it will get to rest limply as it quite literally holds on by a thread. And it’s life is only due to last till the next time she tries to shoehorn her fat rear into these jeans. Once she tries cramming those quivering, shivering, jiggling thunder thighs in here, those sausage fingers are gonna wrap around this poor button one last time, squeeze the life out of it and pop it right the hell off.

Of course, that’s being optimistic. Look at that Buddha belly. Watch that fat gut balloon outward with every breath, surging in and out like a tide of fat. It’s packed full of wiggle and no roam to wiggle in. That button has got to go. It’s not making it long enough to see the floor or laundry bin.

Forget popping off at the end of the day, the rockets are primed and this thing’s ready to explode.

It was always a race, a battle for what was going to give first, the button of the seams. The button’s been putting up a hard fight, but the poundage of that pot belly is getting to it. Of course, those inseams are pretty tight too. The fabric is wearing thing from being stretched too far for too long. The sausage casing is near ready to split, those thighs can’t be contained forever. If that button doesn’t send these pants to the garbage, the seams will finish the job. That quivering thigh meat is going to come bursting out as those seams split like blooming flowers tearing along the sides and up that bountiful ass revealing the overtaxed pink panties waiting underneath.

And look at her go with another chili dog. You just know that’s gonna end up dripping all over that mess. What a pig she is. It’s okay though. That pink shirt looks as painted on as the jeans. It’s due to be thrown out soon too. Time to size up, piggy admit it! She’s such a fatty. It’s great isn’t it. Bulging belly, big back side and hippo hips to match.

Start counting down now. With every bite that button is getting closer to blast off. She’s wolfing down that chili dog in record times. That pink shirt’s a Pollock painting now. Just look at those stains!

She’s grunting as she eats. Can’t cram that chili dog into her mouth fast enough. Any moment now. Any bite could be the one that breaks the button. She’s sucking chili off her plump fingers like a hoover and any drop might be the one to break the dam.

Come on. Break. Do it. Come on button. You know you want to. You’re holding her back. Let her belly free. Let everyone see what’s waiting just barely tucked away.

The button has to break free soon. It can’t possibly hang on any longer.

Can it?

It’s so close. Right there. Her fat has pushed this button to it’s absolute limit. It’s trying to hold. Trying to keep some shred of dignity tucked in, but she’s too much of a glutton. Also those chili dogs, every single cookie, every late night bowl of ice cream smear across her fat face. It’s all been leading to this very moment.

Ping.

Thar she blows!

Where could that button have gotten to as it sails through the air. It shot off with such force that one would be justified in wondering if it might have just left the earth’s atmosphere all together. There was certainly enough fat behind that overtaxed dam to make that button disappear from sight. There’s no turning back now, those pants will never close again, not that that was ever in any real doubt. Anyone privy to her abundant eating habits knows she’s destined to grow bigger and bigger, fatter and fatter. She’s far too lazy and greedy to change.

Just look at that fat oozing outward, the deluge of pudge plopping out onto her lap as the button ricochets off the wall and into a trash can full of crinkled up candy bar wrappers. It spills outward like a swollen river after a rainstorm, a swollen river of fat fat fueled by snack cakes.

This plumper’s chili covered sausage fingers desperately try to pull the ends of her jeans back together. Too late Big Momma! The Pillsbury dough is out of the can, and you can’t squeeze all that toothpaste back in the tube. You’re stuck like this, fatty. It’s all hanging out there for the world to see and laugh at.

Look at her juicy double chin wobble like a turkey as her fat cheeks grow red. She’s trembling now as she rocks back and forth desperately trying to tell herself that somehow she can fix this. Better be careful or…

Riiiip.

And split goes the sausage casing. Out comes the flabby thighs like over yeasted dough rapidly rising. She’s in full bloom today. It’s over, tubs. Time to mooooove on from these jeans.

She’s shaking her head. She honestly can’t believe it. Look at those jowls move. Look at her piggish nose. Of course she’s this fat now. This is her destiny. And she’s gonna get fatter still.

Think of all the means names that are gonna new thrown her way: fatty, piggy, hippo, lardass, cow, whale. Her fat cheeks are red, but it’s hard to tell behind all the chili.

How embarrassing.


_________________________________________________________

“Natasha Likes to Munch”

Natasha likes to munch.
She’ll munch on many things.
On mangos and macaroons,
on beef ragu and dumplings.

She is fond of many foods,
most notably of stew,
but she will eat most anything
for anything will do.

Ice cream, cake and cookies
all end up in her gut.
They fill her thighs up nicely,
and help balloon her butt

Candy bars and pork rinds,
gummy bears and chips.
They all go in her stomach,
and help expand her hips

And soda, milk, and o-j
all help fill up her breasts
While all the other snacks she eats
Take care of all the rest

She’ll do her eating anywhere,
At any time of day.
She’s always eating something.
She always finds a way.

In bed is where the most feasting is-
Chocolate covered strawberries,
and bananas by the bunch
Fed to her by her fat girlfriend
Whom she also likes to munch.

Natasha likes to munch. She’ll munch on everything and everything. There is no cuisine she will not find a way to enjoy. I could be Italian, Thai, Brazilian, North African. It could be French, Indian or Chinese or anything. She is a bon vivant and a connoisseur of all things culinary. And while she loves to eat big feasts from time to time, Natasha’s true passion is in munching.

Try a little here and there off everybody’s plate. A little munch. A tiny nosh. Just a nibble here and there. But consistent nibbles. Lots of noshes.

And those noshes add up.

Natasha’s noshing turned her from a slim girl to a chubby one to a chunky one to a fat one. Her abs have gone to flab. Her hips are brushing door frames. Her belly hangs to her knees. Her butt is a big old shelf.

Sweets are what really get Natasha going. She eats cookies not by the handful but by the package. The Girl Scouts love her. So does her local grocery store. Her trips to the frozen food aisle could keep them in the black alone. Natasha is the kind of girl who will settle in for the night with a whole gallon of ice cream and not care about it dripping down her chin and onto her massive heaving bosom. The sticky girl just loves to eat more and more and more.

Natasha is a naughty girl who loves to be fed.

And that’s what she has a big fat girlfriend for, so they can both keep each other well fed and satisfied in every way possible.

_______________________________________

“What If (Part 3)”

It’s happening. She can feel it now, not just in a metaphorical sense, but in the very physical one. She can feel the softness of her stomach. What was once hard muscle is now a soft roll, the beginning of something much bigger to come. She is used to having a slick set of muscular abs, a washboard for her to lovingly run her hands up and now. And now?

Now as she runs her hands up and down what would have once been her abs she instead feels soft and yielding flesh that quivers at her touch. Her still slender fingers graze the flab and push in gently and then angrily. She then turns that anger into a twisting of her juicy roll, the part that sticks out from under her shirt and pushes over the waistband of her jeans.

She pinches the fat angrily and then looks at herself in the mirror. There is a deep frown on her slightly softer face, but as she pinches she also feels a warm slightly burning sensation across the back of her neck. The hair stands up on her neck as her one hand pinches her stomach fat and her other hand slides between her thighs.

These could be next, she thinks- she knows. Yes. These could be the next part of her to fatten. No more athletic muscles just… melted softness. She could picture it so easily. She wanted it so badly.

But she is already getting strange looks from her friends. She can already hear them whispering behind her back.

“She’s put on some pounds.”

“She better be careful or she’s going to turn into a real porker.”

“That would be hilarious, and deserved.”

“I hope it happens. I hope she turns into a cow for us to make fun of.”

They haven’t gotten bold enough to say those things to her face, only when they think she isn’t listening, or when she’s not supposed to be listening anyway. But she knows. She knows what her future could hold if she doesn’t get a hold of herself. Once the words come to her directly, that would be another step down the social ladder and on the path to obesity.

Another sign that there would be no turning back.

She would be on the road to being a fatty, a full blown fatty.

But she would stop, wouldn’t she? She must be able. At any point she can stop if she wants to. It’s easy to say that. Harder to do. Actions have consequences.

Without stopping herself she would grow fatter and fatter. She would be quite large, waddling through the halls feeling the eyes of people who once admired her, glare at her, laugh behind her back and in front of her face as well. She could be that.

But she doesn’t want to be. She’s not ready for that kind of fall from grace that’s why she is planning on just poking at her breakfast today. Just a nibble. There’s no need to stuff her face with delicious buttery pancakes and fistfuls of fattening bacon. Even now she can’t help but think about the smell of what a delicious feast that could be, the thought of such a meal has her drooling.

No. It’s not just thoughts. She can smell it. She can smell it from all the way up the stairs. It’s there waiting for her. She could throw it all away and continue down the indulgent path she set herself on with those cupcakes, and the regular cake, chocolate, vanilla, pie… ice cream…. Oh so much. She wants it all right now. She wants to give in, and she doesn’t all at the same time.

As she tries to button her jeans once again she comes to the realization that if she gives in to her hunger these jeans won’t be long for her world. Of course… she could just wear some sweats anyway. What if she does? Would that really be giving up? Maybe just for now.

She reaches into her dresser for some sweats and gets herself properly ready for breakfast.

[B$fan]

“I’m Getting Fat”

How much does she weigh?

“I’m getting fat.” She says as she eats her third cookie. And you can see it, you can see her stomach rolling over the waistband of her pajama pants, her favorite pajama pants.

And you’ve been watching those closely too. And sure enough every day for the last three months you’ve noticed every little change: the small things first, how it laid just a little differently on her thighs. Then where there were folds that formed there aren’t any more as the fabric has been lifted up and pulled further with every serving of creamy mashed potatoes loaded with bacon and every plate of pasta drenched in sauce made with heavy cream and no less than three types of cheeses. You’ve watched the seat of her pants fill up with pillowy fat as her ass, already generous when you first met, continues to expand with every late night bowl of ice cream covered with crumbled oreos and smothered in whipped cream.

But it’s the waistband that catches the majority of your attention tonight.

The waistband that has a drawstring that gets pulled less and less every time she puts these “shrinking” pajama pants on. The laundry machine sure has done a number on these pajamas, almost as much damage as every weekly meatloaf and every Wednesday’s fifty cent wing night. Keeping track of the diminishing drawstring has been the most enjoyable form of measuring as your eyes watch its slack get swallowed up day after day week after week, bite after bite.

But how much does she weigh? That’s the mystery. That’s the thing you truly need to know because she won’t tell you. She’ll complain about everything else, but you won’t actually get a hard number from her.

“I’m so bloated.” She’ll whine, like that food baby is ever going away even hours after eating an entire quart of beef lo-mein.

“Stop trying to fatten me up.” She’ll chide as she swats your hand away from her burgeoning belly and then dutifully swallow another forkful of chocolate mousse cake that you bought her.

“I need to exercise. I’ve been eating like a pig lately.” She’ll sigh as you’re throwing out the family sized bag of potato chips she’s just finished working her way through.

“Maybe if you weigh yourself, you’ll get a better chance of what your goals should be.” You risk suggesting one day knowing that there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that any goals would ever actually be met while you also think about just how many calories are in the syrup that goes into a quality snow cone.

And maybe she did step on that scale and set it a creaking, but she sure never told you what the number said, and that’s what’s driving you mad even as you lay there at night cradling her doughy pot belly as she sleeps.

How much weight has she truly gained? Definitely more than ten. More than fifteen even. Twenty? Thirty? Maybe thirty is an overestimate, but you need to know.

You use your hands as scales and take mental estimates of every part of her body. Squeeze her as. Jiggle each cellulite dotted chicken up and down. Give it the spank test and feel the recoil. This is science.

Hold her breasts in each hand and weigh them as if you’re judging melons at the supermarket. Try to get a sense of just how soft and saggy they are as you heave them up and tease her nipples. Kiss your way up her softening arms and watch her head turn to look at you. There’s that double chin again. Hello, little friend. You’re such a cute double chin, aren’t you? Yes you are.

It’s starting to show up sooner and sooner, more and more. Soon it’ll be there even when she doesn’t tilt her head down. How much does her face gain equate to in total poundage?

You can’t really know for sure, so there’s only one thing you can do. You’ll just have to double down on your feeding efforts until she’s so damn big you won’t need a number on the scale to satisfy you. Popping that drawstring and ripping through those pajama pants should be enough.

________________________________________

“A Trip to the Pool”

Don’t you just want to give that belly a squeeze? Slide a thumb between those rolls, pinch the lower part of her double belly as is hanging over the bust open waistband of her jeans and give it a shake.

She’s a well fed gal, a real porker who hasn’t met a desert she doesn’t like, and who never says no to seconds, or thirds. She’s the kind of thick-thighed tubbo that can eat any entire large pizza if she’s got the mind for it, and her mind is always for it. It’s a brain that can’t stop thinking about her next meal, the kind of mind that is daydreaming about lunch while she’s chowing down on breakfast. She likes to think about that big brisket sandwich while scarfing down bacon and eggs and hoping for a burger for dinner with an extra large side of fries and a triple thick milkshake for dessert. And all of those calories are going to get crammed into that jiggly tummy.

Watch it wobble as she struggles to sit up. She’s gotta rock back and forth like a turtle caught stuck on its back trapped by the weight of its own body. A big. FAT. Turtle. The chair she’s in groans with every motion that she makes as she attempts to stand. She breaks a sweat as she’s threatening to break the chair with every labored shift. How much longer can she keep this up before she needs to ask for help? She’s panting from the effort, but hey, in the end all this exercise will mean there’s plenty of room for more cake. She just needs to be able to get to her feet so that she can waddle to the kitchen to get it. There, that’s a new goal in mind. Get up and get more food to put her one step closer to the day when she can’t get up at all. It’s taxing, but bless her soul, she’s going to keep trying to get to her fat feet.

She gets there eventually, and then the weight of her blubbery belly and the pendulous udders that are her breasts cause her to stumble forward. Thanks to the momentum she gathered to get her fat ass out of that creaking chair, the tremendous weight of her surging spare tire and the heaving of her tremendous bosom nearly send her toppling to the ground. At least the sack of fat that is her stomach and her massive mammaries would have provided a soft cushion to fall on. It’s the same sort of luck that serves as built in floatation devices that keep her from drowning in pools.

Pools she swims in while wearing what remains of a bikini after her ass is done swallowing most of it. The fabric of that bikini might as well be non-existent. With all that flesh quivering as it covers so much of the fabric, she might as well be naked.

Ah yes, a trip to the pool. You can remember the last one real well. It’s like you’re back there now…….

Slap that belly and watch it go! It’s like jello fresh from the mold. Slap suntan lotion on her flabby ass and it’s like basting two hams with butter. Leave her out in the sun too long and they look like them too- red and raw and ready for sweet honey glaze.

All eyes are on her alright. Everyone at the pool watches as she waddles about. They can’t take their eyes off her girth. To many, it’s like looking at a wiggling jiggling car accident gyrating in slow motion. Every single inch of her is soft butter fat that seems to move independently. Her bouncing breasts, barely contained by the bikini top, slap sloppily against her gargantuan gut that hangs out like a shelf overweighted with books and sagging downward so that it totally encompasses the front of her bikini bottoms. The thin, near fraying fabric of those bikini bottoms is stretched to their limit against tree trunk like thunder thighs that slap and rub together with every shuffling step. After that, whatever is left of the bikini is hidden by her titanic ass. It’s swallowed up like a hotdog in oversized buns. Even the back of the bikini top is partially obscured by bulging rolls of back fat. Fat flows freely and it flows everywhere.

This weeble’s gotta wobble her way toward the snack stand. Gotta have her third ice cream sandwich of the day and maybe another hotdog. No. Definitely another hotdog. She can polish off a hotdog in seconds. Should get her on the stage in front of Nathan’s come Fourth of July and make some money.

But look at those faces looking at her. The disgust on most is palpable. Listen to the snickers, the whispers of “whale” and “Shamu”. The sounds of cows and orcas alike greet her as she waddles on by. Someone honks like a penguin at her and does an exaggerated waddle of their own. But she doesn’t care. Her mind’s on one thing and that’s getting another snack. Make that two ice cream sandwiches and a hot dog. She can gulp down the hotdog before they even fish the ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer. Then one sandwich to hold her over for the long waddle back to her near busted beach chair and the last for while she sits in the sun and lets her bacon fat sizzle.

She just has to get there first.

But it’s so hard. With hips that large and thighs that full of thunder, she’s got a wideload waddle that requires so much extra effort. Her dump truck ass sways from side to side as she shoves the first ice cream sandwich into her mouth while paying no to the drips of vanilla that drip onto her chest and slide down the middle of her cleavage. There’s a thin white line that runs right down between her boobs until it disappears into her bikini top and under her quivering breasts.

All eyes are on her. The whispers increase. How can she eat so much? How did she let herself get this way? Look at the piggy still scarfing down her food. She ought to just invest in a trough at this point. Wow that dental floss of a bikini looks ready to pop. It could go at any moment, and she’s too obsessed with deep-throating that ice cream to notice.

Watch that elastic stretch to its absolute limit with every lumbering step. It could go at any-

SNAP!

There’s a sudden release of pressure and the fat is free to wobble as it escapes what little confinement there was. The bikini bottom doesn’t fall to the ground though. Instead it is firmly wedged between her fat ass cheeks. She almost drops the second ice cream sandwich as she goes to cover herself. Almost. Instead she hesitates for a moment and does the only other thing she can think of and shoves it into her mouth, holding it between her teeth and another glob of ice cream spurts forward.

She bends over to cover what is already covered up by her hanging double belly and-

Pop!

There goes the overtaxed bikini top. And this one flies. She tries to catch it, but the escape velocity of that top from those breasts was too much for her flabby arms to move fast enough to catch it. Sausage fingers move to grasp it, but it slips on by and falls to the floor. She could probably bend over and pick it up, but that would be quite the challenge in and of itself. And it would certainly cost her the ice cream sandwich hanging out from her mouth. Can’t have that. Instead she tries to cover herself up as best she can.

One hand trying to cover down below, one arm desperately holding up her pendulous breasts while the remains of an ice cream sandwich is clenched between teeth. She’s a modern day obese Venus.


________________________________________________

“What If” (Part 4)

What if she can’t stop? What if she never fits into these jeans again?

They’re getting pretty tight, too tight. The button won’t close anymore, no matter what she does. Try as she might, it doesn’t matter. She throws herself onto the bed and kicks her legs up in the air. She dances around the room, slams herself against the wall, sends wrappers from a variety of junk food wrappers to the floor as she trips and bangs into her desk all while trying and failing to get her once favorite pairs of jeans to close.

The others she could have lived without. When she outgrew them she was only angry at the fact that they had shrunk. Then she took solace in the fact that even if she did have to eventually admit that she was gaining more weight, these jeans still fit her like a glove.

They were her good butt jeans, her comfort jeans too. Do you know how hard it is to find jeans that are both comfortable and make your ass look good? And they had pockets! They were her miracle jeans.

And it would take a miracle to get the button to close.

Instead…

Riiiiiiip.

The end of the jeans was loudly announced by the ripping of the back which coincidentally happened at the same time that her thumb finally sheared the button off of the front and sent it flying behind her bed.

Yup now it was time for another funeral for jeans long loved and lost. Tears rolled down her slightly chubby cheeks as she peeled the jeans off and left them sadly on the floor.

Her recently chunky butt cheeks bounce as she plodded defeatedly toward her desk and sat with a thud and a creak from her chair.

She felt the roll of her stomach as she sat and let it expand outward as she gave a defeated sigh. It was a fat mess in her hands.

What if she were to start working out right now? She could probably still crank out a few sit ups though not with nearly the speed and form that she used to be able to do. Exercise used to be so easy, and now? Now it is a challenge but what if she waits? If she puts off exercising anymore it might just become impossible.

And that would be bad wouldn’t it? She didn’t want to become a fat, weak, out of shape, pathetic, lard-ass loser.

But then why was she breathing so heavily?

She looked at the box of Twinkies on her desk.

What if she ate that entire box? Would that make her feel better?

Would that make her feel real good?

She wanted those twinkies so bad. She wanted this, didn’t she? She wanted to be a big fat fatty. She wanted to be a naughty little piggy and be called a naughty little piggy.

“Oink. Oink.”

She covered her hands with her hands. She couldn’t believe she had just done that.

What if she did it again?

“oink. oink.”

They were more tentative this time, but she couldn’t deny the warmth down below and the pulsing of her heart as she did it.

Maybe this was the turning point.

What if it was? What if she finally gave in for good, no more pretending?

(To be continued)
-----------------------------------------

You can see this story collectioncontinued on my Patreon: http://patreon.com/BSWriter (where several more volumes are already posted.)

[Nelo]

I just love reading your work. I'm Getting Fat was delightfully vicious, trailing down the girl's unwanted but clearly destined road to fatness. I love the way you tease it out and how much you say in such a low word count. Just a delight to read.

Also just enjoying What If. Having one of the stories just continue over the trimmings is really fun and you do such a good job. I'm curious if you have any other short bursts of series planned for this after What If finishes but regardless these are such a treat. Really makes my Tuesday when you post these.

[B$fan]

I just love reading your work. I'm Getting Fat was delightfully vicious, trailing down the girl's unwanted but clearly destined road to fatness. I love the way you tease it out and how much you say in such a low word count. Just a delight to read.

Also just enjoying What If. Having one of the stories just continue over the trimmings is really fun and you do such a good job. I'm curious if you have any other short bursts of series planned for this after What If finishes but regardless these are such a treat. Really makes my Tuesday when you post these.

Thank you once again for the kind words. These have been a lot of fun to write. It's a blast to go zero to sixty right away with these.

I have at least a few more parts of What If in me and then we'll see. I have some ideas, but I don't want to give them away just yet.

[B$fan]

“Fall of the King and Queen”

They were king and queen of the world - or, at least, the prom. But look at them now. God, they’re so fucking fat.

They were the hotties with great bodies, lean legs and abs that they loved to show off, a jock and his cheerleader. They were perfect and they knew it, and they wielded every ounce of power they had in a way to make people they saw as inferior as miserable as possible. That included fat people.

Making fun of fatties was their specialty. It was more than just a game they played, it was a well practiced art, practically down to a science. They were cruel geniuses when it came to mocking the weights and waistlines of others. Their words were perfect barbs of poison to pop the balloons of others’ self esteem.

Now look at them, a couple of fatties themselves. Those sexy abs have long been replaced with big paunchy pot bellies. Any definition they get is when they’re bloated to the point of being rock hard from stuffing themselves with too many hot dogs, or too much cake, or tons of salty Chinese food. They’ve gone from super fit to big fat pigs, toned to tubby.

The couch is already starting to get pretty crowded. It’s rapidly filling with folds of fat grown from stuffing down handful after handful of candy and chugging down liters of soda. This is what you get from Netflix and chill out with bowl after bowl of caramel coated popcorn and a prodigious amount of pizza pies. They keep up this binging and those love handles will be oozing out from undershirts, sweatily pressed against each other and spilling over the arms of the couch.

And they need the couch. A few years ago they were all about activities. Swimming, track, basketball, cheerleading, dance, you name it they did it all. Now the only activity they do is sitting their flabby asses down in front of the television and stuffing junk food into their piggish faces. Choice of sports to try has been replaced by a choice of snacks to demolish. And the only exercise they get is walking to and from the bathroom or to the bedroom for a quick bout of bloated well sex and a snore filled evening.

Of course that’s if they can even manage to peel those fat sweaty bodies off the couch. Plenty of evenings see them planted there with sticky hands resting on bloated crumb covered pot bellies after passing out in a complete food coma.

Binge eating piggies, that’s what they’ve become. Fill up their trough they can’t get enough. They go ham at the buffet and it shows with every single wobbling pound. They’ve gone hardbodied to hog.

And it took less than five years to get this swollen, this incredibly fat. They’ve gone from pretty to porky, hotties to hogs.

Christ, and they don’t even have kids to blame it on. Just two thin arrogant fools who thought their metabolisms would last them forever. They got too comfortable with each other and turned from slim to slobs. Can’t get out now. They disgust themselves. They disgust each other. But this is what they’ve got and they’re not going to risk being alone. All those years of making fun of fat people have ingrained in their minds that nobody loves a fatty.

And they are some FAT fatties.

How’d they get this way?

It started with college parties like so many things do. Drinking too much beer equals growing big beer bellies. And they never turned down a beer. So the freshman fifteen came and went pretty quickly packed into paunches powered by Bud Lite.

Should’ve known light beer doesn’t work if you just drink more of it.

Partying gave way to stress eating during finals. Growing big led to stress about losing their precious figures which led to stress eating more comfort food to feed their hunger for actual comfort.

Look at her. She used to have such a tight body. She loved to flaunt it in front of everyone. She’d get guys and quite a few women all hot and bothered. And anyone she didn’t make horny she made jealous. She was a minx, a mean spirited fox who could crush anyone under her designer heels.

Now all she’d do is break those heels under her weight. Even her feet have fattened up to the point that they would have burst any of her old shoes. They’re like two swollen potatoes with pudgy toes sticking out. But they’re a lot less noticeable than the rest of her. She used to have the sweetest heart shaped ass that looked great in any pair of jeans, but jeans are long since a memory. She’s been shoving her elephantine caboose into nothing but sweats for the last year, and those sweats are looking mighty tight. They’re filled up not just with the titanic shelf of her cellulite covered ass but the tree trunk thunder thighs that wobble and rub together when she waddles to and from the fridge.

Then there’s her stomach. It used to be her pride and joy, her favorite thing to show off. Cheese grater abs she called them. Well now it’s just packed full of cheese- string cheese, gouda, spray cheese straight from the can. You name it, she’s eaten it. And all of that gorging has given her a great big double belly with a saggy lower roll that constantly sticks out of any shirts she tries to wear. It’s a big spare tire with love handles to match.

Up top has changed as well. Sure her breasts have gotten bigger, but they’re not the pert stunner that they were before. The mammoth, cumbersome globs of sagging flesh. And her face, once slim and angelic, now has a double chin growing a third and fat rosy red cheeks that make her eyes look beady and her upturned nose look positively piggish.

And he’s not looking any better, big former jock with a former jock bod and then some. He used to shove nerds in lockers and pants that fat kids. Now if someone came by and pants hungry hungry hippo boy here, they’d expose his blown out old tight-whites with his jumbo ass cheeks peeking through them. He can’t even bend slightly without exposing his plumber’s crack. He used to run and swim, and now porky gets winded just eating a bowl of ice cream too fast, and fast is the only way he likes to eat anything. All that strength he used to have is gone. The muscles wasted away and those brawny biceps became big hamhocks of flabby flesh that hang over his elbows.

And those tight pecs he once had? Forget about it. Free Willy here has a big honkin’ set of moobs that would’ve made those skinny girls he used to tease and reject jealous. They are quite the set of flabby funbags that rest on the shelf that is his ponderous gut, a bowl full of jelly like no other. That sack of fat can be seen well before the rest of him enters a room. The biggest problem for him is that it sometimes gets in the way as he’s trying to pile his arms full of snacks from the fridge. And he needs those snacks because he can’t go five minutes without stuffing something into his double chinned face.

Together they sit in food stain sweats with the couch creaking under their weight. Whenever the television is off they catch their reflections in the screen and it disgusts them. They still have pictures of their glory days framed. It’s hard to look at them, but they still keep them around because they still dream that they can get back to them. But they’re too far gone now, far too fat and far too greedy. There’s nothing they can do to change. This is who they are. They can dream about the past all they want, but they’re never losing weight. The glory days are gone. They’re fat forever.

That’s the king and the queen of the prom, now the king and the queen of the farm. But it’s time for these fat pigs to go to market, because it’s about to be their five year high school reunion. Every insult they’ve ever hurled is about to be thrown back at them. Every joke, every cruel name, they’re all about to land like grenades blowing up in their fat faces. It’s time for them to get what’s coming to them.

Revenge is here. The vultures are circling, and it’s time for the fatties to be a feast for others.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Feasting By Fridgelight”

Straight from the fridge. That’s what she’s looking over. Her bingo wings are quivering as she throws open the door and looks for anything that she can shove directly into her waiting maw. The hunger is too intense. She doesn’t have time for cooking things. She goes right for the can of spray cheese and grabs it. Her eyes gleam as she pops the top of the can off with her thumb and lets it roll to the floor and under the stove. She knows she’s not going to need to put it back on. This can is never making it back into the fridge.

She swings her huge rhino butt and the massive shift in gravity spins her around and sends her crashing to the wooden floor with a large thud and a groan from the wood loud enough to surely wake her downstairs neighbor. The door to the fridge itself remains open, propped open by a pudgy foot as she sits sprawled out. She has to sit this way because her thunder thighs are too large to close tightly anymore, and leaving them wide enough like this actually leaves enough room for her hand to slide under her double belly and into her strained and already moist panties. The anticipation of spraying that cheese straight into her mouth is making her so horny. She fucking needs it.

What a dirty pig she is, such a naughty cow, a big fat fucking desperate hippo. She can’t even wait to cook anything anymore. She’s a fatty, a slob. Oink. Oink. Oink.

She snorts as she sprays the can of cheese into her open mouth. She slides her other hand into her sopping wet pussy and moans as the cheese runs down her tongue and into the back of her throat. She keeps three fingers inside her pulsing pussy and one finger pressed on the trigger of the spray can. The cheese swirls inside her mouth as her fat hips buck as much as her gelatinous body will allow. Artificially processed cheese piles up in her mouth and begins to spill down the sides, but she’s undaunted. She starts to gobble it all down because she’s a pro. Years of well practiced gorging have taught her how to relax her throat and take it all in. She barely tastes any of it anymore, but she knows it’s there. It’s the act of feeding that gets her off at this point. She’s going to cum to the meer thought of her fucking depraved she is.

The can of spray cheese begins to sputter and the remains spurt out wildly covering her cheeks and breasts. A stray bit of cheese nearly strikes her in the eye, causing her to blink wildly. She wipes up what she can with her sausage fingers and then brings them to her lips and sucks what remains of the cheese off of them. But it’s not enough dammit. She’s so close to cumming, but now the cheese has run out before she could be satisfied. How disappointing. Here she is on the edge of orgasm desperately rocking herself back and forth on the floor of her kitchen in front of her open fridge, but she needs more.

She needs more food.

She wobbles back and forth for several moments like a turtle on its back. Her breathing is heavy from all the lustful excitement combined with the effort of trying to get up. She’s too heavy and horny to actually get her bloated body back to its feet, but she manages to roll herself over onto a hefty hip, and her beady eyes scan the shelves of the fridge looking for something to eat. Her piggish nose sniffs its contents like some sort of obese bloodhound trying to find something she can use to sate her hunger and her lust.

She settles for a half empty jar of mayo and what’s left of a package of cold cuts. With her hand covered in her own juices, she rips off the top of the mayonnaise jar and tosses it aside. She slams the jar down between her legs and as her double belly surges forward the lower roll actually presses against the jar and shoves it several inches forward. She has to lean more and the belly pushes the jar again, teasing her. She manages to move her leg and hold the jar in place, but now the upper roll of her belly spills over the top of the jar.

Still, she grabs a coldcut, sloppily rolls it up and then presses past the fold of her stomach and jam her meaty hand into the mayonnaise jar. The mayo squelches and shakes as her hand enters it. She scoops up as much mayo as she can and it's slathered on her belly as the fat reclaims and recovers the top of the jar. Mayo drips onto her bouncing breasts, her buttery cheeks, her quivering chin, as she dangles the dripping piece of meat over her wide open mouth for a moment of anticipation. Creamy white mayo runs off of the coldcut and drips onto her hand before she shoves the whole thing into her mouth and sucks off the residue.

She moans and a stream of mayo runs from the corner of her mouth and down her chubby red cheek now flush with pleasure. The white bead of mayonnaise rolls downward like a tear and settles inside the crevice made by her double chin, finding a home in the fold of fat, as she bends over to shove another coldcut back into the jar. She crams this one into her mouth as well, and as her tongue wraps around the meat and licks off the mayo, her other hand brings her to a wild orgasm. She sucks down the may and swallows the coldcut as she writhes as much as her fat jiggling body will allow. The sea of flesh that is her body trembles in small waves that radiate outward into large tidal waves of pulsating fat rolls.

Her lust is satisfied, but her hunger is not. There are still several cold cuts in the package, and she’s going to go for orgasm number two as she eats every last one.

“What If” (Part 5)

What if she put on another five pounds? Ten? Should she stop? What’s the difference between putting on fifteen and putting on fifty? Should she at least try to stop? If she tried to stop would she actually be able to?

People are taking notice. There’s no hiding it now. Maybe she should wear a girdle? What if she did? What would that be like?

Could she get away with this big pot belly of hers suddenly going away overnight without everyone noticing? That seems impossible. Surely if she had a large spongy pot belly one day, and then she’d show up with a flat stomach the next people would be more than a bit suspicious. They’d probably figure out that she was wearing some kind of girdle, and if they knew she was relying on shapewear to hide her imperfections then that would just be another way to draw attention to those problems. And then she’d be made fun of for having a fat gut AND wearing a girdle.

At least, that’s what she’d do. If she knew a person who lost their abs and was trying to hide their gut under a girdle, she would have never let them live it down. She’d make fun of them something awful because skinny girls who turn themselves into piggies by being lazy and eating to much is deplorable enough. Skinny girls who don’t want to admit that they’re piggies and start trying to fool everyone with a girdle, a bold faced and unbelievable lie, they deserve the most derision.

She’s been too naughty. She snuck too many snacks, and now she’s stuck considering a girdle. She deserves to be made fun of. She knows it. She deserves to be the butt of jokes because of her big juicy butt, her big fat lazy cellulite covered butt- her flabby freaking huge lard ass.

She’s pathetic, and can she even get a hold of herself? Is there even a point at this point?

No. The girdle is right out. The only real question is-

What will she eat next?

Maybe it’s tacos. Maybe it's burgers. Maybe it's pizza with a side of mozzarella sticks and french fries. What a combination that would be- french fries for her thunder thighs. Yum.

She could go for cheese puffs and pretzels, yodels and rings dings, cake and pie. What kind? Doesn’t matter.

This is why she’s becoming a fat ass. She started letting herself go and now it’s hard to stop.

So now she’ll just have to get herself another pair of stretched out sweatpants because it doesn’t look like she’s going to stop outgrowing her clothes any time soon.

She walks over to spot on the floor where she has carelessly thrown her last fitting pair. (How long until she’s waddling?) Pulls them back on. (Slips. She thinks. She used to be able to describe the motion of putting on these pants as slipping into them. Now she's pulling them. Soon it’ll be tugging. Then they won’t do at all.)

With a pout it’s back to her desk to pour over a myriad of menus and decide.

What should she order next?

The thought of an array of flavors passing over her tongue and filling her growing belly, of feeling absolutely stuffed beyond comprehension, is enough to get her breathing heavily again as she contemplates her further descent into decadence and degradation.

[B$fan]

“Big Pig”

Her face is already covered in sauce. Look at her. You turned away for just a moment and the bones of three chicken wings are already tossed aside on her plate. The plate is to share, but that was never the intention, not for either of you. You take one dutifully, that’s what needs to be done to keep up the pretense. You take one so technically you can say you’re sharing. But the rest are for this delightful little piggy in front of you.

Look at that sauce dripping down her fat cheek and resting on her double chin. Watch the extra bit of fat wobble with every enthusiastic bite as she tears into her buffalo wings with reckless abandon. Pieces fly onto the plate or even onto her shirt, but they’re scooped up quickly and with little thought to the state of her clothes. Hunger has taken over, and the act of eating is all that she cares about at the moment. For a brief second she stops and smiles at you, and you can see the bits of chicken fat still wedged in her teeth.

Those sauce stings on her tongue and you watch as it causes sweat beads to form across her forehead. If she bothered to slow down she would probably be fine, but because she’s plowing through this plate like it's a professional wing eating contest, the sweat builds up until it physically starts to run down and mingles with the sauce on her cheeks. As she nears the end of the large platter of fifty wings her pace begins to slow. She has six left, then five, then four. Then she stops.

With three wings left she looks like she’s hit the wall. Her head tilts back and her pot belly, bloated and rock solid, lets out a mighty rumble. Her sauce covered hand covers her mouth for a second and she takes a deep breath. She steadies herself and nods before heading back to the wings. She picks up the next wing, and brings it to her lips. Her fingers pop out the wing flesh, but before she can suck the meat from the bones her stomach rumbles again and she lets loose a tremendous burp without even attempting to cover her mouth.

The hot gas hits your face as the burp lasts for a full three seconds, and it’s the most buffalo wing flavor you’ve tasted all day since the one wing you’ve picked up is still held in your hand. With more room now available in her previously gurgling gut, she attacks the last two wings like a hungry vulture tearing into roadkill. She rips the meat clear off the bone and sucks the bones dry before ending her display with another victorious burp.

Then she looks to you, and her still hungry eyes look down at the one wing in your hand.

“You gonna finish that?”

The hunger in her eyes is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. She looks at you with the gaze that you imagine a starving beast in the jungle must have. It’s a look that should not exist after all of that gorging, and yet here it is. She stares at you with wide hungry eyes that rest above chubby sauce-covered cheeks and a set of plump, juicy lips that quiver as she pleads with you for more food. Her tongue swirls around them, licking up as much buffalo sauce as humanly possible as she hopes that you’ll continue to feed her. She wants it so bad.

You swear you hear her stomach growl again as that loud burp seems to have opened up some more room in her ravenous belly, and the sound of greedy gut begging for more grows into a growl as she looks at the wing that you’re holding and reaches out her hand to touch yours.

“Please.” She whimpers. As she leans forward and wraps her mouth around the chicken wing that you hold. It slides toward the back of her throat as she takes it all in and then sucks every bit of flesh and fat that she can get. She pulls her head free, and her lips make a satisfying smacking sound as they come off the bone and spray a spackling of sauce on your hand.

“More. I need more. Feed me more.”

You push your own plate of wings forward and she practically pounces on them like a lion that hasn’t eaten in a month pouncing on a gazelle. She tears into them one after one with the speed of a truly glutinous competitive eater. You’d swear she was a death row inmate gorging on her last meal if you didn’t know any better. But she isn’t a wild animal, and she is a prisoner of nothing except for her insatiable appetite.

She knows what she’s doing too. She knows that all of this food is just going to add to the pounds swaying around what used to pass for a waistline. She’s just going to get larger and larger until she starts creaking and then breaking chairs. Her future is an immense one thanks to all the food she keeps stuffing her fat face with, all the fattening food you’re more than willing to fill her with.

First it’s buffalo wings. Then it’s french fries smothered in cheese and gravy paired with a side order of creamy mac and cheese. It’s all followed by cake, mounds of cake shoveled by hand and washed down with a strawberry milkshake.

Oh yes, this is just the first of many many food fueled nights to come. There are plenty of big things in store for this not so little piggy, plenty of big things indeed.

------------------------------
“The Mighty Have Fallen”

In high school she was popular, Queen of Mean and ruler of the school. Nobody said no to her because a few cutting words from her and your whole life was ruined. She knew how to use her looks to her advantage and ruled from a storm of jealousy and fear. Everyone wanted what she had and she would seldom give anything to anyone.

In college she was hot, and she knew it. She decided to work her magic at every party possible. Her freshman year she was a staple at all the best parties. Everyone wanted a piece of her, but she never wanted to give. She would only ever take, piece by piece, drink by drink. Never one for a full course meal, she was always more of a grazer, a nibbler.

But the thing about all those nibbles is, they start to catch up with you, and it’s hard to count the calories when you’re grazing about. But nibbles add up, don’t they? Nibbles turn to bites, turn to pounds, turn to inches on the waist. And then you’ve got stretched seams then popped seams and ripped pants. Dresses that were bought to be form fitting tend to tear when there’s just too much form to fit. And that’s just what happened to her. Take six pack abs and add enough six packs of beer, and sooner or later you get a keg sized beer belly.

Freshman fifteen, sophomore twenty, and then she just stopped pulling out the scale all together as her weight bounded every upward. That’s what happened to our cheerleader. Pounds upon pounds piled on until our pretty popular princess was looking pretty portly.

A lot can happen in five years. People can change a lot. That’s especially true when you’ve spent those last five year pounding beers and porking up, stuffing yourself like a pig at parties until any remnant of your hard earned cheerleader body is shredded more than meat on a barbecue sandwich. She gorged herself well passed that point, past button popping and seam splitting, in five years she moved straight into the all sweatpants all the time club. Gone is the glamour. Gone is the makeup. What started out as a few party pounds have been compounded by the weight of depression and a cycle of self-loathing fed by chocolate and pound cake.

But still, there’s something she has got to do, a certain social event that she must drag herself to lest she be labeled a quitter as well as a fatty. No matter how humiliating it might be, there’s one last important social event she has to waddle to no matter how much she dreads it. In the back of her mind she thinks, maybe a little public humiliation will be fine. Maybe it’ll be the wake up call she needs to find a diet that sticks instead of another pack of sticky buns.

Yes. With a resigned nod that sends her double chin quivering, she knows she is going to wobble on down to her high school reunion.

Now, let me ask you a question.

Do you know what revenge sounds like?

It sounds like whispers at first, snide little comments made just out of earshot as all those people that she lauded her looks over get their first glimpse of the former beauty queen now returned to her roost rather rotund and with a pronounced sway to her hips that was at one point alluring but is now a chaotic jumble of undulating fat bouncing back and forth and threatening to burst through the unfortunate dress that she has squeezed herself in like an overcooked sausage.

It’s the sound of shocked disbelief as people refuse to believe and reject that overwhelming amount of evidence that is horking down h'orderves right in front of them. This couldn’t possibly be the head cheerleader, the prom queen. This bloated cow of a woman threatening to split her dress and choke on the cocktail weenies that she’s inhaling couldn’t possibly be the same person who once scrutinized other people's lunches and cruelly commented on the size of other people’s waistlines.

Then it looks like pointing. It’s seeing the slow wave of shoulder taps spread throughout the freshly refurbished gymnasium as one after another people search for confirmation that their eyes aren’t playing tricks on them, that this isn’t some sort of elaborate gaslighting. She really has put on a ton of weight. The Queen Bee is swollen with honey and scarfing down appetizers. Yes, the lithe athletic arms that drew letters in the air now are bloated bingo wings drawing buffalo wings to her greedy sauce covered lips. She tears into the greasy chicken with reckless abandon as sauce spills on her dress.

Looks like reality is setting in. The people are believing. One by one they’re realizing that it’s true, the prom queen has turned into a prized hog ready to trade in her crown for a blue ribbon pinned to her massive chest, a chest that is becoming more and more covered by food debris as she continues to munch her way down the entire buffet line.

Revenge feels like all eyes turning toward her and making her neck burn with humiliation. It’s the feeling she has deep down in the pit of her overfed stomach that says that behind her there is a sea of Cheshire cat grins from all of the people she once treated as inferior to her.

She can feel her dress pull taught against her belly and ass as she continues to stress eat. It’s the only thing she can think to do as she begins to nervously sweat. She digs desperately into more food as she can feel people getting closer. Their courage is growing now too. Soon somebody will say something directly to her face. This was a bad idea. She knows that she needs to go.

And that’s when it happens.

One heel gives out. Snap. Then she’s wobbling backward and falling to the floor. As she rolls herself over and tries to push herself up, that’s when the back of the dress gives out. It rips clean down the middle of her ass and reveals a pair of overtaxed plain white granny panties.

That’s when the laughter starts.

And the insults.

“Wow! Look at bubble butt! Piggy’s got back!”

“I can’t believe she ever made fun of me for my weight. Who’s porky now?”

“What has she done for the last five years other than eat? She’s absolutely huge!”

Yes. This reunion will be a night she never forgets. She wants nothing more than to waddle home and bury her face in a pie. With any luck, she’ll never have to see any of these people again.

Of course, with the way she’s gaining, the couch is becoming harder to get off of. She might not even be able to get to her ten year reunion even if she wants to.

“Michelle Wants to Be Fat”

Michelle hated being skinny.

Even though she was very popular, and people always told her she was gorgeous, Michelle was never truly content. She was blessed with a figure that many would die for, sleek curves, flat abs, an angelic face. Michelle was everything that society said was supposed to be perfect. But Michelle didn’t give a damn about what society said.

Michelle wanted to be fat.

She longed to be fat. She was the kind of person that would stuff pillows under her shirt when nobody was looking. She cruised every feeder/feedee site that she could find. She made her way through pages of content including fetishes that she did not particularly care for but would never go out of her way to kink shame, so that she could find as much feederism content as she could.

Sure, she loved imagine other people as fat as well. She loved a good old revenge story, but fatten was herself.
mostly because she knew that she, at least physically, resembled the stereotypical hot girls whose bodies were being “ruined” in those stories, and the person that she really wanted to
But Michelle had a problem, and that problem was society, and even more explicitly that problem was her family.

Up until college her mother kept her on a very strict diet, and even when she went to college , she had so many friends who were so used to her being the “hot” one that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk losing them by changing herself. She was afraid for several months during her Freshman year. And then….

As October turned into November…

Michelle got an idea, an incredibly important, thoroughly life changing idea.

People put on weight during the holidays. And the Freshman fifteen is something everyone knows about. She could put on the freshman fifteen, or at least get it started until Thanksgiving, and then she’d have the holiday season to indulge. Her mom would probably make her cut back between New Year’s and the beginning of the next trimester, but she could at least enjoy getting fifteen to- maybe even twenty- TWENTY-FIVE pounds heavier!

And then once she was back at college…. Well, losing weight can be so hard to do. And people who do? Those fa cells never go away. Yo-yo dieting is a very real thing.

So Michelle set her plan in motion. And she ate whatever it was that she wanted whenever she wanted. Not only that, but in the time between Halloween and Thanksgiving, Michelle very purposefully ate as much as she could get away with eating with the intention of gaining as close to fifteen pounds as possible.

Michelle’s plan worked to perfection. It worked so well, in fact, that she repeated the plan the next year, and the year after that. She made sure to stuff her face from the week before Halloween till New Year’s, and on every other holiday during the year, every year while she was in college. And once she was out of college?

Well, once she was out of college, she moved out of her parent’s house and then she was really off to the races.

Sure. Her mom was, predictably, a bitch. But, eventually, she got tired of bullying her daughter and actually decided to be a good mother and shut her damn mouth. Michelle lost some friends along the way, and she faced a lot of mean comments. Social media was very unkind to her, and Michelle learned what it was like to be the victim of cyber bullying, including from people she knew in high school who were quite fat. She didn’t recall being outwardly mean to anyone while she was stereotypically hot, but those people seemed to take a real pride in her “downfall”.

Michelle was above it all though by the time she graduated college. She had spent those years growing far more confident than she ever had been when she was slim and “hot”. As her weight increased so did her happiness, and, once outside of college, she was ready to take it to the next level.

Feeders.

First there was Chris, then Darren, the Jean-Paul, the Jose. They came and went and served their purpose. But none of them were truly satisfying. As the number on the scales rose so did Michelle’s desire for independence and continued growth. She didn’t want one person to tie her down. (Though she did try that a bit with Jean-Paul.) She wanted as many people as possible to be a part of her growth.

People used to say Michelle should model.

They don’t say that anymore.

But that’s still what she does.

Michelle is a hardcore BBW model. She does eating videos, belly play, collaborations with other talents. She is down for revenge videos, role reversals, anything. Sometimes she write her own stories. She has her own Patreon, and OnlyFans, several accounts on a number of websites. If there’s a revenue stream, she goes after it.

Miss Mischelly Belly is very popular once again, just with an entirely different crowd. And though with her positively massive flabby body it’s getting harder to get around, there is no denying the truth.

Michelle loves being fat!

“What If” (Part 6)

What if she told someone? Should she? Should she tell someone what is happening to her?

She is getting fat. Her outfits are rapidly being outgrown. Her hunger keeps increasing. She is losing control.

And she’d like someone to help her.

Not to lose weight, but to get even fatter- to feed her.

She wants to lay back and touch herself with one hand, rubbing her taut gut with the other as someone feeds a slice of pizza into her mouth, followed by a second, and a third. She wants to be stuffed full of cupcakes, teased, and touched- but most importantly fed.

She wants someone to watch her get fatter- love her getting fatter- and taking the time to tell her what a naughty naughty piggy she is.

But what if she asks the wrong person? Will they just make fun of her? Will they laugh and spread the word and then what?

She had grown used to getting laughed at by now for getting fat, but being laughed at by the world for WANTING to be fat would be an all new humiliating low that she was not sure she was ready for. That gave her a lot of anxiety, and the only cure she knew for anxiety was to eat.

So eat she did. She began another session of stuffing her face but this time with her eyes closed so that she could imagine someone else sitting beside her, pinching her thighs and slapping her tummy. She gently touches a cannoli to her lips and then pulls it away, teasing herself. She wants to make herself work for it.

“Oink oink.”

And then she bites into the cannoli and fills her mouth with cream.

She wants someone to do this for real. She wants to feel the thrill of a partner. When she was slimmer, this would have been so much easier. She had men and women falling all over her, but now she knows her options are so much more limited. People are less inclined to date a bloated sow.

Unless she put herself out there, perhaps online. She could find herself a feeder online, right? And stay completely anonymous. That might scratch the itch, a little roleplay, a little fat talk. A camera while she eats? That certainly sounds like the first new step in her continuing spiral.

Could she take it?

[B$fan]

“Coconut Queen”

Isn’t she glorious all covered in coconut oil? That’s what keeps all those folds of fat stretch mark free and pillowy soft. She’s positively glistening under handfuls of coconut oil that cover her entire naked body. It takes a lot to keep a body this big well lubricated. A lot of coconut oil which means a lot of money and a lot of time. But the money is well worth it. And the time? Well, time is the best part of the whole thing.

Start with her cankles. They’re already bigger than some people’s thighs, and they need a lot of love. All that weight and so little exercise means these poor things don’t get quite as much circulation as they should and that can lead to dry cracked skin, so extra coconut oil is a must. Slide those hands across mountain ridges of fat as you make your way up to the thighs.

It’s like a quivering sea full of a storm of thunderous cellulite. You shake and they tremble as the flesh squeezes and oozes out between your fingers. And try as you might you can’t contain all that meat in one hand. Trying to palm an ass cheek is like trying to palm a basketball if that ball was made entirely of playdough. You can sink you fingers into it and still watch her fat roll over your fingertips.

Sink your thumbs into some juicy love handles as you start to work what used to be the muscles in her lower back. Everything is thick with fat now, and you can squeeze her sides like a memory foam pillow that morphs right back into place. Watch as her back fat rolls out like dough under your palms, a fitting reminder of what all that pizza gorging has led to.

Slap that ass and watch her whole body quiver.

She whimpers. She moans. She’s longing for it now, longing for your touch- and for more food, always more food. She’s a good horny cow all lubed up and ready to go. Squeeze the fat around her hips, slap that bouncing belly as you ride her from behind. A squeal cuts through the air and is joined by the sound of pendulous breasts slapping together.

When she finally collapses in ecstasy, it takes all your strength to flip her over because you’re not quite done yet. Now that she’s fed her lust, it’s time for more cake.

____________________________

“Vacation Booty”

She’s packing those post vacation pounds. You can see it in her butt as it bounces around with every step that she takes. She’s got a “calories don’t count when you’re on a cruise” caboose. It’s not nearly as firm as it used to be. That’s a result of too much sitting around sunbathing while snacking. But her butt’s not the only thing bigger about her.

From the side it’s pretty clear that she’s got a buffet belly going on. Any bit of tone she prided herself on has been erased, and sexy sport clothes she wore on the trip now make her look a little funny with the fresh bit of pudge that is peaking out for all to see. It’s even got a nice bit of bounce to it, this open bar belly that pairs nicely with her late night desert derriere.

Her bra looks like it’s straining just a bit too. She’s lugging around a fresh pair of bottomless mimosa mammaries. All told she definitely looks like, as her catty friends will say, “she really enjoyed her vacation.”

She had promised herself she was going to workout on the cruise, to avoid this exact kind of thing. But I guess a few drinks made her less likely to swim some laps and far more likely to just snack while sunbathing by the pool. And the hangovers must have made those pulse pounding hiking excursions she planned for sound like nightmares. Of course, nothing beats a hangover like platefuls of greasy, fatty food.

There are definitely some well stained shirts that no amount of laundry detergent can save. It doesn’t matter though. She’ll be completely growing out of those soon anyway, just like she already did with the shorts that will no longer button. Soon it’ll be time to upgrade her whole wardrobe and fill her closet with fat girl clothes.

See. It’s not just the extra vacation pounds she’s picked up. It’s all those bad vacation habits that she’s gained as well. She’ll be snacking all the time now. And it’ll be easy to make sure she’s eating bigger meals now that developed more room for them. Sit ups get harder to do with that new paunch in the way. And once the exercise starts to be more difficult, she’s going to start slacking off even more.

Snacking and slacking is a dangerous combination.

Yup, she’s already close to getting chubby, and she’s going to grow into a real big girl soon. Next time she goes on a cruise, she’s going to be making a real pig of herself at the buffet.

Oink. Oink.

_______________________

“Fair Food”

“Get hypnotized.” they said. “It’ll be fun.” they said.

So yeah, she gave it a whirl. And what did she come away with? Nothing, not even a funny story about standing on her head or clucking like a chicken. Lousy county fair hypnotist. Wasted her time. With a disgruntled sigh she made her way over to the nearest fried food stall. There was only one thing she walked away from that hypnotist with-

A rumbling in her stomach.

She had always been a health nut, an early to rise for a run, fruit smoothies for breakfast, salads for lunch kind of girl. Her dietary habits were often more akin to rabbits then to the other people she occupied her time with, and her penchant for preaching about the benefits of eating “clean” had a real knack for rubbing her friends the wrong way. But this- this was turning out to be a very different kind of day and a very different kind of day.

One might call it a hankering.

It was a strong desire, one burning deep down in the pit of her stomach calling for deep fried food. Crispy, greasy food, that’s what she needed in her belly. And she started with an order of funnel cake smothered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce. She shoved it into her waiting maw not caring for how much of the delicious cream she smeared on her cheeks and fingers. Chocolate sauce dabbed her nose as she tore into the fried dough like an animal.

But that wasn’t enough. No- with her new found hunger- that wasn’t not nearly enough. Next she had to practically deep throat a corndog, tearing it clean off the stick with all the tenacity of a swarm of piranhas attacking a cow. And what’s better than one corndog? A second corndog devoured nearly as quickly.

It was a sight to behold, something that had to be seen to be believed, this slim woman suddenly making a pig of herself, stuffing herself full of greasy junk food like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and needed it to survive. Strangers might have been concerned, but her friends were full of amused giggles as they watched the former health food freak dig into an order of fried oreos with a nutella dipping sauce.

That’s who she is now, a junk food junkie, someone who can never say no to anything fried. And, of course, all that fried food always makes her feel heavy and tired which means those early morning runs are out. Any form of exercise has been cast aside except for the steady arm motions that come with stuffing her face with potato chips and pizza.

She’s getting to be a big girl now, with her runner's thighs now as thick as her waist used to be and a deep fried fed double belly that bubbles over her yoga pants (worn now because they’re the only things that come close to fitting not for any meaningful physical activity.) It’s all quite a disappointment to her, but she just can’t seem to help herself.

Her friends enjoy her a lot more this way.

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“What If” (Part 7)

What if she tries stripes?

Stripes are slimming. Right?

But nothing is going to do much slimming for her now. She is rapidly outgrowing her clothes. The pants she bought as “fat pants” for her period days went from being loose, to snug, to stretched out, to busted. They’ve been totally replaced once and are in need of being replaced yet again. And her tops haven’t fared much better, especially the ones with buttons.

Any of her buttoned down blouses have since burst. Her big bulging belly has taken care of that. And looking at her now, it’s easy to tell that this next shirt is one big meal away from having some of its strained buttons just give up and go pinging around. They’d be lucky not to end up in anybody’s eye.

The eye damage is pretty avoidable nowadays because she does most of her eating at home, sitting on her couch, gorging herself on whatever kind of fast food strikes her fancy that day. Yes. The days of fancy restaurants seem well behind her, as do the days of salad or anything remotely healthy. The former queen of self control is a junk food junkie now, constantly needing a fix of salt and fat and frequently hopped up on sugary snacks. She’s a grease queen as she lounges about with her ponderous pot belly hanging out and lazily spilling onto her lap.

What can she eat next? That’s the question that constantly plagues her mind. Sometimes it is switched up with the variant: What SHOULD I eat next? That at least implies the idea that she might try to eat something not absolutely loaded with empty, fattening, calories.

What if she tried dieting? Could she do it? Could she go back to the days of fruits and vegetables that were baked into a pie or deep fried and dipped in ranch dressing? What if she could get a hold of herself? Could she be thin again?

When she looks in the mirror she knows that this is true. Even though she has a big rolling stomach that tumbles over the waistband of her ill-fitting yoga pants, button bursting breasts, and thick thunder thighs, she knows that she is not yet past the point of no return. She can still turn things around if she wants to.

But does she want to?

Does she really want to go back to being slim and admired by all? Or does she wish to continue this path of indulgence despite the fact that it has cost her so much socially?

What path will she follow? What will she choose?

And what will she eat next?

(To be continued)
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You can see this story collection continued on my Patreon: http://patreon.com/BSWriter (where several more volumes are already posted.)