The Fast Food Princess

[AdiposeAdorer]

The woman on the other side of the drive through window – a dumpy girl with a round, freckled face and a bulging belly that strains against her slightly too tight uniform – smiles as she sees me.

“Hi there, Lu,” she says, cheerfully, as she hands me one bag of grease-dripping burgers and fries after another, “here you go, just as you ordered.”

“Thanks, Rach,” I smile back at her.

“So, another feast for ‘her majesty’ then?” she grins. “How big is she these days?”

“Trust me,” I roll my eyes, “you don’t want to know.”

‘Her majesty’, as Rachel calls her, is my boss: Michaela Douglas. She’s Rachel’s boss too, actually, in so far as her father, Arthur Douglas, owns the restaurant that she manages. I’ve been in her service for many years now, and in that time, she’s changed quite a bit.

On the way back to Michaela’s Manhattan apartment, the deliciously greasy aroma of the feast in the seat beside me permeates my car. My free hand drifts to my midriff, to the blubbery belly that rests in my lap. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t resist. I reach over and grab myself a cheeseburger. I cram the delicious thing between my lips and moan as it fills my mouth with grease and sauce. It’s not my fault that I’m like this, not really. This stuff wasn’t made to be resisted. The Douglas Food Conglomerate hasn’t cornered so many markets and left so many swollen waistlines in its wake by selling food that one can easily say no to – especially when one is paid partly in meal coupons.

Back when she was thin, Michaela used to joke with me about my weight. She would pinch and poke my growing potbelly. “Looks like you’ve had yourself a few too many burgers, again,” she would tease, “you’d better be careful, or you’ll need another new uniform before long.” Somehow, the spoiled brat of a girl had gotten it in her head that the two of us were friends. Every day, she would make me sit down and listen as she complained about her parents, her friends, and anything else that she could think of. She never listened to anything I had to say, of course. But then, I guess that’s just the way it goes. Over time, she had taken to making up “affectionate” nicknames for me. She’d call me “tubby”, or “porkball”, or “lardy Lucia”. It was enough to drive anybody mad. Especially coming from a girl with a body like hers.

Back then, Michaela was tall and thin – with sleek thighs, modest curves, and a curtain of silky, flaxen hair that hung to her midriff. She had the sort of tight, shapely figure that only an obscene amount of money can buy, and she didn’t mind dressing to show it off, usually favouring short skirts, high cut tops, and sandals with high heels. Compared to now, I wasn’t even that big back then. But next to her, with my huge, wide butt and my jiggling gut, I still felt like a sack of potatoes that somebody had tried to squeeze into a maid outfit.

One evening, when, after a hard day’s work, Michaela had teased me one time too many, I could no longer hold my tongue. As improper as it was, I couldn’t help but to snap at her.

“You know what, Miss, if you had to eat that garbage your dad sells every day, you wouldn’t be so thin either.”

For a moment, Michaela’s watery blue eyes grew wide with shock, as though she’d just been slapped. Then, her usually pleasant expression turned suddenly stern.

“What was that?” she said, in a flat, prying tone.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” I blurted in response, my hand flying to my mouth as though, by covering my lips, I could make her unhear the unkind words that’d just escaped them, “that was out of line.”

“Yes,” nodded Michaela, “yes it was. But I guess I can overlook it just this once. Still,” she added, her expression returning to normal, her soft, full lips spreading into an ever so slight smile, “I’m disappointed to hear you trot out that old nonsense. I had thought that you were better than that, but I guess you fatties are all the same – all so eager to blame somebody else for your own lack of self-control. If you can’t keep your appetite in check, then that’s hardly our fault. It’s not like anybody is making you eat three double bacon cheeseburgers a day.”

“With respect Miss, it’s not that simple,” I objected, sullenly. “You don’t know what that food is like. Once you’ve started eating it just gets so hard to stop. If you’d spent ages eating that stuff, you wouldn’t be able to go without it either, you’d be addicted too.”

Michaela rolled her eyes. “Oh sweetie,” she said, patting my chubby cheek, “are you even hearing yourself here? That’s the worst fat girl excuse I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing wrong with our food. Why, I bet I could eat at one of my dad’s restaurants every day for a year without even developing a hint of an addiction. Because, you see, unlike you I have a little something called ‘self-control’.”

I frowned, when I’d started working for Michaela, a little over three years ago, I’d been thin and fit, confident and full of energy. Now, I was anything but. I was a plain pudgeball with a huge butt and no life outside of food. As the pounds had piled onto my once curvy frame, any hint of my old self-confidence had evaporated. No matter what she said, I knew it was Michaela’s fault that I’d ended up like this. If I’d never started working for the pampered little teen heiress, I’d still have been slim and pretty. I wouldn’t be spending my days watching TV and grazing on fries as my ass spread beneath me.

“Is that so,” I said, a sharp note in my voice. “Then, if it’s alright with you, Miss, I think I’ll take you up on that bet.”

“What?” Michaela looked at me, raising one uncomprehending eyebrow.

“If you can quit cold turkey after eating at one of your dad’s restaurants every day for a year, I’ll admit that I’m just a hopeless fatty. If not, then I want you to apologise to me.”

Michaela hesitated a moment. But, as competitive as she was, I knew there was no way she’d turn me down.

“Fine,” she said, having collected herself, “you’re on. This should be easy as pie. But, I’m afraid the stakes here seem a little low to me. So, how about this? If you lose this little bet, I get to film you and livestream you eating off the floor, without even so much as using your hands, just like the little pig you are.”

I paused, the idea didn’t exactly appeal to me, but I’d gone too far to back down now.

“Fine,” I nodded, “but in that case, if you lose then you, um… then you’ll have to do the same.”

“Yeah,” Michaela smirked, “there’s no way that’ll ever happen. Still,” she reached out her hand, “you’ve got yourself a deal.”
 

***

For as long as I’d known her, Michaela’s parents had always kept her on a strict diet. They’d made sure that the only foods she had access to were ones that were light and healthy, ones that wouldn’t induce cravings or add unnecessary inches to her waist. As such, Michaela’s first taste of fast food proved to be quite an experience for her.

When she first walked into her father’s restaurant, she made quite an impression. With her lean curves and her designer clothes, she stood out like a sore thumb among the broad, sweatpant-clad bottoms and flabby guts of the other guests.

While Michaela took herself a seat in one of the restaurant’s booths, I headed off to place our order.

“Is that who I think it is?” said Rachel, glancing surreptitiously towards Michaela as I approached the counter.

“Yup,” I nodded and filled her in on our little wager.

Back then, Rachel wasn’t yet the quivering ball of a woman that she is now. But, over the year that she’d worked there, the restaurant’s fattening food had already added more than a few pounds to her once slight frame. Her face had softened and her waist had spread into a protruding potbelly and a pair of hanging love handles that oozed over the edge of her pants. Like me, her days as a thin beauty were far behind her.

Over the last few months, the two of us had gotten to know each other. We had bonded over burgers and fries as we bitched about our expanding waistlines. Once I’d filled her in on the situation, Rachel was every bit as eager as me to see skinny little Michaela chow down on the food that paid for her easy life.

“Hey,” she grinned, “why don’t we add a milkshake to your order. You know, a little something on the house for ‘her highness’ over there.”

I nodded eagerly. “Make sure to add some extra fries as well. And why don’t we change her coke from zero to regular?”

Once I’d placed her tray before her, Michaela sceptically studied her order, a single cheeseburger and a small bag filled with as many fries as it could possibly hold. Next to mine, it was pathetically tiny. But, even so, it contained way more sugar and empty calories than the spoiled teen usually got in a day.

“This looks disgusting, do you really eat this stuff every day?”

“Yes Miss,” I nodded. “Now, please enjoy your meal.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Michaela unwrapped her burger and took her first bite. As her teeth dug through all that bread, beef and cheese and her mouth filled with grease and sauce, her eyes widened. Swiftly, she took a second bite and then a third. In just a few minutes, she shoved the entire meal in between her full lips, leaving not so much as a single crumb on her tray.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” I asked.

“It was alright, I guess,” she shrugged, trying to look as unaffected as she possibly could.

As I continued with my own meal, I caught Michaela looking jealously at me as I devoured my far larger burger, dripping with sauce and melted cheese.

“Would you like some more? I could get you another cheeseburger if you like?”

Michaela hesitated a moment.

“Well,” she said, “I guess one more couldn’t do much harm, right? Just this once, I mean.”

“Of course not,” I nodded.

“And while you’re at it, as long as I’m splurging, could you refill this for me as well?” she added, handing me the milkshake cup she’d just drained.

“Of course, Miss,” I said, a smirk on my face as I headed off to fetch my mistress her second helping.
 

***

Over the next few months, as we continued with our daily fast food trips, Michaela’s order gradually started to grow. At first, she would occasionally add another cheeseburger, some extra fries and a milkshake to her child-sized meal. Then, soon enough, she was chowing down on the biggest, most artery-clogging, triple bacon cheese burgers that the place had to offer. Her milkshakes went from an occasional indulgence to a daily treat, and, with some cajoling from me and Rachel, she even started to have herself a regular cup of soft-serve ice cream drenched in chocolate syrup for dessert.

Somehow, Michaela hardly even seemed to notice as her daily meal grew into a huge feast. She would sit in her booth, mindlessly stuffing her face as her figure swelled. It’d taken a while for her new diet to catch up with her. But, a few months into out little wager, my once slim and sensuous mistress had gotten noticeably fatter. Her pretty face had turned soft and pudgy, her tight and shapely backside had been covered in a layer of loose, drooping flab, and her once taut tummy had started to poke out of her shirt, turning into a jiggly, bloated muffin-top. The gorgeous goddess of a woman had been transformed into a plain chunkster. An overweight girl who looked more than a little trashy as she walked around with all her fat oozing out of her hopelessly tight designer clothes.

Though it was obvious to everybody who saw her, Michaela seemed deep in denial as to the severity of her gain. She knew that she’d gotten bigger, of course, but she seemed to think that it was no big deal. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed by the rapid pace at which she was growing, her body having been hopelessly unprepared for the sort of calorie-rich diet, mostly lacking in actual nutrition, that she was now subjecting it to.  Or, perhaps, she assumed that she could lose the weight any time she wanted, without much effort. Either way, she continued to indulge as her body grew heavier and thicker.

Four months into her challenge, Michaela had grown to look every bit like a regular customer at one of her father’s restaurants. Her figure had turned sloppy and soft, her once alert and intelligent eyes had grown dull and drowsy.

Though I knew it wasn’t very nice of me, I couldn’t help but to be a bit excited at the way my mistress was changing. The haughty, beautiful girl who had made me feel so ugly and pathetic was well on her way to turning into a lazy, obese cow of a woman. Still, even so, I couldn’t help but to worry about her a little. When I’d started her on this challenge, I’d never expected Michaela to change as much or as quickly as she had. Perhaps I hadn’t realised just how vulnerable the sheltered little princess of a girl would be to all the many temptations that the real world had to offer.

Michaela’s situation finally came to a head when, one very busy day, after having stuffed an unusually large feast into her bloated belly, she accidentally dropped her purse to the ground as she was about to get up and leave. Without thinking, she bent down to pick it up. The next thing she knew, a large rip sounded from the seat of her pants as the seams finally gave way to her excess flesh, leaving her cellulite-riddled butt bare for all to see.

Michaela bolted upright, her belly bouncing as she moved her hands to cover the tear in the back of her favourite jeans. But it was already too late, she’d already embarrassed herself in front of a great number of the restaurant’s regulars and staff. As she hurriedly shuffled out the door, the other patrons did their best to avert their eyes from the unseemly sight.

During the drive home, Michaela said very little. She just sat there in the backseat, staring out her window and shovelling down spoonful after spoonful of the extra-large cup of ice cream I’d bought to help cheer her up.
 

***

From that day on, it was a long time before Michaela ever set foot in that restaurant again. Over the next few months, she mostly stopped going outside – preferring to stay home in her ever-shrinking jammies and sweats, busying herself with her huge home cinema system, and stuffing her face with all the take-out that she would have me bring her.

Once she’d started to send me out to get her food, Michaela’s appetite soon went completely out of control. After a few months, she would make me head off on as many as four trips a day to her father’s restaurant.

The junk food that she was consuming in such quantities was obviously having a huge effect on her. As her body ballooned at an alarming rate, her brain seemed to be rotting away. She could no longer seem to focus properly. She had no energy, no willpower. The once sharp-witted girl was now ruled entirely by her unbearable cravings. The quick rush she got from the calorie-laden goodies manufactured by her family business seemed to be the only thing that could make her happy.

In a little less than a year, Michaela Douglas had grown to be all but unrecognisable. Her face was round and fleshy, with ripe cheeks and a wobbling second chin. Her belly stuck out past her boobs and hung down to cover her crotch. Her buttocks had turned to a pair of drooping, shapeless cushions. Her blob-like thighs would rub against each other and force her into an exaggerated waddle whenever she tried to walk.

As her body blew up with fat, Michaela slowly stopped teasing me about my weight. She rarely talked much, preferring simply to lose herself in her appetite.

With the way she’d isolated herself over the past year, it’d been a long time since Michaela had last seen her parents. The two of them were very busy people. They spent most of their time either working or travelling around the world. As such, they found themselves in for a nasty surprise when, one day, they decided to take their beloved, beautiful daughter out for a fancy dinner.

All throughout the evening, the two of them couldn’t stop staring in horror at the soft, doughy belly resting in their daughter’s lap, at the flabby, cushion-like butt cheeks that filled up her seat. As she sat there, poking at the healthy and hideously expensive food that’d once used to make up the majority of her diet, my poor mistress found herself the target of a constant barrage of weight-related criticism, of little digs at her shape and size. By the time I drove her home, she looked as miserable as I’d ever seen her.

“Hey, Miss?” I asked, carefully, “how about we go and get ourselves a little snack?”

At that, Michaela’s round, flabby face lit up just a little.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “that sounds good.”

As we pulled into the drive through of her father’s restaurant, we found Rachel waiting on the other side of the window. It’d been a few months since the cheerful fast food worker had last seen Michaela. As such, she found herself more than a bit surprised at just how huge the girl had grown. Her eyes widened at the sight of her. All the while she couldn’t stop staring at the bloated heiress out of the corner of her eye.

Michaela tried as best she could to avoid Rachel’s gaze while I ordered her as much food as I thought her stomach could possibly hold. Then, once we’d gotten our meals, I parked the car and watched Michaela devour every last crumb that I’d bought her, eating herself into an agonized food coma.
 

***

Once, finally, a year had passed, Michaela seemed to have forgotten all about our wager. The sedentary ball of a girl started her day in the same way she always did. She called me into her room at eleven o’clock, after she’d just woken up, and ordered me to head off and buy her a huge breakfast.

“I’m sorry miss,” I said, “but have you forgotten what day it is?”

Michaela stared uncomprehendingly at me for a moment.

“We had a bet, remember? If you could stop cold turkey after eating at one of your father’s restaurants for a year, you’d get to film me while I ate off the floor like a pig for you. If not... well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, it’s been a year now? Are you sure you really want that food? I mean, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you did, but it’s up to you.”

As she looked at me, Michaela’s eyes seemed to water at the thought of having to go without all those greasy goodies that had so taken over her life – that had, at this point, come to be her one and only pleasure.

“Fine,” she said at length and rolled over in bed. “I guess you’ll just have to make me something then.”

“Very well, Miss,” I said, turning to head off to the kitchen

As I started to make Michaela her breakfast, I couldn’t help but to feel a pang of sympathy for her. I’d never meant for this whole thing to go this far. Never, in a million years, had I thought that my mistress would ever let herself get this fat, that she would ever let herself go to this degree. These days, the poor, spoiled brat made for a sad sight.

Still, if I was perfectly honest with myself, I didn’t exactly mind having a lazy, out of control butterball for a mistress. In fact, in her current form, Michaela was a lot more pleasant and a lot easier to deal with than she had been when she was haughty and thin. Now, that she spent her days in her room, lazing about and stuffing her face, I had a lot more free-time. And, since I’d become her one and only source of human contact, and of the fatty foods she craved, she’d long since stopped making fun of me. At this point, she was at least sixty pounds heavier than I’d ever been, so she couldn’t exactly get away with calling me fat anymore.

In the end, I very much preferred Michaela as she was. In fact, I thought she could probably do to put on a few pounds more. Still, even so, I felt like I at least owed my mistress a fair chance. As such, I made her a healthy, low calorie meal that was as filling as it possibly could be.
Once I’d served it to her, Michaela ate her food without much pleasure. Whether or not it filled her, it didn’t give her the rush that she’d come to depend on. The healthy food that’d once used to satisfy her now left her hopelessly miserable.

A few hours after I’d served her breakfast, I could hear the floorboards creak under Michaela’s feet. I watched from the shadows as, with her fat bulging out of her hopelessly undersized sweats, she snuck out the front door of her apartment and headed off out into the city. About half an hour later, Rachel sent me a short video on her phone. It showed Michaela sitting in her old booth, her bare belly resting in her lap as she stuffed one handful of fries after another into her fat, food-smeared face.
 

***

 

The next day, Michaela was awoken by the wonderful scent of all those fatty foods that she’d so come to love. Sitting herself up in bed with a big grin on her face, she opened her eyes. Her smile swiftly faded. On the floor before her, lay a huge feast. A trough filled with fast food, enough to fill even her oversized stomach.

“I believe we had a deal,” I said.

“But, but,” she protested, her lip wobbling, “I haven’t had a single bite of fast food since the day before yesterday.”

“Is that so?” I said, turning on Michaela’s tv to show her the video Rachel had recorded yesterday.
At that, Michaela deflated.

“Do, I really have to do this?” she asked, pathetically.

“Well,” I shrugged, “this whole thing was your idea. So, yeah, you kinda do. If you want your food, you’ll have to get it from the trough.”

Michaela hesitated a moment. She just sat there, staring at all that food – her eyes filling with tears as her mouth watered. Finally, she pushed her covers aside and got down on all fours. As she did so, I pushed a button on her TV, switching the channel to a live feed from the camera that I’d set up to record her.

At first, Michaela seemed to hesitate as she dug her face into all that junk. But soon, her appetite took over. Once she was a few minutes into her feast, the 260-pound porkball hardly seemed to be aware of what was going on around her. Her belly, which had slipped out of her pants, dangled to and fro as she gorged. With her face shoved into her feed and her pink flesh oozing out of her undersized jammies, she really did look every bit like an overfed pig.

By the time she’d had every last crumb that she could take, she rolled over on her side. Her gaze was glassy and dull, her chin smeared in grease and sauce. She let out a loud groan as she rubbed her painfully stretched stomach.

In the five years since, it’s gotten harder and harder to carry all this food from the garage up to Michaela’s penthouse, especially as I’ve put on a few pounds myself since this whole thing started. In all that time, very little has happened in the life of my young mistress. Her father, embarrassed by what she has turned herself into, has all but ordered me to hide her away from public view, to make sure that she never strays from her room and never shows her face outside. Michaela hardly minds, of course. At this point, she doesn’t really want to do anything but to sit around and eat. She’s happiest as she is, sealed off in her own little world, with a constant supply of food to munch on.

Tired from the walk in through her massive and mostly abandoned penthouse, I enter her room. Or, rather, her pen, as I’ve come to think of it. Michaela looks drowsily up at me. Her chin rests on a swollen cushion of her own fat. Her features have sunken so far between her plush cheeks that her flab has come to entirely define her face. At this point, the pale, naked blob of loose dough spread out on the bed before me is hardly recognisable as the woman she once was. Her fat has robbed her of any shape she once had.

These days, my mistress can only move with great effort. She can no longer get out of bed on her own, and she relies on my help to wash and take care of her. Most of the time, her fat keeps her trapped on her mattress. Her room could probably stand to be cleaned, but I have to admit that I enjoy seeing her like this – surrounded by the crumbs and empty wrappers from her latest feast.
Sitting down on the side of her bed, I stroke her massive beanbag of a belly and feel as her soft flesh yields to my fingers.

“Good morning, Miss,” I smile and give her flab a little slap, setting off ripples through the rolls of her body. “I’ve brought you your breakfast.”

Michaela raises her eyes just a little, glancing with obvious longing towards the many bags of greasy fast food that I’ve placed by the side of her bed. Then, she leans back and opens her mouth.

“Good girl,” I say and stuff her first burger of the day in between her lips. “You’ve got a lot of food to get through today, so you’d better start chewing.”

Michaela doesn’t answer me. She just keeps on eating, adding even more calories to her obese body. A body built by the very food that has bought the hopeless blob of a girl her comfortable life.

[John Smith]

Wow.

[Guest Mtax]

Damn, this one's pretty grim.

[xandercroft]

Best I’ve read in a while. Hell, encore!