Mini-Eggs (new chapter added 9/12/14)

[amfyoyo]

“Huff, huff,” Sarah panted as she trudged up the snowy sidewalk. She approached a trash can and stopped, tipping back the dregs of a painfully sweet Extra-Large Dunkin’ Donuts hot chocolate clutched in her right hand, the waxy bag dangling from her right containing the last two of her half dozen maple-frosted donuts. She pulled the two out and tossed out the bag. With both hands now free, she turned the donuts and pressed their frosted sides together. Between her heaving breaths, she consumed the donuts in five competent, practiced bites. She licked an errant glob of frosting from her thumb and tried to catch her breath in the cold. Although the sugar she had just consumed, combined with the exertion of the walk had kept her overly warm, to the point of sweating, the wind was starting to bite into the thin cotton scrubs she wore.

As she spread her legs and shifted her backpack, she felt that wind sneak in between her wide, soft thighs, finding the spot where their rubbing had almost worn through the material. The next gust blew through her open jacket and cooled the sweat that begun to collect under her swollen breasts and her thick, squishy arms. She shifted the backpack again and grabbed the zippered ends of her fake leather jacket. Tensing up, she sucked in her stomach and pulled the zipper together. The sudden intake of air made her taste a cocoa and maple burp in her throat and she abandoned the attempt as her belly surged back out, folding over the waistband of her scrub pants and causing the top to ride up. She sucked in and squeezed again, succeeding in getting the ends to meet. The fabric squeaked as she pulled the zipper up over the outward curve of her belly. The jacket rode up, exposing the bottom of her belly to the cold air and pushing the waistband further down. She kept zipping up to the point below her breasts where the zipper diverged at an angle too wide to zip. Her breasts wobbled, puckering the scrub top and sloshing out of the tight cups of her constricting bra. Feeling a little out of breath from the effort and from the constriction that the tightly zippered jacket put on her already labored breathing, Sarah tried to pull up the folded-over waistband from where it had folded under her gut. She failed. They were just too tight, so she contented herself with pulling down her top from under her jacket to cover the inch or two of belly that had escaped underneath its hem. As a last adjustment, she un-zipped the side pockets, the opening gaps adding a little slack around the widest part of her girth. “That gets harder every time,” she thought.

After a whole day on her feet in the clinic and the last few minutes of walking (and eating), she was starting to feel it. Her thighs felt raw where they rubbed together, her lower back – onto which the tight jacket had pressed her sweaty shirt – ached from holding up her belly and breasts all day. Her knees and feet ached from the constant weight they bore and the walk from the bus stop to her apartment – in addition to taking longer and longer – had started to give her shin splints, even though she was wearing padded, comfortable shoes.

After a few minutes of waddling, her determined, sugar- swollen belly had succeeded in squeezing back out into the cold air. She just kept waddling and huffing.

When she reached her front door, she was fully out of breath and a sheen of sweat has plastered some whisps of her blonde bob to her forehead. She groped around for her key and had a moment of panic as she remembered that the key was in one of the pockets she had unzipped to have room to breath. If she got locked out because his damned jacket had gotten too small, she would be really pissed. Ah, there it was, but in her panic, she dropped it. Quickly, without thinking, she lunged down to grab it and heard the sound that she had been dreading for several weeks as her pants split over her broad, wobbling ass.

She ducked into the apartment, dropped her bag, and painfully pried off her shoes. With a lot of strained inhalation, Sarah got her belly under control enough to unzip her jacket which she tossed onto the backpack on the floor. She reached around as far as she could do to the thickness of both her upper arms and her bulging love handles, and tried to assess the damage to her scrubs. The part of her brain that was specialized in denial (and figuring out how to sandwich donuts together for maximum ease of consumption and that opening zipped side pockets gained extra belly-room inside of tight jackets) was trying to convince her that they could be salvaged. Even though they obviously didn’t fit (she had just ripped the ass out of them) they were the last pair that even sort of fit, part of the quickly dwindling part of her wardrobe that sort of fit – as distinguished from the pile of clothes on the floor of her closet that no longer fit over, on, or around what she was being daily forced to admit was her ever-expanding body. She went into the bedroom and performed the wiggling, wriggling maneuvers she required to extricate herself from her work clothes. She held the ripped pants up and gazed ruefully at the tag, the last pair of XL bottoms she could find that she could squeeze into and now they had gotten too small.

This last obvious rationalization, and Sarah knew it. Nothing had happened to those pants to make them smaller.

Some more contorting and a lot of wobbling and she was free of her overtaxed bra. As she lifted each breast to wipe the sweat from underneath each one, she saw the puckered, red groove that the straps had left on her pale, soft skin. The tag read 38DDD but she knew that that hadn’t been the right size for a while.

Enough. She wasn’t going to think about it. She’d had a long day and her body hurt, she had a mild headache and, despite the snack on the walk home, she was hungry. She just wanted to relax, get high, watch TV and eat. In her backpack there were two jumbo burritos, three orders of chips (their grease soaking into the paper bags) and for the first time this year, Cadbury Mini-Eggs – her absolute favorite binge food. She had bough herself five one-pound bags, a move both dangerous and daring.

While the prospect of buying XXL (or maybe even XXXL) scrubs filled her with dread, Sarah had no problem with an old XXL t-shirt from her in roller derby; it still fit with the sleeves cut off. She eyed a pair of her old booty-shorts from the same era and decided not to risk the pain of rejection she knew was coming if she tried to squeeze her cheeks into them at her current poundage. Her pinched and stretched granny panties would have to do.

When her creaking knees lowered her onto the couch, she felt her body relax, her back muscles un-tensed and she could almost feel her ass spread out to practically cover the center cushion. With the old t-shirt tighter than she remembered, her big, heavy breasts were held in check and rested on top of her belly. As the burritos warmed in the toasted over (they had barely fit into it!) she took her first hits from her small glass pipe and was transported to a relaxed and centered place, a place in which she wasn’t worried about work, her back, her clothes, or how much weight she was putting on, a place in which she was mindlessly, insatiably hungry. Soon, her chomping on the greasy, salty chips became a natural and unstoppable process. She savored the texture and the crunch as much as the taste. As Scully and Mulder blundered through woods and warehouses in vintage X-Files on Netflix, Sarah mowed effortlessly through the bags of chips with gobs of bean dip. The crunch, crunch, crunch, swallow became a mantra. When the timer dinged on the burritos, she was almost startled and found she had to struggle mightily to heave herself up from the couch. Wobbling into the kitchen, she put the monster burrito onto a plate, uncorked a bottle of overly sweet, cold Reisling and, as an afterthought, she grabbed the plastic CVS bag with the five pounds of chocolate.

Sarah continued to smoke as she chewed, swallowed, and gulped mechanically her hunger seeming to increase as she stuffed more and more into her chomping mouth and growing belly. She finished one hog of a burrito and then the other, extra-cheese and sour cream dripping down her chins and a dazed look on her face. When she tried to sit up and remove the warm belly from atop her mountainous belly, she found it too full and stuffed for her paltry abs to pull her upright. Holding the plate in one plump hand, she rocked from side to side until she could roll into a sitting position long enough to deposit the plate on the coffee table before her wide butt pulled her back down into the compressed cushioning of the couch. As she rocked backward, she snagged the bag of the chocolate, dropping it next to her as he blobbed back onto the couch, her own ass and love handles matching the cushioning of the couch in softness.

If there had been less pot flowing through her or if she hadn’t been in a state of food-coma stupification, she might have realized that she had reached her magic moment, the moment that makes all the difference. Even though she had struggled with a short walk home with several body parts begging not to have to support a single additional ounce, and even though she had done that walk while eating a half-dozen donuts and an XL hot chocolate, and even though her jacket was centimeters away from giving up the ghost, and even though she had just split the last pair of pants that fit her, and even though she had just eaten what would be big meals for at least three people, she opened the bag of Easter candy and began to eat.

More pot, more X-Files, and a pound of chocolate was crunched down.

A second bottle of wine, more pot, and down went pound number two. She was drowsy, high, drunk, and breathing heavily, “Too much sweet,” she ruminated in only a way that a stoner can. Into to the microwave went a family-sized pan of macaroni and cheese. While she waited the six minutes for the mac and cheese to cook, a sleeve of buttery Ritz crackers chomped and crunched to their end. Her belly felt to heavy, she had to support it with one hand as she staggered back to the couch. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror as she walked past and her eyes leapt to her belly, exposed at some point where her t-shirt had ridden up during her binge – maybe it was too tight, after all. She saw the bloated swell of her belly and noticed the small but growing red lines that she had first noticed last week, haloing out from her deepening navel. She had noticed them last week, while high and wrote them off as a rash from the cheap cotton scrubs she had to keep squeezing herself into, but at work the next day, sober, she realized in a rush that they were stretch marks. She had to dash to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror to be sure.

When she saw them tonight, the shock was dulled by substances and the aroma of melted cheese called her back to the deep crater she had been compressing into the sofa nightly. She shoveled the steaming mac and cheese into her mouth, hiccupping and taking hits from her pipe. The last thing she remembered before she drifted off to sleep was opening up the third bag of candy.

The fourth and fifth bag were gone the next morning with only a few melted smudges on the sheets, the last survivors of a munchie, sleep binge.

This was her second moment. If the moment the night before was the moment where she had passed the point of no return, this moment was the view from the bottom of the cliff. When she rolled over to hit the alarm clock, she heard the empty bags crinkle and she felt a creeping dread. She had fallen asleep on the couch, but she was in her bed; in the meantime, she had gotten up and eaten, again. Her hands went to her belly, taut and round and painful. She rubbed her hands over her globular rise and…wait, was this a Cadbury Mini-egg wedged in the canyon of her navel? As she grabbed it, the thin candy shell ruptured and the chocolate, heated to her body temperature by its insulated nest. Her fingers came away covered in chocolate. Instinctively, she licked her finger, “God, that was so good,” and swung her still aching legs around and placed her feet on the floor.

It was worse than she thought. Next to the bed lay an empty carton of Chubby Hubby, its plastic seal cast aside – it had been unopened. Next to it lay a mixing bowl with a thin residue of what looked like, wait…Cap’n Crunch? Had she mixed Cap’n Crunch with Chubby Hubby and eaten it all? She turned her foggy head around and saw a big rubber spatula stuck to her pillow.

Six months ago, at her physical, Sarah had stood five feet, three inches and weighed 221 pounds, the biggest she had ever been, 27 pounds heavier than her dad. That was six months ago, when she could zip up her jacket, before she had swelled out of her pants and overflowed her bras, before the stretch marks. In those six months, she had porked out of an entire wardrobe and her body had begun to protest in significant ways. Even though she waddled by one, umpteen times a day at work, she had been too afraid to step on a scale.

A year and six months ago, at her physical, she had weighed in at 196 pounds, her highest weight at the time. She was still playing roller derby, but had begun to feel the stress of her rising weight and growing girth, needing a new, bigger uniform three seasons in a row.

Two years and six months ago, she had been horrified and embarrassed at her physical to be told that she was 178 pounds. Her doctor had told her she needed to lose about 30 pounds. Two years later, she had gained 43 and now, well, now she had no idea what she weighed.

That day, the 178-pounder, she had vowed to make a change, joined a gym, bought a scale, then never exercised or weighed herself. The scale was in a box in the bathroom closet.

Wiping the traces of chocolate from her fingers onto the sheets she ooffed her way to a standing position, a hand on either side of her belly. Her shirt was caked with ice-cream run-off and was bunched tightly under her breasts. Sarah tried to pull it down over her gut, but she had apparently stretched her gut more than her shirt could accommodate. Damn, that was an XXL. She painfully pulled it off her breasts bouncing free –clearly well out of the DDD range.

[amfyoyo]

Part 2

Janice glanced at the clock on the office wall when she heard someone fumbling with the waiting room door. Sarah was late again. Janice got up from her chair and straightened her crisp, clean scrubs over her thin, almost angular frame. Sarah was almost always late; and while their patients wouldn’t start arriving for an hour, there was still a lot of work to do, which Sarah usually didn’t do too quickly.

She opened the door to the waiting room and found Sarah on the other side, laden with plastic bags and trying to wedge a huge Styrofoam coffee cup between her breasts and her chin. She wasn’t even dressed for work, dripping sweat and breathing heavily.

“Thanks! God, I’m all over the place this morning. Sorry, I’m late, I couldn’t find a place to park. I had to do a little shopping on my way in.” She bumped through the door, her ass swinging close enough to Janice to make the small woman step back.  As she watched her young colleague wobble down the hall in front of her, she noted that the black yoga pants --which had probably never seen a yoga class -- were doing their best to contain Sarah, but were failing at the attempt. When Sarah turned around to push her office door open with her hip, Janice saw that the worn-out t-shirt under her unzipped jacket was similarly failing, the bottom curve of her gut was visible, folding over the top of her pants. Through her shirt, Janice could clearly make out the bubble of flesh pressing out the cups of her bra. “I just gotta get changed, then I am ready to roll. I bought some new scrubs today,” Sarah intoned with what she hoped sounded like enthusiasm.

Once she was in her own office, with the door shut, she dropped the cheerful expression as she dropped her bags, all except the one with the donuts and croissant sandwiches in it. Today, of all days, she had the incontrovertible proof in front of her that she didn’t need to be eating all the sugar and fat that was in that bag, but it was her comfort and she had had a rough morning. After her night of intoxication and bingeing, she needed to show up at the Work N’ Gear as soon as it opened to buy some new scrubs before work. She had struggled into a pair of obscenely tight, but thankfully stretchy, yoga pants and a tight scrub top. He belly was still stuffed from the night before and she found the shirt tight around the widest part her girth. Well, she probably needed some new shirts too.

When it came to shopping for clothes, there were a few ways in which Sarah was able to justify her swelling over the years (slow and steady since high school, but increasing in speed in the last few years). One was that clothing companies always changed their styles and cuts, so that when a pair of jeans had to be replaced, of course the same size wouldn’t fit her, because Levi’s had switched to a slimmer fit since she had purchased hers. Another frequently employed rationalization was that different brands sizes were not all the same. An XL at American Apparel was not the same as an XL at The Gap. It’s not that she was an XL, it was just that a certain stores sizes ran small. In frustration and anxiety, she would hustle from store to store in the mall convinced that at one, she would find the pair of jeans that fit her in her size – whatever size she had decided should still fit her.  But whatever size that had been (10, then 12, then…) eventually, nothing would fit her no matter how many shops she visited and she had to return to one of the ones she had left in a huff and ask for a larger size.  Then came the day when she went back to Levi’s store and was told that they didn’t carry the size that would be large enough to accommodate her. After that, it was Lane Bryant, all the way.

That had been about a year ago, and after she got over the initial shock of having to shop, full time, in the “big girl store” as she called it, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it kind of made her feel better about her size; she was no way the biggest woman in Lane Bryant. And, if there was anything to be gleaned from the racks that morning at Work N’ Gear, she wasn’t the biggest woman shopping there, but, she was close. The scrub pants that she busted the seat out of the night before had been an XL, as was the top she found so constricting around her paunch. When she bought that set less than a year ago, she had had to play the game of looking for the brands carried by the chain that fulfilled her need of staying in the XL range while covering mountainous breasts, tree trunk thighs, and a belly approaching beach ball dimensions. The displays contained XL scrubs and she decided to give herself one more chance. After eyeing a few, she selected one that looked the biggest. Maneuvering into the changing room, she intentionally avoided the mirrors, another tool of her denial. The yoga pants clung doggedly to her thighs, but she got them off. She couldn’t get the scrub pants over the widest part of her thighs and pulled them off. Okay, she was okay. She wouldn’t be here if she still fit into the XL. Okay, back to the rack. The sections of the circular rack, divided by plastic rings, were not all equal in size. There were a lot of Ss, Ms, Ls; fewer of the XS, and XL; and even fewer of the XXL, XXXL, and 4XL.

Sarah grabbed a few pairs of the XXL and went back to the dressing room. She moved around inside, trying to hang up the clothes and her purse. She bumped a few of the walls with her ass and when bending over, her breasts pressed up against the mirror, which she was avoiding looking at. God, why was this dressing room so small? Didn’t this store sell to big, tough construction guys? She put on one of the tops; it didn’t feel as big as she wished that it would; her belly and love handles kept it from making it down as far as it should around her ample waist. Her breasts pushed the fabric out, and although she tried not to look too closely, she could see that the bulge of her breasts out of their cups was visible. Shit, on top of the money she would spend here, she probably needed new bras. She pulled the top off and squeezed back into her t-shirt. As she straightened it, she saw the stretch marks for a fleeting second.

The pants were another story. She had wanted to hope that the top would be too big, and it was big enough. While she held the same hope for the pants, she knew that their waist band would have to deal with both her bigger belly and the undeniable breath, width, and depth that her ass had take on, of late. She struggled into the first pair, the familiar sheen of sweat popping out on her forehead. The old pair of XLs must have done some significant stretching in the last few months because these smaller even than they had felt. The sweat on her forehead increased, out of panic now as much as from her being out of breath. She pulled them off hurriedly and tried the next. It was better, but not by much. She eyed the other two pairs she had brought into the claustrophobic, there was no way in hell that she was bigger than an XXL. When she kicked the second pair off of her plump feet, she felt her belly jiggle. She placed a hand on it and then reached around to touch her butt, which was still jiggling on its own. At that moment, as if to further demonstrate her body’s betrayal, her stomach gurgled and whined. She had felt too bloated for breakfast when she got up, but that had been about an hour ago and her hang-over was starting to beg for sugar and grease and her belly for anything that resembled cake. She grabbed the next pair and pulled them up. To her surprise, they slid up until the elastic band bumped under her belly. The elastic was stretched, but not to its maximum and when she cautiously performed her test – crouching down to test the seat – they were tight across her ass and there was a little butt crack out in the breeze. She had already forgotten her previous concern about the length of the tops and tugged and squeezed back into the yoga pants.

The store had three tops in her size, but only the one pair of pants. The woman behind the counter said she could order them for her. She thanked and her paid, almost forgetting to give her number to be called when they arrived – when the relief of finding pants that would fit washed through her brain, the hunger and the compulsion to eat took over. She was already thinking of what she was going to eat. Thankfully, the mall had a Dunkin Donuts. On the way to it, she passed the CVS and saw their display of Easter candy. Well, they did only come out once a year.

Now that she was in her office at work, breakfast for what should have been about four people on her desk and more Cadbury Eggs in a plastic bag on the floor, she rushed to get dressed. Pants with a waist this big were obviously intended for someone with longer legs than a woman of only five three. She rolled up the cuffs and dug around in the top drawer of her desk to find some safety pins. She didn’t have any. Sitting on her rolling desk chair, her hunger rolled over her and she grabbed the first croissant sandwich from the bag, the smell of sausage, egg, and cheese causing an almost ecstatic response. She stuffed it greedily into her mouth, folding over the last few bites to get it all in. She sighed contentedly. One would have to hold her for now. She walked across from her office to see if Janice had any safety pins without even bothering to wipe the croissant crumbs off of the shelf of her breasts.

“Jan? Do you have any safety pins? I bought some new scrubs this morning and I gonna need to hem them tonight, but I don’t want to be tripping all day,” Sarah said with a grim as she sidled through the half open door across the hall from her office, inadvertently bumping the door with her ass.

“Sure thing,” Janice replied absently, got them out of her desk and handed them over, “Six enough?”

“Thanks,” Sarah made a move to sit down in the chair next to Janice’s desk, but noticed that unlike the two chairs in Sarah’s office Janice’s office had the chairs with arms and after an embarrassing moment at a meeting a couple of month’s ago. Sarah made a point of not sitting in any of the office chairs with arms.

Once Sarah was back in her office, she shut the door and moved hungrily to the bag on her desk.

Janie watched as her young colleague shut the door. It was about time the girl bought new scrubs. The ones she had been wearing lately, and she was pretty sure it was down to one pair, had been hanging on for dear life. And judging from the smells from those bags she came in carrying, this pair might not be long for this world. It was like the younger nurse didn’t know anything about nutrition or self-control or, shit, looking in the mirror. It seemed to Janice that since she had started working at the office she was constantly sneaking a snack: donuts, chocolates, bags of chips – never anything healthy. never an apple or a banana. And her lunches were almost always some kind of fast food from one of places nearby the office: McDonalds, Subway, or Taco Bell, or pizza, Chinese or fried chicken. Add to this a constant supply of  sweet, creamy coffee, hot chocolate, soda, or milkshake. Janice couldn’t remember the last time she had had a milkshake. Before high school? And she was fifty-seven!

And recently, it seemed to be accelerating. Actually, that was a funny word to use, Janice thought to herself. Sarah’s eating seemed to be accelerating and the expansion of already blubbery body had accelerated, but everything else seemed to slow down. She walked slower, showed up later, did her work slower, took longer breaks. She ate faster, it seemed, scarfing down foot-long subs and orders of fries at lunch; however, since she ate so much more, it took longer. Then she usually lapse into some food coma and remain there until someone pulled her back to reality. Janice sighed to herself.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t a pretty girl, she thought sadly. In fact, she had the kind of figure on which you could imagine carrying a few extra pounds well. But Sarah wasn’t carrying a few extra pounds. A short woman with large breasts and a rounded butt was often desirable and Janice had known a lot of men who would choose that kind of woman. Maybe Sarah had been that kind of woman a hundred pounds ago – with that cute blonde bob and bright eyes - but now, her body seemed like an exaggerated parody of that curvy blonde that Janice could imagine. Her breasts were huge and were constantly attempting escape from her cups of her bras, either up and over the top, or squeezing out at the sides where her upper arms sweated through her scrub tops and and competed for space with the escaping boob-flesh. Janice remembered a few months ago that Sarah’s ass had gotten stuck in a meeting room chair and since that day, she had noticed that whenever Sarah sat down, she avoided chairs with arms. This also caused her to notice how much of Sarah’s ass and thighs hung over the sides of any chair she plopped down on. What had been arresting more of Janice’s attention lately was Sarah’s belly. It seemed to be growing more rapidly than the rest of her, stretched by each meal. It wasn’t uncommon for Sarah to rest her hand on top of it after she had gorged herself silly at lunch, or one of the office outings after work. After those meals, it shoved itself out in front of her, tight as a drum, but most of the time it had a consistent jiggle and wobble, that sometimes were matched by her ass. She was amazed that no one had started a rumor about Sarah being pregnant.

Well, maybe she wasn’t that surprised. Anyone who spent any time with her would know that she wasn’t pregnant, just fat and getting fatter. How much had she gained in the last six months alone? That was the time in which Janice had noticed the greatest change in gorging, sweating, wobbling, and expanding. As she had thought when she gave the girl her safety pins, if she wasn’t careful, those new scrubs would soon be too tight. But what could she do? Sarah had seemed cheerful about her new purchases, even though they were obviously bought because everything else was too small, and she had come in with that big bag from Dunkin’ Donuts. She didn’t seem to care. Did she need help recognizing her problem? Janice knew she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she had to recognize her own ballooning. Right?

Suddenly, she had an idea of a way to get Sarah to talk to her and realize what she was doing to herself. Although the office kept a large mechanical scale in the hall between offices, she had a small digital one that she kept tucked under her desk to use with patients who were shy about being weighed out in relative public. She pulled it out, crossed the hall, and knocked on Sarah’s door. There was a mumbled reply and Sarah pulled open the door a few seconds later, giant coffee in hand, wiping chocolate frosting from off her plump lips.

“Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” Sarah barely took a break from drinking the sweet smelling drink to answer.”

“I have this scale in my office for anxious patients…”

“Good idea!” Sarah enthused.

“Yes…but I think it is a little off. Can I used you as a guinea pig to check it against the scale in the hallway?” Sarah gulped hard, almost choking on her coffee.

“Um. Um.” Damn! How could she say no? “Sure, I guess.” She glanced over her shoulder at the empty bag of donuts, the croissant sandwich wrappers, and the tags she had just cut off of her XXL scrubs. As if by punctuation to this thought, her belly produced a large burp that caused her belly and breasts to bounce as she stifled it.

[Guest Steatopygist]

Definitely worth reading so far. (Always a fan of fat girls still in denial even after their biggest pair of pants split

[mollycoddles]

This is a great start! I love Sarah is spiraling out of control.  That's something that few authors think to really do well, so I'm glad to see it,just a total helpless surrender to gluttony.  The decriptions of Sarah's body and clothes are also delightful and you do a great job of painting a vivid mental image of just how big she is and how quickly she's grown to this size. I can't wait to see more!

[Stephen1919]

It is a really good writing, easy to read and the description of the character is also really well done. Can't wait to read more about her  8)

[SnacksOnSnacks]

This is a great start! I love Sarah is spiraling out of control.  That's something that few authors think to really do well, so I'm glad to see it,just a total helpless surrender to gluttony.  The decriptions of Sarah's body and clothes are also delightful and you do a great job of painting a vivid mental image of just how big she is and how quickly she's grown to this size. I can't wait to see more!

This. It couldn't have been said any better. That makes for the best stories. Great stuff so far. Keep it up!

[amfyoyo]

Since she had had to drive to work, in order to buy her scrubs, Sarah figured that she would go grocery shopping on the way home. She had also done enough damage in her freezer, cupboard, and “wine cellar” the night before that she was probably due to some more food in the house. What she really wanted to do was go home, get high, and forget about her day and forget about the number.  It would take a lot to forget about that number.

When Janice had asked her to help her check to see if her scale was working, Sarah felt like she couldn’t say no, but she also didn’t do a very good job covering up how she felt about it. She felt her face immediately flush as she glanced around her office and her hands moved unconsciously to her jiggling belly as she held in a burp. While she smilingly followed Janice down the hall, her mind was racing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay, okay, okay. It was April. Her physical was in, what, October? Yeah, October, she had been eating Halloween candy in the waiting room and had been immediately embarrassed by the wrappers in her pockets when she was weighed. 221. 221, that number had stuck in her mind. Shit, that was big. Too big. Fuck.

Okay, okay. That was only six months ago and, yes, she had made some bad diet and exercise choices recently, but it was only six months. As she walked down the hall, following her petite colleague, she thought felt her body wobble slightly with each step. Only six months, how bad could it be?

She parked her small SUV as close to the door to the store as she could. No need to walk further than she had to. It had already been a long enough day. It was after five and the supermarket parking lot was crowded. A few too many people around to get high, that would have to wait until she got home. She would also have to wait to get home to eat, or at least after she got back into the car. That would be painful; she was starving. Despite the incident this morning, she had had to eat her, by now normal, lunch of two meatball subs from Subway plus those Cadbury Eggs. There was no reason that she should be so hungry, or that her back should be twanging with spasms. She tried to stretch in her bucket seat –her back had been aching for most of the day – and found how much less room she had than she used to. Her legs were short, so she had to keep the seat pulled up close enough to reach the pedals. The measure the distance between the steering wheel and the seat was a fixed distance. However, the measurement around Sarah’s midsection was not a fixed distance. Neither was the one around her hips and ass. Over the last few years while she had gotten wider and thicker, her legs hadn’t gotten any longer. As she tried to stretch her back, her belly brushed up against the wheel. Her eyes shot down to where the soft, doughy expanse of her spare tire was touching the wheel. No, she was not dealing with this right now. She reached to unbuckle her seatbelt and tried not to notice that she had to squeeze the buckle out from under her hip in order to get it open. She had just too much belly and too much ass for the seat. She could barely afford new scrubs, there was no way that she could buy a new car because she was too fat. She could, however, buy groceries. As she pulled herself out of the car, the number popped into her head again, as did Janice’s question.

Janice walked around the corner, Sarah trailing behind – waddling, really. She had recently noticed that she was developing a side-to-side roll in her stride. Okay, okay, she thought to herself. 221, it’s not far off 221. Damn, 221. That was really heavy. It shouldn’t be more than that. Well, six months. It can’t be that bad. Well, it’s not like she had lost weight. It’s not like she was trying, but it wasn’t going to be too bad. It was only six months. But wait, those six months had contained Halloween (for which she had already been stockpiling candy at her last physical), Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Shit, those were big eating holidays, and she hadn’t held back. In fact, since she made the discovery this year that one of her cousins was also a pretty heavy pot smoker, she had gone into most of the big family meals totally stoned and had probably stuffed herself silly. Shit, she didn’t remember exactly how much she had eaten at either meal, only that the one pair of dress pants that she had worn for Thanksgiving had to be unbuttoned before dessert and that they had to be worn unbuttoned to Christmas. Around Christmas was when she had really started smoking more, as well, partly to deal with the boredom of the winter, partly to deal with a job that was getting hard to do, and a body that seemed to ache and creak. That increased smoking had lead to increased snacking, and this sprang to her mind as she tried to slow her shuffle down the hall. As she came around the corner, she saw Janice bend down to place a small bathroom scale next to the large one that the used for the patients. Janice had a tiny ass. Sarah bet that she had never split a pair of scrub pants.

Sarah tried to lean on the shopping cart to take some stress off of her back as she pushed it through the produce section. There wasn’t much in that section she was interested in. Next aisle: Cap’n Crunch, Count Chocula, Fruity Pebbles, CocoPuffs. Around the corner: Milanos (several varieties) Chips (corn, potato – different brands of each) Cheez-doodles. Boxes of Entenmanns (donuts, cookies, raspberry swirl Danish, pop-ems). Buy five pints of Ben and Jerry’s get one free? Yeah, ten pints and two free? Done. Frozen pizzas, pierogis, garlic bread, lasagna, mac and cheese. God, was she done yet? She was dying to get home. One more turn through the dairy case: cheese slices, cheese sticks, half-and-half, whole milk, cookie dough, pudding and – ooooh – those cheesecakes. On the way to the checkout, she passed the garish, cardboard Cadbury Easter display

The teenage checkout girl looked at her with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrows as she slid the calories across the scanner. $180. That was a lot of money, but fuck it, she was hungry. 180 wasn’t that bad. The number wasn’t that high. That number wasn’t going to stick in her mind once was stoned, drunk, and full of Chinese food, 180 wasn’t going to be the number she was thinking about.

“Should I take my shoes off?” Sarah asked Janice as she felt a single bead of sweat run down her spine and into her butt crack.

“Oh, honey, we both know that barely makes a difference. Besides, I only want to see if they read the same. Hop on up!” Janice patted Sarah on her shoulder and was surprised how soft and yielding it was.

The springs in the car seat squeaked as Sarah stepped up and wedged herself back into it. She pulled out her cell phone and pulled up the number of her favorite Chinese place. “An order for delivery? Yes, a quart each of pork fried rice and beef lo mein. Four egg rolls. An order of crab Rangoon. Yes, that’s it. Wait, no. General Tso’s chicken. Huh? Oh, um, a large I guess.”

Her legs hurt and her back was screaming as she brought the last bag of groceries into the apartment. With her stop at the liquor store for some hard cider, she had only a few minutes to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. She didn’t really look for one that fit, none of them did, they all just hugged and tucked themselves into her various rolls and folds. Where was the Chinese guy? She ordered from the same restaurant at least twice a week and she tipped well. Well, she had time to get high. She managed to smoke an entire bowl while standing in her kitchen, downing one cider in a few gulps. She was in a euphoric haze by them time the buzzer rang and she paid and tipped, well, as usual.

“Wait, before you step on. What are you?”

“Huh?”

“How much do you weigh, honey?”

“Oh. Um, I’m not really sure. I haven’t weighed myself recently.”

“Sarah, you really should know. Especially as you get older.”

“I know. Um, the last time was at my physical in October.”

“And?”

“I was 220.” For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say 221. The extra one pound over the round number seemed too shameful to bring up.

“Okay,” Wow, she was heavier than Janice had suspected. How old was she? Not even 30 yet. “Thanks for your help, by the way.” Janice smiled sweetly.

Sarah turned on the TV. Tonight “Law and Order” would provide the background to her dinner. She laid the containers out in front of her on the coffee table. Three steaming dishes, a white paper box of crab Rangoon and the four egg rolls in their wax sleeves. And six, no seven fortune cookies. Sarah smiled as she counted these. Whoever had packed her order had obviously considered this much food a meal fit for at least seven. In her stoned and rapacious state, that sort of felt like a challenge.

With the chopsticks poised expertly in her hand, she flopped down on the couch, sinking deeply into the wide indentation that covered the entirety of the center cushion. Then she rocked herself forward, tucked a cloth napkin into the collar of her shirt and took a deep breath.

Sarah took a deep breath. There was no avoiding this. She stepped up. Janice had already slid the large weight over to the 200 pound notch. She already knew that Sarah was over 200. Janice tapped the small weight up to 20, then past it. Sarah looked over her head, holding her breath. Further, further. 25, 30. Janice paused to see if the scale balanced. Sarah took a shaky breath. Janice tapped. 35.

35 would mean that in the last six months, she had gained 14 pounds. That seemed crazy. How could she have gained 14 pounds. But she hadn’t. The scale didn’t balance at 35.

Or 40. Sarah closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Janice looked up and saw that her eyes were shut. Sarah heard the small weight slide back to zero. No. No, no, no, no. The big weighed clunked up a notch. Sarah’s heart clunked and she felt like something had dropped in her stomach.

As the first syrupy, spicy, gooey chunk of the general’s chicken slid down into her belly, she knew she was approaching her moment of bliss. After that first bite went down, more followed, faster and faster. Different textures and different flavors filled her stomach heavily with warmth and, well shit, happiness.

Her stomach felt like ice-water had been poured down into it. She wanted to open her eyes as she heard Janice start to slide the small weight again. Janice was experienced; she knew how to work the scale smoothly. Sarah looked down at where it rested. Six.

256.

It was easier to eat the lo mein with the chopsticks if she held the quart container up to her mouth. So she did.

It was easier to eat the fried rice with a spoon. So she did – while holding the container up to her mouth.

“256,” said Janice matter-of-factly. Although her head was swimming, it wasn’t tough for Sarah to do the math. 256-221=35. She had gained 35 pounds in three months. She barely remembered stepping off and onto the other scale, which worked perfectly.

256.

The episode of “Law and Order” ended and Sarah had barely noticed that it had happened. She had stuffed herself for 42 minutes and the meal wasn’t even gone yet. She hazily pressed play for the next and praised herself for bringing the whole six-pack of cider with her from the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she could have stood up if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to. In addition to the cider, she had remembered to bring the Mini-Eggs from the kitchen.

Sarah was in shock. 256. Janice was talking to her, but she really wasn’t listening. She stared at the walls, not sure if she was going to cry or laugh. 256. She was brought back to the present when Janice gently placed a small, dry palm against the belly, sticking out beyond her huge breasts. Sarah flinched; no one ever touched her belly.

“…do you know what I am saying, Honey. You’re so young; as you get older this,” she looked down at Sarah’s belly,” gets harder to manage. Honey, when will this end?”

[Guest]

This is fucking marvelous. My favorite part was Janice's descriptions of her eating and resting after a meal. The story definitely needs something to keep it from stagnating though. Maybe one of her coworkers is acting as a bit of a sneaky enabler? Just a thought since you said you were open to ideas to keep it going.

[Guest high]

awesome. really. just keep writing, you have a talent.

[amfyoyo]

Sarah’s breath came in short, gulped gasps, as it so often did in her recent memory, either from exertion or from being forced to work around a mouth full of food – or both. Right now, it was both. She had awoken from a fitful sleep having gotten into bed hours ago too stoned and stuffed to rest comfortably, but too drowsy to stay awake on the couch. Despite a particularly spectacular gorging session including her personal record for number of pizzas consumed, she rose from her bed ravenously hungry, feeling like there was a chasm inside of her, like she was entirely hollow. She had to fill it and she had to do it fast.

She had started with cookies. She always had plenty of them in the cupboards and cabinets – or she always bought plenty of them and tore through them at an increasingly (alarmingly) rapid pace. As long as they keep making different flavors of Milano, she would keep inhaling them. Three bags vanished as she stood in the kitchen, eyes glazed over chomping methodically. She was rummaging in the upper cabinets, looking for something ready to eat, pushing boxes of sugar cereal, pasta, and cake mixes out of the way when it appeared to her like a beacon shining over the sea. A huge unopened jar of Nutella. And it was huge, almost a joke-size or a size that a Swiss boarding school would buy in bulk. She had seen it in the window of a specialty food store and had to have it. It was so fucking big, the white plastic lid had a handle. She slid it to the front of the shelf and grabbed it with both hands. Its weight surprised her and as she lifted it down, she felt a familiar burning twinge in her lower back. She had been standing up for too long.

She opened a drawer to get a spoon, but they were all dirty, in the sink. She sidestepped through the narrow galley kitchen and stood over the sink to rinse a soup spoon. She worked the lid free, then peeled back the gold foil. Her back twinged again, so she leaned forward against the counter in front of the sink and taking a moment to observe and admire the smooth unbroken surface of the chocolate ocean spread before her, she began to eat.

As the first heaping spoonful began its slow dissolve against her tongue, her heartbeat quickened and she felt a shiver sweep through her body. The pudgy arm that reached back down into the depths had goosebumps. Her breath came in short, gulped gasps as she repeated the motions: dip, scoop, past the lips, onto the tongue and roof of the mouth and dip back down again. She didn’t really have to chew and although she really loved the feeling of crunching, this was heaven. Her mouth had begun an unconscious dance, rolling her tongue and jaw around in opposite motion to smooth the Nutella on it’s way down her throat.

After some time, her back began to protest again, and her locked knees began to ache. How long had she been standing there? How long had it been since she was able to stand for any period of time without her body complaining? The counter was cutting into her belly where she was leaning against it. She stuck the spoon in the jar and leaned back, bracing both hands against her wide, soft back and stretching like a pregnant woman might. Her back ached like it was on fire and the lower curve of her belly brushed up against the countertop, its bottom, almost clearing the lip in front of the sink. She looked down as she felt the contact between her pale skin and the granite countertop.

The she did something that, to her, would have been unthinkable a few months before and the thought of which a year or more ago would have sent her into hysterics. But, just then, it seemed like the only thing she could do. She tucked the loose strands of her blonde hair behind her cute little ears, licked a glob of Nutella from her pouty bottom lip and, using both hands lifted up her gargantuan belly and placed it on the countertop.

It immediately filled the space between the edge and the sink and ever so subtly poured into the sink itself, the cold metal hitting her like an electric shock. She stood there at three o’clock in the morning wearing only a pair of Lane Bryant boyshort panties that had long since given up the struggle of containing her massive ass and a tanktop that constantly rolled up over the belly and under her huge breasts (both articles of clothing that had fit, and fit well in very recent memory) with her belly resting on the counter, falling into the sink.

And she picked up the spoon, dig deep and kept on eating. She was beyond full, beyond tired, her body beyond sore and overstressed and she kept on eating like it was all she knew how to do. And as things in her life got harder to do, it was still easy. And as things in her life felt bad, it still felt good. Every heaping, gooey spoonful felt so good. Even though it felt like so many things in her life were shrinking, her wardrobe, her car seat, the distance she could walk without sweating, her self-esteem, the pleasure from food seemed to grow without bounds. As she scooped and smacked and swallowed, she knew it was wrong, knew it was bad, knew it was hurting her. Her consumption of weed, alcohol, and food was out of control. Her weight was out of control. She was out of control.

And she couldn’t stop. If she had looked up and seen her reflection in the window, would that have shocked her into ceasing? Would her vision of her own body made her stop? Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement, with some beads of sweat having popped up near her hairline. Her hand had come loose from behind her ears and framed a face that was rounder and softer than it had ever been. With all of the chewing she did, one might think she would have some definition along her jaw, but it has softened and folded over into a double chin that threatened a third. Her shoulders had rounded, both with added padding and with sloping over having to carry her breasts, which just kept getting bigger, overflowing bras faster than she could afford to buy them. They made buttoning sweaters near impossible and buttoning shirts impossible. They were constantly in her way and seemed to never stop wobbling. The wobbling drove her crazy because her belly often wobbled in opposition tandem, depending on her activity. If she was walking slowly, they wobbled together, if she had to rush (which she did less and less) they might start wobbling in different directions, causing shirts and jackets to ride up, pants to pinch and leather belts to creak – or it caused leather belts to creak the last time she was able to cinch one around her midsection.

Not that she needed a belt, the wide shelf of her ass held up most pants effectively, and even if it didn’t stick out behind her at an obscene angle, all of her pants were way too tight to fall down. In fact, if she was to be honest about it, which she rarely was, she had wobbled herself out of most of the casual pants that she had and the tightness of her scrubs had recently solicited some comments at work. If they got any tighter, she would wobble herself into a busted seam at an inopportune time.

Her belly wasn’t wobbling now. Three pizzas, a six pack of cider, an order of onion rings, two bowls of Cap’n Crunch (before bed) three bags of cookies and this Nutella had stopped its wobbling for now. It surged out over the counter and onto the lip of the sink and over that lip. Each gasping breath, coming faster and faster now, barely caused it to move, let alone lift from where it lay stuffed full and tight, but still wanting more. The faint red lines that Sarah had noticed months ago were now prominent and multiplied, evidence of the binges and recklessness of the past few months. A single smudge of Nutella was on the upper curve of its dome, having falled from the spoon on one of its trips from the tub to her mouth.

And still she kept eating and eating and eating. And then it was gone. All gone. The clock read 4:23 when the spoon scraped plastic at the bottom of the tub, but it was 4:38 when Sarah finished running her fingers around the sides and curves of the container to make sure she got every last smear, every last suck. She was fully sweating, after having single-mindedly gorged for almost two hours. Her breath came in short, gulped gasps of pleasure, pain, and disbelief.

She had eaten the entire tub. She looked at the label; five kg, how much was that in pounds? She multiplied. Jesus, fucking, Christ, over eleven pounds. No wonder her belly ached. Shit! She had almost forgotten that it was still resting on the counter. She tried to pull back, but the heat and sweat had caused it to stick to the counter and edge of the sink. She put the tub down and lifted. With both hands, leaning back to brace herself. She was surprised at how heavy it was.

Wait, it wasn’t an “it”; it was her. How was it possible to be surprised at how heavy a part of one’s own body is? She let her body take its weight, slowly releasing her hands. Her belly didn’t sag or bounce, it just seemed to sink, and her back and knees felt it, both sending out their familiar twinges of protest.

She looked at the jar on the counter. What she had done tonight, this feat of gluttony was too much. She had gone too far, had eaten too much. She was getting too big. This had to stop. Janice had weighed her in at two hundred and fifty-six pounds four months ago and all she had done since then was get bigger. And bigger. And bigger. She felt her heart beat faster and her sweat turn cold when she tried to imagine how much she weighed now. This was it. This had to stop she had gotten too big, way too big. She was huge. She placed a had on either side of her swollen belly. Belly? She needed to top calling it that; this was a gut. She tried to wobble it, to shake some sense into herself, but it was too tight, too full to move. The rest of her obliged with a wobble that lasted longer than her original motion.

“This has to end”, she said,  “I can’t keep going like this.”

She’d said that before…

[xandercroft]

Wow, an extremely well done extreme gluttony description!  Awsomesauce.

[mollycoddles]

An awesome addition! This is one of the best new stories in a long time, and I'm excited to see every new chapter! Besides being really hot, I'm genuinely curious to see how things turn out for Sarah.

[Guest adafor140]

There was a fifth instalment - unfortunately the deviantart account was deactivated. Did anyone save the stories out there by any chance?

[hydraman18]

Here's what I have as the 5th part - dang, was hoping the author would continue this one.

Dr. Kessler had been enjoying his retirement, golfing, fishing and gardening. He felt like a clichéd commercial for the AARP, but it was his life and he enjoyed it. It had been over three years since he hung up the stethoscope and moved away, and he had never been happier. While he didn’t miss the stress of the job, he missed some of the patients that he had seen for years and he missed his nurses. Which was why he was happy to be able to fill in for a week while. his successor was out of town and he happened to be in town visiting his grandchildren. He had agreed to extend his trip and see some familiar faces. He left his daughter’s house early on Monday and stopped to pick up some doughnuts to bring into the office. Lynnette would complain, but eventually eat one, Janice would refuse on principle, but Sarah would be happy to have one. Sarah had always had a sweet tooth, and was just a little chubby as a result’ she was always his favorite.

He got to the office and was chatting with Lynette who sat behind the desk in the reception area and had, as he expected, turned down his initial offer of a doughnut, saying that she was sure that Sarah would have some when he heard a noise behind him. The front door of the office was still locked as they hadn’t opened yet and when he went to see about he noise, he opened the door on an absolutely huge ass wobbling around as its owner dig through a backpack that was on the steps. Dr. Kessler couldn’t help but stare, this woman’s backside was enormous, wide and round and stacked on top of thighs as wide around as some women’s waists that pressed together almost to her knees. As she rummaged around in the bag and huffed and puffed, he cleared his throat slightly,

“Excuse me? May I help you?” The woman gave a startled gasp, practically a hiccup and slowly, with a slight groan, stood herself upright and spun around. A grey hooded sweatshirt was partially zipped and had ridden up over a beach-ball sized belly, complete with stretch-marks and a deep-wide belly button and tucked itself under a pair of giant breasts, each one easily larger than basketball and visibly squeezed in a bra that was too small. His eyes traveled upwards as the woman gave a giggling gasp and gushed, “Dr. K!” in a somewhat familiar voice. He was momentarily stunned.

“Sarah?” The wobbling figure of the woman lurched forward and wrapped his thin, elderly frame in a soft and smothering hug.

“I’m so glad to see you! How are you?”  He found himself speechless. This couldn’t be his favorite nurse, Sarah. This woman was huge, easily a hundred pounds heavier and twice as wide as the girl he remembered hiring not too many years ago. The embrace he found himself in was all softness and warmth, she was sweating despite the chill and her insubstantial clothing and breathing hard. She smelled like coffee and something else, sugar, maple syrup maybe, but chocolate definitely

She stepped back from the hug and tugged her sweatshirt back down, covering up her belly, well almost, the bottom which hung over her pants still stuck out. Pulling the sweatshirt down caused her to wobble all over, especially the absolutely titanic breasts.  She looked him up and down and when she met his eyes, he saw that it was indeed her. The same pretty grey eyes and dirty blonde hair but now with rounded, rosy cheeks and double chins. Still unable to say anything, he just smiled nervously and tried to hide his shock.

“Arizona must be treating you well, Doc. You look great.” He wanted to respond with a standard “So do you” but he wasn’t sure that he felt that that was true.  The woman standing, sweating and almost panting in front of him was barely five foot three and was close – he would wager his decades of experience – to three hundred pounds. What had happened while he had been gone? What had happened to Sarah? His mind reeled. All he could manage to say was a limp and bewildered, “I brought doughnuts…”

“Oh, goody,” she cooed and bent over again to pick up the backpack she had set down on the step and the giant coffee and bag from Dunkin Donuts. “I gotta go get changed,” she chirped, then whispered, “Janice hates it when I am not ready to work on time.” She looked over her shoulder and he followed her eyes to see Janice coming up the walk. Sarah bumped past him thought the door and disappeared into the office.

“Welcome back, Dr. Kessler,” Janice said as soon as her old employer had turned back toward her after watching Sarah’s ass pass him by.

“What? I…?” He began, looking from Janice to the doorway and back. “She.. I mean, she…”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘ballooned’ if I’m not mistaken. Although you might be thinking ‘got fat’ but I’m not sure that really covers it, at this point.”

Once she was into the office and down the hall, Sarah let go of the air she’d been holding in her lungs in what was probably a vain attempt at sucking in her gut. It bulged out, well further out than it had and caused the zipper on her hoodie to click down a few inches and for her bra to creak, for some reason. God, she was tired of her clothes making so much noise all the time.

She had been dreading seeing Dr. Kessler for the first time this week. She had spent many a pot-fueled binge anticipating it in the months since they found out he would be covering this week. The stress of that moment alone had probably only made the root cause of that anxiety worse as whopping pans of lasagna, party- sized bags of chips, pint after pint of Ben and Jerry’s and take-out banquets fit for extended families coming off of hunger strikes hadn’t done anything to make her smaller or make her anticipation of Dr. Kessler’s reaction to her gain any easier to bear. Now, Janice was out there with him, someone to whom she could give vocal expression to the dirty looks and silent judging of the last several months. Just thinking about that made her angry and as she glanced down at her clenched fist, she saw the swell of her belly and felt a sudden shift from anger to anxiety. They were talking, probably, about how fat she had gotten, and they had plenty to talk about; and she was looking at it right now. The anxiety built and as he lips turned into a pouty frown, the anxiety changed into what it always eventually changed into, hunger. Down underneath all of its padding, her stomach gave her a small nudge, one she knew she couldn’t ignore. Across the mountain of her belly from her clenched fist, the other fist held a grease soaked bag from Dunkin’ Donuts. Four egg and cheese sandwiches on croissants, each with both sausage and bacon (by special request) lay in the bag and despite the lumberjack sized breakfast she had eaten at home, she was dying to eat those sandwiches.

She was done with the first one before she even noticed or had taken off her sweatshirt. Underneath the hoodie was a thin, white tank top as stretched as everything else she owned. It displayed her upper arms, pink and fat as Christmas hams on either side of breasts she barely knew what to do with any more. It also displayed her gut, too short to reach all the way around its steadily bulging sphere. The sweat pants came off next although it was tough to work them over her ass and she had to pay particular attention as they were getting tighter around her thighs. She almost laughed to herself at this thought, the thought that the sweatpants were getting tighter. They were staying the same, stretching even; she was getting bigger and bigger and bigger. She almost laughed, but with the second breakfast sandwich in her mouth, she didn’t want to choke.

She stood for a minute in undersized underclothes before bending over with difficulty and heaving herself back up to stuff the sweats into the her backpack and extract her scrubs. How soon before these sweats joined all the other clothes that she tossed into the corner of her closet, never to touch again?

These scrubs were closer to the closet corner than the sweats, but they were going to have to do. XXXL on top and bottom and she was busting out of them. And, the wear of the stretching and creaking was making them a little fragile. In order to get the top on, she had to put both arms through and do a wobbling little dance to get it to drop down over her head, then she, if she bent her arms down at the elbows, she could start to tug it down into place. This morning, she got it over her head and had begun to work it downwards with only a slight moment of panic as it caught on the bulges of fat above and below her bra straps. With that crisis averted, she smoothed it the rest of the way over her breasts and gut. It didn’t drape the way it was supposed to, but clung tightly to her ample figure making it tough to breath, but dampening her jiggling slightly. She had to be careful when she sat down, making sure that she was always perched on the edge of her seat and sitting upright, or else the outward swelling of her belly and love handles might threaten the seams at the side.

In fact, as she sat down to put on her pants, she rolled the top back up, just to avoid this scenario and plopped herself onto one of the arm-less office chairs. She took a short sweaty break to catch her breath after her shirt calisthenics and to finish breakfast sandwich number three. She wiped her greasy fingers on the chair fabric and began the struggle into her pants.

Sarah could remember, since it was not all that long ago, when she didn’t need to use verbs of effort and discomfort to think about getting dressed. She used to throw on a pair of jeans or button a sweater when it got cold. Now, and she wasn’t sure exactly when it started, but a while ago she started squeezing herself into jeans, struggling into dresses, stuffing herself into a skirt, or wrestling with a belt. Then, the verbs of effort were joined by others: she sucked it in while she crammed herself into a pair of jeans, she had to stretch up to wiggle her way into a top. All this effort and maneuvering, it almost made her glad that her sweats were almost all she wore. It wasn’t easy to get into them, but it was less work, or at least it was.

To get the scrub bottoms on she had to lean as far forward as she could, which was not far, and flap them around, until she got them over her feet. Once her feet were through, she had to rock back and forth a little to get the waistband to drop down onto her outstretched calves. Then, keeping the calves pushed apart to stop the scrubs from falling down again, she could rock to a standing position. If she was successful with move, she would be able to grab the waist when she leaned over. Then, ever so slowly, to avoid ripping, she would work them up, one inch on a side at a time, sometimes going up onto her tiptoes to try to make her legs longer and more stretched. Slowly, slowly, careful not to pull too hard, they would come up her legs. As bowls of pudding, Big Mac, and buckets of fried chicken thickened those thighs, it had gotten harder, and now on this find Monday, the pants were like a second skin around those thighs, but they had to be inched and snugged all the way up before she even attempted to get her ass into the pants.

She leaned back, her back starting its familiar twinge and slowly worked the thinning fabric over the shelf of her ass, which wobbled with her touch and seemed to fight against her. Finally, if she had practiced the art that she knew so well, she would find herself standing, stuffed, crammer, and shoehorned into her work clothes for another day, and as long as she made no sudden movements and if the patron saint of fat girls heard her prayers, she could make it through the day.

She sucked in as much as she could to rolled the top back into place. It was tight, way, way, way too tight, but she could do it. She lowered herself onto the edge of her desk chair, still holding her stomach in, she couldn’t fit her hips between the arms of the chair anyway, so even if her clothes weren’t about to rupture, she still couldn’t lean back in the chair. As she relaxed her back slightly, she felt he fabric tighten and bind across her chest, belly, hips, and thighs. The last breakfast sandwich sat on her desk, leaking grease through the wrapper. She picked it up and unwrapped it. If she was going to make it through the week with Dr. Kessler here, she would need all of the comforts that she could muster. A small voice in her head reminded her of the tightness of her scrubs and how she was undeniably one egg and cheese croissant with sausage AND bacon away from a set of tight fitting 4X scrubs. That voice was quickly shouted down by others, and one, in particular that piped up and reminded her that Dr. Kessler had said he brought doughnuts. She loved doughnuts.

[hydraman18]

I'm kind of an electronic hoarder, so I have the rest of the stories from his page saved to my hard drive as well - if the author doesn't object, I could send them to people upon request.

[Guest bf57chevy]

That would be awesome!!

[Guest adafor140]

Yeah, that would be great. A pity the deviantart account was shut - those were some of the best stories I ever read. If you could send them to me I would be really grateful.

[amfyoyo]

It went without saying that Sarah never imagined that she could get this big. She placed both chubby hands on either side of the giant swell of her belly, her eyes pressed tightly shut. She flexed her fingers and felt them dig deep into the flab. She felt her body jiggle as she relaxed her hands.

Sweat began to bead on her upper lip and along her hairline as she heard the small, insistent beep sound again. She had to face it. She had to get real. She had placed two obstacles, two necessary obstacles in her path, two obstacles that she had been avoiding with every ounce of her being: the mirror and the scale, one taken out of the closet and leaning against the bathroom wall and one beeping under her feet.

Months. It had been months since Janice had weighed her Months of smoking, drinking, and eating. Snacking, indulging, stuffing, gorging, cramming handfuls of anything she could grab into her mouth, slurping, smacking, chewing, swallowing, and gaining. How much had she gained? She had no idea. She had been 256 that day, and in fucking shock at the number. She had blimped up to 256 and had just bought a pair of XXL scrubs. She had just peeled off a sweaty pair of XXXXL scrubs.

She had just peeled off a pair of XXXXL scrubs and noticed that her constantly rubbing thighs were starting to wear through the fabric and that the XL hot chocolate she drank on the way home had spilled a bit on her shirt. She had had to hold the drink while she drove because the cup was too big to fit into the cup holder, especially since so much of her ass now spilled over the bucket seat, especially since she needed to wiggle her way towards the center console to accommodate the other side of her ass which wedged against the door.

XXXXL scrubs were accommodating her titanic ass, and her ever-jiggling tits, and her ever rumbling gut, her wobbly biceps, and thundering thighs. For the moment.

It went without saying that she never thought she would get this big, and she certainly never thought how easy it would be to get this big. XL became XXL became XXXL became XXXXL. 256 became…

Well, she had no idea, but she was going to know. As soon as she opened her eyes, which she couldn’t seem to bring herself to do.

As in all times of stress (and happiness, boredom, angry, sadness, and any other emotion) she was hungry. She tiled her head down, feeling her double or triple chins press against each other and opened her eyes.

Only to see, past the two lobes of flesh that poured over her EE cup bra, an expanse of gut. Her fucking belly was so big, she couldn’t see the numbers. She shut her eyes again and remembered how her local Work’n Gear only stocked XXXL, anything larger, she would have to buy on-line or order specially. She swallowed dryly and opened her eyes again. Pressing her hands to the dome of her belly, the part surging out furthest in front of her, she pressed it back towards her body while she leaned forward. That didn’t work; there was too much belly in the way and as she leaned forward, her tits got even further in the way.

Suck. Squeeze. Lean. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing again. Sweat was beginning to roll down in the usual places, under the arms, at the back of her knees, and in the rolls along her waist and below her bra straps. The voices of Ben and Jerry called to her from the freezer; she had tried, she had, but she couldn’t see the number, she deserved a pint of Chubby Hubby or two or three.

No! It was that kind of thinking that had made it hard for her to squeeze into her car. The mirror was leaning against the wall behind her and the bathroom was not big. If she used the mirror, she could read the digital scale in the reflection. She twisted around, noticing how the most recent accumulations of chub had bulked up her hips and love-handles and that twisting wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

She didn’t want to look at her reflection, not yet. She would, but first, she had to know. Angling the full-length mirror away from her feet, she caught a quick glimpse of the red stretch marks radiating out from her deep navel and saw her flesh wobble with the twist of her torso. She refocused.

33L? No 33 and then a backwards L. What?

Oh, holy living fuck! The reflection was reversed and upside down! It couldn’t be! 337! 337.

She felt faint and dropped the mirror. It bounced off of her belly and shattered as it hit the tile floor. Sarah staggered back off of the scale and stumbled against the wall feeling the cool tile twinge against the sweat on her back. She slumped against the wall, dropping all of her, fuck!, three hundred and thirty-seven pounds, onto her wicker hamper which creaked and splintered, sending her all the way to the floor. A shuddering wave flopped through her body as her ample ass slapped the tile.

She was gasping. Her blubbery ass had absorbed the shock of falling and it didn’t even really hurt. Math, she had to do math. 337 minus 256 was. Was. Oh my God. Could she really be 81 pounds heavier than that day she had stepped on the scale in the office, how long ago was that? When was that? Ten, almost eleven months. 81 pounds in 10 months. Sarah sat on the floor with remnants of the destroyed hamper under her butt. There were no clothes in it because she had so few clothes that fit her anymore, and since she barely did anything aside from work and come back home to get stoned or drunk and stuff herself silly, she hadn’t bought a new clothes aside from her tent like scrubs and sweats. There were no clothes in the hamper, but there was always pot and food in the kitchen, and usually beer in the fridge. That was were her mind jumped immediately and she tried to get up to get there before any other thought could  squeeze in. Sarah found that while hauling herself up from a seated position on her couch, where she spent most of her time was a wobbling, jiggle ordeal and lifting herself off her desk chair at work, hurt her knees and back, it had been a long time since she found herself sitting on the floor. She almost didn’t know how to start to get up. Her arms groped as far behind her as they could but there was nothing to push herself against as if her arms could have lifted all three hundred and thirty-seven pounds of her. Rolling forward and bringing her knees under her was not an option, no ab muscles, huge belly, fat legs. After a few minutes of creating no more motion than the undulations of her flesh, she accepted that she would need to roll onto her front and get up on her hands and knees. While this was not a most dignified option, so many aspects of her life had lost some dignity in recent times.

Sarah rolled and rocked and finally, maybe for the first time in a long time, she felt the weight of her body in the pressure on her knees and wrists. She spent so much time and effort in avoiding confronting her weight, and so much time working her physical life around her swelling frame, that she could go for a while without really thinking about it – or if she did think about it she could put something into her body that stopped those thoughts. From her hands and knees, she brought her ass back onto her claves, the soft expanses meeting in a position they hadn’t enjoyed in a while. Her ass was so soft, it seemed to wrap around her calves and ankles.

The next step was harder. Sarah grabbed the edge of the tub and, body quivering, started to stand up. It took a few tries and when she was done, she was sweating but she was standing. She looked around the bathroom, broken mirror, smashed hamper; so much for taking stock of her life. When she entered this room in what now felt like an hour ago, she had had an icy dread that she might weigh close to three hundred pounds. She was actively in denial, but she knew the struggles of her body everyday and she knew, vaguely at times, what she stuffed into it. She had two fifty-six in the back of her mind, but she knew it was much more, that maybe three hundred was looming on the horizon, behind a pile of cookies, a mountain of Chinese food, or cases of beer stacked like a Mayan temple. She knew this was possible, but to have shot past the barrier of three hundred pounds without noticing, that was a little devastating. Although, what had she expected, that while she was lounging on the couch one day, she would drop an Oreo into her chomping mouth an a voice would have announced from somewhere that she had just porked out to three bills. Yeah, but still, to have gone almost forty pounds past that fatass milestone, made her feel, well, she wasn’t sure how it made her feel, aside from hungry. Everything made her hungry. Knowing how fat that hunger had made her made her feel horrified and a little sick with some other emotion lurking in the background, a weird misplaced pride, perhaps.

She lumbered into the kitchen, the number on the scale dancing in her head at each plodding step. The kitchen had a narrow galley arrangement and every once in while Sarah was reminded of her bulk by having to maneuver herself around it. She had to stand to the side of the fridge when she opened the door, because even with her ass pressed against the opposite counter, her belly didn’t allow enough clearance. She stepped to the side to open the recently stocked fridge and gazed in with a sinking feeling. Sarah had been so determined that she would weigh herself and take a good long look in the mirror (breaking it had saved her from that) that she had forgotten her intended trip to the liquor store and she needed booze. Although she hated to go back out, she needed to, especially after he recent shock. The liquor store was only around the block, and she could drive, or course.

She pulled on skin-tight, threadbare sweatpants, clogs, and digging around in the pile on her bed, finally decided that she would need to put her XXXL scrub top back on, the one with the fresh hot chocolate stain on it. She grabbed her long down coat from where she had flung it on the back of a chair and struggled into it. The number 337 flashing in her mind. The coat hadn’t really fit last winter and this winter it would have been laughable to consider trying to zip it up. It might be a full sixteen inches from covering her belly. This wasn’t much of a problem, as Sarah spent so little time outside and drove herself almost everywhere, even the shortest of distances. When she did have to go outside, she hardly felt the need to zip it up as she was carried pounds and pounds of very effective insulation everywhere she went. She was far more often sweating than cold. The recent troubling development had been the tightness of her old coat around her biceps, but not now, not now. Now, she needed booze, possibly bottles and bottles of cider.

With her meaty arms crammed into her coat, she crammed her meat ass into her car seat and headed down the block and around the corner. On the corner was a pizza place, right next door to the liquor store. The pizza place’s number was saved in her phone which seemed to be already in her hand and dialing. Four, no make that five larger meat lover supremes, and two orders of mozzarella sticks, for pick up. Fifteen minutes? Well, thank God she had brought a party sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos into the car with her.

Her car loaded with pizza and a case of Woodchuck cider, and her mind loaded with visions of her bowl full of weed and her couch, Sarah rolled away from the curb, around the block and headed back home.

Eight hours later, with a whanging headache and a throbbingly full belly, Sarah woke up, rolled off of the couch, stepped over the pizza boxes, bottles, and candy wrappers and headed to the freezer. She grabbed two pints of Ben and Jerry’s. In her intoxicated sleep, she had dreamed an idea, and idea only someone with her particular desires and compulsions might dream. She tore the lids off of the Chuby Hubby and Phish food and threw them away. She placed both cartons in the microwave, its door splattered with traces of meals gone by. In one minute, she extracted them, the contents a softened delight. With one in each hand, she remembered what she had done in her dream and gently squeezed each carton until the softened ice cream crept over the edge. She gobbled it up before it could drip, moving both pints to her waiting tongue in sequence. Now she could eat two pints at once without a spoon! What an amazing dream! Sarah was glad that she remembered it.

Something else tugged at her memory as the flattened cartons thumped into the trash and she pulled two more out. What was it? A number? The sugar was working to dull her headache as were the hits off of her bowl that she took while waiting for the ice cream to soften, but she couldn’t remember the number, only the vague sense of anxiety it had caused.

The number didn’t matter anyway. When one is the sort of special young lady who falls asleep on her fifth empty pizza box and awakens from dreaming of how to double-fist pints of ice cream, it doesn’t really matter if you remember the number on the scale; it’s not going to stay the same for long.

[SnacksOnSnacks]

Just awesome

[hydraman18]

Glad to see you're still with us - you are definitely one of my favorites!

[xandercroft]

my god the last chapter speaks to my fantasy...

[xandercroft]

There must be more to this story

[bover]

This is far and away one of the best weight gain stories I've ever read.  Your story, "The Belt", is fantastic too.  You've got really talent for just the perfect descriptions of bulging bodies and gluttonous urges.  I really hope you continue this story.  Do you have anything else written that you haven't posted on here?  I'd love to see anything else from you.

[amfyoyo]

As the door bounced off of her rounded ass over which flapped her never again to be buttoned coat, Sam leaned onto the counter and close to where John gaped at the closing door. “How much do you want to be bet that all five of those pizzas are for her? Jesus Christ! When she first started coming in here all the time, I thought she was pretty, a little chubby sure, but nice, big tits, and really sweet. Now? She’s fucking huge, she must do nothing but eat. Am I right?” He elbowed John, who started sharply, pulled back to reality.

Sarah. Her name was Sarah. He knew from taking her orders and from running her credit card when she picked them up, almost always after a stop at the liquor store next door.

“How else could she get so fucking fat so fast?” Sam continued. He always made comments on the women that came into the shop, and while his tastes tended to run towards the more traditionally skanky and trashy, he never failed to make a comment on the positive qualities of any of their female customers. As for John, there was only one whom he looked forward to seeing and luckily for him, he got to see her often and usually there was more to see.

He was infatuated. He almost chuckled to himself at his choice of words. When he had first seen Sarah in the shop, he was enthralled, chubby blonde in a tight nurses uniform who wasn’t afraid to tear into a double order of mozzarella sticks while she waited for her order. He remembered those early days, taking long sideways glances at her almost willing her to eat more, to grow, to swell, to thicken. That was what he loved. And she didn’t disappoint. Not even the clearly fantastical accounts that he salivated over on the internet could have given him as much satisfaction as watching the object of his secret affection become the physical embodiment of his secret fantasy.

Sam was right, she was getting fucking huge. He was more than a casual observer of this magnificent woman and he was pretty sure that tonight’s visit to the pizzeria had heralded a new milestone in his obsession. Often, not always, but often, Sarah would order some kind of friend appetizer to eat while she waited for her pizza…sorry, pizzas to be ready – she was up to ordering a minimum of five, loaded with toppings. Tonight, it was her favorite, a double order of mozzarella sticks, which John usually bumped up to at least a triple. He had them ready for her as soon as she wobbled in the doorway, pausing, a little out of breath to dig her wallet out of her long down jacket pocket. Although it was freezing outside, she never had the jacket zippered, and he knew why. Her ass bulged out behind her like the rear fenders of a car from the fifties, while her breasts and enormous belly rolled out in front. When she leaned against the counter, he heard it creak and watched the edge divide her voluminous belly into two squishy spare tires. She smelled faintly of something sweet and of weed and her eyes looked a little bleary – also not unusual. Smiling, she paid, took her fried cheese and waddled over to a booth. Watching her go, John thought that he might have to revise his recent estimate of her weight – all of his internet, plus-sized and gainer model research had lead him to guess she was in the low three hundreds at this point, but maybe, she was closer to 350 than he had thought – that or she had increased her ballooning since last week.

The first moment that made John’s week came next. Sarah stood before the booth and made a slight huffing noise as she gently lowered her ass onto the bench. Not all of it fit on the bench, but she was able to get enough of it on there. She placed the steaming calorie bomb of cheese and grease on the table and started to wiggle herself into the booth. But, to John’s utter astonishment and over-joy, she realized in a moment of blushing and sucking in that she didn’t fit in the booth. With her ass pressed against the back of the bench, she didn’t have enough clearance to get her great belly in behind the table. From where John was standing it didn’t appear that she had a lot of room for her thighs under the table either.

He had to work hard not to stare. She shifted sideways a little, turning herself back towards the counter so that her right arm, tightly packed into her jacket sleeve flopped over the back of the booth while the tabletop cut painfully into her blubbery side. All of this constriction had the effect of squeezing her considerable belly and breasts forward. She glanced around to see if anyone had seen her and after he ducked her gaze, he turned back to see her cramming the first mozzarella stick past her perfect pouty lips. As she released it into her mouth, she closed her eyes in a shudder of pleasure and wiped her greasy hand on the front of her shirt.

When Sam called her order out, it was with difficulty that she slid herself forward and bounced up to the counter grabbing her pizzas and left. Sam’s comments jarred him out of his daze and he noticed something on the table where Sarah had been sitting – okay, trying to sit. It was a large, woman’s wallet. Her wallet.

John dashed around the corner, snatched the wallet off of the table and ran out the door. He had seen Sarah squeezing and heaving herself in and out of her car in front of the shop to know it, and there is was, pulling away from the curb. Shit! He had missed a chance to talk to her. But, wait. He opened the wallet and saw her driver’s license. She only live a block and a half away. And yet she drove over here? And this piece of plastic said she weighed 170 pounds. The face in the picture was almost unrecognizable to the woman who wedged her increasingly corpulent form into his dreams at night.

He would go. He would go to her apartment right now, and return her wallet. That wasn’t creepy, was it? Well, it would be creepy if he just showed up there after obsessing about her for h no pretense at all, but he was returning her wallet, that was legitimate.

He told Sam he was taking his break and headed out the door. He wondered for a second if he should bring her something, no, no, no John, that would be creepy. Just the wallet.

He made it to the apartment building in under five minutes, and saw her car parked in a space right by the door. As an elderly Asian woman was coming out, he was able to slip into the building without having to ring her buzzer. Thoughts flooded his mind as he walked down the hall to her door. What was he doing here? He could have just called her; they had her number from her endless ordering. What if she freaks out that he came down here, what if she has a boyfriend, Sam could be wrong, she could be sharing those pizzas with a big, hungry, jealous guy. Or girl. He fantasized about and idolized this bloated goddess but he knew nothing about her. She could be anyone.

But when she opened the door quickly, she was just her, in a pair of skin tight sweatpants and a t-shirt that barely covered her. In one hand she held two pieces of pizza sandwiched together and it was obvious that she was sobbing. Her round cheeks were wet with tears and she jiggled a little as she tried to pull herself together.

“Yes?” This was less of an inquiry as an impatient demand. As she said it, she seemed to recognize him. He seized that moment.

“Uh, yeah…John,” he stammered, pointing at himself. Useless, idiot, she didn’t know his name. “Um, I work at the pizza place.” He pointed at the two slices in her hand and she flushed and gulped back a sob.

“What?!” She barked as he stared at her. He held up the wallet, with what he imagined was a nervous look on his face.

“You left this in your booth,’ he gulped. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, your address is on your license. You left it in your booth,” John repeated. Her lip quivered.

“I don’t think you can call it ‘my booth’ if I don’t fit into it anymore.” She stretched her hand, palm up, towards him. He was transfixed by her breasts which strained the fabric of her t-shirt, totally obscuring whatever colorful logo has once been prominent. Seeing the flesh of her swollen belly exposed, sweetly stretch-marked and plump and pale was enough to make his head whirl and feel like he was drunk. Maybe that’s why he said what he did.

“I think those booths are kinda small, actually.” With tears leaking out of her beautiful eyes, she actually smiled, took back her hand and tucked blonde strands behind her hair, then placing her palm before him again, she laughed.

“That is sweet of you to say, John, but the size of your booths isn’t the problem.”

“I don’t see any problems at all,” Wow, where had that come from? Who was this guys pretending to be a smoother version of John. Sarah crinkled her brow, in suspicion, or possibly confusion. He slowly put the wallet into her hand, allowing his fingers to gently brush her palm as he transferred the weight of the worn leather onto her hand. “In fact…”

“In fact what, John?” Sarah took a huge bite of her pizza sandwich and stared at him.

“In fact, I have wanted to talk to you for a long time. I…I think you are beautiful and I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.” She laughed, opened the door wider, tossed the wallet somewhere into the apartment where it landed with a thud, stuffed the rest of the pizza into her mouth and chewed while smiling at him.

“You want to have dinner with me? You don’t know anything about me. How do you know I am single? Why do you assume that I would be interested? About the only thing you know is what I eat for dinner…and you know that I already have my dinner.”

“I know you are beautiful…”

“Okay, stop saying that,” the smile had vanished. “That’s not funny.”

“Wait…”

“Too fat to fit in a booth does not equal beautiful, John. It equals really fucking fat, so you can go back to your pizza place and tell whoever put you up to this that you asked the fat girl out and she rejected you because she was too busy eating.”

“But…”

“I am, John.”

“Are what?”

“Too busy eating.” She shut the door.

xx

[Guest adafor140]

This is truly amazing stuff. Please continue!