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pseudonymius

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About pseudonymius

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  • Location Toronto, ON, Canada

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  1. Chapter 2 Natasha startled awake as her phone alarm blared through the darkness of the bedroom. She slapped her hand in the direction of the nightstand until she found the offending device and hurriedly silenced it. With the screen dimmed to minimum, she peered at the time—5:45 am. “Dammit.” Beside her, Laura snored on serenely. One flabby, naked thigh protruded from the blankets, pale skin seeming almost to glow in the phone’s otherworldly light. Natasha gave Laura’s shoulder a nudge, “Time to wake up, honey.” More snores. This time, Natasha gave the other woman’s shoulder a firmer shake. Still just more snores. Natasha placed her hand on Laura’s belly—which was protruding skyward like some sort of nocturnal monument to grease, sugar and saturated fat—and shook the mound of adipose hard enough to make the bed bounce slightly. Laura jolted, coughing and spluttering into wakefulness. Turning her head to make eye contact, she scowled at Natasha. “Time to wake up, you lazy thing,” Natasha said with a hint of amusement. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” Laura’s niece was about to begin her second year of university and didn’t own a car, so Laura and Natasha has pledged their Mercedes to help her move into her dorm. Unfortunately, that commitment came with a four-hour, cross-state drive. Laura groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Oh… right.” With a sigh, she used her elbows to lever her up into a sitting position. The blankets fell away to reveal naked skin. Her chest heaved just a little with the effort of sitting up. Natasha had to force herself not to lean in and grab a handful. The site of Laura’s deliciously plump body had never been one that she was able to easily resist, even when the other woman had been 100 pounds lighter and only slightly overweight. But mindful of the time, she gave Laura’s gut one last, affectionate pat and said, “We’d better shake our overfed asses, or we’ll be late.” “Ugh, yes, I guess so...” Laura swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up with a sigh of exertion, giving Natasha a rather pleasant view of her ass. Although sizeable, the muscles had long-since begun to atrophy from lack of use, giving it something of a v-shape, rather than the rounded peach-shape of a healthier person’s rear. “Fuck, that view is distracting,” muttered Natasha, feeling her face redden. Laura turned around, triggering a highly appealing ripple of fat, and struck a playful, sexy pose. “I know,” Laura said with a smirk. She departed for the shower with an extra wiggle of her hips, Natasha tilting her head for a better view. As the bathroom door closed behind Laura, Natasha unlocked her phone, opening the emails app. It was busy season in the world of real estate, and bargain basement interest rates meant that even the pandemic was doing little to dampen buyers enthusiasm. An alarming collection of messages had accumulated since Natasha left work the night before, and she set to work either deleting or replying to them. But thoughts of Laura, wet and naked in the shower, kept intervening. After the third time her hand started to slide between her legs, Natasha sighed and flung the covers off. She and Laura would be late that morning. The bathroom door squeaked as Natasha opened it. Through the steam of the shower, she saw Laura’s silhouette turn to look, and then swing the glass door open: an invitation. Natasha pulled her pajama shirt over her head, feeling her belly wobble as she moved. She pulled down her flannel pants and kicked them off, breathing heavily as she straightened up. Distantly, it occurred to her that she had become so out of shape that taking her clothes off left her feeling slightly breathless, and she wondered if, like Natalie Portman, her arteries were becoming caked in yellow plaque. She suspected they were. *** If taking her pajama pants off had raised alarm bells about how out of shape Natasha was, trying to have shower sex set off a fog horn. Leaning against the shower wall and grinding against Laura’s talented fingers, it had been just seconds before Natasha could feel her heart begin to start pounding--not with arousal, but with exertion. As her breathing became more laboured, her legs had begun to feel weak and wobbly. She asked so little of them that they were struggling to cope with the mild exertion, she had realized. The experience did nothing to dampen her arousal, but as her enjoyment grew, she realized that she had to stop; she simply could not keep up. “Hang on a sec,” she had panted weakly, turning to face Laura. The blonde’s face had been red as a tomato, and she too was breathing heavily. Although, Natasha noted with bemusement, nowhere near as heavily as her. “Switch to the bed?” she had asked between gasps. “Yeah,” Natasha had laughed. *** After they had finished, Natasha chuckled tiredly. “Wow, okay. So... that’s where we’re at fitness-wise.” Natasha was laying on her back, legs open. She knew from experience that Laura’s head would be resting on her folded arms, not far from where her tongue had been moments earlier. But the other woman’s face was hidden behind a mound of smooth, brown belly fat. The curve of adipose rose and fell with Natasha’s still-laboured breathing. “Are you surprised?” Laura asked cheekily. “Girl, I can barely climb a flight of stairs. And you get out of breathing putting on your shoes!” “Well yeah!” Natasha said. “I’m morbidly obese, if you didn’t notice. Bending down is not my friend.” “I certainly did notice,” Laura smirked. She reached up and gave Natasha’s lower belly a firm shake, sending a ripple across her fatty abdomen. Natasha let out a contented sigh. “Considering what both our hearts probably look like, I’m sort of proud of us for making it as far as we did,” Natasha mused. There was a general agreement between the two women, mostly unspoken but bolstered by the warnings of their doctor, that they were almost certainly both nursing cases of incipient heart disease. “Mine feels pretty clogged at the moment,” Laura agreed, bemusedly. “Not surprising, I guess.” “Definitely not.” Lately, Natasha had been noticing a feeling a pressure in her chest more and more. Her doctor said the sensation was just high blood pressure, and she believed him, but still, she knew it was not a healthy sign. She could feel that pressure now, and felt inspired to share: “You fucked me so good my chest hurts.” Laura looked up narrowed her eyes playfully, “Shall we add some more strain for that heart of yours?” “Yes...” Natasha exhaled in anticipation. “We shall...” And Laura’s fingers entered her again.
  2. I'm living on a university campus, and there's an elevator with two sets of doors near the meal hall. After I got on and was facing the second set of doors, two girls got on behind me. I wish I could have turned around to take a look at them, because they were discussing what they considered to have inadequate portion sizes at lunch. Girl 1: "At least we won't get fat." Girl 2: "Specially with the shit I eat." The portion sizes are, in fact, not that small. So I'm betting that Girl 2 will indeed get fat.
  3. I definitely see what you mean about more acceptance. I’d be hard pressed to think of any girls that I know “go to the gym and keep in shape.” But that may be a function of my local, since come to think of it, I do see them on Instagram. I definitely know girls who are pushing 200 and still think of themselves as just “a bit chubby”, haha.
  4. I've noticed that almost all of the women in my age group (I'm 23), all the way down to 18-19 year olds and up to about 25-26, seem to be *significantly flabbier and more out of shape, on average, than girls who are a bit older. I also know a surprising number of girls who are very open about being out-of-shape, having bad eating habits, etc. A couple of years ago, I knew a 22-year-old who once told me, while eating fast food, that her cholesterol was super high and she wasn't supposed to be eating like that. She then proceeded to put on about 20 pounds (by her own admission) while I knew her. In general, the younger women I see around also don't seem to want to dress for their body types, so you see a ton of fat rolls, muffin tops, cellulite and general flab on display, especially in summertime. It's super entertaining, but I'm a bit curious about why. Personally, I think it might be a combination of changing paradigms around electronic usage, and the fat acceptance movement. Any thoughts?
  5. Story from a while ago, but now that I have an account, I figure I may as well post it. (And I swear it's 100% true. The whole thing sounds like a fantasy, but I legit saw it with my own eyes.) This was at my university. I had gone to the meal hall for some lunch, but I was studying for an exam, so I sat by myself. Two students who looked to be either 4th year undergrads or master's candidates (so early to mid twenties) eventually sat down a few chairs down from me. Both of them were pudgy verging on a bit overweight. Not huge, but it was clear they weren't getting enough exercise and had some bad eating habits. Neither girl was eating particularly excessive portions, but everything on their plates was either fried, greasy or otherwise unhealthy--despite the fact that I know there were plenty of healthy options available. And here's the kicker: they were having a conversation about how out of shape they were, but both of them seemed more or less totally okay with it. Like, they were observing they were unhealthy, but nothing they said seemed to indicate much concern. They were chatting about how they should be going to the gym, but didn't want to bother, and one of them even mentioned that a young kid she babysat had asked her if she had abs. Her response to this was apparently, "Do I look like I have abs?" accompanied by a gesture towards her pudgy belly. She was laughing while she said this, mind you, and seemed to think it was funny. I also remember her friend saying something to the effect of, "My problem is I put so much sugar and cream in my coffee." Judging by the food she was eating, though, her coffee-drinking habits weren't the main reason she was carrying excess weight. I wish to god it could have been socially acceptable for me to join the conversation and ask some questions about their unhealthy lifestyles, but of course, that wasn't really possible. I'll post some more stories later; questionable lifestyle choices seem to be near-ubiquitous amongst the young women I go to university with. In my country, about half of young women are medically overweight, and close to a quarter are obese, and that tracks with what I see in my social group. I literally can't think of any girls I know who actually exercise, except for one, and I'm constantly surprised at how open they are about their laziness and bad eating habits. Many of them don't seem very embarrassed at all.
  6. So I know it's very much not to everyone's tastes, but this is a somewhat deathfeedist weight gain fit that I've been working on. It will also include lots of talk about being out-of-shape, putting on weight, big bellies, etc. It will be fairly long, with several instalments. If that sounds like something you might enjoy, please give it a read! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Prologue Reaching the top of the stairs, Natasha leaned against the bannister to steady herself. She puffed her cheeks out and exhaled through her mouth, fanning herself with her free hand. “Fuck, we need a place on the ground floor,” she said. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest as she sucked in air. “Says the skinny one,” Natasha’s partner, Laura, replied facetiously, stepping aside to let the younger woman into their apartment. Natasha chuckled and smacked her too-large gut as she sidled into the second floor walkup. “Yeah, skinny, sure.” She may not have been quite as heavy as Laura, but she was pushing 210 pounds on a five-foot-three frame and under no illusions about how unhealthy her weight was. “How was your day,” she asked, regaining her breath. “Long, but otherwise good,” Laura replied. The older women was an accountant, and with tax season looming, she had begun to put in extra time at the office. As usual, the sedentary work and long hours were taking their toll on her waistline. “How many lunches?” Natasha asked with a smirk, copping a feel of Laura’s ass as she closed the door. “Two actually,” she admitted. Her face, already rosey from high blood pressure, reddened further. But her full lips twitched upwards in a smirk. Her delicate features looked as though they belonged on a model or actress, not an overindulged number cruncher, and when she was amused, it lit up her face. “Really?” Natasha couldn’t suppress her laugh. Her question had been a joke. Walking away towards the living room, Laura looked back over her shoulder, chuckling self-consciously. “Yeah, McDonalds and then KFC.” She eased herself down onto the couch, adding with a hint amusement, “Dr. Hertz would been so mad.” Natasha knew that, at 36, Laura’s cholesterol was through the roof. Her doctor had warned that her heart health was on its way to becoming a real problem, and seated on the couch with her fingers interlaced over her bulging midriff, she looked every bit of her 250 pounds. Always prone to carrying her weight in her belly, the obese brunette had spent her adult life steadily packing on layers of excess fat until her body became apple-shaped in the most literal sense possible. “Yeah, he seriously would be,” Natasha raised her eyebrows as she sat down next to Laura, relieved to take the weight off of her own, overfed frame off her feet. After the rigors of walking from her car and up the stairs, sitting down felt like bliss. Chronically sedentary, she had been feeling her stamina slowly, but steadily decline over the last couple years. Looking down at her legs, which were on display in a pairs of linen shorts, she reflected that they could not possibly have looked more toneless. The smooth, brown skin of her thighs was unsullied by any hint of muscle. “I wouldn’t feel too badly,” she said, cheekily. “We both know that you’ve got a wicked fast-food addiction.” Then, after a paused, she kneaded Laura’s fatty flank. The flesh was surprisingly firm--the product of a buildup of hard visceral fat from a lifetime of bad eating and no exercise. “Don’t I know it,” Laura chuckled. “Gotta have that grease and salt.” “Speaking of grease and salt, what do we want to do about dinner?” Natasha wondered aloud. “Hmm… order take-out?” Laura smirked visibly, still visibly amused by the hedonism implied by the evening’s conversation. Natasha, for her part, needed no encouragement. “Neither one of us should be eating that junk,” she admonished, patty her own belly. “But of course I’m not going to turn down an offer like that.”
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