Chickenshack

“I hope you enjoy them! Have a nice day!” “And you too, sweetheart. Best of luck!” “Oh, thanks Mrs Finley… I’m so nervous!” “Oh, well, they’d just be a bunch of fools to not pick you,” Mrs Finley waved away the notion with her free hand. The other plump hand was clutching a paper bag full of croissants that she knew for a fact that she would be enjoying later. In the three years since this new bakery had opened up in her neighborhood, it had become her new favorite spot; she must have stopped in almost every day some weeks… Of course, in Alexa Finley’s opinion, the owner was an absolute peach pie as well. “I hope you’re right, Mrs F,” said peach pie flashed an apprehensive smile. “Oh, I know I am,” Mrs Finley asserted before turning to leave. Before she had exited the small shoppe, she stopped to turn back around. “And by the way, my friends call me Alexa,” she smiled casually. “Oh,” the shop owner replied, “well, I’m Chelsea,” she replied, returning the smile. “It’s great to meet you!” “And you too,” Alexa returned. “I’ll… probably see you tomorrow, honestly.” The woman chuckled to herself, holding up her bag of pastries again. “Looking forward to it,” Chelsea beamed. She kept up her bright and warm smile until her new friend and regular, Alexa, had finally exited the shop, closing the front door behind her. Only then did the smile that Chelsea had plastered on her face immediately vanish to be replaced with a look of exasperation, outright exhaustion even. It wasn’t like Mrs Finley, or Alexa, as her friends apparently called her, was a particular pain of a customer to deal with; on the contrary, the slightly older woman was incredibly pleasant on top of being a pretty big spender. It was just that… the woman always took so long to pick out what she wanted. Chelsea had needed to act professional stay on her feet the entire time… and that was something that a woman of her… “physique” was simply no longer equipped to do. At last able to take a considerable load off of her feet, Chelsea leaned against the store’s front counter for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally slumping herself heavily downward onto a wide bench discreetly positioned out of sight behind her. The bench was a little hack she had started employing in the past year or so. It was built extra-sturdy; positioning it directly behind herself meant that Chelsea could avoid staying on her feet for too long in between helping customers. Such a reprieve had proven itself as of late to be quite the necessity. Chelsea was a big, BIG girl. Granted, she was a very attractive girl, too, if one was willing to ignore her frankly jaw-dropping size. Her long auburn hair was just the right shade to sheen in even the least flattering lighting; her bright green eyes sparkled just as much as her dazzlingly white teeth when she smiled, which she did often. Her face was angular enough that, even at her great size, the way in which her excess weight distributed itself meant that at least her facial features were largely unmarred by the adipose that had otherwise fully enveloped her body. Despite her weight, Chelsea had still retained her high, prominent cheekbones and her cute button nose, and her bright emerald eyes hadn’t been forced into a constant squint like most other woman her size… not that there were that many out there. But before anyone noticed any of that, they undoubtedly noticed her width first. “Built like a bell” is what her mother used to always say. The pear shape ran in Chelsea’s family, that was for sure, but none of her aunts or female cousins had ever taken it quite to this extreme. Chelsea did somewhat have her line of work to blame… Her mother and father had often remarked that she had been a baker from brith. Chelsea felt at home nowhere else but in the kitchen, and felt no greater joy than when she was heavily sampling her own creations. She had been called by some a “culinary genius”; others took one look at her and felt no surprise that Chelsea knew a thing or two about baked goods. But on the genius front, Chelsea had the accolades to back up her reputation. Although she’d moved out of her old home quite a few years ago, her parents’ tables and shelves were littered with certificates and trophies that bore testimony to past accomplishments. There was a photo on the mantelpiece of Chelsea as a plump teenager holding up a medal she’d won at a junior baking competition, next to that were two pictures of a noticeably chubbier Chelsea beaming as she held up her acceptance letter to culinary school. Next to that was a portrait of a college graduate that, although not a full body photo, depicted a girl with the same luminous, lighthearted smile but a noticeably fuller face. And then, of course, a photo of Chelsea standing next to a reporter holding up a slice of chocolate cake for an interview she had done for a local newspaper. The contrast between her and the petite, pert professional she was stood next to was a bit alarming. Chelsea, at that point, had already succeeded in becoming a very, very wide woman for her age, two years fresh out of college and too wide at the hips to use any chair with armrests comfortably. Case in point, the photo had originally intended to be a seated one, but the cafe that the two had agreed to meet at had had… “ill-equipped” seating for the much more whale-like woman at the time. The photo might have been a flattering one for Chelsea, still vivacious and photogenic despite the weight she’d gained, but the poor reporter had been pushed so far off to the side that she was practically out of frame. And, last but not least, a photo of Chelsea beaming proudly as she stood before her new bakery on opening day just a year later. All of that hard work and effort, years and years of dedication to her craft had led to that proudly framed moment. Her, standing in or, rather, leaning on the doorway of her new cozy little building, hips coming dangerously close to brushing against either side of the frame. The picture of the building was a bit outdated now… the doorway in that photo was no longer there; it had been replaced with double doors about a year back, around the same time that Chelsea had had the reinforced bench brought in. The woman in the photo had also changed significantly as well. One could only marvel at how much tinier the Chelsea of three years ago was compared to the present day. Sure, the woman in the photo was still massively, preposterously overweight, but she paled in comparison to the twenty-eight year old of current, the one who had specifically gone out of her way to purchase a bench that had advertised a weight limit of eight hundred pounds and was fretting over the fact that she had actually surpassed that rating some time ago. Fortunately for the business-savvy young woman, she’d already planned ahead, and a bench with a thousand pound bearing capacity was already being shipped in the mail. She only hoped that she’d never have to worry about outgrowing that one… The bench that Chelsea was currently sat atop groaned its protests as the wildly overweight young woman shifted her unwieldy bulk. Chelsea had been bottom-heavy for pretty much the entirety of her life but her hips were starting to reach a ludicrous level of disproportion. Especially with the way the bovine baker’s saddlebags spread out whenever she plopped herself down, there was not a single inch of that four and a half foot bench that Chelsea didn’t occupy. In fact, the poor girl overflowed it, and, unfortunately for her, the hard corners of its wooden surface dug into her soft flesh where her fat oozed past the edges. Of course, Cheslea’s hips were just as alarmingly massive when she was standing as well. The girl could not-so-proudly boast that she had hips that were 118 inches around at the widest point; she’d recently needed to have herself custom measured for a new pair of work slacks, and was still trying to wrap her head around the number. Chelsea wasn’t exactly… on comfortable terms with her weight. Granted, she’d long since accepted that she was destined to be a big girl. Chelsea might have been an only child, but just about all of her aunts and female cousins were fat; Chelsea had always gotten away with blaming her genetics, rather than confront any poor dietary habits she might have developed over years in the kitchen. In her mind, Chelsea was a girl who came from a fat family and just happened to be the fattest by a mile. But the problem for the ever-plumping entrepreneur was this: She was still getting fatter. One had to think that there was some point where Chelsea’s rate of growth would naturally level off or subside no matter how much she ate, but Chelsea hadn’t quite reached that point just yet. The number on the scale still ticked upward relentlessly, never stopping in its steady rise no matter how much the porcine pouter stomped her foot in frustration. That three-digit number was less than 120 pounds away from becoming a four digit one, and, desperate as she was to cut back, Chelsea simply wasn’t in the position to. She had at least three different cakes to try, cookies that she needed to taste, new flavors of frosting that she wanted to sample… One largely relevant detail, however, was when Chelsea “sampled”, she didn’t exactly stop at sampling. She ate. The billowing baker couldn’t just stop at one bite… whenever she sunk her teeth into a cupcake in order to assess its quality, she just had to finish it. And if that single cupcake happened to be one of a baker’s dozen, Chelsea would feel compelled to make sure the other twelve were holding up to an equally sumptuous standard. A slice of chocolate cake would soon become the whole cake itself if Chelsea wasn’t paying attention; once she got started, she’d slip out of control and begin carving through her confections, shoveling cream and calories into her mouth until whatever delight she had whipped up was no longer for the world. Chelsea’s willpower was completely on haywire, and there was no chance of her simply sampling a creation until she’d engulfed it in its entirety, unable to deem just when her last bite should be until the absence of any more served to make the choice for her. Chelsea’s baking skills may have been on the up and up with each sampling and subsequent tweaking, but so was the number on the scale… And, as Chelsea grew, so did the number of alterations she’d needed to make to her immensely indulgent lifestyle. Both her bakery and her home were designed with a larger woman in mind; given that these were mostly the only two areas that the wondrously wide woman ever inhabited, it made sense that she’d loaded each with ample accommodations to suit her stupendous size. Even Chelsea’s car, a Hummer, of all things, was the biggest and roomiest she could find, with the special modification of the center console having been removed to give her some more hip room. She required not one but two seatbelt extenders in order to strap herself in, but the vehicle still got her from the essential A to B, even if it was starting to get pretty cramped… But spending almost all of her time tasting and testing her creations between her kitchen at home and her kitchen at work meant that the porcine patissiere had ample time to practice and perfect her craft. In the end, sure… Chelsea’s weight was still on the up and up, but so was her business. And, if the phone call that she was expecting in a few hours went the way that she hoped, her business was about to soar to completely new heights.

I remembered how she’d looked when we first started dating. How she’d been way too skinny for me… practically emaciated, even for a girl. I remember thinking that she was perfect for me in nearly every other way, a prime example of petite perfection that would have turned the heads of every straight, hotblooded man, likely even plenty of straight, hotblooded women too, if even one of her many drunken recollections of her college “experimentations” ended holding up as true. But, as far as my personal tastes went, she was… okay, she was lacking… a bit. She was just too skinny… My girlfriend, when we had met at least, had had no curves to speak of. Her rail-thin physique was practically appalling to me, in spite of how pretty she was. She had beautiful almond-brown eyes and shiny, striking auburn hair, but her flat chest, super-slim waist and nonexistent ass were far from enticing for me. With such a perfect, pretty face and a beautiful smile, it had only taken one date before I’d been convinced that she was the girl for me. But her curves… or, rather, lack thereof… I hate to admit it, but it was a hangup of mine in what I thought was an otherwise perfect relationship. And I, not knowing what it would mean down the road at the time, made the mistake of telling her that. ~~ “You know, you can slow down, if you want,” I said in the present day, addressing the very, very differently proportioned girl sat across from me at the table of the all-you-can-eat restaurant we were currently occupying. “Babe. Fiona…” I said, using her god-given name out of the frustration that bore from her mostly ignoring me. “FIONA SHAW.” I practically shouted, trying to sound forceful without raising my voice, lest I attract the attention of the other patrons at the buffet. My girlfriend could hardly be bothered to pay me any mind. Where once she’d have smiled at me coquettishly and enthusiastically, responding to me with eagerness and anticipation, the Fiona of today barely registered the fact that I was even seated across from her. Our level of communication had changed quite a bit over the years… But, to be fair, my girlfriend had changed pretty drastically herself in other ways as well. “Mmmph… Mmmm… what!?” she nearly spat, not looking up from the plate she had carefully positioned atop of her doming, burgeoning belly. My once waifish girlfriend had become so massively large that she was no longer capable of reaching a table in front of her without leaning forward with her belly in the way. So she simply balanced the plate on top of her boobs. Those had grown incredibly substantially since her dedicated increase in size. But, to be fair, so had everything else… Fiona’s upper arm flab was now significantly wider around enough in circumference than her waist used to be. She was the largest girl that I had ever seen in person, and it was even more shocking that I had seen her grow to such an extreme before my very eyes. Her weight gain had started off pleasingly enough, with the distribution of her weight lending itself to quite the alluring hourglass shape, her hips and butt getting increasingly curvier as her bust surged forward in its most earnest attempt to keep pace. But that had only lasted for the first few hundred pounds… somewhere in between the 450’s and the 550’s, Fiona had started to take on an increasingly more belly-heavy physique, her oft distended stomach making quick strides to catch up to the rest of her overly abundant curves. And she hardly made much of an attempt at hiding it. Fiona, for some ungodly reason, still tried to pull off the same types of outfits she’d worn some six or seven hundred pounds ago, albeit in much, much bigger sizes. Still, the black bike shorts and white tank top that she had squeezed herself into left not much to the imagination regarding my girlfriend’s frighteningly fat physique. Fiona’s voluminous form was in the full limelight, the primary beneficiary of her mindless munching not even fully covered by her inadequate shirt. Of the two frankly jaw-droppingly enormous tires of flowing flab that made up her stomach rolls, she’d only managed to tuck the bottommost into her bike shorts; her upper roll of stomach fat was free and exposed, the bottom hem of her tank top nowhere near reaching far enough the deep crease resting in between her belly rolls. A questionable fashion choice,for sure… but, to be fair, I’m pretty sure it was the last good tank top she had. Clothing was a nightmare to find in her size, and whenever she did manage to find an item she could wear online, it was my debit card that inevitably wound up eating the enormous charge. If Fiona wanted to put off clothes shopping for a while, I knew my wallet would thank her. It’s not like I already wasn’t spending enough on food… I’d tried to argue at first against yet another trip to the buffet, but had finally relented when I’d realized that eating out at any restaurant where I had to pay per plate meant I might come up short on rent next month… And at a time, I’ll admit, watching my girlfriend pig out on plate after plate would have been one of the biggest turn-ons that my Fat Admirer libido could have asked for. But that time had passed maybe a few hundred pounds ago. No, rather, all of this made me that much more vocal in reiterating the point that I had been trying to assert earlier. “I said you don’t have to eat so much!” This time I nearly barked, not caring nearly as much who had heard me in the subdued but spirited din of the daily evening rush. I’d expected some sort of embarrassment or indignation, some kind of remorse over having her perturbed paramour call her out on her gluttony in such a direct manner. Instead, she merely scoffed, making a half-hearted attempt to shrug her supple shoulders before digging back in to the overloaded plate of pasta, her ninth so far, that she’d piled high in front of her along with multiple other dishes that had been ferried from the trolley to the table in her plump, puffy arms. “You know you love it,” she didn’t even bother looking up from her half-empty plate as she responded, twirling another parmesan-coated calorie bomb around her overburdened fork before shoving the whole thing unceremoniously past the jiggling jowls of her multi-tiered maw. It was there where she had me cornered. ~~ I hadn’t known how to bring it up with her at first. We’d been lying in bed together one day after a big dinner… or maybe we were on the couch. Okay, I don’t remember. But the point is, we were lying there together, my hand on her normally flat, toned, stomach while I playfully slid my hand across it, the tips of my fingers delicately grazing her abdomen and eliciting a soft giggle from my girlfriend as she lay atop of me. She’d gone just a little bit overboard at dinner earlier, which was pretty uncharacteristic for her, but the result was a noticeable food baby that I couldn’t help but want to caress. “What are you doing?” she playfully asked, lightly pushing my arm away. She then rested her own palm on the slightly protruding dome of her own soft stomach, more or less where my hand had just been. “Hands off,” she warned with a slightly embarrassed smile. “Why?” I teased, my hand slowly creeping its way back to its previous spot. “Because I’m bloated!” She laughed out loud as she’d said it, giving the small, barely perceptible bulge of her stomach a small pat. “I mean,” I’d shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, “that’s not a bad thing,” I’d tried to play the whole thing off as casual, not like I was on the verge of admitting one of my most carefully kept secrets. I hadn’t exactly been “out of the closet” about liking fat girls yet, and it was still a personal preference that I kept closely guarded to me. Fiona had paused for a moment, parsing my words over in her head before responding. “I guess its not…” she’d eventually softly confessed, although, at the time, she’d still sounded unsure. “I wouldn’t mind if,” I’d stroked her hair with one hand and her stomach with the other, “if you were bigger,” I’d assured her. “Well,” she’d smiled, “that’s good to know if I ever get fat.” She’d said the word like it was such a foreign one to her, as if there was no possibility in this lifetime or another that the term could ever apply to her. She had interpreted my prodding to mean something more along the lines that I wouldn’t leave her if she ever did gain weight, not yet realizing my actual meaning, that it was my actual preference… And I’d been too nervous at the time to lean too far into it. So I’d decided not to bring it back up, at first. But that hadn’t lasted too long. As we grew more comfortable and communicative with each other, I’d tried to open up more and more about my ponderous predilections, encouraging her to eat more here and there, taking her out for takeout more often than my budget at the time should have warranted. Any time she’d gripe or groan about being too bloated or her outfits feeling too snug, I’d be the one to encourage her to have just one more bite, tease her about how cute her little ** belly was… And, now regrettably, my furtive but fervent fomenting had not gone unreciprocated. Fiona wasn’t stupid. Quite the contrary; I’d always considered her to be the brighter of the two of us. She, unlike me, did have a Master’s degree, after all, even if she hadn’t really ever used it. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that I was starting to pay… extra “attention” to certain parts of her body as she’d begun to fill out. My fervent belly groping had gradually become less furtive and more frequent, and, although it had initially made her squirm with embarrassment, she’d eventually begun to ease up and let me explore her body, cupping the increasing convexity of her curves as she slowly softened. There had been a fair amount of protest in the initial stages, for the first few dozen pounds or so, but once that had begun to subside, Fiona had finally begun to lean into her appetite. She’d order herself seconds without shame when we went out to eat, started drinking sugary sodas, which she’d always claimed she hated, had stopped saying no to desserts… And, at first, it all seemed great. No, I was stoked that it was going so well. I couldn’t have been bothered to consider the fact that we might not end up agreeing on where she should have set her “upper limit”. I never stopped to think of what would happen once she reached my ideal size… and then kept on growing right past it. ~~ Only now, seven years later, was I fully cognizant of the consequences of the monster that I had “created”, or at the very least heavily encouraged. It seemed impossible to me now, that any sane person could look upon the engorged, all-consuming mess of mass that was current-day Fiona and ever think that she was remotely apprehensive about the possibility of getting fat. That shy girl who had been strictly on the other side of the fence about gaining even a single pound was officially long, long gone… Instead, in her place, was a whopping whale of a woman who decidedly couldn’t give a shit how much she weighed, so long as she had a guarantee on where her next snack was coming from. That whale of a woman was, at present, working her way through three adjacent plates of food, all of which she’d ferried over to our table on one massively overburdened plastic tray. She was understandably preoccupied enough by her bounty that her response hardly extended past “so what are you going to do about it?” even if she hadn’t said so in such blunt terms. I was at a loss. Maybe… just maybe, this had been my doing. But I had never intended for things to go this far… So, I’m a chubby chaser. Sure. Guilty as charged. But… Everything comes with limits, right? Like, I like my girls big, but Fiona is not just “big” anymore. She’s huge. She’s fucking. Huge. Okay? And if I ever thought that trying to get her to gain weight would have resulted in… in THIS. I would have been more careful about what I wished for. Like, my ideal woman would probably weigh maybe between three and four hundred pounds, right? Is that fair? Bigger than she should be according to most standards but… manageable, am I right? Just in so far as living her basic day-to-day life. A 350 pound girl could still get up the stairs without needing help, could still go on long walks without complaining about needing to sit down every five minutes, could still stand up without grunting so loudly she sounded like she had just gone into premature labor. Hell, even a girl in the lowish 400 pound range could fit most places without too much hassle, could still move around with some pep in her step and a good deal of determination… But the fact was that my Fiona was at least double that… and still hadn’t reigned things in... She was a lot of woman now, and having to share an apartment and lifestyle with her meant that I hardly ever had an easy day. Take this day, for instance. Someone had had to help her get out of bed, then someone had needed to help her get into the shower, then someone had to be there to help her get dressed… By the time I’d managed to walk her out of the house and squeeze her into my undersized van, the van she’d insisted that I purchase after she got tired of trying to fit into my Honda, we were both exhausted, in disagreement over who exactly was more annoyed by the whole endeavor and ready to just get the drive over with. The suspension on my van sunk terribly low; I anxiously wondered how long it would be before I had to get that car replaced too… and then what would I drive her around in? A moving truck? “Umm, keep telling yourself that,” I fired back in the present moment, too flustered to come up with a better comeback to her earlier quip. Mine was a halfhearted attempt at sass, and all it did was make Fiona smile, the corners of her tight pink lips sinking into the considerable crease created by her ginormous, jiggling jowls. “Like you’re not going to fuck me later,” she snarked, and I frowned, knowing that she had a point. Fiona, feeling as though she had me checkmated, was content to return to her rapidly depleting menagerie of menu items with gusto, but not before giving me a quick but hard glance, capitulated with a roll of her bright blue eyes. “You can’t even keep your fucking eyes off of me.” She was right, but I was hardly alone in that regard. Fiona had a way of drawing attention to herself when she ate, the way only an 880 pound 28 year old could, and there were a fair share of patrons that looked to be completely enraptured by the spectacle, whether out of feelings of shock, disbelief or outright disgust. Me personally? It was a mix of all three… which ultimately culminated in a fourth feeling. The idea that Fiona was so completely consumed and committed to gluttony that she hardly cared that she was probably too fat to get up on her own for sevenths was so intensely arousing to me that it made me feel utterly conflicted. The practical side of me would have rather my girlfriend lost some… okay, a lot of weight. But the fantasizer, the lustful dreamer within me… I mean… it had originally been what I’d always wanted in a woman. I just didn’t know that this particular woman would have taken it this far. Fiona’s weight kept on climbing ever upward, and the more of a blob that she progressively turned into, the more at odds I was with how much I loved living the fantasy of having a girlfriend rapidly closing in on 900 pounds versus the constant judgment and constant, constant effort that involved taking one out to eat in public. Watching her hastily and hungrily consume the continuously replenishing bounty spread out in front of her, I had every right to feel incredibly disgusted, incredibly ashamed at what she had allowed to happen to herself… But, more than that.. It was incredibly hot. I felt in equal parts despise and desire when watching Fiona plow through the rest of her plate, the nineteenth if I was keeping track, without pause. She’d reached a point where she had more than enough sauce and gravy stains on her top to warrant a wardrobe change, and the fact that she ignored even that, that her ridiculous rapaciousness was enough to transcend public embarrassment itself, was overwhelmingly arousing to me. Jesus… fuck… Despite my pernicious protest, despite me on the verge of begging her to show some restraint and dial back her unbounded appetite, I was as hard as a rock as I watched my engorged girlfriend resume stuffing herself silly in front of me. “So,” she said as she finally cleared her plate and began the arduous process of leaning forward to reach the second out of three, “are you going to get me another tray, or just stare at your fat girlfriend all day?” I watched her, still at a loss for words, as she shifted precariously across the three- yes, THREE- chairs that she was spread across. She parted her legs even wider than they had already been spread, creating just a little bit more room for her enormous belly to sag down in between her thighs as her upper body leaned forward so that her puffy arms could reach the table that we were sharing. In this position she looked even more like the gluttonous hog that she was, her voluminous chest and upper torso looming over the very edge of the wooden table as her greedy, grubby hands reached for her next plate, stacked high with boneless chicken wings and lasagna in some crude, calorific pyramid. Rather than reposition this fresh platter of unneeded calories on her bosom once more, she instead stayed leaned forward, her hulking mass taking up even more space as she crammed even more pasta and poultry into her mouth, possibly even more rapidly than before. Her tubby arms stretched to their max as she reached out to spear each bite with her forks… Yes, forks plural. Fiona had stopped feeling the need to cut her food up into smaller, more manageable bites quite some time ago; rather, dual forks meant that she could shove her formidable meals down her greedy throat that much faster. It certainly wasn’t a less messy way of eating. Without the ability to cut her food into smaller portions, Fiona’s consumption strategy involved scooping up huge square portions of lasagna with both dual-wielded utensils, and ferrying them as quickly as she could to her parted lips, showing little concern with how much dropped off of the fork before they made it to their destination. Case in point, a lot of the lasagna that she attempted to shovel into her throat ended up either falling right back on to the plate or smearing her lips and upper chins as it fell just short of her gaping maw and outstretched tongue. The chicken had an easier time reaching its destination, however. The boneless wings she had an easy time spearing and popping right in between her chubbed up cheeks, chewing them rapidly before swallowing and thrusting either of her forks into the next one. She had eating down to such a mechanic, such a process that she barely seemed like she bothered to chew her food anymore. Instead, she wolfed down everything in front of her, the next mouthful having already been brought to her gluttonous gullet before the previous one had been swallowed. I tried crossing my legs in order to reduce the “swelling” in my pants, but to no avail. Fiona had my full attention. To think that this was the same girl who’d picked at her salads on our first few dates, the same woman who’d even blanched at the idea of ordering dessert afterward, now shoveling a football team’s worth of chicken and lasagna down her throat so greedily that she was causing a minor scene was nearly impossible to believe, and yet, I’d seen the titanic transformation happen right before my very eyes. Hell, I’d even been complicit in adding the first few hundred pounds to her frighteningly fat frame. But enough was enough. No… this wasn’t even “enough” anymore; it had stopped being “enoug” a long time ago.This?... this was too much. “No,” I said, doing my best to sound authoritative, doing my best to ignore the raging hardon I had downstairs, “I think you’re good.” Across from me, Fiona raised an eyebrow and looked at me with a leer that somehow managed to retain its efficacy even as her overstuffed cheeks wobbled freely. “What?” she nearly spat, her lips spattering partially chewed chicken and tomato sauce across the tabletop as she drilled her defiant gaze into me. “I said you’re good,” I reiterated, my voice slightly elevated for effect. I thought to cross my arms to seem more confident, but instead kept my palms glued to the table, actively trying not to tremble as I saw my girlfriend’s demeanor begin to shift. “Uhh,” she speared another boneless wing, “no I’m not.” I watched her eyes narrow in contempt as she chewed this next morsel. “Babe,” I gestured to the gluttonous ensemble she’d assembled on the table in front of her, “that’s your sixth tray since we got here.” My girlfriend scoffed, almost rolling her eyes again. “So I’m like halfway done,” she stated as though I was the one who should have known better. "Wha-" I frowned, annoyed. The fact that she was already making a pig of herself but claimed to only be halfway finished was every bit as frustrating for me as it was exorbitantly hot. It was like she was a completely different person and willowy, waifish girl that I had met and fell for had been erased and replaced. With this… this out-of-control glutton who still had the same soft brown eyes and the same sing-songy voice of the Fiona that I had fell in love with, but was another entity entirely otherwise. And, holding true to the adage about being careful what you wished for, I silently, solemnly longed for the old Fiona to come back, buried as she was under hundred upon hundreds of extra pounds of excess blubber. And what was wrong with me saying so?! “No…” I tried to reason with her, “you should stop now.” Fiona decidedly didn’t stop… but, while she crammed even more lasagna into her mouth, the corners of her lips turned upward in a defiant, even juvenile smile. “Yeah?” she challenged, undaunted. “Why should I?” I gulped. She knew exactly why… She was just daring me to say anything to her face. Well, screw her, because today I finally was. I still needed a moment to muster up my confidence; my heart was starting to pick up the pace and I could feel the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead, but I wasn’t backing off now. “Because…” I steeled myself, “Because you’re too fat.” There. It wasn’t like it was the first time I had… hinted at it, but, obviously, being subtle with my girlfriend wasn’t working. If she needed to hear it to her face, so be it! Fiona didn’t immediately react, but I noticed the immediate shift in her demeanor. Miraculously, she actually stopped eating, her hands finally finding rest at her sides and her bouncing cheeks ceasing in motion as she swallowed her latest bite and stopped chewing. And then her eyes rose to meet mine. Boy, if looks could kill… I was immediately regretting having been so blunt, knowing that Fiona could still be a bit touchy about her weight. What I did not expect was the thorough chewing out that she subjected me to next. “Oh, I’m too fat?!” she snorted dismissively. “I’m too fat now, babe?” The “babe” that she had uttered was dripping with malice as she stared me down. The combination of her size and her scowl had me intimidated indeed, and I waited with bated breath as her nostrils flared and her eyes began to narrow, even moreso than the puffiness of her cheeks forced them to in a more neutral resting face. “And when did you decide that exactly?” she challenged me, wobbling awkwardly as she precariously shifted herself across her seats. “Well- I…” I paled against my girlfriend’s temperament, struggling to maintain the resolve that I’d possessed only moments earlier. But Fiona didn’t give me any time to speak. “Because there were plenty of times before when I told you I was getting too fat,” she pointed out poutily, jabbing another chicken wing and lifting it to her lasagna-stained lips, “and you’d always bitch and you’d whine about how I was almost big enough.” She shoved the morsel into her mouth unrepentantly, and continued to berate me even as she masticated. “About how the extra weight looked sooo good on me,” she paused only for a moment to cram another double forkful of lasagna into her maw, but I dare not interrupt. “Mmmph ‘Oh, jusht a few more pounsh, babe,’ *gulp*,” she tried to mimic me through full, puffed out cheeks. “Oh, what,” she spat, spraying flecks of pasta and red sauce across the table as she turned her attention back to the boneless wings, “now all of a sudden I eat too much?!” I looked across to her incredulously, at a loss for words. “Who’s the asshole,” she angrily speared another piece of chicken, “who started putting appetite stimulants in my food when he thought I wasn’t eating enough?” Okay… that had been me, admittedly, but I had been much more naive at that stage in my life. Once I’d managed to convince her to start gaining, I had figured that it would be a safe way to ramp up the process. I had… maybe been a bit overzealous with the weight gain powders and the appetite pills, but at the time, it had been part of playing out the fantasy that I had read about in so many stories online. Stories that leave out the part where the pills are mildly addictive and not entirely FDA-approved. Stories that leave out how there’s a high chance your girlfriend’s metabolism might permanently be damaged even after you stop grinding them up and sneaking them into her food… Fiona, on the other hand, hadn’t had any of those aspects left out of her forcefully imposed weight gain journey. It had started, at first, with a very mild case of insomnia. Fiona, still cherubically chubby at that point, had started having difficulty falling asleep after gulping down the late-night “smoothies” that I’d been making for her. She’d complain lightly about “hunger pains” in the late evening, and it wasn’t too uncommon after that to find her in the kitchen at odd hours in the night before long, sat in front of the fridge in a bit of a daze as she crammed whatever we had left over down her gullet in an almost trance-like state. Sometimes it was almost like she wasn’t actually there… I’d started to notice that when she was “in the zone”, she seemed to lose track of her surroundings, focused only on satisfying the artificially enhanced appetite I’d surreptitiously saddled her with. Dark spots began appearing underneath her eyes, then bags, then her hair had started thinning… Fiona only seemed to be capable of sound sleep when she was completely full, and that took a lot of work, even back then. Because of that, Fiona had started to become overly dependent on food in order for her brain to function. There seemed to be some sort of change in her, almost as if she needed to be stuffed to the gills in order to focus on anything other than food. My girlfriend had slowly, gradually become completely food-dependent, barely able to remember her full name if she hadn’t had a bit to eat. And, in light of those physiological changes, I hadn’t known what to do at first. Well… I’d like to say that the first thing I did was stop spiking her drinks, but the truth was that I’d never seen anyone gain weight as fast as she did. I saw the side-effects, I feared the side-effects, but I was too enamored with the results to stop. I mean… I did stop eventually… but that was only after I slipped up and she’d found out. Having almost finished demolishing her second plate, her eyes turned just as greedily to the third, piled high with multiple lunch burritos atop a bed of nachos and beef. “I don’t even want,” she crammed one of the burritos fiercely into her mouth, tearing off almost half of it with practiced piggishness, “to eat thish mumch,” she callously added, cheeks stuffed full again as she continued on her rapacious rant, “but I can’t fufking shtop,” she grimaced, messily cramming all but the last vestiges of ground meat and creamy queso past her plump lips, “becaushe shomeone,” she finished off what traces of the first burrito of many remained, pausing in her diatribe to greedily suck the remnants of cheese sauce and guacamole drenched onto her fingers. Only after she had “cleaned” her doused digits did she continue. “Someone,” she repeated herself, glaring accusingly, “started spiking all my fucking food with ‘weight gain’ bullshit!” She angrily grabbed another burrito from the pile and shoved it into her mouth just as mirthlessly. “And now my metabolism’s permanently fucked up, over some bullshit fetish,” she grumbled as she chewed capriciously, “because that same someone can’t afford any therapy…” she swallowed, “or treatment,” she tore off another chunk of burrito, “or surgery,” she swallowed again, angrily, “to fix the fucking cow he made!” As much as I wanted to launch a counter protest, I knew my girlfriend had me cornered. She was right in pointing out that she hadn’t had the most say in what I had done to her diet, the changes that I’d imposed on her through my machinations and manipulations, the hormonal imbalance that I’d embedded in her that was likely partially to blame for her unrelenting gluttony. I knew that it was something that Fiona still resented me for… I couldn’t rightly blame her. And I had done everything I could to try to make it up to her. Including letting her blow up to almost 900 pounds with nary a criticism. I’d even, at times, made attempts to take her on jogs with me, to try to burn a few of those extra calories. “I, wha-” I stammered, attempting to plead with her, “I tried to get you to work out.” I threw my hand up in frustration. “I ask you to come to the gym with me all the time! We can work on this!” Fiona snorted her defiance as she finished the remnants of her second plate of calorific cuisine, lifting the plate up to her face to lick it clean. When she lowered the plate so that I could see her face again, she was staring daggers at me, still licking her lips of the last of the smorgasbord that she’d just throttled down her gullet. “Ummm…” she sardonically pretended to think about it for a second, “NO!” She announced it defiantly, as if I had no other choice in the matter. And, the truth was, I didn’t. I could only sit there in silent shock as she tore into her third tray, refraining from saying another word while she piled up on pizza slices she had piled almost a foot high, drowned, no, drenched in gravy and sprinkled in bacon bits. She had saved this particular platter for last in order to give the gravy time to seep into the pizza crust; it was a trick she had picked up through years of practice that I had personally witnessed myself. She expertly took one saturated slice and folded it over another to create a “pizza sandwich”, as she had begun to call it when she was still 300 pounds and I thought it was cute, then make another, cram those two creations together and attack all four slices at once, blitzing through the combination in record time before repeating the process all the way to the last slice. She was the only human being I knew who could eat an entire extra-large meat lover’s pizza in under two minutes, and I’d once sat in horror and watched her pack away four in a row as a “little snack” back when she was only 750 pounds. To think that she now weighed an entire person more on top of that… It only took about five minutes for her to tear through the entire gravy-soaked pile of pizza in a huff. I guess either she was very angry with me and eating her feelings, or her appetite was growing even more out of control than I’d expected. With her third “helping” beginning to run low, she picked up the pace, out of what I surmised was equal parts voracity and vitriol, tearing into her slices as if they might be snatched away from her if she consigned to a more reasonable speed. As if I would be that daring… ~~ I've become very fond of writing unlikable male protagonists lol. This was originally intended to be a one-off, but I love the character of Fiona so much I might end up bringing her back.

“Shit… Tam?! Tam!!” Tamara craned her neck up toward the source of the noise, shouting from where she was on the living room couch without getting up. “WHAT?!” she hollered back, somewhat irritated. Netflix had just dropped a new season of her favorite dating reality show, Love Stinks, and, while it was absolute trash, she admitted, bad dating shows had always been a bit of a guilty pleasure for her. “Can you come here, please!” the voice more ordered than asked. Tamara sighed, fumbling for the television remote as she slumped out of her comfort spot on the couch. “So Danica, are YOU ready to smell love-” the D-list celebrity host on the television screen went quiet as Tamara paused her program and tossed the remote onto the small coffee table in front of her. Whatever her younger sister wanted, it had better have been important. Yes… Younger sister. Tamara might have only been older than her twin by four and a half minutes, but it still counted. Tamara had always been the restrained one, the responsible one, the straight A student, the… well, the dull one, honestly. There was no mincing of words about it. Shannon was the “cooler” sister, the more outgoing, sociable one, the one that still got invited to parties by old friends looking to catch up, the one who had a list of guys sliding into her DMs longer than Tam’s entire friends list on the Gram… Tam just honestly didn’t know how her sister did it. It seemed at times like Shannon had the entire world on a string, the epitome of the typical “hot girl life” that was capitulated by frequent social excursions, attractive men with considerable bank accounts buying overpriced drinks and offering rides in overpriced cars, and lavish excursions paid for by desperately horny playthings. Shannon was the very definition of a socialite, and shy and introverted Tamara had had to spend the entirety of her life in her sister’s shadow. The one “kinda cool” thing that Tamara had that was hers alone was her four-year stint on the high school soccer team. Tamara had always held herself to a high standard when it came to fitness; although she didn’t really play too often anymore as a young adult, the toned, lithe physique that she had managed to maintain well into the cusp of her mid-twenties was evidence, again, of the discipline that she allowed to shape her lifestyle, and subsequently her appearance. But Tamara only had so much time to reflect on her status as the “uncool one” before her sister barked again. “NOW please!?” she heard shouted from around the corner. “I’m coming!” Tamara angrily brushed a strand of vivid, unkempt red hair from her eyes as her lean and long legs carried her quickly across the carpet and towards the hallway that led to the kitchen. Because of course Shannon was in the kitchen. The two twin twenty-somethings were home by themselves that weekend; their parents were at one of their little brother’s college football games that afternoon, and both sisters had opted out of attendance. Tamara because she simply had no interest in American football, and Shannon because, as she put it, “the concession food sucks”. Nobody had tried to argue with her there. If there was anything that nobody questioned Shannon’s expertise on, it was food. That was not to say that Shannon was particularly skilled at food preparation; outside of mastery of the microwave, the robust redhead hardly knew her place around the kitchen. No, Shannon’s expertise with food clearly came to its consumption, and that had been becoming more and more evident over recent years, especially now that the girls were both back from university. By all accounts, Tamara and Shannon could have been identical. Sure, they wore their hair differently, with Shannon’s straightened and sumptuously flowing red mane coming down to about mid-back level while Tamara’s was usually cut short, unkempt and rarely past her shoulders. And they didn’t necessarily wear their makeup the same; Tamara hardly ever bothered wearing any at all, while Shannon’s was so expertly done up one would have thought that she had majored in cosmetics at uni. But, outside of that, there was one specific reason that the two girls were impossible to confuse for one another, even if they ever did decide to try to pull a Parent Trap one day. Tamara, true to her diet and fitness regimen, was lanky and lean, trim and toned with hardly a trace of excess fat about her. Shannon, for all of her efforts at remaining the pretty and popular twin, had for a while kept herself up to the same type of dietary restrictions as her older sibling, if not the physical ones. Tamara, ever the “wise older sister”, had always been around to keep Shannon’s cravings in check, to chastise the more outgoing redhead whenever she reached for that extra helping at dinner or tried to sneak that extra snack into her bedroom. But college had been a huge change for the two girls; it had been the first time that the two had ever been separated. Tamara had gone to Meddlewith on a full scholarship to pursue a degree in marine biology, a degree that she could proudly say she was doing literally nothing with in the present day, her job as a sales clerk at a local retail store showing that the college credential didn’t open as many doors nowadays as it used to. Shannon had gone to Stockton University to major in, of all things, English. It was an honest-to-god do-nothing major, with Shannon having only gone because the school had offered a full ride as well, despite the slender slacker’s suspiciously subpar GPA. And that was where the… “changes” had begun. It turned out that without her much stricter sister to keep her temptations in check, Shannon had finally begun partaking in indulgence in a way that Tamara would have certainly never engaged in, her newfound independence manifesting in an appetite that bordered on the unhinged, the natural “party girl” aspect of her personality revealing itself in full gusto as Shannon began to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, without anyone watchful to keep her in check. Shannon had elected for four long years not to come home for the summer in between semesters, which meant that Tamara had had literally no idea about the transformations, both in routine and in rotundness, that her sister had been going through, as candid as Shannon was about it. Sure, Shan and Tam still talked regularly enough over the phone, but that wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. Tamara herself didn’t really spend too much time on social media… so despite the fact that Shannon’s own Facebook and Instagram timeline served as an obvious testament to the girthy girl’s grandiose growth, Tamara had remained completely ignorant of it. It wasn’t until Tamara and the rest of the family had flown out to Shannon’s graduation, a full four years down the road, that Shannon’s new physique had been brought to light. The Shannon that had waltzed off to university on her flighty and fully undeserved free ride had been just as slim and slender as her identical twin sister. The Shannon that had waddled across the podium, however… Mom had been shocked, Dad had been shocked, Tamara had been incredibly shocked. Shannon had grown. Not so much in height; she was still only 5’6, same as her sister, which meant that she wasn’t that tall, but in width… the change was alarming, astounding even. Shannon had done her best to maintain a semblance of normalcy as she greeted her family for the first time in years, trying and failing to act as though there wasn’t an extra 325 pounds packed on to her frame that hadn’t been there when she’d first left home. Tamara had tried her best not to say anything too offensive or jarring, instead taking comfort in the fact that she finally got to see in the flesh, significantly more so, her oldest and best friend. It had remained an elephant in the room for the entirety of Shannon’s graduation ceremony, no single member of the family wanting to be too blunt or critical in addressing the sheer, shocking, undeniable truth: Shannon had gotten really, really fat. Tamara had to marvel at the changes her sister had undergone. She was only recognizable as the same person because of how little of the weight had gone to her face; granted, Shannon’s cheeks were significantly chubbier, but it hardly stuck out compared to what had happened to the rest of her. Shannon had grown herself quite the tummy, for example. Tamara wasn’t sure if there was a literary term for the combination of a beer gut and a food baby, but Shannon certainly possessed a visual representation of one. Her monumental midsection rested repletely on hips and saddlebags so large that they surely made up the most domineering aspect of Shannon’s silhouette; yes, Shannon certainly had a ** middle to go along with an appreciably large chest as well, but both paled in notability with such a prodigiously prominent lower half, one that easily settled any debate as to where the majority of the excess pounds were accumulating on Shannon's frighteningly fattening frame. And yet… the male attention that she’d always received growing up hadn’t ceased. Shannon was an extremely pretty girl, much to the extent that it was clear that she put far more effort into her appearance than Tamara did, even if she didn’t put that same amount of effort into her diet. With her incredibly voluptuous top half and her exemplary and exaggerated lower one, there were a fair number of guys seeking her delicate hand, and Shannon had never found herself wanting for attention even as her bountiful booty had begun to swell in both width and weight. Dates were perfectly content to take her out for snacks, fancy dinners, even upscale buffets on occasion… it seemed like Shannon was never lacking of boys willing to feed her, her flawless facial features on top of her incredibly sensual proportions ensuring that she was of no loss when it came to men willing to contribute to her abundant curves. Tamara could no longer be impressed with how her sister could have managed to put on over three hundred pounds in only four years. After all, she’d gotten to witness it happen once over in the next subsequent four, only in real time. Shannon ate and ate and ate, and half of the time, she wasn’t even the one paying for her own food. As she soared through size categories, her sea of admirers might have gotten more narrow and selective over time, but they were still plentiful and paid, which meant there was no shortage of men to provide the gorgeous and glamorous glutton with all of the food, favors and, most importantly, attention that she needed. Not only were men constantly buying her chocolates and other candies, attempting to win her affection by showering her with sweets, they were also catering to her ever-increasing obesity in other ways. If Shannon needed new clothes to replace her old ones, she’d casually mention it to one of her older boy toys and a credit card with an exorbitant spending limit would appear right before her hungry green eyes. When Shannon had complained about how expensive the cellulite cream she had ordered online was, her current fling had ended up being more than happy to reimburse her for the costs as long as he got to be the one to personally apply it to her luscious, lardy legs and ample, alluring ass. Hell, when Shannon had even needed a new car, after her hips had exceeded the width of her driver’s seat, she’d managed to get one at an absolute steal because one of her side flings’s dads owned a dealership. It seemed as though any time Shannon ran into any sort of wakeup call that could have implied that she might want to get her weight in check, there were any number of men at the bovine beauty’s beck and call to quell her concerns about her ever-growing caboose and inadvertently steer her back onto the path of overindulgence. And so, with not even her many paramours to keep her upwardly spiraling weight in check, present-day Shannon had reached a frankly absurd level of obesity, her natural bottom-heaviness exaggerated to the extreme and her monumental hips spreading across more than four and a half feet in length from side to side, increasing ever steadily in inches as the days went by and Shannon’s weight soared well into the seven hundreds. Which was why Tamara was more irritated than surprised to find why Shannon had called her over to the kitchen. Or, rather, just outside the boundary of the kitchen. For, wedged into the entryway to the kitchen, was one very stuck and struggling Shannon Milligan, and Tamara could tell even though her younger twin was facing the other way that she did not look pleased. Upon hearing Tamara’s softly approaching footsteps, Shannon tried to crane her head backward, rotating as much of her tubby upper torso as possible, tears beginning to form in her bright green eyes as her fluffy face twisted into a look of contortion. “I-” she whimpered, “I’m stuck…” she shuffled on either feet impatiently as she wriggled ineffectively in place. “I forgot… oof… to turn sideways…” Shannon tried to rotate her bovine body to face her sister, but her vast, voluminous hips prevented such range of motion. She was, indeed, absolutely plugged into the kitchen entryway, the excess fat of her sturdy, surging saddlebags oozing over and around the frames on either side. The dark blue leggings that Shannon had worn that day, while certainly fashionable, did very little when it came to compression, which meant that her large, lardy lower half was free to expand to its near full size. “Can you just…” the heftier, hotter twin whimpered, “get the butter, uh- please? I… *huff* promise this is the last time.” Tamara came to a stop just feet away from Shannon’s burgeoning, billowing behind, staring downward at her sister’s bountiful, mindblowing butt cheeks in silence, contemplating. That had worked a few weeks ago, simply by lubricating Shannon along the sides and just pushing her through, but it had come at the cost of the boy shorts Shannon had been wearing. “You really want to ruin these leggings?” Tamara asked honestly, knowing that they very well might be one of her sister’s last good pairs. “Won’t you need them?” she inquired softly, patiently awaiting her sister’s response. The white tank top that Shannon had donned that day, while tight over her impressive bust and bulging tummy, still seemed up to the task to contain Shannon’s growing curves while being low cut enough to allow for quite the tantalizing view of her deep, enticing cleavage, but any pants that she wore were rarely as adequate at fitting her and when they were, they didn’t remain that way for long. Shannon went through sizes pretty quickly, and Tamara was fully aware of an ever growing list of discarded leggings, sweatpants and stretch pants that Shannon held on to because she swore that she’d fit into them again some day, although, as Shannon swelled in size seemingly by the week, that day seemed like it was still certainly yet to come. Shannon was the prime example of the perfect pear shape; she’d been told often enough in response to pictures she’d posted of herself to certain… “web forums” online. Yes, the girl was fully aware that she had a very “unique” figure, but had learned quickly who to cater it to, and the attention that she got online as well as in real life had gone to assure her that her ass was indeed the “real deal”, a marvel in and of itself that left women leaving likes and follows and men leaving comments and responses that were… far more invasive. And it was certainly easy to understand why. A bottom-heavy gainer through and through, Shannon’s fat, full ass was so astoundingly oversized that it turned heads literally anywhere the very voluminous and socially active vixen waddled to, either out of lust, admiration, or appall, and the leggings that she poured her prolific poundage into left absolutely nothing to the imagination, her flaring hips and buoyant, billowing butt always sent into a sea of motion whenever she so much as shifted where she stood. Not only did Shannon possess a bubble butt to rival anyone in the Guinness World Records, her hips stuck out to such an incredible degree that finding her stuck in a standard entryway, one that three Tamara’s could have walked through with literally no problem bore as no surprise to the twiggier twin. Shannon had more than enough up top to qualify her as obese from the waist up, but below the belt was such an extraordinary accumulation of adipose that every part of her ludicrously large lower half was completely overcome with excess, all the way down to her very chubby calves, but certainly far more noticeable at the apex of her historic hips or in the sheer volume of her always thickening thighs. "Its… I guess it's fine," Shannon shrugged, defeated. "This pair is getting too tight on me anyway…" she admitted with a bit of thinly veiled frustration. Tamara's tumultuously tubby twin certainly had a point in that regard. Tamara could remember when her swelling sister had bought those leggings… It had been a couple of months ago, long enough ago that it was understandable that Shannon was experiencing issues as far as comfort and coverage went. She was a fast grower, no doubt, and the endless stream of calories that she found herself bombarded with by prospective males was only serving to accelerate her rate of growth, on top of the considerable amount of cuisine she bought and consumed on her own… Suffice it to say, Shannon's leggings were long past the point of retirement, and Tamara could only fathom in quizzical quietness as to how her super-sized sibling had managed to squeeze them on that morning. Or how she’d managed to squeeze all 770 pounds of ponderous pudge that far into the frame of their kitchen entryway. Shannon had managed to get herself stuck but good this time around, the pudge of her surging, sloping saddlebags oozing around the matte white molding and hardly shifting as she attempted to thrust herself forward. It looked like Shannon had been struggling to stuff herself through for a good few minutes now, and had actually made a fair bit of progress… but had finally hit a wall at the very widest part of her hips, just a few inches short of five feet across and currently compressed by the ill-sized entrance in a way that just looked painful. Shannon was not only panting lightly but was noticeably red in the face, fanning herself ineffectively with well-manicured hands. Returning them to either side of the entryway, she tried with a great deal of effort to push both hands against the portion of wall on either side of the frame to try to force her way farther through, but found that she didn’t even budge. She squirmed for a few more seconds like this before letting out an exasperated sigh and stopping to catch her breath, her large bosom rising and falling in time with her heavy gasps for air. “Fucking… AGAIN!!!” she grunted irately, not even considering that her slimmer sister might have the exact same sentiment. Turning sideways in order to fit through the kitchen door had become an unfortunate necessity for Shannon in the past half a year or so, and with the round-rumped redhead’s tendency to be a bit airheaded, it had meant that this hadn’t been the first time she’d needed a family member to help squeeze her hefty hips through the space. But usually, Shannon had her father, a fairly burly man himself, or her linebacker little brother to help give her a strong push. Slight and scrawny Tamara was hardly up to the task. “Jesus, Shan,” Tamara sighed, slumping her shoulders, “you’re telling me…” “Shut-” Shannon began, cutting herself short as she realized that she wasn’t in the position to upset her other half. “Just…” she adjusted her language, “just help, please?” “Help with what,” Tamara sighed, throwing her hands up in frustration even though her sister, faced the other way, could hardly see the gesticulation. “You’re too wide for me to push through.” “I’m NOT,” Shannon huffed, clearly upset, “too wide. The doorway… just isn’t wide enough.” ‘Same difference,’ Tamara rolled her eyes again. Funny how her “little” sister was the only member of the family for whom the doorways around the house weren't wide enough for. Although, Tamara kept that rumination to herself, lest she upset or embarrass the sour and squeezed Shannon any further. Yes, despite the constant compliments and even catcalls that Shannon got from men, despite the absolute barrage of lustful comments that she took for granted from less than savvy would-be suitors, despite the proliferation of positive reinforcement the prodigiously porky partier repeatedly received over her poundage, Shannon was still very, very self-conscious about her weight. One wrong comment from her twin and the ginormous ginger might be out of sorts for days afterward, puffing and pouting every time Tamara tried to talk to her until the thinner twin brought her a peace offering in the form of something sweet or an all expenses paid outing to one of Shannon’s favorite spots to grab a bite. “Right, yea…” Tamara trailed off, hardly as invested in her sister’s tubby tumult but eager to get it over with. “Well,’ her shoulders rose and then fell again, “I don’t know what you want me to do-” “Just get the butter!” Shannon insisted again, clearly distraught. At her sister’s size, Tamara knew that staying on her feet for too long could be difficult, and Shannon was probably eager to sit back down. That was what was largely contributing to the agitation in her younger twin’s voice, she figured. “Well-” Tamara fired back, “the butter’s in the kitchen, I can’t get into the kitchen…” “Can you go around?” Shannon begged, meaning that she wanted Tamara to put her shoes on, leave through the front door, go around through the backyard and enter the kitchen through the back entrance on the patio. Which was just more work than Tamara felt like doing, really. “Umm, I think the patio’s locked,” she fibbed, trying to buy time with her flimsy excuse rather than have to walk all the way around the house. “Well, can you check!?” Shannon hissed over her shoulder. “My legs are getting tired…” “Yea, I don’t blame them, dude…” Tamara mumbled diminutively. “I- what?!” Shannon pouted, agitated and anxious. “I said I’m sorry for being rude,” Tamara thought up quickly. “Yea, I’m going…” she spun around reluctantly on one heel, an easy maneuver for her, and began trudging off toward the front door. A quick stop by the living room to get her flipflops and Tamara was out on the front lawn, her feet sinking in to the bluegrass as she trudged her way around to the side of the house. Tamara was just a little bit out of sorts about it all. Sure, she loved her twin sister, always had, always would. But she couldn’t even count on two hands anymore the number of times Shannon had needed help because she just did not pay enough attention to where she allocated her preposterously plump posterior. Today it was the kitchen entrance for, like, the sixth time… last week she had needed help getting up and out of a lawn chair after too many mojitos at a friend’s pool party… a week before that she had gotten stuck trying to enter her own walk-in closet…or that time she had wedged herself in to the turnstile on the metro because she had been too embarrassed to use the handicap entrance and insisted that she could squeeze through going in sideways… That was another thing. Shannon’s blubbery bubble butt ballooned out behind her enough that she was only marginally thinner front to back than she was side to side, and even when the quintuple-wide cutie remembered to shuffle into the kitchen sideways, both the crest of her enormous ass and the bulge of her soft stomach made heavy contact on either side of the frame. “If she starts getting stuck sideways,” Tamara mumbled glumly to herself as she rounded the corner and stepped onto the patio deck, “she’d better get Dad to redo the doorways, because I am not getting the fucking butter every time…” She stopped herself for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath where she stood in her best effort to let her irritation slip away. She really, really shouldn’t have been letting herself get this irritated. She loved her twin to death, truly, but… her constant happenstances of helplessness were beginning to bear on her nerves. Opening her eyes and spurring into motion once more, she couldn’t help but bear just a bit of frustration, a bit of resentment, as she silently thought to herself… ‘You might be the one who’s stuck all the time… but I’m the one who’s stuck with you…’ ~~ A one-off short story. I know it ends on a cliffhanger, but I like it as is

Back when I lived in Jersey, I remember being at the DMV and overhearing a conversation that a young mom with a toddler was having with the "teller" or w/e you call them. The teller is explaining to her that she needs to get the photo on her driver's license retaken because she no longer resembles her photo. Now, this was years ago and I was barely paying attention because, ya know, I was stoned at the most boring place on Earth, but I remember the interaction going something roughly like this: The toddler she has with her asks her what she's doing. She turns to him and says, in that way adults talk to little kids, "Mommy has to have her photo retaken because she gained a lot of weight from having you." The toddler says something like "Really?" or something else to indicate that he doesn't understand. The woman continues to go, "Mmhmm, you made mommy gain a bunch of weight so now she looks different!' And then just kept saying things along that line; she was obviously talking to the teller and making sure that he could hear her. Unfofrtunately, NJ driver's licenses don't list or require your weight, so I didn't get to overhear what the new number was But I still love the idea of a woman embarrassed about her weight in public and fumbling to make excuses to save face really hot. Like... you could argue that if your kid is old enough to walk and talk, you could have lost the weight by now...

lmao Nicholas Cage and his personal T-rex skull would love to have a word with you. I agree with @Lake Terror. Just let the Jabber gibber jab. ...So back on topic, I did marching band all four years of high school. One of the brass players was this big girl, not exactly my type, but still like 350ish pounds nonetheless. She was a senior I think when I was a freshman, so she graduated and went to go do drum corps (think marching band except competitive). So, she comes back to visit us the following year and she's lost A LOT of weight. Drum Corps is basically a cross between band camp and boot camp, so I think all of the forced exercise and shitty food made her lose what looked like 180ish to 200 pounds. Plenty of people were "Oh my Glob! You're so thin! Bleh bleh!" etcetera to her all day. Good for her. So... she comes back either next year or just a couple of years later, and she's gained ALL of the weight back and then some, I guess just by going back to her old lifestyle. I think its the most rapid loss OR gain that I've ever seen on a person in real life.

Had a "friend" in high school who used to always tease me about liking big girls. Like, a lot. Publicly. He'd tell other people about just so they could all laugh about it together. Because high school kids are dicks, idk. But this guy ESPECIALLY would just not let up. He once told me that he was going to download porn of a fat black woman, label it Heavy Ebony and claim to everyone at school that he'd found it on my hard drive (even though he'd never been to my house). Which, to be fair, is kind of just sociopathic, especially if its only for a laugh. Anyway, long story short, his first college girlfriend was almost 300 pounds. Fuck that guy...

I think that the story that I just posted on this very site qualifies: I always said I would get around to uploading it here lol

Andrew gulped chasing such thoughts out of his head for a moment to address the man that was speaking to him.“I, uh, I work in finance at an engineering firm,” he responded, putting on his best, albeit fake smile. Andrew instantly knew that he didn’t like Malcolm. It wasn’t that the man had actually done anything wrong; he was quiet, cordial and displayed a type of respect that showed he was calm and considerate towards others, but not intimidated. But of course, why would Malcolm be? He already had the perfect woman locked down and devoted to him, after all.No, Andrew found himself, against his better nature, explicitly disliking Malcolm out of spite for what the man had and he didn’t, even though his devoted wife was seated right next to him, silently seething at the lack of attention that she was receiving from her husband.Of course, neither member of the newly relocated couple wanted their kind contemporaries to be aware of such.“We moved here because Hannah found a really great work opportunity,” Andrew explained. “I was able to transfer to a sister branch over here, so I’m just working from home while things get set up.”Malcolm nodded nonchalantly.“Sounds like a big change,” he said, attempting to carry on the conversation. “How’s that working out for you?”“Just fine!” Hannah answered before Andrew could get a chance to respond. “We’ve been doing great, just one happily married couple trying to make our place in the world.”Andrew didn’t miss the emphasis that she put on “happily married”, as though she were trying to remind him of the fact that they were in a healthy relationship and, therefore, there was no need for his hungry eyes.Andrew nodded his placid agreement.“Yup, that’s us,” he chuckled weakly, hoping that he could save at least a little bit of face with his wife and not come off as too obvious in his lustful, hopefully private thoughts.“Well, if you ever need any help with finding anything in the neighborhood,” Tori offered, “we’re right across the street!”Malcolm nodded with a grin.“Tori’s not only an amazing cook, she knows all of the best dining spots around town.”“I sure do!” Tori nodded enthusiastically, her chins bunching up together as she did so. She turned to her husband and flashed him a coy grin. “I think the evidence speaks for itself on that one, though,” she giggled, patting the impressive tummy that took up a large portion of her lap. Malcolm laughed at his wife’s self-deprecating sense of humor, his baritone chuckle filling up the room with an infection ring. Even Hannah had to crack a smile; Tori’s bubbly personality was as big as she was, and Hannah’s demeanor couldn’t help but soften a bit, her stiffness slowly melting away as the couple kidded and cajoled back and forth with each other.Andrew, on the other hand, was stiffer than ever. He could only manage a half-hearted chuckle as he tried and failed to avert his eyes in any direction other than Tori’s partially exposed tummy.“Myself,” Malcolm continued the conversation, “I had a bit of success in the music industry back in the nineties and early thousands,” he explained, addressing both Andrew and Hannah as he spoke. “And now I get by as a record producer.”“Oh, he’s being so humble,” Tori playfully prodded Malcolm in the arm. “This man has produced more platinum records than you can shake a stick at. I hear he’s a pretty decent musician too,” she added with a jovial wink.“Oh,” Hannah nodded, clearly impressed. “Were you like… a child star or something similar back in the nineties?” she asked, trying to quickly mentally calculate Malcolm’s age. Rather than immediately answer, Malcolm only scoffed.“A child, back in the nineties?” he chuckled to himself. “I have to confess, I’m a little bit older than I look,” he admitted, sliding his chair closer to Tori and leaning over to drape his arm over her shoulder. “Genetics or good nutrition or something, I guess,” he explained.“Oh,” Tori cooed, scrunching her nose adorably at the gesture, “he’s still young at heart,” she cajoled, sighing in contentment as she inched closer to him in turn. Malcolm playfully scoffed.“Whatever that means,” he added, chuckling to himself.The conversation continued as such for about a half an hour or so. Tori and Malcolm were delightful company, riffing off of each other and even finishing each other’s sentences. Their casual, friendly banter was even pleasant enough to take Hannah’s mind off of her awkwardly leering husband. As time ticked onward, the four eventually found themselves running out of things to talk about and conversation began to wind down. As the dialogue dwindled down, the silence in the room brought on with the absence of conversation found itself being replaced with another noise that was far more raucous and disruptive in its nature. It started as the slightest of gurgles, only just barely catching the attention of its nearest listener before escalating into a full-on rumble that rang loudly enough to echo throughout the entire living room, catching the attention of all four occupants present: it was Tori’s stomach.“Oh,” Tori muttered with a slightly embarrassed smile. “Don’t tell me its dinner time already,” she placed both hands on her jutting paunch as it loosed another cacophonous grumble of longing and discontent.Malcolm calmly glanced at a rather expensive-looking watch on his left wrist, gold just like his glasses.“Not for another two hours, sweetheart,” he answered.Tori sucked her teeth and pouted.“Well,” she addressed her husband, “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with an early start, right?” She faced forward to talk to her hosts. “I hope you don’t mind if we part ways for now. It has been a pleasure, but I haven’t even had a snack since second lunch,” she grinned apologetically.“Second lunch?!” Andrew accidentally blurted out, his libido once again getting the better of him. He couldn’t help himself. From the moment his ears had first been graced with the audible evidence of Tori’s hunger, he had been completely enraptured. It was like music to his ears… a monumentally massive fat woman whose stomach was crying for sustenance even after doubling up on her afternoon meal.“Well,” Tori giggled, humorously explaining herself, “the hobbits get to have second breakfast don’t they? I figure, why not keep up such a positive mindset throughout the day?” Malcolm laughed at his wife’s barely sensible justification while Hannah tried her best to hide her scowl and muster a weak chuckle. Andrew was paying too much attention to Tori again, hadn’t really stopped since laying eyes on her, actually, and Hannah was becoming less and less adept at hiding her stinging jealousy. For the sake of keeping things casual, and not letting on that he was some sort of fat-obsessed voyeur, although he most certainly was, Andrew cleared his throat and did his best not to show how flustered he had been rendered by this new information.“O-of course,” the anxious early thirty-something smiled nervously, feeling his wife’s heated gaze bearing down on his profile. “Makes sense to me.”“Well then,” Hannah suddenly stood up, “don’t let us delay you! It has indeed been a pleasure, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around!”Andrew could tell that Hannah was just eager to rush the two out of the room and out of their shared abode, Tori in particular. Malcolm stood as well, nodding in assent.“Looking forward to it,” he replied, giving his well-toned arms a quick stretch.And Tori? Tori merely looked her husband’s way, cocking her head playfully to the side as she made a quick but Herculean request of him.“Honey,” she cooed, “would you mind helping me stand?”Andrew had to stifle his own jealousy for a moment. As far as he was concerned, this Malcolm guy was the luckiest man in the world. ~~ deviantart.com/chickenshack

Andrew’s defensive posture didn’t escape Hannah’s notice. She took her seat by him, scooting close enough to the point where Andrew knew she could keep him in the corner of her eye while still keeping up the appearance of being a welcoming, calm, not infuriately jealous host. Malcolm was also giving the couple seated across from him a curious grin with one eyebrow raised in possible suspicion, but if he suspected anything he didn’t do anything to indicate so any further. Tori, on the other hand, was entirely preoccupied with her wardrobe. In the seemingly arduous process of taking her seat, her shirt had ridden back up a few more inches, finally fully exposing her thick, supple love handles and enough of her stomach that her deep, cavernous belly button was on full display. She seemed to pay it no mind at first, enjoying the major reprieve she received from taking her astounding weight off of her feet and was taking a moment to fan herself while she caught her breath. Only after a few seconds did she notice her minor “wardrobe malfunction”, which she responded to by looking down and letting out a short gasp of surprise before pulling the hem of her shirt back down. Because of the shift in the positioning of her belly in her lap, she had even less luck with her shirt’s coverage than she had managed when she was standing. Tori managed to stretch the shirt’s bottom to just below the cusp of her belly button before it sprung right back up on its own, creasing at the ends where it was pulled the most taut over her proud, protruding belly.Tori merely let out the cutest of giggles before shrugging her shoulders slightly, her lack of concern apparent in a cute, dismissive sort of way. Andrew had to do his best not to drool. Even fully aware that his wife’s eyes were drilling into him in a mixture of wariness and judgment, he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from the entire mild yet titillating display. It was only a mild grumble of discontent from his right that disrupted his voyeurism.He flashed Hannah a quick look… and immediately regretted it. The glare that she was sending his way would have caused a less distracted man to wilt immediately; Andrew visibly blushed and cleared his throat, beginning to feel the sweat bead on his forehead. Thankfully, it was Malcolm’s smooth baritone voice that interrupted the silence hanging over the two couples.“So, now that we’re all seated,” he began, “Andrew.” Andrew’s head snapped forward and he peered in Malcolm’s direction. Although the man was a precious couple of inches shorter than Andrew was, and spoke much quieter than the average person, there was a certain way he carried himself even when seated that made him a larger presence than he was. Andrew’s focus was finally turned away from Tori; his attention was now with Tori’s husband.“What do you do for a living?” Malcolm asked with a warm smile, which Andrew nervously returned. Naturally, he couldn’t help but be jealous of the man who had addressed him. Having only known the couple for a handful of minutes, Andrew could see how well the two of them got along and played off of each other; the emotional connection between them indicated that they had been a strong couple for a while. And the physical attraction was obviously there too…Andrew had to assume that Malcolm shared his… “unique” preferences when it came to women. Unlike Andrew, though, if Malcolm did, he clearly had his lustful desires fulfilled on a regular basis, what with his ease of access to such a ponderous, pear-shaped piece of perfection. Andrew could only imagine coming home every night to a woman who weighed easily over seven hundred pounds. He was enamored at the salacious thought of running his hands down her full, fluffy sides, of caressing and jiggling her still-exposed love handles, of feeling the full weight of her enormous, jutting, three-chaired ass as they spooned together, him practically being smothered by the weight of her massive, magnificent body but not complaining about it for a single second.Even the things that were less sensual in nature were still driving Andrew wild, clouding his senses. He imagined Tori squeezing through that doorway every time she came home from work or left the house for a trip to her favorite restaurant. In his head, it was a buffet, of course, and he imagined waiting on Tori hand and foot, bringing her plate after plate after plate while she gorged herself until she couldn’t stand on her own anymore. He imagined just watching her just plod exhaustively around her own house once they got back home, being able to tell where she was and what room she was waddling into by the sheer sound of her heavy footsteps echoing across the wooden floors.The house across the street belonging to the Fords was a two-story home, same as Andrew and Hannah’s… did that mean that Tori’s bedroom was on the second floor? Andrew was mesmerized by the mere thought of following her bouncing behind up a stairwell, watching her labor intensively while she navigated one thick, barrel-like thigh past the other, gasping for breath in between her embarrassed giggles as she struggled to shift her ungainly, overburdened waddle in to a more vertical direction.But, instead, here he was face to face with the man who was living out his fantasies in the real world. ~~ deviantart.com/chickenshack

Of course, it was Hannah who had to answer for her husband, still practically rendered speechless over the arrival of their huge houseguest.“Sure,” she answered, trying her best to sound unaffected by his lustful gaze and enthusiastic for the company. She looked around the still somewhat unfurnished living room. “Uh, the sofa’s still in the garage, but I can bring out some chairs from the kitchen.”“I’ll take three, if you don’t mind,” Tori sweetly requested. “These hips take up a little bit of room,” she patted her side for emphasis while Malcolm snickered. Tori laughed right along with him through deep, heavy breaths. She didn’t seem too terribly shy about admitting that she was a big woman, it seemed, not that she would have had much of a choice. With the amount of space she took up with her sheer body mass, she was likely usually the largest person she or anyone around her had ever kept in their company before.“Ha,” Hannah forced a chuckle under the semblance of seeming calm and cordial, although Andrew could tell that his wife’s ingrained size envy was approaching its peak, “right.” Hannah did a quick head count. “Six chairs, coming right up,” she smiled, turning to make her way to the kitchen.“Hey, I’ll help you with those,” Malcolm offered. “ At least with ours,” he specified, separating from his wondrously fat wife and leaving her to stand under her own power, albeit briefly. “Least I could do.”“Well, that makes you the perfect devoted husband,” Hannah flashed Andrew a quick glare as she said it, as if those words were more for his ears than anyone else’s.“Oh,” Tori laughed, completely missing Hannah’s irony and giving Malcolm a playful swat on the shoulder, “he’s guilty as charged.” Even the slight motion with her outstretched left arm sent her thick, wobbly upper arm jiggling furiously in her sleeve, gyrating for a few moments before she flopped the expansive extremity down at her fluffy side. Malcolm shrugged his shoulders and chuckled right along with her.“Oh, I’m sure,” Hannah agreed and then turned to Malcolm, clearing her throat. “The kitchen is right through here, let me show you.”As she walked by Andrew, she furtively brushed her open hand across Andrew’s groin, positioning her slight, waif-like figure so that the cajoling couple couldn’t notice. Surely enough, even through his work pants she could feel that Andrew, her supposedly “devoted husband”, was as hard as a rock. Try as she might to keep up some semblance of being cordial, she wore a tight-lipped scowl on her features that Andrew couldn’t help but notice, distracted as he was. He knew he was likely in for a passive-aggressive talking to later, one that he knew he would be quite a bit too frazzled to hold his own in.“Right this way!” Hannah said a bit more tersely than she had likely meant to, marching into the next room with a quick, agitated pace. Malcolm merely nodded and followed her, but not before leaning over to give his wife a quick peck on the cheek. Tori blushed as Malcolm turned around and made his way out of the room.And that just left Andrew and Tori, standing face to face with each other. Although their respective spouses weren’t even out of earshot, Andrew still found himself standing there in the empty room with veritable perfection smiling back at him, cheerfully twirling a loose tuft of her raven tresses as he struggled to open up a line of dialogue so that they could make some normal conversation. It wasn’t easy; the only questions reeling through his mind were those that he surely didn’t dare voice aloud for fear of coming off as some sort of fat-crazed sexual deviant.How much did she eat in a day, or even in one sitting, had she gotten this big on purpose or was she just careless, with Malcolm as some sort of enabler, how many seats did she have to purchase on airlines, just how much did she actually weigh… Andrew was at a loss for anything actually normal to approach this gargantuan goddess about, his head spinning with all of the taboo fantasies that would likely be playing out in his head in much more vivid detail later that night when Hannah was asleep and Andrew found himself with a bottle of lotion and a couple of Kleenexes on hand.He was fortunate enough that Tori was the talkative sort, however.Taking the lead in starting the conversation for him, finished playing with her hair and shifted her immense weight from one foot to the other, likely very eager to recline on her multiple seats in order to give her overburdened ankles some rest, but even more eager to chew the fat in the meantime.“So, Andrew, was it?” she politely asked, double-checking to make sure. Andrew could hardly believe how sweet and dulcet Tori’s speaking voice was, despite the billowing, massively fat body that it emanated from.“Yup,” Andrew nodded weakly, “uhh my friends call me Andy, though,” he told her, for lack of anything better to say.“Oh!” Tori gushed. “Well, Andy then, if I may be so bold,” she smiled with those perfect white teeth, raising a hand to her plush, pillowy chest. “I couldn’t help but wonder if… how do I say this…” Andrew waited on Tori’s words with baited breath. He had no idea what she was about to ask, but was so physically enamored with what, in his mind, was a living goddess that he would have jumped off of a building if she had requested it of him.“Do you…” Tori asked awkwardly, glancing towards the kitchen entrance. From the angle that she was positioned in the living room, she could no doubt see the smorgasbord of welcome delights strewn across the kitchen table. Andrew’s eyes suddenly grew wide in anticipation. Was she about to ask him if she could help herself to any of the desserts or cookies sitting off to the side of her in plain view? Was he about to witness this fantastically fat woman’s gluttony firsthand?“Do you mind that we didn’t bring anything as a housewarming gift?” Tori finished her sentence after a bit of embarrassed hesitation. “I’m so sorry, we completely forgot before we made our way over here.”“Oh…” Andrew responded dejectedly. “Right.”Tori’s face flashed a look of worry.“Oh, I knew I should have made brownies,” she apologized, thinking that Andrew’s sudden sadness was over her demonstrating a lack of courtesy in arriving at their door empty-handed. “I- I can bring some later, or-““No, no uh, that’s not it,” Andrew held his hands up. “Honestly.”“I wouldn’t blame you if it was,” Malcolm said, coming back into the room with a couple of armless chairs with open backs hooked through each muscular arm. “Tori makes the best damn brownies in the world. Second best chocolate cake too, in my humble opinion.” He slipped the chairs out from around his arms while Tori laughed and swatted at her husband’s now-unencumbered bicep.“What do you mean second-best?!” she giggled. “Someone wants to sleep on the couch tonight.”Malcolm chuckled while he set up three of the chairs, spacing them about a half an inch apart behind his wife’s burgeoning bottom.“Well,” he defended himself playfully, “they do have one of the Colliers’ triple fudge layer cakes sitting on the kitchen table, just saying.”Tori’s eyes grew wide in excitement and she let out a small gasp. She subtly licked her lips, turning her head to stare back in the direction of the table for the briefest of moments.“Okay, fine,” she confessed, admitting defeat. “I know when I’m beat. Mrs Collier’s chocolate fudge cakes are amazing.”“If its any consolation,” Malcolm planted a soft kiss on his wife’s even softer cheek, “you’re a very close second.”“Oh, talk it up,” Tori rolled her eyes before making to sit down. She glanced behind her for a moment, then tried to delicately and slowly lower herself down onto all three chairs, holding her arms out ahead of herself for balance. She managed to bend her knees until she was in a sort of semi-squat, about half of the way down before succumbing to her sheer weight and preternatural bottom-heaviness, plopping the rest of the way with a loud thud and a soft “oof!”. “Ah,” she sighed, taking a deep breath and leaning back a bit, “much better.”Hannah was next to return to the room, carrying a chair in each of her arms and still looking a bit suspicious, her eyes darting between Andrew and Tori as she callously slammed the chair in her left hand on the hardwood floor and slid it Andrew’s way, making a bit of commotion in the process.“Thanks for the help, sweetheart,” she muttered sardonically, eyes now glued to Andrew’s crotch once more. Andrew mustered a weak grin and gulped, mouthing a weak apology. He quietly sat down and as soon as he did, quickly leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other.

For the life of me, I cannot get the text to format correctly. I hope its not too jarring for anybody.

Andrew was no stranger to trying to guess the weights of the morbidly obese women that he ogled online when Hannah was not around or he was feeling particularly blue-balled; he had to surmise that Tori had to be over six hundred pounds easily, probably even over seven hundred if she was anywhere near as wide front to back as she was side to side. And yet, despite the many women that Andrew had perused in his twenties who were even a couple hundred pounds lighter, Tori held herself with a serene, graceful sort of composure that belied just how heavy she surely was. It might have been the distribution of her weight that aided with that; she hardly had more than a few extra pounds allocated onto her chubby but comparatively thin face and had surprisingly thin ankles and dainty feet that looked like they should have had at least some issue supporting the rest of her fantastically large body. Instead, her billowing, burgeoning fat, remarkably devoid of too many folds or rolls, concentrated itself only in her most feminine areas; she had a very prominent chest, a very prominent belly, and ridiculously, absurdly prominent hips. Andrew could have just spent the rest of the afternoon drinking in Tori’s heavy, heavenly physique, had he not heard his wife behind him let out a loud ahem in order to steal back his attention.“Oh, uhh,” Andrew glanced back at his wife for a moment before clearing his throat as well. She was giving him a less than trustworthy look; in the meantime, Malcolm was distracted by the interior of the house, taking his time perusing the decorations and pictures that the couple had managed to put up thus far.God, how long had Andrew just been ogling this woman for? He couldn’t tell; time seemed to stop for a moment as he took all of Tori in. Trying to think on his feet, he turned back to the veritable angel of adipose standing on his new porch and fumbled through an attempt at a courteous greeting.“Yes, wel-welcome to the neighborhood. I mean, thanks for the welcome… to uh, yea,” he tried and failed, completely flustered by the husband and wife, particularly the wife, who had come to make their introductions. Behind him, Hannah just shook her head.Tori just laughed, a crisp, clear, high-pitched giggle that completely contrasted with the sheer absurdity of her massive size. Her poorly contained belly jiggled in time with her guffaws, and Andrew had to do everything in his power not to stare at its vivacious wobbling as it caused her shirt to ride up just a few more slivers.“Yea, I think I’ve already been here for a while,” Tori grinned, making light of Andrew’s mistake. “Mind if I come in?”“Oh, of course!” Andrew returned the smile and backed his way up, taking his very irritated wife’s side as Tori waddled up to the door.Tori standing and Tori in motion were two entirely different beasts. When she didn’t have to move, she carried all of her extra weight with a certain elegance and poise that only should have belonged to a woman much, much lighter than she was. But as she plodded forward, all of that “grace and serenity” went right out the door. Tori had a bona fide fat girl waddle, holding her plump arms out slightly for balance as she encroached upon the entrance to Andrew and Hannah’s home. She was, in fact, quite a bit wider than the doorframe; Tori had to rotate her profoundly large body ninety degrees so that she could waddle through it sideways.If Andrew’s jaw hadn’t already dropped down to the metaphorical floor, it certainly did then. True to Tori’s pear shape, it was absurd how far her bouncing, jiggling butt stuck out behind her. Coupled with her large, jutting belly, she indeed was nearly as thick as she was wide, but fortunately only nearly, as otherwise she’d have had no hope of fitting through the doorway at all. Andrew inwardly adjusted his mental calculations: Tori had to be at least seven hundred and fifty pounds if she weighed an ounce, and even completely turned sideways she was having a bit of a struggle squeezing all of it through the open door into the new couple’s living room. Her belly was compressed on one side of the frame and her resoundingly fat ass cheek on the other, and by no small measure either, which meant that she needed a moment to squeeze her way into the living room earnest. Andrew almost debated offering her a hand before Malcolm strode forward and beat him to it. “You all good there, baby?” he asked calmly, unconcerned, as if this particular struggle of Tori’s was hardly out of the ordinary for the two. “No,” Tori grunted, still smiling, “it isn’t that tight…” Well, that was certainly an untrue statement. Nonetheless, Tori popped out of the standard-sized entrance just a moment later, breathing a bit heavily and trying to pull her shirt that had ridden up during the process back down so it would completely cover her tummy. It hadn’t in the first place, so, naturally, it failed to do so again. She hardly paid it any mind, though. Rather, still panting lightly, she teetered over to her bemused husband and made to lean up against him for support, only a few inches shorter but undeniably far wider. Andrew was still feeling dizzy from the whole experience; seeing Tori next to her moderately well-built but still far more normal-sized husband really highlighted the incredible contrast between the smiling, bovine belle and an average adult male. Hannah was growing hotter by the second, although she did her best not to show it. She knew exactly what had rendered her husband so speechless and distracted, and it wasn’t the mocha-skinned muscular man with the gold-rimmed glasses. “Whew,” Tori sighed, none the wiser to the inner machinations of either individual opposite her in the large, semi-furnished living room. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and readjusted her knit hat with her free hand, doing her best to regulate her breathing so as to initiate a conversation. “So,” she said, still just a bit breathily, “we’re the Fords, and we’re honored to officially make your acquaintance! Would you mind if- *gasp* if I could sit down for a bit?” ~~ deviantart.com/chickenshack

Andrew raised an eyebrow, noticing the slight trepidation on his wife of five year’s face.“Uh, sure, sweetie,” he answered, “did you let them in already?”“Oh, umm, no,” her grin faded. “Not yet.”Andrew figured that that was a bit unusual… Hannah turned around without much of another word and then stepped her way back to the front door with Andrew trailing behind reluctantly. He only had to walk a few steps around the kitchen wall, bringing the new neighbor couple into view, before the certified chubby chaser immediately felt his knees go weak.Walking forward suddenly became a lot more difficult. Andrew’s eyes grew wide and he did his best to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor, doing his best to keep his strides even and uninterrupted in light of his sudden visual distraction.“Please,” Hannah beckoned, reaching the door before him, “let yourselves in.”The couple followed suit. The man who walked in was a bit older, although he hardly carried himself in such a way. He was tall, almost as tall as Andrew’s six-foot-three, and had a rich mahogany skin tone with long, flowing dreadlocks tied into a ponytail. There was a certain air of calmness in both his composure and in his eyes, friendly and cordial, squared behind gold-rimmed glasses that matched the various beads and baubles that were woven into his hair.“Good to meet you,” the man held his hand out, “my name’s Malcolm. Welcome to the neighborhood.”Andrew gulped and shook Malcolm’s hand as firmly as he could.“Good- good to meet you.”Despite being shorter than Andrew by a few inches, the man had a striking enough presence based solely on his relaxed but seemingly wise demeanor. However, it wasn’t Malcolm that had Andrew flustered and short of speech. It was the woman who had yet to enter through the front door, Malcolm’s wife Tori.“Hi! I’m Victoria, better known as Tori,” the woman smiled, her rotund cheeks creasing into dimples as she flashed her impeccably white teeth. Andrew was nearly too dumbstruck to respond. He managed to mouth a weak, nervous hello, dearly hoping that Tori wouldn’t notice the sheer awe that he was consumed with in taking in her appearance. Of course, Tori did notice, but she was quite accustomed to people’s shocked reactions upon meeting her for the first time, especially as of late.Tori might not have known about Andrew’s specific tastes in women, but had she been privy to his preferences, she would have known that she was the very definition of his personal kryptonite.Tori was immense. She was easily the largest woman that Andrew had ever seen, either in person or in his browser history, her large chest heaving ever so slightly as she stood on the porch with a rather heartwarming smile. Despite the size of her full, jutting bosom, Tori was quite the exaggerated pear-shape, getting even wider the further down Andrew’s leering eyes strayed. Her large, one-tiered belly hung heavily forward in the front before it curved around to luscious, full love handles that rested atop the widest set of hips that Andrew had ever seen in his life. She was absolutely packed into her leggings, jet-black like her flowing hair, although they certainly didn’t have the effect of slimming down her titanic thighs and thick, meaty calves. She wore a plain white long-sleeved shirt that didn’t quite meet those leggings; there was just the slightest sliver of tan flesh showing which, along with the heavy impression made into the fabric by her belly button, served as an indication that at least some of the exorbitant weight that she carried on her frame had been put on recently enough that her outfits hadn’t quite kept up. Simply put, calling Tori “fat” would have been the understatement of the year. She was beyond obese, a woman who was absolutely massive in size despite the fact that she had to be just around Andrew and Hannah’s age. She was remarkably pretty as well. She had worn her flowing hair down that afternoon, messily crammed under a light blue knit beanie that matched her alluring, almond-shaped blue eyes. Even unkempt, her billowing hair flowed down to about mid-back and framed a full but only chubby face that remarkably had only two chins despite the sheer size of the rest of her body. ~~ deviantart.com/chickenshack