PrincessBlurmy

*Hello! I write wrestling-related female weight gain stories on DeviantArt. Apropos of nothing, I thought I'd share the latest one here as well. If you like what you read or have any critiques/ideas/suggestions, feel free to leave a comment, and find more short stories and multi-part fiction over at https://www.deviantart.com/laddercoins . Thanks!
 
It had started as a fun couples activity, a way for Renee to share her passion with her husband without it feeling like a one-way street. Of course, Jon Moxley could only do things the Jon Moxley way, and Renee had repeatedly found herself shaking her head as he added each ingredient “until it felt right.” The first few creations out of ‘café de Moxley’ then, as one might expect, could generously be described as ‘edible’; even Jon’s own hardened palette wasn’t quite up to more than a mouthful. Renee had privately expected this, and didn’t necessarily mind her apparent failure to teach her husband. It was nice to have something she was so much better at than he was. She would encourage him though, and Jon really seemed to make an effort to get better.
The first moment came when Jon emerged from their kitchen one day. Renee couldn’t hide a smile at his appearance; shirtless and grizzled, with a fresh scar on his forehead from a recent match, but wearing her luminous pink apron and oven glove.
“I think these ones might actually be good.” He said, and Renee was surprised that her notoriously low-key husband seemed so excited.
“Oh really? Did you follow the recipe on this one?” She asked with a smirk, eyeing the cupcakes on the platter in his hand.
“Yeah, kinda…I lost track of some of the ingredients, but…just trust me.”
His excitement was quite adorable, so Renee reached out and picked a cake from the platter. She could tell Jon had gone a little overboard with the sugar (among a few other things) as soon as she sunk her teeth into it, but damn if it didn’t still taste incredible.
“Holy…crap.”
Jon almost looked nervous.
“I mean…they taste amazing.” Jon visibly celebrated at Renee’s assessment, “I’m guessing you didn’t measure the sugar when you were adding it?”
Jon nodded guiltily.
“Well… probably shouldn’t have more than one, but these are great babe, well done.”
“Awesome!” Jon exclaimed, before seemingly becoming aware of himself, “Uhh, I’d better go clean up.”
“Yeah, you better.” Renee chuckled, imagining the state her husbands wild methods had left their kitchen in.
Despite her assessment, she found herself licking her lips and looking at the platter as Jon left the room. In truth, it had tasted amazing, something about the combination of excesses creating a delicious, if indulgent creation.
By the evening, the whole platter was empty. If Jon noticed, he didn’t mention it, but throughout the afternoon, Renee had found herself looking again towards the cupcakes that were left and steadily consuming each one, almost shivering with the brief sugar rush each brought on. She guiltily tugged at her top even as her face sat in a satisfied smile, but as Jon hadn’t noticed her burst of gluttony, he didn’t seem to clock her bloated stomach. What he did notice was the sounds of enjoyment that had accompanied every bite.
The next morning, Renee had woken up alone in bed. This wasn’t strange; Jon often went running in the hills around sunrise, and Renee’s various roles allowed her plenty of chance to sleep in. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when he suddenly appeared, shirtless and carrying a tray.
“I tried out your breakfast pancake recipe.” He grinned sheepishly, bringing the tray to her with uncharacteristic nervousness.
“You added bacon.” She said, noticing the dark shards embedded in the thick pancakes, as well as the extra strips bordering the stack.
“Yeah, I read that bit at the front where you said about trying stuff out based on what you like personally….I like bacon.”
“You’re the cutest.” Renee grinned, accepting her husband’s kiss.
She could have stayed in bed for the whole day with how full and satisfied the breakfast had left her, but Renee had jobs to do. Fortunately, most of them let her stay seated, and only showed her on camera from the chest up if they did at all. A light lunch helped ease her bloated stomach, but the salad that she would usually have enjoyed on what was a warm, bright day left her less satisfied than she hoped. So she couldn’t hide her pleasure when Jon arrived back home from training to announce he was going to try another one of her recipes for dinner.
“Hungry for stew?”
Renee had only enjoyed two of her husband’s creations so far, but she was already developing a keen anticipation whenever he made his way towards the kitchen. And so it followed that she could barely lift herself from their couch that evening, having consumed several bowls of a rich, meaty stew that she could still feel sitting warmly in her stuffed stomach. The flavours had been so intense and incredible, it had never crossed her mind as to the reasons for that richness, nor for the amount she’d eaten. Weak and sleepy from overfeeding, she was still somehow keenly aware that there were leftovers in the fridge, and with Jon flying out overnight for a show, it was all for her….
Six months later, and Renee’s eyes fluttered open on a chilly morning. She loved that her husband was getting to live his dream, travelling all over America and the world to wrestle, but in the years after their marriage, she’d never gotten used to waking up without him next to her. What she was getting used to was her stomach landing in her lap when she sat up.
Of course, she was somewhat concerned about gaining enough weight to have a belly that could sit on the tops of her thighs, but any time she zeroed in her middle and poked at the softening mound of flesh growing there, she thought back only to the last of her husbands dishes she’d enjoyed. That morning she’d stepped sleepily onto the scale in their bathroom and looked over her protruding middle to see the number 250 on the LED screen. She tugged her pyjama top down, but even if it hadn’t kept rolling up, it didn’t cover more than half her stomach anyway.
Renee hadn’t gotten lazy; she still worked hard at her various projects and travelled to AEW shows when she was needed, but she’d certainly sunk comfortably into a more sedentary lifestyle. She was thankful that she didn’t work for WWE anymore; not that she had hated her time there, but she highly doubted they’d tolerate a ‘talent’ getting so out of shape. With AEW, as long as she was professional and hit her cues, it didn’t matter how tightly her jeans hugged her waist or that she was occasionally out of breath from standing for too long. It had been surprisingly easy to block out the inevitable social media backlash; she’d even gotten a chuckle out a tweet headline reading “Renee continues to ‘Paquette’ on”. The counter-backlash had helped, with body-positive communities fighting much of the battle that she tried to stay out of.
If she was honest with herself, however, taking everything that had come with over 100lbs of weight gain in her stride came down to one thing. Renee was simply addicted to rich, high calorie food. She semi-justified it by saying she was actually addicted to her husbands cooking, which was true, but that didn’t explain the days when he hadn’t been able to cook or leave her anything, and she still found herself stuffed to the gills with any number of the local restaurants delivery services. If she ever had a moment of doubt; when popping a button or tearing a seam or catching herself eating straight from the fridge late at night, it was instantly dispelled as she remembered the last dish Jon had set in front of her, or anticipated the next.
A year to the day of first coaxing her husband into the kitchen, Renee sat with expectant eagerness at their dinner table. Rubbing her already-full belly, she reached down to undo her pants before smiling as she realised she’d already had to do that after lunch. Leaning back and sliding her hand underneath the waistband, she listened to the chair creak beneath her. In a year, she’d tripled her size, currently sitting happy and hungry at 330lbs. Any noise about her spectacular weight gain faded into background noise almost as soon as it appeared, even when she’d burst a jumpsuit climbing into the ring and had to conduct an interview with her broad, bubbly ass exposed to the fans opposite the hard camera. The pictures had quickly appeared online, the shock pronounced by her underwear wedged between her pale cheeks. Someone of lesser strength of character (or strength of addiction) would have given in, but Renee had finished the segment, waddled backstage and, after politely batting away the many sympathetic if slightly patronising approaches of her colleagues, simply returned to her dressing room and changed into the comfy sweats she travelled in these day.
She considered changing into them now, but she knew she’d never get to the bedroom and back before Jon had brought dinner in, and she couldn’t waste a second that could be spent tucking in. When the plate full of steak, steaming buttery vegetables and potatoes was placed in front of her, Renee allowed the briefest moment to plant a kiss on her husband, before loudly and greedily tucking in, pushing a whole potato into her mouth and moaning at the flavour exploding across her tongue. Deep down, she would’ve eaten with her hands if it meant getting more of those flavours into her mouth quicker, but even Renee, with her belly hanging out of pants that no longer closed around it, knew that was maybe too far. Jon was simply smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own meal. Watching his wife enjoy his cooking seemingly made him so happy. Perhaps because it was she who’d taught him, perhaps because she so clearly enjoyed eating everything he served. A short time later, she leant back, stomach even further out of her pants. In all honesty, she was more than satisfied, she was stuffed. But when Jon turned to her with bright eyes and said, “Dessert?”, Renee couldn’t resist. The pie was rich, but despite the thickness of the pastry and the overfilling, Renee was seriously impressed. Or she would have been, if she could think of anything else that lying down for a long time. She’d spent so long eating, it had gotten late, so Jon gladly braced himself to lift his wife from the creaking chair and help her waddle to bed. He took it slow, but even so, her belly sloshed in front of her, the smooth creamy blob sheened with redness from where the skin stretched and strained. Though the pants pinched at her waist, Renee was glad she wore them in this moment, as she felt her thighs squashing into one another and was reminded of the horror she’d discovered named “chub rub”. As she drifted off to sleep, face nestling into her double chin and belly rising high in front of her, a belch escaped her lips.
“*nngh* sorry.”
“Babe, “ Jon chuckled, elbow propping him up on the pillow as he looked lovingly at his satisfied wife. “You realise how often you burp in your sleep? It’s cool, I love you.”
“Sorry I’m so fat too. I can’t help it. The doctor said I was obese, but I can’t help it. None of my clothes fit anymore, but I can’t help it…” She’d begun to pant and wheeze as her concerns ramped up, but Jon planted a long kiss on his wife’s plump cheek.
“Babe, I love you.”
That was enough, and as Renee drifted off, her last thought was of breakfast the next day.
---------------
“Alright, you really need to do something about this.”
Renee looked up from the burger in her hand.
“No, Brie, we are not having this conversation again!”
Brie Danielson shook her head, “What do you mean? How can we not have this conversation again, when you’re sitting there like that?”
“What? *ummf* I can’t sit on my own couch now?”
“Not when it’s meant to seat three and you fill it on your own! It’s sagging in the middle for goodness sake!”
“Okay…..so?” Renee didn’t really have an answer, and was more focused on the cheeseburgers she’d ordered than whatever Brie wanted to talk about. Jon had gone on a tour to Japan for a couple of months. He’d done his best to bake and cook enough that Renee wouldn’t have to go without the food she was so clearly dependent on, but inevitably several weeks worth of food had disappeared in just a few days as Renee, unable to control herself, piled thousands of calories into her stomach. So take-out it was until Jon returned. Of course, it didn’t have that special “je ne sais quoi” that made her husbands food so exciting and addictive, but it tasted good enough and calorie count was almost the same.
“So?! Renee, you’re big enough to break your freaking couch!”
“You *unnghff* don’t know it was me. This couch is old.”
“Oh yeah, you sit there telling me you’re 650lbs and can’t move without help, but the same couch you’ve sat on with no problem for years coincidentally breaks and its just cause its old?”
“Yeah, why not? What does my weight have to do with anything?”
“Renee, you’re 650lbs! That’s friggin’ enormous! I can barely believe its even you!”
Renee rolled her eyes.
“I know, I know. You heard this when you were 400lbs, then when you were 500lbs, but what else can I say? You embarrass yourself on TV, then you get taken off TV, but you don’t seem to realise why any of its happening!”
“Oh, I know I’m fat.” Renee shrugged her round shoulders as she smacked her lips, clearing them of sauce and burger debris for the next bite, “But if I didn’t have this fat ass, I’d be way more uncomfortably sitting here all day, and if I didn’t have this big belly, I couldn’t eat all the delicious food my husband makes, so…” she shrugged again, and pushed the remaining half of cheeseburger into her mouth.
Brie’s mouth hung open in a combination of shock and disgust watching the blonde’s packed cheeks pulsate as Renee chewed happily. Her belly had gotten big, drooping between her legs even tucked into her sweatpants. It was also true AEW had taken her off TV, one week after her final chance to continue doing her job had resulted in her wheezing into the mic before belching into the face of the AEW champion. It had given MJF some more material, but the company had finally accepted they were playing with fire continuing to feature a 600lb women who resembled more a blob of pale dough than a journalist. At least they’d taken the courtesy of writing her off TV, the Outcasts pushing her into a stocked pantry, where she was too distracted by all the food within flabby arms’ reach to notice they were closing and locking the door. And of course, to show her commitment to her character even as she was being written off, by the time they’d opened the pantry door, she was elbow deep in a third bag of chips, torn donut boxes lying at her feet.
That had been weeks ago, and her only contact with wrestling had been via Jon telling her about his days at work, until Brie had come over for another attempt at whatever she was trying to do, and found Renee weighing 650lbs and clad in just a grey sports bra and sweatpants, sweating like the metaphorical hog she somewhat resembled. It hadn’t helped that she still had a picture on the wall of her AEW debut, wearing the same tight leather pants she’d torn a few years ago, and now wouldn’t fit over one arm let alone her pillowy legs.
Brie had looked like she was ramping up to say something, but at that moment the doorbell sounded.
“Oh great, that’ll be the pizza. Would you mind? I’m kinda…set for the night.” Said Renee, gesturing to the couch she was wedged in, and that she knew she’d probably pass out in later. All Brie could do was shake her head and get the door, leaving her host rubbing the thick top roll of her belly in anticipation.
------------------
“Right, she should be over in a few minutes, are you sure you’ll be okay until then?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry you have to do this.”
“What?”
“Pay to hire someone, just to take care of me.”
“Babe, don’t apologise. If you hadn’t insisted I go on the tour, I’d be staying myself.”
“I’m not gonna let you miss out on the G1 again just because I’m too fat to take care of myself.”
Jon sat down on the slither of space left on the bed and placed his rough hand on his wife’s smooth soft belly.
“Renee, you know you don’t talk like that. You think I’d keep cooking for you if I thought anything like you were ‘too fat’?” He slid his mouth into the lopsided smile that melted her, and she returned it, “I just hope I made enough to keep that bottomless pit satisfied.” Jon chuckled, lightly slapping down on the sea of white flesh, which rippled as its owner threw a lazy punch at him. Grabbing the one duffel bag he always travelled with, his pecked his wife on the forehead and headed out the door.
Renee sighed, somewhere between contentment and adoration. Since she’d become immobile, Jon had been extra attentive, almost the complete antithesis of his TV character. He’d constantly check on her and spend time in their room, even if she’d rather watch her reality shows than the Terry Funk matches he always suggested. And with his wife in a state of near-constant hunger, he seem to take pleasure in spending hours coming and going from the kitchen, cooking up his special ‘recipes’ (if eyeballing every ingredient could be called a recipe) and then proudly watching Renee gobble them down.
All this had left Renee Paquette weighing a round-in-every-sense 1000lbs, resembling in her own mind something like an enormous dumpling with a head of blonde hair on top. Her broad face sat in the cushion of her thick neck; she’d never even realised someone could essentially have a belly roll not be on their belly. Speaking of her belly, it rose out in front of her, rolling softly over her knees like a magma flow. At some point, it had become easier to let it cover her legs and press down upon them than try to spread her thighs wide enough to let it hang inbetween. Her upper arms were thicker than Jon’s waist, and rolls of creamy soft flesh covered her elbows, hung from her forearms and began to swallow her wrists. In some ways it was fortunate she was such a gluttonous pig, because the fat on her hands had stripped them of most of their dexterity, and it was far easier now to simply grab handfuls of whatever was served to her than try and use cutlery or even eat with any kind of control.
If she’d ever had any regrets over her unchecked greed, Renee couldn’t recall them. She might have left AEW after some embarrassing incidents, she might have left simply because she didn’t want to work there anymore. She had two loves in her life; her husband, and her husband’s food, and all her abiding and fondest memories of the past few years revolved around them. Quite apart from the interviews, tv shows, books, Renee pondered as she pushed the nearest of Jon’s latest creations into her mouth, her greatest achievement had been teaching her man to cook.

This is an extremely well-written story, I hope you'll continue.

Dear Reader,
I know you don’t believe in the supernatural like your sister. But, I’m writing to you to share the haunting story of my best friend and the ghost that possessed her. Emily and I had been ghost hunting together for years and first met in a paranormal investigation group. We had a shared interest in exploring the unknown and the supernatural. Over time, we formed a close bond, working together on numerous investigations, sharing our experiences and insights with one another.
We eventually received a call from a restauranteur who was experiencing some strange and unexplained occurrences in their place of business. The owner informed us that every woman was becoming a regular, sneaking in behind their loved ones’ backs, order copious amounts of food and stuff themselves until they weren’t able to move. Only to eventually leave and come back not 30 minutes later with their families and do it all over again. The owner suspected that there was something supernatural causing this behavior and reached out for assistance. We were intrigued and concerned by the reports and decided to investigate further.
As we began our investigation, we were inundated with positive evidence of something. Positive EMF readings, cold spots, etc. and it drove us to do more research on the facility. We found through rumor and circumstance that a woman had once died there, we couldn’t find any information on her in the local records office. But apparently, she was a notorious glutton, known for her insatiable appetite and her obsession with rich, fatty foods. Apparently, she ate herself to death, somehow. The restaurant staff was a little vague, their statements were only really hushed watercooler talk. But still, there had to be something to it, given the amount of evidence we were already gathering. She must not have been able to move on from her earthly cravings.
But as our research continued, I felt something was amiss. Emily became increasingly obsessed with this case, spending long hours researching and investigating. She would disappear on me, only to have me find her at the library or the records office, eyes glued to a local history book with the remnants of some take away cluttered around her.
It wasn’t until I noticed Emily’s softened love handles bulging over the waistband over her tight, ill-fitting jeans and a slight ** belly peaking beneath her shirt that I started to suspect Emily was being affected by whatever malevolent force we were uncovering here. It frightened me, we had never encountered something like this before, and I was overwhelmed by guilt that I hadn’t noticed anything sooner. In what would be our last meeting with our client, I told him we had to stop our investigation due to personal reasons, and that we would refund him his money. Emily was furious with me. As soon as the door to the restaurant shut behind us and we were out on the street, she exploded saying that I “had no right” and that we were “so close to finding the truth.” She stormed off shortly after.
I ended up packing the van back at our hotel by myself. Eventually, she came back despite all my calls and texts to get ahold of her, but when I saw her, I was aghast. She slowly waddled to the side van door, slid it open and clambered inside. Her belly was swollen tight, her pants were unbuttoned, allowing her gut to roll slightly into her lap. She had a dollop of frosting in the corner of her mouth, and she plopped next to her a box of donuts, at least two dozen in count. Her breathing was shallow and despite me trying to get her attention, she just ignored me and shoved a new confectionary in her mouth. Despite the open road being noisy, I could hear her grunting and groaning as she plowed through the box of donuts. I glanced back at her when I suspected she was finished, and her eyes were shut, a pained look on her face as she clutched her overtaxed belly with frosted hands, her cheeks chipmunked as she struggled to finish the last donut. She continued to ignore my attempts at conversation. Even though she’s still mad, at least I got her away from that place.
If only that were the end of the story.
When we made it back to our hometown, I dropped Emily off at her front door. She didn’t even speak, she just carefully slid out clutching her gut and slowly made her way to her front entry. Unlocking the door, she slipped inside and turned off the porch light. I’m not going to lie; it pissed me off a bit. I’m just looking out for her like we’ve done for countless investigations, and she’s being a little diva about it. I rationalized with myself that she’d have to call and apologize to me for acting like a child. I drove home, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I started getting concerned. I tried to text her, I tried calling her, but Emily was avoiding me. We’ve shared a cold shoulder with each other before, it’s only inevitable working so closely together, but it never lasted this long. I pulled up to her house, and immediately I had a pit in my stomach.
Her front lawn was completely unkempt, her trash cans were overflowing with garbage, and all the lights were off in her house. I parked the car and slowly crept up to the front door and knocked loudly. I heard a slight crash and a meager voice call out, “It’s open!”
I turned the knob and pushed my way in. My eyes were met with a shocking sight. Emily’s living room was a complete mess, with empty pizza boxes, chip bags, candy wrappers, and take-away containers scattered across the hardwood. The air was thick with the smell of grease.
And then I saw Emily.
She was lying on the couch, heavier than I’ve ever seen her. Her stomach protruding out so far I’d swear she was pregnant. Her shirt was stretched to its limits, barely covering her huge belly. The buttons on her blouse were straining trying to contain her newfound girth. Her face was dotted with drops of sweat, as if she was in the midst of an intense workout, and crumbs and grease were smeared across her cheeks and chin, and sauce stains littered her bosom.
“Hey…Emily…How are you feeling?” My voice was practically a whisper.
She glanced up at me. Her eyes said to me, “oh, its you,” as if she was expecting someone else. “I’m so hungry,” she moaned, her voice barely audible through her labored breathing.
“I can see that,” I gestured to the piles of empty food containers around us, “but maybe you should take a break for a little while.”
“No, I need more. I need more food.” She was demanding, her voice growing louder and more desperate. “I have to keep going; Martha wants me to eat more.”
I was taken aback by the desperation in her voice.
She struggled to lift herself from her couch. Her bulging flesh threatened the seams of her sweatpants and little keyholes opened to reveal her flabby belly between the buttons on her shirt. “I need to eat more. God, I’m just so fucking hungry.” She lumbered closer to me; I could see her body shake and jiggle with each passing motion. The floor vibrated every step she took. “I’m so stuffed but Martha’s so fucking hungry.”
There was that name again.
“Emily, who…who is Martha?” She plodded closer, her thighs rubbed tightly together, her hips wobbled.
“Did you bring me more food? I need to eat more.”
“Who is Martha?” Emily finally reached me, she was swaying back and forth, struggling to hold herself up. She fell forward, latching hard onto me, her eyes looked crazed…dare I say it…possessed.
“I can’t eat another bite, but I’m so fucking hungry. Feed me, please! Feed me! Martha needs more!” I struggled to hold her up and her weight through me off balance, we both tumbled to floor amongst the spoils of her gluttonous endeavors. She landed hard causing her stuffed, fat body to quiver on the ground, and as she looked up at me, a small stream of blood fled from her nose. She started writhing on the ground, slowly crawling toward me.
“Please, feed me. I need more food. I’m fucking starving. I need to get more for Martha.”
I didn’t know what to do. I scrambled backwards as this slogging, bloated mass that was Emily came closer to me. I finally made it to my feet and ran out of the room with her screaming “FEED ME! PLEASE, FEED ME!” over and over again until the front door slammed shut behind me. Once out on the front step, Emily began screaming obscenities instead, the barrage of muffled vitriol that spilled from her mouth scared me almost as much as what just happened. I ran to my van and as I swerved around the corner, I swear I saw at least 2 delivery cars pull into her driveway.
I was shellshocked. I hid myself in my room, I avoided my phone. She terrified me. That wasn’t the Emily I knew. That wasn’t my best friend. Finding new resolve, I had to do something to help her. Anything. Over the next few days, I tried to call our Ghost Hunter association for help, but they thought I was crazy. Useless. I tried to call a priest for an exorcism. Hell, I called every religious figurehead that would take my call, and all of them told me to check her into a facility, and that their prayers were with her. Fucking useless. I tried calling the local hospital and without being her immediate family, I could do nothing more than try to convince her to come in on her own. I was helpless. I couldn’t go back there. I couldn’t go back to that house.
I found myself spiraling. That name. That name kept ringing in my head. Martha. We didn’t know a Martha, so the only logical thing I could think was whatever was at that restaurant, somehow came back with us and latched onto Emily. I delved into our research. I went over copies of newspaper clippings and heritage reports. I went through registrar’s documents and police reports. Nothing. Its like she didn’t exist.
I got in my van and began to drive. Martha, who the fuck is Martha. Eventually, I found myself back at the restaurant. It was the middle of dinner service, and sure enough, just like the owner said, I saw countless bloated women, fattened, stuffed into there clothes, bellies bulging in front of them, each with several plates piled high with fattening meals. Every last one of them, a pained look on their face as they shoveled their next bite into their mouths. As stormed through the front, I heard them moan and talk to themselves:
 “Oh God, no more.”
“I’m so full, I’m gonna pop.”
“Please, I’m so stuffed, I can’t take another bite.”
But despite their pleas, their opened mouths were met with another shoveling of food, stretching their bellies further. I slammed into the kitchen and stormed to the manager’s office. Swinging the door open I shouted at the man, “Who the fuck is Martha?”
The man was shocked, “w-what?”
“Who the fuck is Martha,” I stormed closer to him, I could feel the vessels on my head bulging.
“How…how do you know that name?” He tried to make himself small. So very small. I grabbed a paperweight off his cluttered desk. The fluorescent lights flickered while singing a soft, numbing hum.
“You KNEW?! YOU KNEW?!” I flew into a frenzy. The man was an insect. Something to stomp out, to crush, to destroy and if it wasn’t for his kitchen staff, he would have been a bloodstain on his floor., They dragged me out the back door, my kicks knocking over pans and plates and cups making a huge racket.  They wrestled me outside and threw me to the ground screaming at me to leave.
I was in tears. I’m so close to the truth, so close to learning what really happened here. And maybe if I could figure that out, maybe it could all stop. I picked myself up off the ground, clutching the arm that broke my fall, blood streaming from a small gash on my elbow, dripping by my feet. I struggled to my vehicle, and when I slipped inside, I noticed a VHS tape sitting on the front seat next to me. I picked it up and, on its label, it read, “Martha.” I looked up back at the restaurant, to see a waitress glance away and avert her eyes as she shoved a dessert into her mouth.
There was nothing more I could do here. I drove the 8-hour drive back home.
When I finally made it back home, I swerved into my driveway, nearly hitting my mailbox. I swung open the van door, grabbed the tape and ran inside. I could hear the dinging from the door alarm on my van as I crashed into my home. In my basement I tossed boxes aside until I found an old relic that Emily used to make fun of me for keeping, my parent’s old VCR. I hooked it up to the TV inputs and while the TV shown brightly the black and white snow, I took a deep breath to calm myself. With shaking hands, I slid the tape inside the device. The TV switched from snow to a black screen, and then on a distorted tape I watched as the same waitress that averted her eyes a few hours ago was staring back at me only she had to be 50lbs lighter.
With crackling audio, I could hear her voice, “I-I’m sorry to not do this in person…m-my fiancé-e-e *tshhh*” static comes in and out. “Runs the restaurant. He’s a good man, he didn’t know anything was going to happen. Today’s day is May 9th, you just stopped your investigation yesterday and I didn’t get a chance to show you this while you were here, as I only just found it hidden in our attic. Martha…the woman who died…was his mother. I can’t even describe to you what is on this tape, you will just have to watch it to see for yourself, but I hope it helps you solve this thing. It needs to end before I’m so big I can’t leave my bed. I never used to believe in ghosts, but now I’m not so sure.” The tape hits a poor signal patch, and the video finally slowly rolls into view.
The flickering tape shows a chubby woman in a waitress uniform tied to a chair in what looks like the kitchen of the restaurant. Before her on the service counter sits an enormous feast. Martha’s eyes were wide with excitement. The foods looked decadent and rich, and the man said in too soothing of a voice, “Here you go, my love,” as he shoved the first mouthful into her. “Freshly baked bread, a succulent roast chick, roasted potatoes and gravy, and for dessert, your favorite, a rich, chocolate cake.” Martha’s eyes lit up as the man pushed food past her lips, and she ate with such voracity it was a bit shocking. The tape flickered again, this time the woman was wearing a skirt and blouse. Time clearly has passed, and she clearly looks fatter than before.
Martha had a ring of sauce around her lips, that had dripped onto her white blouse. The plates surrounding her grew 4-fold. Several of them, already empty, you could tell she was struggling a bit as her husband fed her. “More…” she asked.
The tape crackled again, this time, Martha was downright fat. She was bulging out of her clothes. Her hair was disheveled, her head hanging limply out of shear strain and exhaustion. Food smeared her cheeks and chin. “No more Frank, please. I’m too full.”
“Come on Martha, there are plenty of plates left to go through, you need to eat more.”
“Huff…Okay…okay…More.”
The tape whirred and shook into the next scene, apparently still the same evening. Martha was laying on a bed, moaning while clutching her swollen belly, it rose like a stuffed mountain above her. Frank walked closer to her and joined her on the bed, accompanied by a couple of boxes. He opened one up and pulled out a slice of chocolate cake.
“I’ve got your favorite.”
Martha’s labored breathing could be heard in the background. “I can’t, I’m so full already. Please I need to stop eating.”
“Just a little bite, you’re doing so well. Its just a few more bites and then we can stop.”
“Okay…oh god…Give me more.” She clutches her overtaxed belly, and a deep moan escaped Martha as Frank pushed the cake past her lips.
The tape flickers again. Martha is unrecognizable. She’s huge, and her lingerie that she’s wearing was far too small. Her face was a mess, and she was completely covered in a smear of foodstuffs. Her cheeks were stuffed full of food, and her fattened belly was clearly a lot larger than before. She looked large enough to roll out of the restaurant’s kitchen. Piles of empty plates surrounded her. Her brow was beaded with sweat, her beautiful hair lay slightly matted against her. She could barely get in a breath, her belly stuffed so full of fattening goodies.
Through her mouthful of food, “I can’t…I can’t eat another bite.”
“What do you mean you can’t eat anymore?” Franks voice sounded annoyed.
“I’m sorry Frank, but…*urp* I’m fucking stuffed, it hurts so bad.”
“Come on Martha, you know you want it. Just one more bite, for me?”

“Frank no, please.”
“You know what you have to do. Its fucking simple. Eat. You just have to eat.” Frank shoved another slice of lasagna into Martha’s mouth. She sputtered.
“I…I guess so…Just a few more bites, okay? We can stop then, right?”
“You got it babe.” Frank shoved another piece of cake into her mouth. Martha’s face says it all. She’s absolutely stuffed to the gills.
“More…” And as Frank shoves the last slice into Martha’s fattened face. Her expression changed a from gluttonous, hedonistic overload to terror and fear, and she let out a shrill scream. And as life drained from her eyes, and through Frank’s frantic shouts, the image sputtered to black.
I tell you; I was mortified. Horrified. Terrified. Every mixed feeling smashed into one. I finally found my answer. I just wasn’t ready for it. Now the only thing I can do is try to show that I know what happened and maybe then…Maybe then Martha can move on in peace.
I hopped into my van and drove back over to Emily’s. I hadn’t been here in a few weeks and its as if there is a dark cloud over her home. As soon as I stepped out of my car, the air felt heavy, almost suffocating. I pushed through the front gate and made my way to her front door. Her grass is completely overgrown, her property is completely littered with trash, a far cry from who Emily truly was.
I pounded on the door. “EMILY?!” I pounded it again. This time, I heard nothing. I opened the door and stepped inside and was immediately hit with the smell of fry grease. The once-tidy home was in an even worse state than before. Empty food containers, wrappers, plates, pizza boxes, everything strewn across every surface. I began checking every room in the house, Emily was nowhere to be found. I eventually went upstairs to where her bedroom was, “Emily?” I called out. I gingerly stepped over mounds and mounds of empty takeout containers. And when I entered the bedroom, my eyes landed on a massive blob lying atop her straining bed. Her belly was gigantic, her fleshy sides spilling over the edges of her California Queen. She was in her underwear, and they were stretched to their limits, her fat, bloated body bulging out every opening, the seams on their last thread. Her breathing was shallow and labored, and as I walked over, I had to lift my hand to set it atop her belly. It was sticky with food mess, as if she wore it like a trophy to show her gluttonous triumph. It was also completely taut, packed so full of fattening food that she had to be close to bursting. I stepped back toward the doorway and called the paramedics.
“More…I need more…” It wasn’t Emily.
“Martha. You need to leave this house at once. You are not welcome here.” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
“I need to eat more…Feed me more…” Emily’s hand heavily reaches around her trying to find something more to eat.
“Martha, I know how you died. FRANK killed you.” The mention of Frank’s name sent a whirlwind of through the room followed by a scream between the fabric of this reality. The food containers rose into the air and slammed against me in a wave, almost drowning me in the trash. “This isn’t you; you need to leave here at once!”
Another wave of empty food containers pelted me from across the room.
“Emily? Can you hear me?”
“It’s not my fault,” she hasped clutching her swollen stomach. “She made me do it.”
“I know. I know!”
The tornado in her bedroom swirled fast, and harder.
“Martha, she won’t leave me alone. She’s always so…*urp*… hungry. Always demanding more.”
“I understand, Emily, it’s not your fault. You need to fight back, take back control!” The disembodied scream rang loudly into the room.
“She always wanted more… More…”
I could hear the sirens in the background.
“You have to end this, Martha, we know what really happened, you have to move on!” The disembodied scream rang in my ears, followed up by Emily’s own scream as she tried to break free of Martha’s grasp. I felt a blast of wind fly past me as the front door opened, the floating food containers fell to the ground with a thud. I hear a cacophony of voices and of a gurney being rushed up the stairs and her bedroom door slams open. The paramedics rushed in, and were in complete disbelief at the fattened, bloated ball of flesh that was Emily.
“What did she eat?” One of them asked me…
“E…Everything.” Was all I could muster. I could hear Emily sobbing, saying she was sorry, that it wasn’t her fault, pleading for help. The men took their time, and carefully tried to lift her on the gurney. “She’s too heavy,” one of them muttered. “We need to be careful.”
They managed to somehow squeeze her through her doorway, the gurney creaking dangerously under her mass. But it wasn’t until they made it to the staircase that it happened. As they went to lower her down, the legs snapped.
I can’t express to you how sorry I am for your loss. I didn’t even want to write you such a detailed story but it’s one that has to be heard. One to let you understand that despite what you see at her funeral, despite the rumors you may hear, Emily’s death wasn’t her fault, and her last days weren’t how she normally spent her life. I tried. I tried to help her, to save her. But I failed her.
Well, I need to wrap this up. All this talk of food has made me hungry, despite my late lunch and early dinner. I seem to be extra hungry these days. Must be a coping mechanism.
Sincerely,
Julie
Martha
 

The pic from my last status update, just for fun 😉

A day late on here but a fun little V-Day story I whipped together.  --- Research says that the average person will have between five and six serious relationships before finding the right person in their life to marry.   For me, I had already had eight and every single time they just weren’t quite what I was looking for. Maybe I had some character flaw that no one would tell me about, or maybe I had a terrible taste in women that was somehow being overlooked. Or maybe, it had to do with my absolutely stunning best friend Margot who I’d harbored a crush on for years but had never been able or willing to pursue.   If I’d had trouble holding down a relationship over the years, Margot was like the Titanic where she kept hitting icebergs and sinking into devastation. She’d probably dated or had flings with close to fifteen men and somehow they had all ended in disaster. Some had been duds from the start but studs in the bedroom, others were intriguing but just couldn’t meet her expectations or were intimidated by how attractive she was, which was of course contrasted by her recent string of men who didn’t seem to appreciate her enough.   It was in fact that exact situation that had led to a knock on my door one lonely Valentine’s day.   “Margot, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be out on a date with…” I asked as I opened the door, stunned at the beauty standing in front of me before she interrupted me.   “He dumped me right as I was about to call my Uber to meet him for dinner,” she bemoaned as she walked through the open door to my apartment, her high heeled boots thudding on my carpet as her faux Burberry coat covered up her incredible form. “Even worse, I just got a confirmation notification that we checked in for dinner, which means he took someone else on our date!”   “That’s awful. I’m so sorry to hear that,” I consoled, trying to avoid the obvious undertones of cheating that she was implying. “He didn’t deserve you anyway.”   “No he didn’t. I mean, I had gone out of my way to get a reservation at that really nice new fusion restaurant he’d wanted to try, I had spent hours putting on my makeup, picking out the right dress, and even picking out a little surprise for later, and then he has the audacity to cancel right before we’re supposed to be there? I bet he never wanted to go there in the first place and just wanted to take his stupid side girl there. I should have picked up on that since he never really cared about nice restaurants, I should have known he wasn’t loyal. How could I be so stupid again,” Margot vented, her flowing caramel blonde hair bouncing with each motion as she vented, emphatically waving her arms in rage.   “That is super shitty Margot, do you want something to drink?” I offered, trying to get her to calm down.   “Do you have any IPAs? I could really use a beer to get this bad taste out of my mouth,” she stated melodramatically.   “I’m a little low on beer but I’ve got a couple of quadruple IPAs…or Scotch if you need something stronger,” I offered going to my fridge.   “I’ll take it all,” she offered after a deep sigh.   I handed over a can I had just picked up at the brew shop today for what was supposed to have been my evening alone and Margot cracked it open without hesitation before chugging the whole thing.   “Uh…do you want another?” I asked stunned, not used to seeing Margot chug a beer, let alone such a strong and thick one.   “I’ll take that Scotch now. And do you have anything to eat?” Margot inquired, a slight blush of embarrassment on her face as she processed that she just down a strong and heavy beer.   “Well it’s no fancy fusion, but I did just order a pizza before you showed up,” I replied before grabbing a tumbler glass and a bottle of GlenDronach 15 to pour a scotch.   “You’re the best, you know that?” she said with a beautiful smile on her angular face as she followed me to the bar cart, heels echoing on the carpet.   “Oh come on, you’ve always been there for me over the years too,” I replied, deflecting the complimenting   “Not like how you’ve been there for me. You have always been there to pick me back up when inevitably the next jerk breaks my heart. You have always been there for all my lows, you even broke up with that one girlfriend because I needed your support. I don’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing guy,” Margot gushed as she took a deep swig of the Scotch, the beer starting to take effect on her suddenly rosy cheeks.   “Please, we both know she and I weren’t going to work out any way. Now how about we go find a show to watch while we wait for the pizza.”   “That’s not how I remember it. She was just your type,” Margot teased, a subtle jab at my preference for fuller figured woman. When someone is your best friend for as long as Margot had been mine, you learned what the other at least thought they wanted, and she had learned early on my predilection for larger busts, wider hips, bigger butts, and softer physiques. She had, on several occasions, even served as my wing man with surprisingly great success.   “Well it didn’t work,” I stated matter of factly. “Now do we want to pick out a show to watch?”   “It didn’t work out because of me, right?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she took another healthy sip.   “No, of course not. We just didn’t quite see eye to eye on some things,” I remarked, not wanting to admit that Margot had been a key point of contention in that relationship.   “Do you know what our problem is? Each other.   “For as long as we’ve known one another, there’s always been this tension between us that neither of us has wanted to admit. We’re so great for each other, I honestly don’t even know what I would do without you, and you’ve wanted me for so long, maybe it’s time I finally wisened up to the reality of what an amazing guy you are.”   “What are you talking about Margot?” I asked with concern.   Chugging the remainder of her Scotch, Margot placed the glass on the counter then undid her trench coat to reveal what I could only assume was the “surprise” Margot had mentioned earlier for her date. Margot wore nothing more than a heart shaped felt bra front that pushed her ample bosom up to maximize cleavage, a trait I had always admired about her that instantly drew your attention in. The rest of the rest of her body was completely exposed except for a thin white strip of panties with little pink hearts on them, fully flaunting her amazing figure from years of working out with strong muscle tone, a flat stomach, and strong muscular glutes. Except, Margot looked softer than I remembered her being from the summer.   “I think it’s time we finally do what we should have been doing all along,” Margot teased as she strutted over to me with probably some stupid shocked look on my face. She slipped the beer can out of my hand, knocked her head back, and started chugging my barely touched 16oz can. In doing so, her already highly sought after 36DDs jostled and bounced in the tight top, captivating my attention away from her softened curves.   Without any hesitation, Margot closed the gap and pressed herself up to me, grabbing my hands and placing them on her soft, jiggly ass. She then stroked my groin with an amused expression on her face as I was unable to resist her allure, not that I would have wanted to anyway, before masterfully undoing my zipper. For years I had dreamed about us being together, dreamed of the moment when my 10/10 friend might set her eyes on me, but I had never thought that it could be a reality until she grabbed me.   “You know, I never did thank you for dumping that girl for me. How about a quick reward before that pizza comes,” she said with a pleading look on her face. God she was irresistible.   “Uhh sur-,” was all I could get out before she started and I lost my breath. I guess with fifteen relationships came lots of experience because she was incredible. For several minutes I stood there in pure bliss, watching her hair bounce up and down as she worked me into a frenzy, always pausing right before I was ready. I was way out of my depth with her but she seemed thrilled by it all, positively glowing with pleasure at my pleasure.   At long last, I couldn’t hold back anymore and she greedily finished me without hesitation, a mischievous smile on her face as she stood back up with a bounce.   “Go figure you have amazing endurance,” Margot remarked with sincerity as she went to get another glass of whiskey. “I was using almost all of my tricks and you still took almost ten minutes. That’s gotta be a record for me. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”   Just then, a knock came at the door and without any shame, Margot answered the door in her high heeled boots and underwear to the stunned pizza delivery boy. “Thanks so much,” she sweetly responded as she grabbed the pizza and closed the door.   “You umm, have a little something on the edge of your lip,” I politely said after admiring the view of Margot’s figure from afar.   “Oh I know,” she stated confidently as she stood at the door with the large pizza in hand, giving me time to admire the subtle changes of her body I hadn’t noticed before. In contrast to her in a bikini bod from the past summer, Margot no longer had any tone across her body at all and even had a slight convex curve to her soft midriff on display. Her breasts also looked fuller than I remembered, ready to burst out of her flimsy top at the slightest of movements. The real surprise though was the small love handles she had on her gently flaring hips, an accumulation of fat that I don’t think Margot had ever had on her divine body.   “Now, I don’t know about you but I’m starving and that work earlier tired me out. Do you think you could help feed me this pizza?” Margot innocently begged, being sure to settle her bosom right on top of the box for maximum effect as she gave me her sweetest puppy dog look.   Up until that moment, I thought I might have a modicum of resistance to her siren song to stop this from getting out of hand. The problem with having an insanely hot friend who knows all of your preferences and kinks is that they can play you however they want because they know exactly what buttons to push. At that point I was hers, but Margot wasn’t done playing with me just yet.   “Oh and can you put in an order for another pizza, I don’t think that this one is going to be enough,” she said with a wink her eye that sent me over the moon. As much as I was now hers, she was also mine.   ---   “Happy Valentine’s Day babe,” Margot cheered with a bubbling champagne glass in her hand as we chinked, her diamond bands sparkling in the overhead lights of our kitchen.   “Happy Valentine’s Day Margot. I love you,” I responded with a goofy grin at my amazing wife.   “Can you believe it’s been six years since I finally asked you out?” Margot asked in feigned shock, causing her voluminous bosom to bounce and sway as she placed a plump hand on her bosom.   “Oh you asked me out? Is that what happened?”   “Yeah, I convinced you to finally be my boyfriend after you finally realized I was what you wanted all along,” she replied, continuing with her alternate story of how that night had gone.   “I don’t think I really needed much convincing after you opened up that jacket and you forced yourself onto me,” I teased.   “Well I don’t remember hearing any objections, do you? You were at a loss for words,” she said with a wink   What an amazing ride it had been since that wild night. Margot had been right from the start, the only thing getting in the way of our happiness and finding the right person had always been us not going for each other. Looking back, I’m not sure how it could have been any more obvious but that was the beauty of experience and hindsight.   “No, I think you had me from the moment you walked in upset about that guy who dumped you for that reservation,” I admitted.   “About that…he actually dumped me two weeks before Valentine’s day. I just needed you at your most vulnerable and when I knew you would definitely be at home so I could surprise you.”   “On…Valentine’s Day?”   “Yep. You were a sad little puppy and I knew you would hole up for loneliest day of the year for singles, I just had to make sure I took full advantage of it,” she said with a grin that highlighted her double chin on her once angular face.   “Well you definitely took full advantage of my liquor cabinet, fridge, and my food. You nearly drank me dry!”   “Well I had been starving myself all day to make sure I had a good appetite and the pizza wasn’t there when I arrived so I had to improvise.”   To be honest, Margot had never had a bad appetite as long as I had known her. Perhaps that was another one of the many reasons I had always been drawn to her, besides how insanely hot she was of course. In our six years together since, Margot had been nothing short of a glutton, constantly flexing her stomach to the limit and driving me absolutely wild as she delved into my preferences with reckless abandon.   “You ate one and half large pizzas, I don’t think a couple of beers and whiskeys was going to solve that problem!”   “I had to show you I meant business,” Margot defended.   She most certainly had shown it that night, having her way with me while also doing exactly what I had always fantasized about. But she hadn’t really let up since and I wasn’t about to stop my dream woman from fulfilling my wildest fantasies. The results, of course, were predictable. Margot had once been relatively tall and busty at 5’7 with a good amount of tone that shrunk her body down to further contrast against her prodigious bust. That contrast was now all but gone as years of indulgence had spoiled her rotten with a big soft beach ball belly that stuck out from her body in dominance. Her bust, to its credit, had grown amply as well, providing hefty 36K melons that she constantly highlighted with low cut tops and full bras so they jostled and bounced in front of her to my never ending delight. Not to be out done, her lower half, once firm and enticing, had now filled out to support her, both widening and deepening as her thick thighs rubbed together below her soft shelf. Of course, her slender arms had nearly tripled in thickness and her once stunning face had rounded and softened to give her a more matronly beauty than seductress. To me, she was everything I had ever dreamed of and more.   Of course, what I hadn't known at the time was that Margot had already started to slip on a few pounds as we got older and her appetite finally caught up to her. While the thrill of watching a fitness fanatic turn into a big beauty had always been a preference of mine, her starting point was still more than enough for me to revel in. As it turned out, the extra pounds had also been the nail in the coffin for her prior relationship, with the unappreciative jerk seeking out a fitter version as she grew a bit softer instead of supporting her. Maybe Margot was settling for me in a way, maybe she'd just lost her desire to be a stick with boobs, in either case I was more than supportive of my wife to be.   “Well I’m glad you did. Now speaking of meaning business, the pizzas are almost here, so how about we get started with our annual tradition,” I naughtily offered.   “I thought you would never ask,” Margot replied with a smirk as she chugged her champagne before getting down and using her massive chest to warm me up before going in for the finish.   “I love y-” was all I could get out before she had me again.   ---- Hope you enjoyed the story. If you're looking for more of my work, feel free to check out my DA: https://www.deviantart.com/flaminghades14 

Damn it, why do I have to walk this whole thing? This is all you’re fault, you skinny b*tch!
Sophie thought angrily as she slogged her way through the mirror maze. Now that Sophia had shaken her off, somehow, she wasn’t “teleporting” ahead anymore, meaning she had to waddle the rest of the way, carrying a concrete bag’s worth in extra weight with her. Weirdly, while she was definitely working up a sweat, she also didn’t feel too winded, so at least she could keep up this slow pace.
The real problem problem was her progress. She’d been waddling like this for what felt like hours with no end in sight, and as far as she knew this stupid maze could keep her walking like this forever. If only she didn’t have these stubby legs, she could at least get nowhere faster.
Thankfully, it seemed her suffering was finally brought to a close as she rounded the next corner. Sure enough, just up ahead, the mirrors gave way to another room, on the other side of which was a door. At long last, she had reached the exit.
With a relieved sigh, she immediately shifted into a surprisingly quick mad dash for the exit.
“Finally! I’m ou- OH!”
Sophie lurched to a halt, her entire body sloshing forward and nearly throwing her into the brick wall standing in front her.
Before her was easily the brawniest woman Sophie had ever seen, even facing the other way, giving her a view of the woman’s back abs and chiseled ass cheeks. She was obviously still a woman, with a clearly distinguished hour glass figure which was shown of by a skin tight set of black leggings and jean shorts as well as an orange shirt that cut off at the midriff, but Sophie doubted she’d every seen anyone outside of a few body builders with arms and legs that toned.
With her cleavage and the edge of her gut sitting on the periphery of her vision, Sophie couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious.
“Sophia!?” Someone shouted, pulling her back into reality.
“Huh?” Her train of thought interrupted, she looked over to address the second woman who popped out from behind the first, nearly tripping over herself in the process.
Here was yet another massive woman towering over her, although she looked infinitely more feminine compared to her muscular counterpart. In fact, if it weren’t for the circus makeup, she’d probably be movie star levels of gorgeous.
It was a mime, or at least an approximation of one. Something told Sophie it wasn’t exactly traditional for mimes to wear booty shorts.
Regardless, the mime had a cute face with large eyes, a button nose, and full lips which, admittedly, blended with the rest of her bleached white skin and thus didn’t stick out much at a glance. Her long, metallic gray looking hair was tied back into a braid with a set of bangs. Early covering her left eye, and on top of her head was a crookedly-placed black beret, probably held up with bobby pins.
Not wanting to be caught staring, Sophie responded basically on instinct.
“Yeah? What, is there something on my face?” She joked, trying to defuse to the tension.
“Um…”
“Relax I’m just screwing with you. I know… Hey, wait, you two know who I am?” A flash of recognition came across her face as she got a better look at the giant woman’s striped shirt.
Meanwhile, the giantess had since turned around and started glaring down at her. Under her gaze, Sophie immediately felt herself break into a sweat, in no small part due to the fact that aside from the dog teeth and sharp eyes, she was actually quite pretty in her own right.
After a few seconds, a similar look of realization came across the giantess’ face as well, causing her pull away from both of them.
Having mutually come to the same conclusion, the two looked over to the mime next.
“Wait, so that means…”
“That means…” The giant parroted.
The mime’s lips pursed, a light gold color (a blush?) spreading across her cheeks.
“JAYDEN!?” The two said in unison.
“Um… surprise?”
The trio fell silent for a moment.
“… this is so unfair…” Sophie finally let out, slouching forward
“Rrrrrrgh, Damn you, Helga!!!”
“… let’s just go home already. By the way, this is Lucy.”

“Hello~. Hello? Hey, you aren’t asleep are you?” A voice Brittany didn’t recognize suddenly called out to her, breaking the silence.
“Wh-what?” She wouldn’t chance a peek, but…
“Ah, good, you are awake. It’s Brittany, right?”
“Y-yes…” She responded.
“Listen, Brittany, not interrupt… whatever it is you’re doing, but the fair is about to close and your friend Jayden is waiting for you outside. Would you mind getting moving again?”
“But-
“Your companion isn’t here right now.” Was all the stranger said in response.
Taking a deep breath, Brittany snuck a cautionary glimpse at the bottom of the mirror, furthest from her body, only to see a pair of bright red clown shoes where her reflection’s feet should be.
“Come on, then. I don’t have all night and neither do you.” The woman side, this time with a threatening undertone.
Letting that breath out, Brittany unfurled herself, looking up at the one addressing her. Almost immediately upon seeing her face, she regretted it, wanting to curl back up again, to look away. But something in the back of her mind told her that was a bad idea.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Helga. Helga Von Ferrofraustus, the proprietor of this fine establishment, and inventor of all these lovely mirrors.”
“You’re Helga?”
“Yes. You should consider yourself lucky. I don’t make a lot of public appearances like this anymore.” She replied, placing her hands upon her wide hips.
“Ms. Helga, please, I need you to turn the lights off before you go.”
“Why? You and your other friend Sophia won’t be able to see where you’re going. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt-
“I don’t care about that. I just… I don’t want her to keep chasing me…”
“You don’t like what you’ve picked for yourself?”
“I didn’t pick that! My mirror room was broken.”
“Sweetie~. Nothing in here is broken. I wouldn’t have left it in the attraction if it wasn’t working properly.”
“Then why was my room taped off? Why did I get the black mirrors?”
“Because it was obvious from the beginning you were the only one who knew the truth. I knew you were the only one in your little friend group looking for a change, and that’s no fun. So, I thought you deserved a more… proactive route.”
“I didn’t know the broken reflection would attack me!”
“You were attacking you. I think that says more about your character than my mirrors. Here, why don’t I illustrate that for you…” And with that, the woman faded from view, the dark tinge to the surrounding walls returning.
“What? No- NO! Don’t-
“Hello… again.”

Brittany huffed and puffed as she ran down the halls, during her best to make her turns as tight as possible to avoid the walls. She could still here it lumbering after here, resetting each time she entered a new hallway. Every time she chanced a peak at it, the phantom would swipe at her, so she had no choice but to look down at the floor and squint, trying to keep as much of the mirrors out of her vision as possible.
If she made eye contact with her reflection, she knew it was over.
She just had to keep going. She had to. There was only one mirror room per route, so that meant her only escape now was to leave the tent entirely. A small part of her felt cheated she didn’t get what she wanted out of this, that she was screwed over by someone else, but right now, her main focus was getting out unscathed.
And, if she was being honest, after this experience, she wasn’t exactly eager to try again.
Broken or not, if this was seriously one of her choices, she’d rather just be herself.
The only problem was that she had no idea how much more there was to this tent, and she was starting to run out of breath. It felt like she’d been running around in circles, and her reflection was getting better and anticipating her dodges. It even managed to get a handful of her hair the last time she screwed up.
She couldn’t afford to mess up like that again. She had to-
She tripped.
With the adrenaline running through her, Brittany had what felt like minutes before she fell to her elbows and knees, but not nearly enough time to land comfortably. Fighting basically all her fight or flight instincts, she clamped her eyes shut before hitting the ground, hard. Curling into a ball, she could feel a dull ache run through her left arm as well as a wet, warm, spot on her right.
The footsteps stopped, but she knew it was still there. It was growling at her. Waiting impatiently for her to open her eyes, to make a move. But for now, Brittany just needed a moment to cry.

Liz’s alarm went off at 5:30 AM: time to get up for the first day back from winter break. The bedroom was dark as the winter sun had not yet risen, but Liz could see the silhouette of her sleeping husband to her left, snoring soundly. She gently cradled his big gut (which grew a few inches over the holidays) and gave his dick a passing stroke. “We’ll have some fun tonight, baby” she thought, “Your big fat cow needs a good fucking.”
Her weight tilted the bed considerably as she rolled to the side and started to get up: sitting up was the hardest part, and by the time she was on her feet she had to catch her breath for just a moment. She waddled to the bathroom to start her routine – brushed her teeth, did some skincare, showered, and then her favorite part…
“285 lbs…” she read from the scale, struggling to see past her massive stomach, “I can do better than that.”
The woman in the mirror was almost 80 lbs heavier than the one who ripped her favorite dress and had to wear maternity clothes to go out on a date: this one wouldn’t even be able to get the maternity dress past her thighs. The weight had exploded over Liz’s body: her face was now pudgier than ever before, her neck a thick column of fat adorned with two, often three visible chins. Her arms had expanded beyond belief, bigger than her thighs once were with swinging fat as a sign of her age. Her midsection was a mess of flabs, rolls and stretch marks – her large breasts rested on a massive stomach, extending so far from her body that it hung several inches below her waistline and completely obscured her view of her pudgy feet. The stomach had formed into two large rolls which traveled around her sides and to her back, which itself was made of several defined handle-like rolls. Often Rob would grab onto these rolls as they fucked, sending waves cascading through her doughy, flabby body with every thrust.
Her ass was gargantuan, a real “lunch-lady butt.” It had been shaped by countless hours engorging herself while seated in one spot, extending outwards in large, jiggly hips more so than backwards. It was absolutely covered in cellulite. Her giant hips cascaded into her enormous thighs – Liz imagined that her 20 year-old could fit inside the girth of one of these things – which shook upon her every move and made an audible clap each time she took a step.
The woman in the mirror was not the Mrs. Roper her students knew at the start of the year. No, they made that very clear as their amazed stares and secret conversations became more and more obvious, outright wondering “what happened to Mrs. Roper” and “are we sure this isn’t a sub?” An earlier Liz would feel broken by these comments, feeling as though she’d lost her identity or disappointed in her job as a role model. But now, feeling the weight of her fat, flabby body pull her to the ground, she didn’t know why she should feel that way. She only knew that for the first time in months she had control of her body, her sex life, her self-image. She had never been happier, and she was committed to keeping it that way one pound at a time.
 

One of the best weight swap/revenge stories I’ve come across, just reread it and thought it was worth a share.

The Fat Friend - Matt L and HER REVENGE:
In highschool Jenna Kasper was the hot and popular prom queen with a killer body while Betsy Romaine was the tubby friend Jenna let join in her poplular clique. After college Betsy loses the weight and hatches a plan to make Jenna the fatty of the group. 
https://thechangingmirror.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=19&t=4026&sid=c55a1e3817c58169768430119f1c60e4

Just made this and thought you might like it. 😁

Enjoying this so far, will be interested to see where you take it?

So, Reader, where were we? Oh yes! You’d just taught me all about how futile it is for me to even try to lose weight. And, now that I’ve given up on my diet, you tempt me to eat like never before. Every day, my portions seem to grow larger; every day, there seem to be more snacks around for me to munch on. With your help, I descend into a spiral of sloth and gluttony, constantly gorging myself as I sink ever further into my never-ending hibernation.
You’ve got me so comfortable now. All those heavy dishes you keep making me, with all that butter and all those thick, creamy sauces, have me so sleepy and sluggish that I rarely stop to consider the sheer amount of food I’m putting away—or anything else, for that matter. I just don’t want to bother much with thinking, or any other difficult things like that. All I want is to be kept cozy and cared for, to eat and eat without ever having to consider what all this food is doing to me. And, needless to say, you make that only too easy. It’s almost scary how sweet you can be sometimes, how much effort you put in keeping me complacent, stuck in a pleasurable, mindless haze as my figure continues to expand around me, swelling into a mass of yielding, uncontrollable flesh.
I don’t really think much about the way I look, these days. Our scale seems to have mysteriously vanished, again, and I rarely bother to study myself all that closely in our bathroom mirror. When I do, I hardly recognize the girl staring back at me. Every time I see her, she seems to have gotten fatter. Her face has gotten so round, her features far less striking now that they sit surrounded by such swollen cheeks, such flabby jowls, and such a terribly prominent second chin. Looking at her, at her fleshy moon-face and her dull, drowsy eyes, it’s hard to even see the girl I used to be buried under all this blubber. All those familiar shapes that I used to recognize myself by are gone, replaced by swollen, sagging, stretch-mark-riddled rolls that rest one atop another, packed tight with fat by your constant feedings. Sometimes, I almost feel like there is no me under here anymore, like I’m nothing but a hungry mass of soft flab.
That thought scares me a little. I mean, all I seem to do these days is eat. I have no job, no friends, and no hobbies, no life outside of your apartment, outside of you. At those rare times when you do take me out into the world, to demolish some buffet or other, I can’t help but look with wonder at all those skinny girls striding effortlessly down the street, confidently showing their trim little bodies in all sorts of trendy, tight-fitting clothes. I can no longer even imagine what it must be like to be one of them. I don’t even seem to belong in the same world anymore. And, from the way they look at me as I gobble up fatty foods by the plateful, I can tell only too well that they can’t imagine how anybody could ever let themselves get like me.
Meanwhile, Reader, you’re thrilled with the way my figure is changing. I mean, of course you are. You’re getting what you’ve wanted all along, to watch as I grow fatter, as my body is turned into a plaything for your pleasure. And, what a plaything it is. Just look at this bulging belly that fills up my sweatpants and hangs down to, almost completely, cover my nethers, and these heavy, sagging boobs that have no shape or hint of firmness outside of the huge bras I rarely bother to wear anymore. Not to mention these thighs, which are almost as wide around as my waist used to be when you first met me.
Oh yes, you’re only too happy with my progress, with my ham hock arms and my square, pillow-like buttocks, and you make sure to remind me of it every day. You make no secret of how much you love my blubbery body. And, as long as you’re here to play with them, I feel strangely good about all these many, heavy rolls hanging off me and weighing me down.
Lately, though, as I’ve gotten fatter, our relationship has changed. You still spoil me and make sure I never have to move a muscle, but you’re not as sweet about it as you used to be. Over the last year, you’ve, gradually, gotten more commanding, more unyielding in making me eat. It’s like you’re trying to push me, to see just how far I’ll let you go. And, being the weak-willed fatty that I am, I always give in and let you do as you please. After a few months, you start to feed me all sorts of shakes, and even some strange pills, which you say are vitamins, but which always seem to make me so terribly tired and hungry. As time goes on, I find myself feeling more like your pet than your partner.

By the time you bring me home for the holidays again, I’ve put on so much weight that mom and sis hardly recognize me. They don’t say anything, of course, but they’re a bit awkward, a bit less cheerful than usual as they welcome me in, our arms failing to reach all the way around each other as we lean in over our bulging bellies for a hug.
I still remember when I used to think mom was a huge ball of a woman. Back then, ending up like her was my greatest fear. Now, she doesn’t even look that big compared to me anymore.
For the first few days we’re here, mom and sis are a little suspicious of you. After all, it isn’t exactly hard to guess what you’re doing to me. But, you know only too well how to win women like them over. And, after they’ve been enjoying your cooking and lapping up your compliments for a few days, they soon start to soften to you again. One evening, as three of us are rubbing our bellies after having munched our way through another of your delectable desserts, my sister even leans over to me and tells me—in a longing, almost jealous tone—that I’m “so lucky to have a man like you.” I can only nod sluggishly in agreement as a huge burp escapes from between my lips.
For the next few weeks, my life goes on in much the same way as it does at home. That is to say, I do nothing but sit around and eat, my bare belly resting on my lap and my sofa-cushion butt spreading out beneath me. The only thing that’s really changed is that I’ve been moved from one couch to another. Mom and sis can hardly believe the sheer amount of food I’m putting away. They like to have themselves a little snack from time to time, sure. But, with me, it’s like I never stop eating. They don’t really comment on it, of course, but sometimes I’ll catch them staring at me in disbelief as I start on my second tub of ice cream or my third liter of soda for the day.
Needless to say, I don’t help out with any of the work that needs doing around the house. I’m just too heavy and out of shape to move about much anymore. Fortunately for me, you and mom are happy make sure that all my needs are taken care of. The two of you are always putting snacks in my mouth and doing everything in your power to make sure that I never have to get up. After a while, I start to feel less like a member of the family, and more like a permanent fixture, an unmoving blob of a woman who exists only to stare blankly at her TV as more food is shoveled down her throat.
I try my best not to think about any of this, though. I’ve got my shows and my snacks, what more could I possibly need? But, as I watch mom and sis move about in ways I struggle to manage, it’s hard not to notice how out of control I’ve let myself get. Especially as sis, still remembering how I used to treat her back in the day, never misses a chance to quietly rub it in my face. She’s always plying me with food and parading around in front of me, moving about in ways I no longer can and wearing the kind of clothes that I’ll never be able to squeeze my over-sized butt into again.
A few days into the second week of my stay here, she even manages to convince me to step on mom’s old scale. I do my best to pretend like I don’t care about my weight one way or the other, but I still end up holding my breath as the digits on the display race up to an unbelievable 372, revealing that I’m already over a hundred pounds heavier than I was last year, when I first decided that I *had* to go on a diet. If this keeps up, I don’t even want to think about what this scale will say the next time I'm here.
I’ve caught the glimpses of massively obese people on TV before, women who are so big that they can’t get out of bed on their own, who have been made so helpless by their immense size that they struggle to even reach far enough around their own bodies to wash themselves. Am I doomed to end up like them? Trapped by my own fat, unable to even take care of myself? The thought should scare me, I know. But, some part of me finds it strangely arousing. If I got that fat, I wouldn’t have any responsibilities. I’d be completely helpless, too helpless for anybody to ever expect me to do anything but lie around and eat.
I shake my head. It’s wrong to think that way, I know. That’s no way for a person to live. And yet, it feels so right, like it’s what I was meant for, what my entire existence has been leading up to.
My train of thought is broken as you call me down for dinner. By the time I’m making my way through my third plate of lasagna, my worries are all but forgotten. I mean, sure, I might have gained a bit of weight, but it’s not like there’s much I can do about it. There’s no point in me going on a diet, after all. And, as long as I’ve got you around to tempt me, I’m not about to cut down on my meals anytime soon. So, you see, even if I did want to lose all of these pounds I’ve piled on, there’s just no way I can. I’m too lazy and weak for there to be any point in even trying. I’m better off just letting myself indulge and not even worrying about it.
You’re only too pleased to watch me absentmindedly fill my belly up with as much food as mom and sis put together. I’m so far gone now that you hardly have to put much effort into fattening me, too far gone to ever turn back. At this point, there isn’t much left for you to do here. The time has come to bring this story to its climax.

Back home, you feed me more than ever. I’ve long since lost track of how much I eat every day. Lately, it feels like I never stop. I never seem to get full anymore. Or, rather, it doesn’t seem to matter how full I get. Even when my stomach is aching from all the food you’ve filled it with, I always want more. It’s like I eat just for the sake of it. If I ever stop to consider that, maybe, I should cut down a bit, the thought of going without all of my beloved snacks, of going without your constant coddling and attention, makes my heart freeze with dread.
You’ve done your work well with me. Now, as I get lazier and fatter, you start to change too. You’re still as loving and sweet as you ever were, at least most of the time, but the way you treat me and talk to me now is different, somehow.
I mean, you’ve always been kind of controlling, I guess—never one to take no for an answer, at least where food is concerned. And, you’ve always teased me about my weight when you knew you could get away with it. But, lately, you seem to be getting worse. Your teasing has turned harsher, and you’ve gotten a lot more commanding in feeding me. You’ve even started to call me by nicknames like “piggy” and “porker”.
I know I should find that demeaning, but, at first, you make them sound so cute and affectionate that I just can’t bring myself to mind. And later, though I hate to admit it, they just seem to fit me so well. I mean, just look at how huge and lazy I’ve gotten, what a sloppy slob you’ve turned me into. If I’m going to look like this, to live like this, I can’t really object to being called a pig, now can I? After all, isn’t that what I am, an over-gorged, gluttonous creature, only good for being stuffed to the brim with food?
And god, do you ever stuff me! Lately, you’ve started to feed me by hand, so that all I have to do is lie back and chew. And, you’re so forceful about it too, making me eat until my plate has been wiped clean, no matter how tightly my tummy is already packed with food. I suppose, sometimes, I really should say no to you. But, I don’t. I just sit here and placidly do everything you tell me to, letting you go further and further in feeding me.
Soon, you start to change up my mealtimes. Letting me go hours without food one day, before stuffing me non-stop the next. Occasionally, you even wake me up and make me eat in the middle of the night. I know I’ve let you go too far, but it’s too late to turn back now.
One day, when you’ve let me go for hours without food, to the point where I’m pleading with you to just give me something, anything, to eat, you tell me to get off the couch and follow you. With some effort, I manage to get on my feet and waddle over to the bathroom, where you’ve set up a brand new scale. You command me to get on, and I obey without thought.
“446 pounds,” you say, letting out an impressed whistle. “Not bad.”
I plead with you to give me something to eat already, but you brush me off. First, there’s something we need to talk about. You lead me back to the couch again, and I breathe a sigh of relief as you sit me down.
Once I’ve had a chance to catch my breath, you grab my belly, your fingers digging harshly into my soft flesh as you tell me, in no uncertain terms, just how far I’ve let myself go, just what a helpless, dependent pig I’ve turned myself into. I can only sit here, desperately hungry, held down by my own fat, while you tower over me, passionately laying into me about just how lazy, useless, and greedy I've gotten, how hopelessly flabby and out of shape I’ve let myself become.
I can’t believe how mean you’re being all of a sudden. I want to object, but I know every word you say is true. I’m a weak, pathetic pig, a fat-ass with no self-control or self-respect. I always have been, deep down, and it feels so good to finally be treated like it. When I object, weakly, between moans, that "I thought you liked me like this," you agree that you do. Which is why why you think I could stand to get *a lot* fatter.
Then, finally, you tell me everything, revealing what you’ve been planning for me all along. From now on, you explain, our relationship is going to be very different. From now on, I’m going to be your feedee, your obedient, fat pig. I’ll never have to think or worry ever again. My body will be yours to do with as you please, my only purpose in life: to eat every last bite you feed me, until I’m every bit as fat as you want me to be.
I know there’s no point in trying to object. You’ve got me too out of shape, too lazy and spoiled to ever manage without you. And anyway, I’m just so hungry. As long as I’ve got my food, I know I’ll be happy no matter what. And, the sooner I agree with you, the sooner I can have my next meal.
That night, you give me a taste of what my life will be like from now on, feeding me like never before, until my belly is packed so tight that I can hardly breathe. For the first time since the start of this story, I can see, clearly, what it has in store for me. You’re going to keep fattening me, and I’m going to keep growing, until I’m too huge to even walk on my own. I can’t stop you. My future is already written. And, even if I could, there’s no way I would. I understand now, like you always have, that this is what I was meant for. This is what I’ve always wanted, deep down. To give up any illusion of control, to let this narrative take hold of me and turn me into whatever it wants, whatever you want, dear Reader.

From now on, you keep feeding and fattening me, growing my body at a truly amazing rate. Under your tender, loving care, I blow up like I never would’ve believed I could, my belly expanding to overflow my lap, growing into a heavy rippling waterfall of soft flesh that flows over the edge of our couch, my backside spreading until two chairs can hardly hold it. I’m so heavy now that my legs struggle to lift me, I can only take a few labored, lumbering steps before I have to sit down, groaning at my aching ankles as I gasp for breath.
Needless to say, I’m in no shape to visit my family much anymore. But, fortunately, they don’t mind coming to me. At this point, even they can’t believe the sheer size you’ve gotten me to. They still don’t really talk about my weight—preferring to treat me like the elephant in the room that I am—but, I can tell from the way they look at me as I sit here, breathing heavily just from the effort of living in this huge body, that they're disturbed at how fat and out of control I've let myself get.
Not that they're exactly tiny themselves, though. Ever since they’ve started visiting here, they’ve been rapidly piling on the pounds. My mother always seems to be eating as she helps you care for me. And as for my sister, well … Lately, she’s been coming over just to hang out. She seems to like being around the two of us. Next to me, she doesn’t feel half as big as she really is. And, as for you … Having you for a brother in law hasn’t exactly been good for her figure. But then, it’s not like much else ever has either. She loves the way you spoil her and ply her with food, and she always starts to giggle as you jokingly flirt with her, telling her all about how pretty she looks and how lovely she is. She makes her crush on you only too obvious, and you’re only too happy to indulge her, to tease her and casually flirt with her.
I know I should probably mind all this, but I don’t. You’re just being friendly, just playing around and making her feel special in that way you do. Sometimes, I wonder what might’ve happened if you’d found her before you found me. Then, she might be the one stuck on this couch and I might still be thin. Or, at least, less fat. Still, as I watch her gaze longingly at you while gobbling up the latest plateful of cookies you’ve handed her, I can’t help but be happy that you’re mine. She will never know the true you. How stern and unyielding you can be when force-feeding me, how tender and sweet when rubbing my painfully packed tummy. She will never know what it’s like to truly be at the center of your world.
No, I don’t mind you flirting with her. But, when she’s around, I always make sure to be as affectionate with you as possible. Just to remind her that you’ll always be mine, that the only thing she’ll ever get out of her crush on you is a wobbly butt and a doughy, dangling belly.
The poor girl has gotten herself stuck in a bit of a vicious cycle. The more time she spends around us, the fatter she gets. And, the fatter she gets, the more she comes to us for affirmation. From time to time, I wonder how many years it’ll be before she finds herself stuck on a couch of her own. She must’ve put on a good bit more than a hundred pounds already. You’ve only really gotten a brief glimpse of her gain here, but I bet you like thinking about it, about what must be going on with her as the text focuses on what you’re doing to me?
You’ve got me so huge now. I must be well over 600 pounds. My face has gotten so round and flabby, my features made so small by the huge cheeks they’ve sunken between, a soft and squishy second chin resting where my neckline once used to be. My body is a bed of fat, a mass of shifting rolls and folds hanging off the once slight frame that they’ve long since buried. My boobs, huge, flat, pancaking sacks of flab, rest on my massive mound of a belly, which, in turn, rests between my broad, blubbery thighs. My arms have grown so vast and heavy that I can hardly lift them over my head. They’re wider around now than my hips used to be when I was thin.
There isn’t a single inch of my body that hasn’t been twisted and reshaped with fat. My fingers are thick, stubby sausages, my back a collection of drooping rolls that rest on my huge backside, which spreads out so far behind me now, melting across any seat I plant it on.
Does all of this turn you on, Reader? Even though you can’t see how deliciously fat and flabby you’ve made me? Are those words, and the images that they evoke in your mind enough to get you all hot and bothered? I sure hope so. I mean, why else have you been reading this? Now that you have me just the way you want, however, I'm afraid the time has come to bring this to a close. Now, you leave me, moving on to some other girl in some other story, happy in the knowledge that I will forever stay this way in your head. That I will keep growing, never quite reaching the point where all the many problems and complications that come with these many hundreds of pounds you’ve piled on my once slender figure start to catch up with me.
As you leave me now, you know I’ll be forever stuck as the following, final line describes me: trapped by my own fat, too lazy to ever lose a single pound and too hungry to ever stop eating.

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Now that I'm happy to hear. And, as it happens, you won't have to.

Can't wait to read more!

Can't wait to read more!

My name, Reader? Oh, let’s see here … how about Clarice? That’s a nice name, isn’t it? It’s from a movie, apparently, one that the writer of this story particularly likes. So yeah, let’s go with that, let's say that my name is Clarice.
And, now that I’ve introduced myself, let’s move on to my appearance. I mean, you need to know what I look like, right? After all, there are so many choices we could make here. I could be tall–all elegant and statuesque, with long, lean legs and a graceful, gazelle-like body–or, I could be short–a cute, petite little thing with a lithe build and a bouncy personality. The options are, if not endless, then at least numerous. But, we need to get this story going, and you need to know what I look like right away, so that you can appreciate as my appearance changes over the course of it.
For simplicity's sake, let’s say that I’m a fairly ordinary-looking young woman. I mean, I’m pretty, of course, but not in a supermodel kind of a way. My face is a little too round for that, and, while I’m not that short, I’m nowhere near tall enough. Still, I’m a good-looking girl, if I do say so myself. I have big, beautiful, brown eyes, soft, kissable lips, and a mane of tousled, raven hair that hangs past my pale, porcelain shoulders. And, needless to say, I’m thin. Well, mostly, anyway. I might be carrying a few extra pounds here and there—mainly on my hips and thighs—but my waist is still tapered and tight and my boobs are perky and firm, if, perhaps, a little smaller than I’d like. I’m a beautiful, carefree young woman with a physique that, I don’t mind saying, has turned quite a few heads in its time. But, we both know I won’t stay that way.
I mean, that’s why you’re reading this, right? You want me to lose my looks. You want to watch as my once beautiful body turns into a wobbling mass of blubber, as my boobs swell and start to sag, as my flat stomach spreads into a dangling apron, as my tight, shapely buttocks loosen into square slabs of lard, huge, rippling things, covered in soft dents of cellulite. You want to rob me of my figure. And because you want it, that is what’s going to happen, whether I like it or not.
Now, since you know what my name is and what I look like, let’s get on to the biggest question of them all: who am I? This is another one that could have an untold number of answers. I mean, where do you even start with this one? How do you go about encapsulating your entire identity in just a sentence or two? Oh Reader, there are so many things I could tell you. I could talk your head off for hours about my favorite book, or how I spend my evenings, but that’s not what you’re here for, that’s not what this story is about. So, let’s get on to the question that really matters here: Who am I to you?
Oh yes, Reader, you’re a character in this story just as much as I am. I mean, obviously. Why wouldn’t you be? After all, everything that happens here, to me, will happen because you want it to.
So, then, what kind of a relationship do we have? Well, since we need to get this story going, let’s keep things simple between us. Let's just say that I’m your girlfriend and leave it at that.
 
Oh yes, Reader, aren’t you the lucky one. Of all the people in this world that I could’ve gone for, I chose you. I’m not sure I know why myself. There’s just something about you, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I don’t know what it is, but I think you do. You’ve been looking for a girl like me for a long time. And, now that you’ve finally found me, you understand me better than I understand myself. You’ve studied me, and you know that, no matter how I try to hide it, there’s a fat girl inside of me, just waiting to eat her way out.
I mean, of course there is, you wouldn’t be spending your time on me otherwise, would you? You can tell from the shape of my body, and from the way my whole face lights up at those rare times when I allow myself a treat. That’s really why I’ve fallen for you, I think. Because, deep down, I’m exactly the sort of weak-willed fatty that you’ve always been looking for. And, because, you’re only too willing to treat me as such, to pamper me and spoil me, to ply me with all that food I won’t even let myself admit that I love, all while letting me be every bit as lazy and useless as I really am.
We’ve been dating for a while now, you and I. How we met isn’t really that important, but I’ve been living with you for more than a year now. I’ve even taken you home to see my family once, over the holidays. They took to you right away. And, for your part, I’m sure you were only too happy with what you saw. My dad’s been out of the picture for a long time now. My mother and older sister are the only family I have, and, well, they aren’t exactly a slight and dainty pair of girls.
With mom, there’s really no nice way to say it. She’s a huge ball of a woman, with a ripe, round moon of a face, a pair of doughy, drooping, oversized love handles, and a huge, hanging belly. I’ve spent most of my life watching her eat her way from one dress size to another. These days, she’s got to be at least 300 pounds.
My sister isn’t quite that big, but she’s not far behind. Last I heard, she was somewhere around 230. But, in my family, we don’t talk about that stuff much. After all, what you refuse to know can’t hurt you.
She’s a year older than me, and she’s never been thin—not for as long as I can remember, anyway. She’s spent her whole life as the fat girl, the one with the big belly and the chubby face that people either laugh at or ignore. That’s probably why she’s a bit shy most of the time. I’m ashamed to admit it, but when I was younger—back in middle school, mostly—I used to tease her a lot as well.
Over the years, I’ve heard people call her and mom all sorts of things behind their backs and, sometimes, even to their faces. That’s why I’ve always tried so hard not to let myself go. No matter how much I love to eat, I don’t want to end up like them. I don’t want to be the sort of big, greedy pig that people laugh at and make fun of. But, with you around, it’s not like I have much of a choice anymore. You know only too well that, with a bit of effort, you can get me way bigger than either of them will ever be.
I’ve already put on more than a few pounds since I met you. My face has started to soften, and I’ve grown just the tiniest hint of a gut. I don’t really think that much about all these new inches I’ve added to my body, though. I mean, it’s natural to put on a bit of weight once you’re in a steady relationship, right? You, on the other hand, rarely think about anything else. You love each and every new pound I’ve put on, but I’m not nearly big enough for you yet. You want me to gain faster, you want to see me struggle to squeeze into my clothes until, finally, I’m forced to go up first one size and then another. And, you know just how to get me there.
You’ve been living with me long enough now to have learned of all my little weaknesses, all those foods I just can’t say no to. It’s only too easy for you to surround me with temptation 24/7, knowing full well that, no matter how I try to resist, I’ll always give in soon enough. Especially now that you’ve got me hanging around the house all day, with nothing to do but eat.
The thing is, you see, Reader, that before I met you, I never really knew what I wanted to do with my life. I mean, I knew what I was supposed to do, get an education, a job, a man, all that boring normal stuff. But, somehow, that never seemed enough for me. This might make me sound kind of lazy and spoiled, but it always seemed so dull to spend your life just working and studying all the time. My friends usually roll their eyes at me and say that I have my head in the clouds when I talk about stuff like that. And, I guess maybe I do, but I’ve just always wanted something different, you know? Even if I’m not sure what.
I think that’s another reason why I like you so much. You never laugh at me when I say stuff like that. You always listen to me, and you can be so sweet about it too. In fact, when I first told you about all this, about how I wasn’t enjoying school and how I felt like, maybe, I needed to find my own direction in life, you were the one to suggest that I take some time off. At first, I was hesitant, but you made it sound like it’d be no big deal. And, in the end, as you were only too aware, it was what I really wanted deep down. Even though I knew it might be a bad idea, and even though my friends tried to warn me off, it just felt so right. I figured if I took some time off, I’d be able to grow into myself, to find out what I really wanted out of life. But, that wasn’t what ended up happening.
Yeah, I know. Shocking, right?
These last many months, I’ve done nothing but waste my days away on endless Netflix binges. I’ve grown plenty, but more in body than in mind. My boobs, which used to be perky and firm, have started to rest on my belly, which has started to rest on my lap. So, yeah, I might have put on just a little bit of weight.
I mean, of course I have. I just sit around in my PJs all day, with nothing to do but eat. If I didn’t have my TV, and all those snacks you keep buying me, I think I might just lose my mind.
Luckily, you don’t seem to care that your once spirited and enthusiastic girlfriend has turned into a lazy couch-potato, a tubster who just sits around and eats all day. I mean, why would you? You’re not reading this to see me go on adventures, or struggle to build a life for myself. No, as far as you’re concerned, any time I don’t spend sat on my ass stuffing my face is time wasted. You want me just like this, and, though you’re not ready to be entirely honest about it yet, you don’t mind showing it.
If it wasn’t for you, if you hadn’t been so loving and kind, I’d probably have realized what’s happening to me a long time ago. You’ve got such a way of putting me at ease. You love to play with all my little rolls, with the plush and luscious softness of my growing body. Whenever I ask you if you think I’m, maybe, getting a bit chunky, you’re only too quick to assure me that I look just fine the way I am. You make me feel like getting just a bit bigger might not be the end of the world after all.
Still, from time to time I can’t help but wonder, you know? Sometimes, I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in a window, or something like that, and it’ll take me a while to realize who I’m even looking at. But, I guess, probably, I’m just catching myself from a bad angle, is all.
 
By the time you’ve had me living with you for a couple of years, I’m nothing like the slim girl I was when I first moved in. I’ve gotten so blissfully lazy and fat, my mind and body both turned to mush by my constant grazing and never-ending TV binges.
Oh, you just love to look at me, and to play with all my 200-plus-pounds of delicious fatness. You love every inch you’ve put on me, from my squishy second chin to my sagging gut, from my wide, flabby arms to my broad blubbery backside and my jiggly, cottage cheese thighs. You’re only too happy with how I’m growing, even if I’m less than thrilled myself.
I mean, don’t get me wrong here. I love the way you spoil me, the way you keep me lazy, happy, and full. I wouldn’t want it to stop for anything in the world. But, well, I know I’ve gotten fat. I mean, of course I do. I’m the one who has to lug all this weight around. After a while, it gets kind of hard *not* to notice. And, to be honest, though I prefer not to think about it, I’m starting to get a bit worried.
I just feel so heavy and tired all the time, you know? My thighs are starting to rub and chafe when I walk, and it takes so little to get me all sweaty and out of breath. It’s like I’m not even in control of my own body anymore. I just don’t feel good about myself in the way I used to.
I mean, you know how much pride I’ve always taken in my appearance. Before I met you, I used to love posing in front of the mirror wearing all sort of cute clothes. But now, well, now I can hardly even stand the sight of my own reflection. My face has gotten so round and fleshy that I don’t even look like myself anymore. Sure, my features are the same, but all the familiar contours that they used to sit among are just gone, lost under a pair of ripe cheeks and a swollen second chin.
My boobs still look good, though, so long as you squeeze them into a tight-enough bra. So, I guess that’s something. But, next to my huge, dangling belly, which sticks out so much further than my chest and fills out the front of my jeans in a way no stomach ever should, they don’t really stand out. Hell, it’s getting hard to find any cute clothes that fit me anymore.
But then, I guess that’s fine by you. So long as I spend my days sitting on my ass and stuffing my face like I’m supposed to, I don’t really need anything all that special to wear.
And anyway, it’s not like I really even go outside that much anymore. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I last saw any of my old friends. I guess we’ve all kind of drifted apart, maybe we just don’t have that much in common, these days. While I’ve been sitting here, turning myself into a human dumpster, they’ve all moved on with their lives, getting jobs and doing all sorts of exciting things. Even if we ignore the fact that I don’t want them to see me like this, I don’t think I really have that much to talk about with them anymore. It’s not like anything exciting ever happens in my life.
So yeah, at this point, I don’t really even have a social life. Which is just the way you like it. After all, I’ve got all the friends I need right here at home. I’ve got you, and all my lovely little treats. Anything else would just be a distraction. If I ever get lonely, I can just grab another tub of ice cream to cheer myself up.
If it wasn’t for you, I’d have gone on a diet and lost all these pounds ages ago. Or, so I like to tell myself. The thing is, you make it so easy for me to just keep eating. You’re alway spoiling me, making me feel so comfy and safe, like my sloppy, slobbish lifestyle is really no big deal. Still, much as I might want them to, I know things can’t go on like this forever. I’ve already gained so much weight. Further or later, this is gonna have to stop.
I’ve tried to talk to you about my weight, to ask if you think that, maybe, I’m starting to get a bit *too* fat. But, you’re always quick to reassure me that I’m just fine the way I am, to tell me, jokingly, that you’d love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman. A thought that I, if I’m honest, find less than reassuring.
Still, it’s enough to keep me eating, and, for now, that’ll just have to do. It’s not yet time for you to tell me about your true intentions. If you tried to explain it all now, I just wouldn’t understand. I wouldn’t be able to see how all the things you’re doing to me are really for my own good.
You know that, no matter what I may think, I’m better off like this, as a sloppy, hungry fatty with no life outside of food. I wasn’t born to be the kind of girl that all the guys want and all the other girls envy, nor was I born to spend my time accomplishing great things. No, I was always meant for this, for a mediocre and uneventful life of constant idleness and never-ending gluttony. The sooner I accept it and embrace my true nature, the happier I’ll be. So, though I might not understand it yet, you’re really doing me a favor by taking my figure away, by reducing me to the life of passive overconsumption that I was always meant for.
 
Sadly, though, good deeds like yours rarely get the appreciation they deserve. And, much though you might try, you can’t keep me cooped up in here forever. Not yet, anyway. As the holidays roll around, and the two of us head off to visit my family, the time has finally come for me to set foot outside for the first time in many months.
Needless to say, my mother and sister, who still remember me as a slight and tiny thing, are more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown to almost twice my size. They don’t really say much about it, but you can tell just from the looks on their faces when I waddle through the door. The last time they saw me, I’d put on a couple of pounds, sure, but I was still, by far, the thinnest girl in the family. Now, not so much.
They soon get over their initial shock, though, and give me a warm welcome, even if my sister can’t help but to tease me a bit about my weight.
“Looks like you’re finally catching up with the rest of us,” she says, giving my belly a pat once the two of us have hugged and said our hellos.
“Oh please,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I’m *that* big.” Though, deep down, I know I am.
After that, neither mom nor sis really mention my weight much. You know, stones in glass houses, and all that. We spend our days sitting around eating, talking and watching TV, while you help out with the cooking and dote on all three of us. Mom and sis both seem to really enjoy having you around. It’s almost scary how easy it is for you to get them to like you. All it takes are a few lame jokes, a couple of nice meals, and some innocent flirting. I guess, in the end, they’re every bit the hungry, lazy fatties that I am. And, if there’s one thing you know, it’s how to make hungry, lazy fatties happy.
Over the next few weeks, I eat as much as I ever have in my life. Just like at home, I spend my days on the couch, being plied with all sorts of fattening foods. Not just by you now, but by mom as well. How lucky for you that my family is so eager to, unwittingly, help out with all your little plans.
By New Year’s, I’m struggling to squeeze into my pants, which were already getting tight by the time I came here. Even my largest, and comfiest pair, my old fat pants, are getting to the point where they can hardly hold me. One evening, as I sit down after having been filled with a particularly huge meal, the button on them goes flying off, leaving me wide-eyed and embarrassed as I sit there with my belly hanging out.
That evening, my sister gently suggests that, if I want to, I can borrow a pair of her pants while I’m here. I eagerly agree, and that’s when the truth hits me. No matter how I wiggle, I can’t get her jeans all the way up over my butt. No matter how I pull and tug, I can’t even get the button to close.
“Um,” I say, blushing as I turn towards her, “you wouldn’t happen to have something a little bigger lying around?”
She looks just as surprised as I am.
“No,” she shakes her head, “those are the biggest pair I have.”
This can’t be happening. There’s no way I’m fatter than my sister. But then, why can’t I get these damn things on?
Once I’ve managed to peel her pants off again, my sister drags me over to the bathroom to find out just how much heavier I’ve gotten. As I stand myself on it, the bathroom scale climbs to a hefty 253. My sister, by comparison, is a skinny 236.
“Well, well,” she giggles, playfully pinching one of my love handles, “I guess you’re not the thinnest girl in the family anymore.”
I stare down at the scale without a word. This can’t be right. It just can’t be.
“We’ll just see about that,” I say, smiling and trying to play the whole thing off as though it’s no big deal. “By the time I see you again next year, I’ll have you eating those words.”
“Oh, sure you will,” she smirks, clearly not believing me one bit.
 
I can’t believe how blind I’ve been. How could I have let myself go like this? How could I not have realized that I’d gotten this fat? I’ve been sitting around, stuffing my face and not caring about the consequences for almost two years now, and look what it’s done to me! Well, enough is enough. From now on, I’m going to have to make some changes. From now on, things are going to be different around here.
Once the holidays are over and the two of us are back home, I tell you, in no uncertain terms, that I’m going on a diet. That I’m going to lose all this weight and get back to my old, slim self. You don’t seem to take me all that seriously. Though you aren’t mean about it, you make it pretty clear that you don’t think I can do it, and that trying would just be a waste of time. The way you see it, all a diet would do is wear me out and make me miserable. And really, why would I want that when I can just sit around and eat and be happy? After all, you think I’m beautiful just the way I am, you’d love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman. And, since I’m lucky enough to have a man who doesn’t mind me being a hopeless, lazy pig, I might as well take advantage of it.
It’s a tempting thought, I can’t deny, but my mind is made up. No matter how much I enjoy it, I can’t continue to live like this. I’ve put on so much weight already. If this goes on, I don’t even want to think about how fat I’ll get. I’m tired of not feeling good about myself, of never finding any cute clothes that fit, of the constant shame that comes with living in this blubbery body. I’m tired of all this weight bearing down on me, of my rolls shifting and brushing against each other with every move I make. And, more than anything, I’m tired of feeling like I’m not in control of my own life anymore. No matter how much I might want to spend my days filling up my old spot on your couch, I just can’t. If I don’t put a stop to this now, I know I never will.
I keep on insisting and, finally, you agree to help me. You still think it’s a waste of time, but, if it’s what I really want then, of course, you’ll support me. In fact, I’m surprised at just how supportive you seem. You make so many helpful suggestions and come up with so many good ideas. Soon, we’ve put together a whole plan to help me burn off all this weight.
It never occurs to me that you might be setting me up to fail. I love you too much to even consider that you’d do something like that. But you, of course, know that it’s really for my own good. You know what kind of a girl I am, after all. And, more importantly, you know what kind of a story this is. There’s no way any of my attempts to lose weight will ever work, and the sooner I realize that, the happier I’ll be.
 
Much as you’ve predicted, it’s not long before my diet hits its first snag. Not even a day, in fact. The thing is, Reader, that when you’ve been lazy for as long as I have, it isn’t easy to start exercising all of a sudden. But then, I guess you know that already. That’s why you’ve really invited me to go running in the park with you, after all. You aren’t trying to help me lose weight, you just want to see how out of shape you’ve gotten me. And, once we’ve started running, I don’t disappoint.
It isn’t long before I start to lose my breath, before the moderate pace you’ve set for us has me huffing and puffing. I can still remember, if only vaguely, that I used to enjoy running once, but, right now, I can’t for the life of me recall what that was like. Now, it just makes my body hurt. My feet are sore and my knees ache something fierce. My shirt keeps sliding up and my slightly too tight sweatpants keep slipping down, putting my jiggling belly on display for all to see. Each slow and awkward step I take sets a quake running through my blubbery body, sending all my rolls and folds bouncing up and down as rivers of sweat run along them.
I feel terrible. And, to make everything worse, everybody else I see here is so slim and fit. They seem to run without even the slightest effort, while I lumber along, breathing heavily as I clutch my aching sides. We’ve hardly even been at it for twenty minutes by the time I’m forced to stop. I’m just not built for this sort of thing anymore.
You smile surreptitiously as I stand here, hunched over, groaning and gasping for breath, my naked belly dangling in front of me, my worn slacks hugging every dent of my cellulite-riddled ass. After a few moments, you take mercy on me. Putting your hand gently on my back, your fingers sinking into my doughy, sweat-soaked rolls of flab, you guide me to the nearest bench, where I sit myself down, letting out a desperate sigh of relief as I take my weight off my poor, aching ankles. Though I dare not look up, I’m only too aware that we’re being stared at. I know only too well what a spectacle I’ve made of myself.
Once you’ve got me off my feet, you give my pillowy shoulder a reassuring pat and tell me to sit tight. Then, you head off, leaving me here with my mouth hanging sluggishly open, my overly ample chest rising and falling as I draw one groaning breath after another.
A few minutes later, you turn up again, carrying a cone filled with three scoops of ice cream—cookie dough, mint-chocolate-chip, and strawberry, you know me so well. “A little something to help restore your strength,” you say, “just this once.”
I know I should turn it down. There are way more calories in those three scoops than all my running has managed to burn off. If I eat it, my diet will be a complete failure right out of the gate. But, it looks so good, and I feel so tired. I need something to cheer me up. As far as my diet goes, I can always start over again tomorrow.
While I greedily fill my mouth with one bite of ice cream after another, the two of us have a talk, and I agree that it might be good for me to start a little slower with this whole exercise thing. For now, having a short walk now and then might be enough. Even if, as you know perfectly well, it won’t help one bit in burning off all this blubber.
 
I’d like to say that my diet continues without a hitch from here on. But, we both know that wouldn’t be true. In fact, it’s just a few weeks before it all goes seriously wrong.
I’m just so hungry all the time. You’ve been great about making me all sorts of light and healthy meals, but all that low-calorie, sugar-free stuff just doesn’t fill me up like my old favorites used to. Before I went on this diet, food was my greatest pleasure, the only exciting thing I had in my humdrum life. But, all these salads and carrot sticks you’ve got me eating just don’t give me the same rush that my cookies and chips used to. They just make me feel so empty, like everything is so dreary and dull. It’s not long before I start to crave all my old, guilty pleasures again.
You’ve been expecting this, of course. And, you’re only too ready to take advantage of my unbearable appetite. Though you’re subtle about it, you go out of your way to tempt me, filling our home up with all those sugary treats you know I just can’t go without, and, sometimes, even eating stuff like pizza right in front of me, while I’m forced to sit here chewing on my rabbit food, as you call it. Is it any wonder that I start to sneak a little snack from time to time—that, within a few weeks, I’m secretly stuffing my face at every chance I can find?
I feel terrible about it, of course. You’ve worked so hard to help me, and here I am, gorging like a greedy pig. I feel so hopeless, so weak and pathetic, but I just can’t seem to stop. When I eat, all my worries just fade away. Sure, by the time I’m done I might feel a little guilty, but that only drives me to glut myself more.
A month into my diet, you make me step on our scale—which seems, mysteriously, to have turned up again, after having been missing since just after I moved in—to see how many pounds I’ve lost. I know I haven’t exactly been doing perfectly, but I’m still shocked to find that all my secret little snacks have put a whole four pounds on me over the past month. You try to cheer me up, telling me that, since I’ve been doing everything right so far, you’re sure it’s just a matter of time before all this weight starts melting off my figure. But, of course, that only makes me feel worse.
As the second month of my diet wears on, you start to tempt me more and more, until you’ve got me taking one cheat day after another on top of all my secret binges. At the end of it, I’m crushed to find that I’ve put on another six pounds. I feel so out of control. I’ve worked so hard, and yet I just keep getting fatter.
You waste no time using my despair against me, turning my little cheat days into week-long feasts. By the end of the third month, when you remind me that it’s time for me to step on the scale again, it takes me a while to remember what you’re even talking about.
The display finally settles on a whopping 276 pounds, and I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. There’s no way I could have put on more than ten pounds just over the past month, is there? Have I really been eating that much? Am I really that much of a pig? Standing here, looking at those unbelievable numbers, I just can’t help myself. I start to cry, big fat tears rolling down my big fat cheeks. How could I have let things get this bad?
You’re only too quick to comfort me, sitting me down in my old spot on the couch with at tub of ice cream in my lap. As I stuff my face, a stream of my melting dessert dribbles down my chin and mixes with my tears as I bare my heart to you, telling you all about how weak and hopeless I feel, about how I’ve been cheating on my diet and binging behind your back. You listen without judgment, and, for a long time, we just sit there and talk as I eat.
By the end of the night, you’ve convinced me to give up on my diet for good. After all, food is what makes me happy. If I try to deny myself, I’ll only end up miserable. And anyway, you love me just the way I am. You love every doughy, drooping inch of my blubbery body. So, even if I had the willpower to lose all this weight, which I don’t, why would I ever want to when I’ve got a partner who’s only too happy to let me sit on my ballooning backside and eat to my heart’s content, a partner who would love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman.
This time around, those words sound a lot better than they did before. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to just let myself go? To just sit back and eat as you coddle and care for me. I mean, dieting clearly isn’t for me, and since I can’t keep my figure under control, I might as well just give up on it altogether. That way, I’ll never have to worry about it ever again. Sure, it might not be the healthiest way to live, but it beats feeling bad whenever you happen to have a little too much to eat. It’s not like I was ever going to be a model, or anything like that, anyway, so why should I care if I get a little fat? Having a few extra curves on you is hardly the end of the world, is it now?
 
Next morning, you wake me up with a huge breakfast, bigger than any meal I’ve ever seen. As I take in the sheer amount of food you’ve made me, a huge stack of pancakes drowning in syrup and cream, a plateful of scrambled eggs, and a whole package of bacon dripping with grease, you explain that, what with all that’s happened, I deserve to be spoiled a bit more than usual today.
From then until nighttime, you hardly let me leave my bed. You do everything for me, keeping me constantly surrounded with all those irresistible foods that I’ve spent the last three months trying so hard to resist, while I just sit here and eat. Soon, I’ve lost myself completely to my appetite. I can’t believe I could ever even have considered giving all of this up.
You watch, smiling fondly, as I gorge like I never have before, eating mindlessly like the greedy pig you always knew me to be. You’ve enjoyed seeing me struggle against my inevitable fate, but you’re glad that that part of our story is over now, especially since that means that we can finally get on to the really good bits.

I know I shouldn’t. All that ice cream will only end up as more padding on my already far too flabby thighs. I need to be strong, need to control myself. If I keep eating like this, I’ll never lose a single pound.

“What’ll it be miss?” asks the man behind the counter. I can’t help but feel as though he’s judging me as I stand there with my doughy belly poking out from under my too tight t-shirt, my blubbery backside outlined only too well by the strained pair of pink slacks that used to be my fat pants only a few months ago.

“Um, well, a chocolate sundae, please,” I say, quietly, my gaze locked on the logo on his apron rather than on his face.

“Right,” he nods. “Go ahead and grab yourself a seat and I’ll be out with your order in a few minutes.”

Well, so much for strength, I guess. As the clerk prepares my little treat, I pick out a small table at the back, one where hardly anyone can see me. Minutes later, he arrives to place a large beaker of ice cream, drowning in chocolate fudge, on my table before vanishing again without a word. This isn’t the first time he’s seen me. I’ve been coming here every day for almost a year now, giving him a front row seat to my transformation from fat to fatter.

As soon as he’s vanished from view, I dig in. That cold ice cream, drowned in that warm, sugary chocolate sauce, is just too good. With every bite I take, all my worries seem to fade just a little further from my mind.

Why do I have to be like this? What would she say if she could see me now? Fatter than ever, even after all I said to her.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I’m supposed to be losing weight, to be getting my life back under control. It’s just not fair. Why does this damn ice cream have to be so damn tempting?

“Alice, is that you?”

Oh no! Not now, not here of all places.

Slowly, like a deer caught in the headlights, I turn to look behind me. There she is: Yvonne, every bit as thin, pretty, and perfect as ever. With her lean figure, her wide, twinkling eyes, her sultry, sensuous lips, and her long, flowing, golden hair, she’s everything that I’m not.

“Hi,” I say, desperately wishing I was somewhere else, “how have you been?”

Yvonne smiles, a radiant smile that lights up her slim, shapely face, with its sloping cheeks and slight, subtle chin. I don’t have sloping cheeks, only a set of ripe, round ones. I do, however, have plenty of chins.

“Oh, you know, pretty good,” she says. “How about you?” She leans in towards me, her slim, well-manicured fingers ever so slightly squeezing the soft roll of flab bulging out from under my too-tight shirt. “Looks like you’ve really been enjoying your food since I last saw you,” she giggles.

“Yeah, I guess …,” I look down at my table; my ears are getting warm.

“Strange, I thought you were supposed to be on a diet? I seem to remember you saying something about that the last time I saw you. Guess that hasn’t been going too well, huh?”

“No,” I sigh, “not really.”

Yvonne pulls out a chair and sits down across from me. For a moment she just looks at me, her teasing smile gradually turning into something warmer.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she says, leaning closer towards me over the table. “How about we get some more ice cream and catch up?”

“I don’t know,” I try to object. “I really shouldn’t …” But she’s already headed off to order me another sundae.
 
***
Yvonne and I first met a couple of years ago. I’ve never been what you’d call thin, but that was when I really started to blow up.

I fell for her pretty much the moment I saw her, though it took me a while to really figure it out. She was so stylish and elegant, so pretty and petite—everything I could never dream of being. When we were together, I just couldn’t stop looking at her. Soon, I found myself thinking about her every minute of every day, like I never had about anyone before.

For a long time, I wouldn’t let myself believe that she could possibly feel the same way. I mean, with my flabby body and my messy, curly, dark hair, I was so chubby and plain, so average in every way. I knew perfectly well that someone like her could never be interested in someone like me. No matter how happy she was to spend time with me, or how eager she was to touch me, I just wouldn’t let myself believe it. In the end, I only caught on when, late one night, after she’d gotten tired of flirting and waiting for me to take the hint, Yvonne reached out to gently stroke my chubby cheek before, suddenly, planting a careful kiss on my lips. The conversation that followed was the most awkward and wonderful I’ve ever had.

At the time, we were both students, her and I. We spent our days in lecture halls or in libraries with our noses stuck in various textbooks. Though she was perhaps a bit better at all that than me. While I worked on my English degree, Yvonne studied nutrition. She knew all there was to know about food, including how to make the most fattening and addictive meals you could ever imagine. She wasn’t slow to turn all that knowledge against me.

I’ve never really been the kind to exercise much, or to watch what I eat. I’m a natural couch potato, basically. So, even before I met Yvonne, college hadn’t exactly been kind to my figure. Once the two of us had gotten together, though, I soon blew up like never before. Yvonne found it only too easy to use all my weaknesses against me. She knew what a spoiled slug I was, and she was only too happy to indulge and enable all my worst habits.

Oh, how she spoiled me; oh, how I ate. Back when we were together, she did everything for me, to the point where I rarely had to move so much as a muscle. All I had to do, as far as she was concerned, was sit on my fat ass and eat all those delicious treats that her dark arts would conjure for me. As the months passed, it got harder and harder for me to say no, harder and harder for me to stop. Before long, I’d completely lost track of how much I was eating. My life had turned into one huge feast. By the time the year drew to an end, I’d put on nearly forty pounds. Putting me, for the first time in my life, at well over 220.

Much as I loved every minute of my life with Yvonne, my ballooning body was starting to worry me. I knew I was putting on weight, but it wasn’t until I went back home for the holidays that I realised just how far I’d let myself go.

Two weeks of my mom asking whether I really needed that second helping, two weeks of being called “tubby” by my skinny little sister, was all I needed to make me realise just how fat I’d gotten. And then, there was the last straw: having to squirm for nearly five minutes to get into the new jeans my mom had bought me, only to burst out of them a few hours later. As I stood there, in my old bedroom, with my pale flab oozing out between ripped seams, I knew that something had to be done. Then and there, I swore that I was going to get myself together. That, one day, no matter what, these jeans were going to fit me like a glove.

Yvonne proved less than supportive of my new plans. She told me not to worry about it, that I’d be much happier if I just let myself eat. When that didn’t work, she told me there was no point pretending to be something I wasn’t.

“Sweetie,” she said, fondly shaking her head, “we both know you’re too lazy and out of shape to exercise for very long, and there’s no way you’ll manage to stay off the food for more than a few days. If I were you, I’d save myself the trouble and just forget about this whole thing.”

It took every ounce of strength I had not to give into her. In the end, I told her that we were on a break, that, when next she saw me, I'd be every bit as fit and thin as she was. She just smiled.

And now here I am, even fatter than when I left her.
 
***
I suck down another spoonful of ice cream. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m supposed to be on a diet, supposed to be working my ass off until I can finally fit into those old jeans again. I need to stop this, to get myself together. I need to put my spoon down and just not take another bite. But I don’t.

Greedily, I shovel more and more of my delicious, runny treat into my fleshy face. It’s so good. I don’t stop eating until, finally, my spoon hits the bottom of the beaker.

“You sure were hungry,” Yvonne grins, looking at me with her big, bedroom eyes.

I lean back in my chair, a low groan escaping from the depths of my cold, stuffed stomach.

“It’s no wonder you haven’t lost any of that weight.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumble, my face red and hot. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Is that so?” she giggles, her voice like a clear, tinkling, silver bell. “Looks to me like you’ve been doing pretty well without my help.”

I glance at the bulging belly resting in my lap, at the soft, pale slope of fat sticking out from under my shirt, which still fit the last time I saw her. No matter how I try, I can find no words to explain away all the pounds and inches that’ve settled on my figure in her absence.

Suddenly, Yvonne places her slender fingers on top of mine.

“You know, I really miss you.”

I blink and try to look away. But I just can’t help being drawn in by those big, glittering, green eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” I mumble, unable to stop myself.

Yvonne smiles and squeezes my chubby hand, before suddenly checking the watch on her wrist.

“Sorry, got to go,” she says apologetically. “But if you want, you can stop by my place tomorrow evening. I’d love to catch up some more.”

Then, all of a sudden, she’s gone. I watch without a word as, with a wave, she heads out the door.
 
***
It’s the middle of the night; I can’t sleep. Instead, I just sit on my bed, staring at my closet, at all the cute clothes there that no longer fit me. The jeans mom gave me for Christmas nearly a year ago hang there in plain sight. I saved them, hoping that they’d help motivate me to lose weight. Now, I can’t even squeeze them up over my way too broad butt. They just keep getting smaller. Or, well, I just keep getting bigger.

I know what’ll happen if I go to see Yvonne. I know I won’t be able to resist whatever temptations she has to throw my way. If I go, there’s no chance I’ll ever wear those jeans again.

But then again, it’s not like I’ve been doing all that well on my own. If I’m going to keep getting fatter anyway, I might as well go. At least then I’ll have somebody to appreciate me for the lazy lardass I am. And anyway, it’s just a visit, nothing more. I’m probably just being overdramatic. Even if I do want to lose all this weight, it couldn’t hurt to visit her just this once.
 
***
With a lump in my throat, I ring the doorbell to Yvonne’s apartment. As I wait for her to open, I tug at my clothes—straightening them just to keep my hands occupied. Instead of wearing my usual slacks—the only clothes I have that are really comfortable anymore—I’ve tried to put on something nice—a cute top that still sort of fits and a pair of sea-green pants that I can still squeeze into if I suck in my gut a bit. They aren’t comfortable, the pants are so tight that I struggle to bend my legs, they dig so hard into my fluttering stomach that I can barely breathe. I don’t look good in them, but at least I look like I tried.

The door opens and Yvonne greets me with a beaming smile.

“Hey there, you’re earlier than I thought,” she says, pursing her lips as she looks me over. “You look nice,” she adds, gesturing to the outfit that my rolls are poking out of like rising dough.

“Thanks,” I say with a nervous giggle, trying my best to sound casual.

She invites me in and sits me down in my old spot on the couch—the place where I gained most of this weight. On the coffee-table beside me stands a plate piled with delicious-looking donuts.

“I thought you might like a little snack,” she says, gesturing for me to take one.

Without so much as stopping to think, I do as she’s told me to. “Well, I guess just one won’t hurt,” I say, but I know it will.

Yvonne sits down beside me, and for a while we just talk—about how we’ve been, what we’ve been doing. All that. One by one, the donuts disappear, vanishing into my greedy gut until there’s not even one left.

“Oh dear,” Yvonne lets out a girlish giggle, “looks like we’re out of snacks already. I’ll go get you some more?”

I open my mouth to object, but she’s already headed off. Soon, she returns with an even larger plate of fattening treats. Before I can get a word out, she’s pushed one gently past my lips. Once I’ve tasted it, I can’t help myself. It’s heavenly, so rich, creamy, and sweet—so deliciously bad for my figure. As soon as I’ve swallowed it, Yvonne pushes another on me.

“I made these myself,” she says. “I hope you like them.”

“I shouldn’t …” I object meekly, knowing perfectly well that, sooner or later, I will.

“Oh, really?” Yvonne teases. “Why not?”

“Because, well … because I’ll get fat.”

“Honey,” she grabs herself a handful of my soft, squeezable love handles, “you already are.”

My heart leaps in my chest; my ears are so terribly hot, my overstretched stomach feels like it’s fluttering with as many butterflies as it can possibly hold.

“I know … I know. But …”

“But …?”

At this point, I’m all but drooling. The treat she’s pushing on me smells so good. I want it so bad. Desperately, I try to recall some reason, any reason, why I shouldn’t just let my appetite take me away. Why I shouldn’t just start eating and never stop. I know there are reasons—good ones, probably. But, somehow, I just can’t seem to remember them.

Still, I try as hard as I can to resist. If I take that bite, I know, it’ll be like giving up, like admitting that I’m exactly the weak, gluttonous pig that she thinks I am.

Yvonne leans in towards me. “Go on,” she whispers in my ear, pushing the donut more forcefully up against my lips.

I can’t help myself. I take a bite, just a small one, and then another, and another, and another …

“That’s my girl,” Yvonne smiles sultrily, patting my hanging, jellylike belly.

As one donut vanishes, another is brought to my lips. I dig in without thought, savouring all that delicious sugar that I know will only further ruin my already hopelessly lost figure. God, I’ve missed all this!
 
***
“Ugh,” I moan as I cradle my tightly packed tummy, “I’m so full.”

“Oh sweetie,” Yvonne coos as she rubs my naked belly, “you’re such a greedy girl.”

I answer her only with a loud burp. I’m too stuffed to talk, too stuffed to think. All I can do is sit here and stare dozily off into space, with my heavy belly resting atop my unbuttoned pants and hanging out of my hopelessly snug shirt.

“Hey, come to think,” Yvonne grins mischievously, “weren’t you supposed to be on a diet, or something? I seem to remember you mentioning something like that …”

I’m trapped, and I know it. I knew it before I ever set foot here. The last several months might as well never have happened. Yvonne’s still got me wrapped around her little finger, literally eating out of her hand.

“This is all your fault,” I moan, trying to convince myself more than her. “It’s all because you keep tempting me.”

“Of course, dear,” she says, her voice calm and soothing. “Of course …”
 
***
The next morning, I open my eyes to find the sun shining through the spacious windows of Yvonne’s sparsely decorated studio apartment. I’m still spread out on her couch; she’s nowhere to be seen. As—slowly and sluggishly—I sit myself up, my naked boobs swaying to and fro before settling on my bulging belly as I yawn and stretch out my chubby arms, I notice a neatly folded piece of paper on the coffee-table beside me.

Back in a few hours, it says, the letter looks to have been written in red lipstick. There’s breakfast in the kitchen and plenty of snacks in the fridge.

The note is signed with a bright, red kiss. Having read it, I look nervously around the room before placing my own lips against the impression left behind by Yvonne’s.

The breakfast that my thin, gorgeous girlfriend has left me turns out to be exactly what you’d expect. A huge mountain of pancakes drowning in syrup and cream—every bit as delicious as it is disastrous for my figure. I eat every last bite without a second thought. I’m tired of watching my weight, of trying to control myself and feeling like a failure when, inevitably, I give in. I can’t do it anymore. I never really could. If I’m going to be a fatty anyway, I might as well eat like one.
 
***
And that was that. Once Yvonne and I had gotten back together, she wasted no time getting to work on me. To her, my surrender was a license to stuff me like she never had before, to keep me locked up in her apartment and turn my life into an endless feast.

As I continue to eat and grow, Yvonne makes sure I never have to lift even a finger for myself. She takes care of everything for me while I sit on her couch, consuming a constant diet of TV dramas and fast food, to soften me in both body and mind.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve piled on the pounds like never before. I’ve blown up with fat to the point that I hardly recognise my own reflection anymore. When I look at it, it’s hard to see anything other than the huge, helpless ball of a woman that she’s turned me into. I always knew Yvonne wanted to put some padding on me, but I never thought she’d go this far.

Now, when I move, all my blubber jiggles and sways. I’m a mass of drooping rolls, with a belly that hangs like an apron over my thighs and a butt far too wide for any regular chair to hold. I haven’t stepped on the scale in a few months now, but last time it told me that I was creeping up on 400 pounds.

Yvonne, meanwhile, is as slim as ever. Next to her, I feel like a huge, unwieldy hippo of a girl. She’s made me so much fatter than I’d ever dreamed, but at this point I’m too hungry and out of shape to care. I don’t even bother to keep track of how much I eat anymore. It feels like I never stop.

It’s hard to imagine that I ever even considered going on a diet. These days, the very thought is enough to strike fear into my heart. I’m far too hungry, far too addicted to all that delicious food Yvonne always makes me. I can’t even go fifteen minutes without a snack anymore.

One day, as I work my way through another plate of Yvonne’s cookies, I notice my thin feeder heading for the door with a huge, plastic bag full of clothes strung over her shoulder. Peeking over the top, I see the legs of my old jeans, the ones I used to be so desperate to fit into. These days, I doubt I could even pull them up over my calves.

“Where are you going?” I ask between bites.

Yvonne stops to look at me a moment. “Oh, you know, I figured I’d turn some of your old clothes over to charity. They’re a bit big for me, and it’s not like you’re ever going to wear them again.” She glances meaningfully at the heavy belly resting between my tremendous thighs. “That ok with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug and grab another cookie.

“Want me to get you anything while I’m out? Some ice cream, maybe?”

“Yes please!” I nod eagerly, setting my chins quivering.

“Alright then.” She smiles, her slim fingers grabbing my soft belly as she leans in to plant a kiss on my round and overly chubby cheek. “Now, you just stay right there, fatty. And remember, I want to see each and every one of these gone by the time I get back.” She gestures at the mountain of cookies I’m making my way through.

Yvonne closes the door behind her; I grab another cookie. I still have a lot of food to get through today, a lot of pounds to add to my already immense body. All for her pleasure.

A couple others, the second one is WIP

Title says it all. Had a hard drive crash a few months ago and all of my others got wiped out. I try to focus on making them realistic rather than all-out big. I'll probably be doing some bigger ones in the future, though.

*

“You’re still here, Sue?”

Susana paused from her typing and looked up to see her boss and Joey standing by the door to her office.

“Hey. Yeah, I just wanted to get this Order to Show Cause drafted so it can be filed first thing in the morning. Don’t want plaintiff to think he can serve an expert two weeks before trial and get away with it”, she said before taking a sip from her bottle of Coke.

“I get it, but it’s Valentine’s Day, you should be out enjoying yourself, not in front of your computer.”

Susana stopped drinking her soda chuckled.

“Ha, I haven’t been on a date in like two years. Being alone is nothing out of the blue. Besides, I already got my dinner here”, she said while holding up a white bag with the picture of a pig eating a burger. “I’ll bet a burger from Burger Hog is better than whatever fancy place some guy would take me to in an attempt to impress me.

Joey checked his phone before looking over at his less senior supervisor and sighed.

“Told you last week you should go on a dating app, you could find a guy real quick I’ll bet. That’s how I found my boyfriend. Been together 8 months now and I couldn’t be happier. You should definitely give it a try.”

“Thanks Joey but I’m set. You two get out of here, I’m sure your significant others have big plans for ya, I’ll stick to working on these papers. Really, it’s fine.”

“Don’t work to late, hun”, Helen said before the two of them exited the office.

Susana went back to her work of researching case law and typing up her important motion. It wasn’t until close to 7 when her stomach began rumbling something fierce that she decided it was time to eat.

“Ok tummy ok. I’ll eat.”

She opened up her bag and pulled out the container carrying her burger; two beef patties, extra lettuce, extra cheese, extra bacon, extra barbeque sauce, and some pickles. She removed the extra packets of barbeque and ketchup and then pulled out the oversized container of fries. She licked her lips greedily and popped a fry in her mouth before opening the ketchup. She dipped a fry and ate it before going to do so again but stopped herself.

“Probably shouldn’t wear this shirt and pants eating something so sloppy. Can’t afford to ruin another outfit!”

Susana picked herself out of her chair and slowly waddled to her door and closed it. She turned to the little locker behind the door and opened it, revealing a sweat shirt and pair of sweat pants that were hanging on a hook. She removed them and placed them on her desk before going about the process of getting undressed, carefully and delicately taking her business ware off and placing them on one of the chairs in her small office.

Standing there in her matching yellow bra and panties, Susana was a stark contrast to the woman who three years ago ran a half marathon. Her face was now fully double chinned even without eating, and it, along with her robust shoulders were starting to swallow up her neck. Her arms wobbled to and fro and she tried to adjust the waistband of her overtaxed panties. Her breasts, which had never drawn much attention, were now literally pouring out over the tops and sides of her bra, a 34DD that even in her wildest dreams she never figured would grow too tight.

Her stomach was an assortment of rolls and stretch marks and hung over the waistband of her panties on all sides, the love handles making it very hard to even detect that she was wearing anything at all. The material was further stretched out in the rear as her hips had spread out beyond the 50 inch range and showed no signs of slowing down. Her ass, once tight and firm was now a flabby mass of cellulite. It wobbled uncontrollably and appeared determined to rip said panties as she stepped forward to grab the pants. Her thighs, lean from years of running were now bulging with fat and were beginning to swallow up her knees. Cankles and pudgy feet completed the picture for Susana, who had gone from a fit 103 pounds to a morbidly obese 211 pounds in just over 17 months and showed absolutely no signs of slowing down at all.

She finished changing and returned to her desk chair, one that was without arm rests thankfully. She had complained to Helen about her chair and her boss smiled and told her she understood before ordering her a new one. Even now though, the more durable chair was losing ground as her hips took up more and more space on a daily basis. This didn’t concern her however as she just pulled the chair close and began making short work of a now weekly meal.

“That, urp, always hits the spot” she said while wiping ketchup off her face. “I do, belch, think, I’ll have to order some onion rings next time with this, I’m still feeling a little peckish.”

Susana went back to writing her motion, pausing only briefly to reach into her bottom desk drawer for a bag of Skittles, throwing back a handful of the sugary artificial fruit flavored candies in between key strokes. Her only concern was if the motion would be finished before her snack ran out.

*

Mark placed the dumbbells back on their rack and looked at himself in the mirror. He had gone back to Gold’s roughly 3 weeks ago to try and lose weight once more. He hadn’t been in a gym in over a year and it, along with frequent business trips, had caused him to swell past 350 for the first time in his life and actually close in on 375. He looked down past his moobs and to his gut, one that made it’s desire to leave known by rumbling with hunger. He decided to quell that by getting a protein shake.

“Hey, um, can I get a “Berry blast, extra strawberries?”

Yeah, you got it buddy.”

Mark wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel and glanced behind the counter to all the employees standing around. He had done this a few times when walking in but now he had a better view of all the doings going on. He did not see the face he was looking for, only remembering that she never worked during the week.

“Here you go man, that’ll be 8.32, unless you need something else?”

“Oh, um.” Mark stammered trying to not seem to obvious. “No, I’m good. Hey, is Susana in today? Haven’t seen her at all.”

The man behind the counter looked at him, puzzled.

“I just started here like a month ago man, I don’t know everyone. Hold on, Todd? We got a Susana working here?”

Todd, the manager at the gym, puts his cell in his pocket and confidently struts his way over. He’s in his early 30s and looks like he stepped out of a GQ magazine cover.

“Susana no longer works here. Let her go.”

“Let her go?”

“Yeah, had to let her go. She wasn’t showing up, always calling out and making excuses about her job or something.”

“Oh yeah, she got promoted. Nevermind, sorry about that.”

“Probably for the best anyway, I can’t and won’t have any of my trainers looking worse than our clients, er, no offense.”

“I don’t get it? She was one of the best trainers here?”

Todd isn’t in the mood to play along.

“No she wasn’t. I’m assuming you’re like friends with her, but she wasn’t a good trainer. And letting yourself get soft and doughy like that? No way.”

“Soft and doughy?”

“Soft and doughy. She was getting heavy so that, along with her not showing up was enough to say adios. Besides, I did everyone here a favor. Saw her out on the street a few months ago, she looks like she’s been enjoying quite a few meals, if I do say so myself. Ha-ha-ha.”

Mark did not know how to respond and just leaves a ten on the counter and walks towards the mensroom and to the showers.

“There’s no way Susana got fat, no way. That guy probably saw her gain like five pounds and overreacted. Pompous douchebag” he says as he opens up his locker.

*

Mark twirled his pen at his desk while listening to one of his clients drone on in such a monotonous tone, one that was putting him to sleep. With the phone on mute, he cursed at the man’s boring voice, all the while playing a video game on his phone. It wasn’t until the call ended that he finally stopped and returned to doing actual work. He glanced around his desk, trying to find the notepad containing his next meetings.

“Shit, where’d I put it?”

He scattered papers around and about, trying to find the yellow legal pad with all the important information on it. His hand brushed against the jade paperweight, which of course was on top of what he needed.

“Figures.”

He glanced at the paperweight noting that the color still seemed off from when he first received it. It served his purpose so he didn’t really care what color it was, he was just annoyed that it seemed to fade so quickly and that Marian had been sold something under false pretenses. Still, he was glad that it did the one MAIN function it was supposed to.

“Least it holds paper down. The whole wish thing on the other hand, not so much. I’ve been wishing for a million bucks since I got it and I’m still stuck at this job.”

He picked it up and held it firmly, admiring how the gem was at least sculpted with such precision. He thought back to the night he got it and how what had depressed him had happened with Susana. He still hadn’t seen her around and was hoping she was ok.

“Eh, she’s probably swamped at work and getting bossed around by some jerk. She said that her possible boss was a real creep, I just hope things aren’t going too poorly for her.”

Mark was about to put the item down when he thought of Todd, the gym manager who he had seen last month. He remembered the man’s comments and gripped the jade even tighter.”

“That jerk. She hasn’t put on weight. And even if she did, she’s still beautiful. If she has put on weight, I wish she was still confident and caring like always.!”

He put the paperweight back down and called the person on the notepad, not even seeing that the ovalular item was lightening in color once more.

“Fuck that guy, he said, before his client picked up the phone.

*

Susana put iced coffee in the hand holding her groceries and pulled her apartment keys out with the other. She had just finished shopping for the week and wanted nothing more than to go inside her air conditioned apartment and relax. Finally, after some maneuvering, she was able to unlock the door and a cold blast of air hit her in the face.

“Whew, so much better!”

She immediately went into the kitchen to unload her haul. After everything was in it’s proper place, she pulled out a package of yodels from the fridge and bit into one.

“Mmm, Helen was right, these are much better cold”, she muttered with her mouth full of chocolate.

The chocolatey treats did not last long as Susana washed them down with coffee. It was a Sunday afternoon and the weather in the city was unbearable, the humidity was way too high. She peeled off her sweaty t-shirt and threw it in the hamper next to her bedroom before standing in front of the air conditioner in only her leggings and bra. She sipped loudly on the coffee before scratching her sweaty butt vigoriously.

“Fucking mosquitos. Shouldn’t be surprised though, they loved attacking me when I’d go out on boats previously, now that there’s um, more of me, they can really pig out. Guess next Memorial Day I’ll put on more ‘Off’. Then again, still was really nice of Helen and Matt to have me on their boat and spend the weekend at their Hamptons house.

She scratched her butt again, causing the two beach ball sized globes of flesh to quake and smash together. She barely paid this any mind as she dug her nails in deeper to relieve the pain. After a few moments of this, she decides to stop and turns back towards the kitchen. She takes the top of her coffee off and places it by the refrigerator before opening the freezer door and pulling out a carton of vanilla ice cream. She uses an ice cream scooper and places three generous scoops on top of the remaining coffee and then puts the ice cream back inside. She grabs a bottle of iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts and pops the top off and pours some of it on top of her ice cream before taking a big swig.

“Urp, that hits the spot.”

She opened the fridge door again and pulls out another package of yodels before leaning against the center island of her apartment. Her stomach juts out past her tremendous breasts, her exaggerated hourglass figure developing more sand in the front than she would have liked. She’s still putting on weight at an impressive clip and was grateful that Kristina, her tailor, had such flexible hours. She moved forward ever so slightly so as not to spill any ice cream on her boobs when she felt the waistband of her leggings slide underneath her impressive paunch; a paunch that was now cover up the front of her underwear.

“Looks like I have to go to Kristina’s again, no way my slacks last more than a week with this thing” she said before shaking her prodigious gut up and down, watching as it continued to quake long after she let go.

She shrugged her portly shoulders and went back to eating, seemingly fine with the fact that she was becoming such a big girl. Her boss was doing fine at over 300 pounds, why couldn’t she at a smaller weight?

*

“Another refill, miss?”

“I, whew, probably shouldn’t, but I guess another root beer float won’t kill me!”

“Make that two.”

Helen leaned back in her chair and let out an enthusiastic burp of contentment. They were waiting for their uber back to their hotel and had stopped to get lunch before doing so.

“So, when, belch, the client gives you some crap about the case not being worth as much as you valued it at, ask them who’s been doing it longer? You, or them?”

Susana thought about this while she picked up a stray fry and drug it across her plate, sopping up generous amounts of mayo and ketchup.

“That may work for you, but I’m still just an associate with only a year plus of practice.”

“Fine fine. In the future you can use that line.”

The waitress returned with both beverages and placed them on the crowded table. Helen had insisted on getting both wings and ribs to go with their sandwiches and Susana wasn’t one to argue, especially when it came to an overabundance of food. Though for these two women lately, it didn’t seem to be anything more than just right.

Helen shifted in her chair, thankful that they hadn’t gotten a booth. She had joked with Susana that her stomach was well beyond fitting comfortably into booths and the younger associate just laughed in agreement. Even now, with her chair pushed back, her titanic abdomen was pressing against the table, blouse buttons hanging on for dear life. She patted her paunch and let out another belch, trying to clear some room before returning to the frosty drink in front of her.

“Anyway, it’ll be good to get out of here tomorrow morning. I enjoy Boston but I’d still rather be in New York, though I’m sure the fireworks for the 4th are really nice here.”

Susana nodded as she sipped on her drink, the cold refreshing her greatly. They had walked the two blocks from their client’s offices to this restaurant and in the hot July sun it had been a little much. . Susana practically chugged the first root beer float in an effort to stay hydrated. Even over an hour later, she was still trying to recover from the walking.

They made quite a sight to any on lookers; Helen, jacket top open and her large gut protruding out in front of her, balancing her own sizeable breasts, and Susana, her dress skirt encasing her like a sausage and showing off each each bulge and roll that was the lower half of her body. She constantly tugged at the material, doing whatever she could to hide her seemingly non-existent knees from the world. Even worse, she could feel her panties riding up something fierce and she had a feeling that if she bent over too far, the world would be exposed to all of her gargantuan ass, one that had swallowed up yet another perfectly fine pair of panties.

“I know. Joey told me that my phone has been ringing non-stop. I have so many messages to check.”

She rocked from side to side, trying to get comfortable in the chair but it was no use. Her hips were too wide and a large portion of her ass hung over the sides in both directions. She felt the cool metal against her exposed thighs and shuddered. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She pulled on her skirt, annoyed that it was already riding up enough to show off so much thigh, thighs that were stuck together almost all of the time. She was just glad the chair was made of metal, she didn’t think a wooden one would be able to hold her.

The summer months had brought on roof top barbeques with coworkers, more frequent trips to Dunkin Donuts for treats, countless gallons of ice cream as well as a plethora of Gatorade to replenish lost electrolytes after “long” walks from her apartment to the subway and to her office. It was truly remarkable that this former personal trainer had undergone such a transformation in under 2 years. Closer to three times her old weight than double it, Susana was the epitome of a woman who enjoyed good food and good company.

“Well I’m sure whatever it is they can wait. This case is important and I needed the best attorney in my department with me” she said, before raising her glass in a mock toast.

Her associate giggled like a little kid with that compliment, her dimples deepening as she did so.
Helen was so good to her and she was grateful for all she had done.

“Shit, the uber is here. Chug!”

Susana and Helen began drinking the rest of their drinks as fast as they could, though it was too much for the older woman. Susana however was able to ingest all of the soda and ice cream, barely stifling a belch as she did so. Her boss gave her an inquisitive look, one that Susana caught.

“What, I chugged a lot of beers at frat parties in college”, she stated matter of factly. It enticed a laugh from both of them as they paid for their bill.

*

“Last, urp, barbeque of the summer. Thank god, I don’t think I could eat another hot dog.”

Susana heard her stomach rumble, almost as if to call her out for that lie.

“Ok, maybe I COULD, just not today.”

She took her sandals off and locked her apartment door behind her. The cold wood floor felt good on her pudgy feet. She waddled past her living room and into her bedroom, eager to get out of the form fitting sundress she had worn to this party. It had been purchased only 3 weeks ago but she had clearly gone up a few pounds since then, leaving what was supposed to be a loose outfit to be more form fitting instead.

She lifted the dress up over her hanging gut and felt it smack against the tops of her thighs, even as it was still trying to digest all she had eaten throughout the course of the day. Her panties were almost completely invisible, you could just make out the little indentations of blue on the sides if you looked close enough. Her breasts, trying desperately to burst out of her bra, were next to relax as she unclasped the hooks and let them hang down to past where her waist had once been. They were covered in bright red stretch marks, a clear sign that they had done a lot of growing recently. She happily tossed both her bra and dress into her hamper and paused for a moment.

“I know I said no more hot dogs, but do I really think I can go without a little peanut butter cheese cake for a night cap?”

Once more, her stomach pointed out that she was fooling herself.

“That’s a no.”

She didn’t even bother putting on a shirt, she just waddled back into the kitchen clad only in her over taxed panties, panties, that were stretched so wide across her broad backside that they were essentially see thru. She paid them no mind as well as she opened up her fridge and pulled out her treasure, a peanut butter cheese cake from the Cheese Cake factory. She licked her lips in anticipation before grabbing a container of Hersey’s chocolate syrup and then a fork and small plate. She placed each item on the island and then splashed a healthy amount of chocolate sauce on the plate before digging the fork into the soft delight. She then took the fork, which had a generous amount of cake on it, and dabbed it into the syrup before bringing it to her mouth.

“Yummmy, oh my god that’s so good” she moaned before taking another bite. “Oh fuck yeah!”

She continued eating the cake this way, moaning more and more with each bite. She had also secretly had a sweet tooth but now her enjoyment of chocolate had been taken to a new level, almost a sexual one. Indeed, due to the cold air from the air conditioner along with the copious amounts of chocolate she was presently eating, Susana’s nipples were hard enough to cut through glass. This was revealed to her when her arm brushed against one, eliciting a shiver up and down her spine.

“I, oh, well. I, I probably can put this cake away” she said, noticing that without warning she had eaten just about half of it already.”

She put the cake back in the fridge and the fork and plate in the dishwasher. As she went to go put the Hersey’s back however, a thought entered her mind. As it did, a devlish grin formed on her face.

“Well, maybe I can use this for another activity.”

She grabbed the container and hurried into the bedroom as fast as she could. She immediately jumped into her bed, one that she had purchased recently upon both Helen and Matt’s suggestion. It barely registered her girth and she frantically threw her legs up into the air so she could get her overtaxed panties off. With a hard jerk, she felt cold air more on her underbelly, not realizing that the seams had frayed so much from usage that they had ripped in her hands. It made no difference now, the only thing that mattered was getting past them and to her already moist center.

She spread her mammoth thighs as best she could, a feat not that easy considering they were constantly pressed together. One finger just gently teased her pussy and she immediately felt a jolt run down her body.

“God yes!”

She positioned her hand underneath her slopping paunch and hit her lips with both fingers. With her other hand, she undid the top of the bottle and put it in her mouth, letting the chocolate slowly drip in.

“Mhmm, MHMMM” she moaned through gulps of chocolate sauce.

Susana spread her lips wider and carefully stuck two fingers deep inside her snatch, thrusting in and out slowly at first before working up to a faster pace. She felt her body quake on the bed; her belly constantly bumping into her hands and her breasts kept banging into the bottle of syrup, threatening to knock out a tooth. Annoyed, but also excited by this, she took her free hand and used it to try and keep her breasts at bay, alternating teasing each nipple to go along with ensuring she didn’t give herself a concussion.

Her fingers continued probing her center, the sensation reaching it’s ultimate crescendo. She sucked on the bottle more and more, keeping in rhythm with her fingers. She dug her big ass into the mattress and continued to grind her hips, imitating the feeling of getting fucked. She kept it up until finally, just at the same time as she had taken her last gulp of the Hersey’s, she felt her body get racked by one of the most intense orgasms she had ever had, her body shaking so much that the bed began to hit the back wall, which only turned her on more.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm” she cooed, the bottle still in her mouth.

She laid there in the afterglow, not wanting to move at all. Her body was covered in sweat and her own juices, she had squirted all over her thighs and the bed beneath her. She giggled as she felt it hit her ass, giving herself one more little wiggle to get everything out. She took the bottle out of her mouth and wiped the remnants of chocolate sauce off her lips with a finger and then sucked them clean.

“Gotta, gotta do that more” she panted, laying there until passing out from the “workout”.

*

“I still can’t believe you got engaged this weekend Joey.”

Susana gave her paralegal a big hug, congratulating him on his engagement.

“Me either! Alan caught me by complete surprise! I legit almost cried once he got down on his knee!”

He begins to tear up again but holds them back, instead choosing to show off the band once more. It was covered in platinum and sapphires, Joey’s birth month.

“Zales too, he must have spent a good amount on that band. You’re a lucky guy Joey.

“Thanks sweetheart. You’ll get to meet him in a bit, we’re going out for drinks!”

Susana frowned.

“Ugh, I love you hun, but tonight’s not a good night. I just got back from Florida and I’m exhausted. My seat was against the window so I was pretty cramped in there.”

Joey chuckled, his big paunch bouncing up and down as he did so. His dress shirt was pressed tightly against his stomach and moobs.

“That’s why you get two seats. Helen’s been telling you to do that for awhile, you should listen. You’re going to be a partner starting next year, the firm will pay for it. Besides, that big ole booty of yours is too much for one to handle alone” he teased, stretching his arms wide as if to demonstrate how big her ass was.

“Ha-ha. Keep it up and this ‘big ole booty’ won’t buy you a drink.”

Joey laughed again and hugged his boss. She hugged him as tightly as she could before dropping her bags in her office.

“Ok, one drink, then I have to come back here and pick this stuff up to go home. I need sleep.”

*

“Come on man, one drink. It’s not every day you get to say goodbye to your best friend.”

Mark watched his friend Tom stand above him, pleading with him to get a drink. Tom had given his notice two weeks ago and it was his last day. Mark had been annoyed that he hadn’t been informed sooner, but Tom still was his best work friend.

“Eh, I got some stuff to do still. Gonna be Thanksgiving in what, three weeks? You know I usually take off for that and then it’ll be end of quarter…”

He was cut off.

“Look man. We’re buddies. And I know you’re annoyed that I didn’t tell you sooner but if I did and someone found out you’d get in a ton of trouble, don’t you get that.”

Mark was about to reply but Tom cut him off.

“Get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We’re boys and I wasn’t gonna let you get fired cause I’m leaving.”

“But.”

Tom grew angrier, his eyes shooting daggers into his obese friend even through his thick glasses.

“Let’s go.”

He picked up the paperweight on Mark’s desk and tossed it at him. His friend caught it and didn’t
say a word.

“It’s a Friday night in the city. Have a drink with me. Besides, maybe you’ll meet someone who will want to talk to your brooding self.”

The lanky man turned and left his friend, waiting in the hall of their office for other people to show up before heading to the bar.

Mark looked at the gem and sighed.

“Like any girl would want to talk to a 400 pound lard ass like me.”

He tossed the gem back on the desk and grabbed his phone before catching up to everyone else. The gem once more omitted a faint glow before changing color once more.

*

“Susana! We’re going to order up some wings, you want BBQ or Hot?”

Susana was about to respond before Helen just winked at her. Susana already knew the answer.

“Why did you even ask me if you were going to order both” she asked with a smile on her moon shaped face.

“He-he. Just testing you. Us big girls have to stick together!”

Helen put her arm around her protégées shoulder and grinned. The two had worked on so many cases and had grown so close, Susana thought of Helen more as an older sister than as a boss. It showed too. They dressed similarly, got their nails done at the same place, hung out on weekends, they even went to for the same spa treatments. Helen had showed her how to be a phenomenal attorney but also showed her how to be a better person and how to enjoy things more. She also showed her how to be comfortable in her own skin, no matter how big she had gotten.

“You’re right about that. This ‘big girl’ however is going to go to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

She turned and waddled through the crowded area, trying desperately not to bump in to too many people with her girth. It was no easy task as she was wider than she was tall. She constantly felt her shelf like rear hit someone and when she turned to over compensate for that, she felt her billowy gut hit someone in return.

“I’m not meant for crowded bars anymore” she said to herself.

Thankfully, the bathroom was not far from where she had been standing so she wasn’t too winded by the time she got to the line. She was still sweaty enough that her makeup probably didn’t look amazing but at this point she didn’t care. She tapped her foot against the floor, hoping this would make the women in front of her would go faster somehow. It was not working. She glanced over and noted that no one was on line for the mens room.

“Must be nice to have a penis”, she said to no one in particular.

She turned back to her phone to ignore the pressure on her bladder and did not hear the door to the mensroom open. A large man tried scooting past her but his big stomach bumped into her wide hip, breaking her phone trance.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

Mark looked at the woman before she looked back at him and thought just how big she was. Her hip had really been the part that had initiated contact but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“It’s ok, I’m used to bumping into people. Kinda goes with the territory.”

Susana hadn’t looked up from her phone yet, allowing Mark to take her in more. He thought her fiery red hair looked familiar, even if the head and body it sat atop did not. The woman finally paused from reading an email to turn to him, and she recognized him before he did her.

“Mark? Is that you?”

“I, yeah?”

“I can’t believe it! It’s been so long! Over two years, right?”

Mark had no idea who this woman was. She was short and had red hair that was pulled back, putting an emphasis on her completely round and pudgy face, one who’s dimples were on full display as she gave him an enthusiastic smile.

“What, you’re not going to hug your old trainer?

The words hit him like a gun shot. This woman, this obese woman was, Susana?

“Susana?”

“Yeah dummy, Susana. I know I’ve gained weight but jesus, I didn’t think you’d completely forget me.”

She poked him in the chest firmly, forcing him to pull back a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m out of sorts today but it was still rude of me. Let me make it up to you, can I buy you a drink? Or are you here with someone on a date?

She laughed, causing her three chins to wobble in unison.

“Ha, I haven’t been on a date since, oh, shit, with you actually lol. I’ll take you up on that drink offer, I do have to pee first. I’ll have a screwdriver.”

He nodded and walked back towards the bar and turned back to watch her stand in line. He could not believe how fat she had gotten. He saw that her dress pants were skin tight against her bulky thighs, the fabric straining enough that there was absolutely no give in them. Her ass, well, it was definitely a shelf now, a massive conglomeration of fat and cellulite that hung on the top of those blubbery thighs, sagging down enough that they were pressing against the back of them. Her ass began quivering as she took a danty step forward. He marveled how that little action had sent her ass into a sea of motion, each cheek bouncing up and down in it’s tight confines, begging to be let out. As it did, it caused the outline of her thong to be on full display for anyone to see.

He ordered them both a drink and waited for her to come out of the bathroom. When she finally did, he took the time to admire her as she walked towards him. Her breasts, clearly unsupported by a bra, were bouncing against her stomach from inside the blouse, probably causing her some pain as they did so. Her stomach, which wasn’t as impressive as her ass, bulged in front and pressed against her slacks to the point that a FUPA was clearly visible. Her thighs were pressed completely together, giving her a slow waddle as she tried to make her way to the bar without hitting anyone once more.

“Whew, needed that. Thanks for the drink. So what are you doing here?”

“Tom, my friend, he’s leaving work so we took him out for a drink. You?”

“My paralegal Joey, just got engaged so he and his fiancé are getting drunk on my boss’ dime, ha-ha.”

He watched her take a deep pull from the straw, her jowls pressing against her neck and almost completely obscuring it. He could not believe how big she was now. Still, she carried it very well and still had an air of confidence to her. Not one of superiority, but one of being happy with how she looked.

“How is work? You must be working hard over there at the law firm. I hope that that guy, um, Alex? Isn’t being too much of a dick.”

Susana took another pull.

“I actually don’t work for Alex. I got lucky and was able to work for Helen. You see that woman over there holding court? That’s her. We work a lot together, she even helped me get partner already. She’s not only my boss, she’s like my best friend, if you can believe it.”

Mark sipped his beer and smiled. He had remembered she wanted to work for a female partner, this must have been the one she was referring to years ago.

“I’m glad, that’s awesome.”

The two continued to chat as they enjoyed their drinks, Mark wishing that they wouldn’t end. He found that she was actually laughing at his jokes more and seemed to genuinely be having a good time talking to him.

“Yeah, I quit the gym a while ago, as you can see. It was interfering with my job too much. Besides, your old boss was a big dick.”

Susana laughed and put her drink on the counter. She waved the bartender over.

“He was. I saw him actually a few months ago and he made some snide comment about my weight. I told him he was just made cause even if I had ten more of these I’d never let his pencil dick touch me.”

They both laughed. The bartender came over and noticed Susana was reaching into her pocket for cash.

“No, I paid for them already, it’s no worry.”

Susana just smiled back at him but kept pulling out the cash.

“I know silly, I’m buying YOU a drink now. Unless you don’t want to keep talking to me.”

He was speechless. Was she, was she hitting on him?

“But, but I thought I wasn’t your type?”

Susana handed him his beer and looked up at him, giving him a nudge.

“I told you I wanted to have my career move forward first, and it has. Plus, and I don’t know if you can tell, we’re probably pretty close in size now. I haven’t gotten on the scale in a while but when I last did I was 310 pounds. My hips weren’t 70 inches then either so I’m sure it’s probably closer to 350 now.”

As if to emphasize this, she turned her ass to him and let him watch as it jostled back and forth. She turned around again and giggled as she noticed he was still in awe.

“He-he, it is an attention grabber. But yeah, I would like to go out with you Mark, unless I’m too fat for you now.”

He barely stuttered out a response.

“No! No! Not at all. I actually think you look better now to tell you the truth. You’re more confident, almost like this weight suits you.”

This made her blush. She hadn’t been hit on in awhile so she was a little nervous.

“Thank you, that’s sweet. Hey, what do you say that after this drink, we say goodbye to our respective parties and go grab a bite to eat?”

Mark shook his head in agreement. He took his beer and chugged it as fast as he could, he wanted to start this date as fast as he could. Susana laughed once more.

“You could have gone slow big guy, I’m not going to not go out with you if you nurse a beer.”

“I just, well. I’m nervous. And, I don’t want to mess this up. I’m sorry.”

She just patted his stomach and told him to relax.

“I’m nervous too. But I’ll tell you what, you pick out a good place to eat, and, as long as you don’t puke all over the table, we will have a second date.”

“Real, really?”

She gulped the rest of the vodka and got ready to say goodbye to everyone.

“Of course. And” she said, as she walked past him, stopping only when he would be able to get a good look at her ass once more, “if you take me some place REALLY good, you might get a little dessert tonight too.” She said before turning her head to him and winking.

He watched her sway back towards her group, trying her best to let her ass jiggle for him to salivate over. He was thankful he had been wearing a big sweater that covered his stomach and front so well, he had an erection that wouldn’t quit.

“I better not fuck this up”, he thought to himself.

Luckily for him, he did not “fuck it up”.  

“Err... Vega?” 
“Yes Claire?” 
“Could you summon the stealth suit?” asked the unsure young test subject 
“Of course Claire” replied the voice of the AI in her head 
As soon as the words had been heard then Claire noticed something heading towards her at a phenomenal speed. She braced for impact by closing her eyes, shielding her head and raising her leg to try and deflect the blow. But the impact never arrived. 
Instead she felt the sensation of garments adorning her body, on opening her eyes she could see that she was in fact clad in what appeared to be a skin-tight bodysuit that ran from just below her neck and covered her entire body seamlessly. It had even managed to work its way under her standard issue underwear. 
“Take those off won’t you Connors?” Asked Doctor James 
Claire complied with his wishes and there were many murmurings from the assembled onlookers, she felt uncomfortable with so many people giving her their attention, as if they were appraising her body even though it was the suit they were more interested in. 
“As you can see, the stealth suit contours to the user’s body specifications” started James “It’s constructed from a lightweight material that is resistant to all weather conditions as well puncture and tearing damage not to mention the revolutionary chameleon tech that we have implemented here which Connors will demonstrate now, Connor’s - against the wall and activate vanish mode please.” 
 
Claire carried out the instructions of Doctor James and soon enough all that you could see of her was her head. James droned on about how the chameleon tech worked but all Claire could think about was how weird it was that she could see straight through her body, hell, she couldn’t even see her body! 
She was roused from her wonderings by a question by one of the onlookers. 
“This is incredibly impressive doctor but what of her head? Surely the suit is useless if her head is visible.” 
“Yes of course, this is merely a prototype demonstration” replied the Doctor “the final product will include a full head hood that totally obscures the wearer’s head from view, making them completely invisible when vanish mode is activated.” 
The Doctor’s words led Claire to day-dream once again, how would it feel to be totally invisible? To be completely sealed in the form fitting suit? Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed a little. 
“Are you feeling okay Claire?” asked Vega-11 “I’m recording an elevated heart rate” 
“I’m fine thanks Vega” replied Claire while she wondered if Vega-11 could also sense her slight arousal at the thought. 

I woke up early on Monday morning to the familiar sensation of my girlfriend pressing her lips against mine. 
“Mmm good morning” I murmured as I finally opened my eyes to see her smiling face. I moved my arms to embrace her only to find that my wrists were already fastened into the restraints we kept on the bed at all times. 
“You’ve been busy I see” She just laughed as she was busying herself with something at the end of the bed. I scooted up the bed just a little so that I could rest on my elbows, trying to see what she was up to. 
“Hey hun” she started before turning to face me “remember a couple of weeks back when we were messing around with that filter on snapchat?” 
“Yeah, what of it?” 
“Remember how handsome I thought you looked as a dude?” 
I felt a little rise in my anxiety levels when I heard that. Emmy was a kinky girl, the kinkiest I'd ever been with. I wondered just what she had planned. 
 
“Yeah it was sweet, what are you up to?” 
She pulled a box from the bottom of the bed and opened it, pulling out a fleshy looking item that I quickly realised was a mask. She put it on her hand and turned the face to look at me. 
“What do you think?” she asked, that impish grin on her face. 
I looked into the eyeless form of the latex mask that stared back at me. 
“It... it kinda looks like that snapchat photo” 
“That’s right! I had it made! Just for you! Well for me too really” she giggled as she started to roll the mask over my face. I was in no position to protest so I let her have her fun. 
“What do you think?” she asked as she held a hand mirror in front of my face. I took in my reflection, the short dark hair, the thick eyebrows, the stubble, it was vaguely familiar from the photo. What wasn’t so familiar was the chubby cheeks and the large double chin that hung from the mask. 
“It looks kinda chubby” I replied “are you sure they made it to your specifications?” 
“Oh yes” she purred “you know I'm bisexual but I never told you what kind of guy I like” 
I gulped as I looked down at my slim body, half bound to my bed whilst wearing the face of a fat man. 
“What kind of guy do you like?” I asked, half knowing the answer. 
“Let me show you.” 
 
She started pulling a number of boxes from under the bed, some of them looked kinda heavy but she was so excited that it barely showed. She heaved the largest one onto the bed and removed its contents. Inside was a huge flabby gut made from the same latex as the mask. She looked at me expectantly as if trying to gauge my reaction, to be fair, the way the mask clung to my face it must have been pretty easy to see how shocked I looked. 
“You want me to wear that?!”  
“I sure do baby; you’re going to look so hot” she hefted the gut and started moving it towards me. It opened at the rear and used a plastic zip to fasten. As she secured it around me, I felt how snug it was as it was fastened. She paused to heft it again and let it drop. I felt the chins of the mask bunch up as I looked down to see this hairy gut jiggle around me. She let out a contented little moan before she returned to the boxes on the floor. 
“And what if I don’t want to wear this?” I asked as she lifted the latest piece onto the bed. 
She paused and looked me straight in the face. 
“Well baby, you don’t have to wear it but I did spend a lot of money on this so it’d be nice if you could at least try it. Besides, it might be a little while before I help you out of those restraints if you don’t want to play” she smirked. 
I just sighed. 
“Go on then” 
“Thank you, baby,” she smiled before going on with her plan. This next piece was the chest of the suit. 
“I’m going to have to uncuff you to get these next pieces on, do you promise not to try and escape?” 
“Do you promise it’s worth my while?” I toyed back. She nodded so I acquiesced. She undid the cuffs and started to pull my arms through the chest piece. It also zipped at the back; the zipper buried beneath the rubber flab. My breasts sat in pockets within the rubber chest, so snug that it felt like they had been made especially for me. I verbalised my thoughts and she confirmed my suspicions. 
“They were made from a cast” 
“You took a cast of my boobs?!” 
“You’re a really heavy sleeper” she laughed. 
I looked down to see my pert, shapely breasts replaced with a pair of flabby man boobs. 
“Happy moob day” she laughed as she busied herself with the next box. 
 
I took the opportunity to check out my new form so far. I was amazed at how the sagging neck of the mask seemed to blend with padded sternum that now covered me. The hairs that covered the chest and gut and circled the droopy nipples were the same dark brown as the hair of the mask, a stark contrast to my fair hair. My slender hands looked out of place as I grasped and the sagging flesh of my false torso but that wouldn’t be for long. 
The next pieces were a pair of great strapping arms, strapping with fat that is. She rolled them up my arms like a pair of gelatinous gloves. The upper arms wobbled as she pulled them into position and fastened them to the torso. Once one was on, she worked with the other, giving me the chance to observe how different to my regular arms. My delicate, small hands were replaced with ruddy palms with sausage-like digits, thick and meaty. That unfamiliar hair covered my lower arms and sprouted from my armpits. 
When she had finished the arms, she paused to kiss me deeply and passionately. 
“Thank you for doing this, this is so hot!” 
 
She got me to lie on my fleshy back while she readied my new lower half. I couldn’t feel the zips, it was obvious she had spared no expense on this suit. 
Next up was the pelvic area and what was to be my brand-new fat ass. She showed it to me before she slipped it over my legs. It wobbled by itself as she held it there for me to inspect briefly, a fine covering of downy fluff covered the cheeks and a thick thatch of wiry hair covered the crotch. She got me to lift my ass as she secured my new bulbous one in place. 
The legs went on similarly to the arms, like a fat pair of stockings, adding many inches to my slim pins. These wobbled just as much as the ass and belly and were decorated with small curly hairs from thigh to ankle. She fastened the legs to the pelvis and clapped to herself at her apparent triumph. 
 
At this point she took me by the hands and pulled me to my feet, I instantly felt the weight of the suit as she guided me towards our mirror. 
“What do you think fat man?” she asked me, her voice dripping with lust. 
I was gobsmacked. The illusion was so lifelike, you couldn’t tell there was a slim young woman hidden behind the inches of faux fat. There was just one thing off. 
“Are you ready to fuck your girlfriend fatso?” 
I nodded my head, feeling my double chin waggle as I did “But how?” I asked. 
The final box. 
In it was a lifelike cock and balls, erect and fit for purpose. Attached to it was a curved dildo pointing in the opposite direction. 
“I can’t have all the fun now can I?” she asked as she lubed up the dildo and inserted it into my pussy. I was already quite wet, who knew that being turned into a fat man would be such a turn on?! She attached the fat pad to the rest of the pelvis and my transformation was complete. 
She guided me back over to the bed and pushed me back. The bed shook and creaked as my fat ass landed. She eagerly disrobed before straddling my flabby thighs. She reached down and started working the prosthetic cock while maintaining eye contact with me. 
“You like that big boy?” 
I nodded, eager to play the part for her. 
“I know something you’d enjoy more” she grinned as she licked her lips. She forcibly pushed down on the fat pad and I was surprised when the dildo in me began to vibrate. She noticed my favourable reaction. 
“Oh yeah, you like that” she remarked as she climbed aboard the fat train, grabbing a hold of my sagging man tits as she inserted my false phallus into her sopping twat. She rode me hard causing my fat frame to jiggle uncontrollably and the moans were not just her own. 
“I want to feel you on top of me” she said breathlessly as she rolled off of my blubbery body. I spread her thighs and stuck my fat cock in her effortlessly. 
“Oh you’ve done this before!” she gasped as she tried, unsuccessfully to wrap her legs around me.  
“You’re so fucking hot” I said in a deeper voice, trying to immerse myself in the role. She appreciated the commitment and pulled me down on top of her, my heavy gut squashing her somewhat as we kissed again. 
I began thrusting my hips, fucking my slim girlfriend for the first time. Feeling all the layers of phony flab sway and jiggle rhythmically. My fat man tits slapping against her perfect boobs. She could tell I was close, we both were. 
“Are you gonna cum fat man?” she said with ragged breaths 
I nodded again as I moaned. 
She grabbed a small remote I hadn’t noticed from the nightstand. 
“Cum for me fat man!” she shouted as she climaxed herself, pushing the button as she did. 
I came hard and rolled off of her, stringy white liquid still dripping from my hard cock. 
“That must be what the remote was for” I thought as she pressed into my fat pad once again to turn off the vibrator. 
“How was your first fuck as a fat dude?” she asked as we lay back, catching our breath. 
“Amazing” was all I could manage, still in my deeper voice. 
“And just think” she said as she turned to me “It’s only Monday” 

The pic from my last status update, just for fun 😉