#weightgainfiction

[delamaster]

The Nurse

"Come on Katie, he's totally in to you"

"I just feel uncomfortable..."

"We've all done it. You are not going to get in trouble"

Katie looked awkwardly in the direction of her feet. The feet themselves were hidden by a rather full pair of breasts, resting upon her massive, perky, belly. She was stuffed into scrubs that were about 2 sizes too small, again. Every time she got new scrubs it turned out she had grown a bit plumper.

"Come on" Sandra pulled Katie along, giggling like a school girl. Sandra was the perfect "hot nurse". 170cm the blonde hair and curves. Katie was short and dumpy, with a mess of brown hair. Sandra strutted, shaking her tight ass hypnotically, allowing her large bust to bounce with each step. Katie waddled, awkwardly shifting one massive, meaty thigh infront of the other while her body jiggled with every move.

All the patients loved Sandra, and she knew it. The little old ladies seemed to like Katie, but that was about it. Every time she took blood, or performed any of numerous pain inducing operations, she would be called a fat pig, or a cow, it any other large animal. The other nurses were always sympathetic, but all the other young nurses had one easy coping mechanism that Katie didn't have access too.

Sex.

After Sandra, or another nurse, had had a bad day, they would take an attractive patient to a private suite and indulge them in the most common male sexual fantasy. It was fun, pleasurable, and something that was completely denied to Katie. She hadn't had sex full stop in about 30kgs, and even then she had been made to feel awkward.

Instead she had taken to eating her feelings. This had largely led to her current situation, and the bulk of the last 30kgs. It was so easy to grab a chocolate bar from the vending machine at first. Then she started going to the bakeries most mornings for something sweet. By now she felt the need to have a family sized bag of sweats basically every night.

Sandra and Katie arrived at the ward. Sandra grinned at Katie.

" You know, I think they even likes this"

Sandra gently jabbed Katie in the belly, getting just deep enough to push her breasts up slightly.

"Now get in there!"

Sandra slightly opened the door, then gave Katie a quick spank to send her over, sending waves of soft flesh rippling over her body, made all the more visible by her tight scrubs. Katie gently opened the door, her full love handles and thick upper arms cushioning the door as she pushed against it.

From the patient's perspective it was a fantasy come to life. The pump belly, straining against her scrubs, was the first thing to enter, followed quickly by a large pair of full breasts. The demure goddess finally fully revealed herself, a beautiful face framed by thick brown hair. Her ass filled out the back of her scrubs, and her thick, yet well formed, thighs rubbed against each other with each step.

As she approached, each step, no matter how slow or careful, lead to her soft, overfed, body jiggling. As she gently swayed from side to side, she had to hold her scrubs down to avoid revealing her massive gut.

Without words, as she approached the patient, they gently guided her on to the bed. Their hands wrapped around her plump waist. They brought the left hand down, along her ass before wrapping around one trunk like thigh. The feeling of someone controlling her, wanting her, desiring get. Their hands felt so good, moving along her soft flesh, exciting her ass they traced the massive curves of her left side.

The patient moved her thigh so that she was completely straddling them. Her belly was spilling over on to the patient. The patient slid his hands between her scrubs and ass, and slowly worked them off her. The release of pressure as the scrubs and panties rolled down was almost orgasmic in itself. Their hands were own Katie's waist again, gently kneeding the dough like rolls that ran along her side, while positioning her completely on top. Even as she moved upright, her belly never lost contact with the patient.

The patient repeated this trick with her top. She could feel their passion for her body. Yet they seemed in completely control. Like they knew her body was a playground from then to explore. As her bra was dropped beside her, the patient buried their face in her bust, stimulating her with their tounge.

She started grinding, completely controlled by her partner, completely consumed by her desire. Every move was controlled, every thrust left waves of pleasure. They grabbed her belly. It felt amazing. Her soft femininity enabling new realms of pleasure.

She started panting, first from pleasure, but soon after from exhaustion. Being worshipped has a plus size goddess was amazing, but even with a lot of help from below it was getting hard to move her soft body.

Sensing this, the patient rolled her over on to her back. Now completely pinned under, there was nothing she could do, except to accept everything she was getting. Every thrust was deep and forceful. Having to push against her large, round belly. Her belly itself felt fantastic. The contact and contrast between bodies, as her large bulk was compressed them released, was more than anything she could hope for.

Katie lay there, her body, soft and base as it was, could not move. The pleasure was too great. As she felt her partner finish just after, get belly let out a loud rumble. The patient passed her a large bag of sweets and seductively rubbed her belly. Maybe these two coping mechanism would work better together.

[shrubberylogistic]

Under the Desk

It was a novelty to begin with. A tingle. Online lessons. A hop and a skip from your course classes, to the call of the kitchen cupboards. A hi to your friends, a hello to the fridge freezer in the same huffing breath. A snack drawer to set up, tricked out with treats. Soda by your side. A smiling face, a notepad, a suitable sweater, your bare, bloated belly snuck under the desk, out of sight. Bliss.  

Free from the stress of getting properly dressed – glad to be, when your jeans grew snug. 

Saved from the strain of a morning commute – grateful, when the stairs made you ache.  

Spared the expense of passes, or petrol – happy, to spend your spence on what made you more so. 

Serendipity in a creamy chocolate coat. Late breakfasts, long lunches, snacks in the pauses, bulging cheeks between the breakout rooms, sweet nibbles and munches, and a sumptuous dinner to round off the working day. With dessert, of course. Every evening, your daily pint of ice cream. Chocolate and vanilla, brownies with cookie dough. The scoop on the spoon each night, sending you off to sleep... 

The weight came on in fits and starts, but it came. A supper with a midnight snack to boot, and soon it was a softer, rounder student that rolled out your bed, every delicious day, every week, every month a little meatier, squeezing into your clothes, squeaking the wheels of your whining seat as you sat down, dreaming of food amidst the professor’s drone. Maybe they could see you filling more of the screen. But nobody could see what you were doing under the desk. Rubbing. Jiggling. Stroking your stomach. Mixing the three, working magic while you nodded, smiled, lulling yourself in and out of the depths of your gut, letting food turn to fat while the lecture wore on, gaining and growing, scribbling some notes, gaining and growing, dreaming of your next meal... 

 Months go by. They can’t see your thighs, meeting in the middle. They can’t see your shirt hem, on a wild ride up your widening rolls. They can’t see your hips, where the armrests have kissed, where the jeans have been digging, where the pudge has been planting itself, day by burgeoning day, inch by bulging inch.  

They can’t see your belly, stuffed again, laid in your lap, nuzzling the edge of your workspace. Swollen. Stealing your view of the scale. So much fatter than the last they ever saw of you. A globe of blubber, built into your body, demanding your touch, your time, your attention. Hungry and heavenly. Bloblike and ballooned... 

The class hasn’t stopped. But you’re already out of the zone. Into sweet dreams and thickening thoughts. The odd words stir you, snap you back from your reverie. But you can’t quash your cravings. You wonder what you’ll eat next. You wonder what else you can get away with. 

Under the desk. 

[dangercocktail]

The Pandemic by DangerCocktail

When panicked news reports began overseas, Lucas shrugged most of them off as an issue too far from home to be concerned with. There wasn’t a lot of information coming from the hot zone anyway so he assumed most reporting was pure speculation. The country where the pandemic originated muzzled the press and scientific community within their borders so reports were sparse at best. Not to mention that part of the world had a reputation for being a bit of a mess anyway. Military refused to let anyone enter or leave the country and even more extreme, the Internet had been downed. Rumors circled, the ones that Lucas had heard at least before he stopped paying attention to the news, that the infection was extremely contagious for men specifically and might have been a military grade weapons test gone awry.

Ignoring the hallmarks of what his friends called a global crisis, Lucas packed his luggage for a two week cruise he had scheduled well before any rumblings of a fast moving disease. Walking aboard and exploring the ship, he smiled and winked at several of the handsome men also arriving who returned his greeting. Lucas was a notorious flirt and he planned on having a pretty damn good time aboard the ship. 

Eventually settling in to begin his vacation, Lucas stretched his long legs lithe with a tennis player’s muscles out on a deckside chair. He watched the city fade away into the ocean’s horizon as he sipped a bottle of beer. It was going to be nice to check out from the stress of the world news and society in general. He pulled his sunglasses down to cover his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Waking a couple hours later, Lucas stretched to shake the soreness of the hard deck chair out of his muscles, then stood and gathered his things. His room had to be ready by now, his luggage having been transported by a porter, and he was starting to feel hungry. He wandered over to one of the many restaurants offering food aboard the ship and stood in line to receive a bowl of teriyaki chicken and vegetables. He promised himself he’d relax, allow himself to enjoy a few indulgences on this trip, and if needed, drop a couple pounds to get back to fighting weight when he was home. The teriyaki bowl wasn’t such an indulgence, his healthy eating habits died hard. He chuckled when he passed a 24 hour pizza kiosk and swore to be back later that night for a slice or two. He was on vacation.

After several days of travel and stops in ports increasingly exotic to Lucas’ usual day to day, he had fallen into a leisurely routine. Lucas woke every morning to a breakfast of eggs, fruit, and toast delivered to the room so he could watch the sunrise over the ocean as the ship skimmed to its next destination. He had even begun enjoying a mimosa with each breakfast because why not, all expenses included. Following breakfast, he would hit the gym, lift for an hour or two, shower in the luxury locker rooms of the cruise liner’s locker rooms, then get dressed in tasteful but casual vacation wear for a day of leisure, exploration, and occasional trips into foreign locales. He had met many people over the course of the first week on the excursions shoreside but was legitimately enjoying being on his own, able to go and do whatever he pleased with little thought towards the rest of the world.

Every night, Lucas would stroll through the mostly deserted decks of the ship as he was near the only one up and about at 1 am. He wound his way through empty stairways, greeting the ship’s crew who were working overnight to clean and prepare for the following day, Lucas giving them a friendly nod as he passed. His destination was always the same, the 24 hour pizza place where he ended his nightly walk and would enjoy a nightly indulgence of two slices, heavy with sausage and garlic. He had just thanked the server for the slices, sat down to eat with one slice almost in his mouth when the audio system for the entire ship signaled an incoming message through loudspeakers hidden in the extravagant columns and furnishings of the decor.

“Attention please. It is of critical importance that all passengers aboard the Tantalus Destiny please return immediately to their cabins. A critical issue has been reported to the staff and we are exercising extreme caution. We will inform you when exiting your rooms will be appropriate but for the moment, please all passengers outside of their cabins return immediately. Thank you.”

Lucas looked inquisitively at the worker behind the pizza bar who looked back and shrugged. Lucas decided he might as well finish his two slices quickly then head back to the cabin. He was halfway through his first slice when he observed another passenger turn the corner and head to the pizza counter. The man was fairly handsome and the father of a family Lucas had chatted with briefly on an excursion two days previously. His name was Craig. Lucas laughed to himself, assuming that Craig also wanted to grab a few slices for the night if they were going to be locked up for a bit. Lucas continued eating, watching Craig talk to the server behind the counter but began noticing something strange about Craig.

When Lucas had first met Craig, he had appraised the man’s looks, as he usually did with any man he met, and put Craig decidedly in the handsome category. Craig had a ruggedly handsome face and a solid build, with a couple extra pounds around the middle that most dads were carrying. Lucas was never bothered by a few extra pounds though strove to keep them off himself. However tonight as he watched Craig pile slice after slice onto his plate, he noticed that Craig seemed rounder from behind. In fact, Craig’s t-shirt was riding up on love handles that pushed over the waistband of his sweatshorts. Lucas thought that the pile of pizza that Craig had amassed would definitely explain any new weight gain, especially if it was a nightly habit like Lucas was engaging in. As Lucas went back to his own pizza, slightly proud that he was only one or two pounds heavier from the cruise indulgences, Lucas stopped mid-bite as he saw Craig visibly and noticeably expand.

It was as if there was a hidden pump, inflating Craig from somewhere inside. As Craig turned with his plate piled with more slices of pizza than Lucas could quickly count and a slice already being pushed into his mouth, his shirt began riding up further as his belly swelled forward. In a matter of seconds, his modest dad belly and love handles tripled. His navel widened and deepened with each step he took, receding quickly into fat that rapidly accumulated. Craig’s chest surged forward and began to bounce in rhythm with his expanding belly, folded over the front of his shorts and still growing wider and rounder. His legs and arms were expanding as well, swelling incredibly fast as if beestung and losing all semblance of musculature. Craig’s face, bearded and handsome, had grown so fat in those few steps that he had taken that his jawline had disappeared completely and was swelling with fat every second that passed. By the time Lucas stood up in shock and began to walk towards Craig to help, Craig’s belly had become so large that he started to wobble, lost his balance, and fell on his enormous backside, his shorts and underwear ripping in the process. As Craig landed on the ground on his ass that was now almost as wide as Craig was tall, his fat production increased, his belly surging forward and to the sides as his arms lifted with the newly acquired flesh. His shirt began to rip like a tube of biscuit dough, Craig’s flesh pushing it open as it rose into the air. By the time Lucas reached him and the expansion had stopped, Craig was a rounded ball of a man unable to reach the front of himself by at least a foot, still shoveling in slices of the pizza that had survived the fall and were balancing atop his belly. 

“Oh my god, Craig,” Lucas started, stopping a few feet from the whale of a man in front of him. “What the hell just happened?”

Craig looked up at Lucas from the floor, his fat face covered in pizza sauce. “They had it at port...the men. They had the disease,” Craig said, his words muffled from the enormous bites of pizza he was taking. “I’m just... so...damn hungry”.

Lucas backed away in revulsion as his attention was immediately drawn to a crash at the pizza counter. The server behind the counter was stumbling around in confusion, his uniform ripping open to reveal a huge belly that was swelling alongside his swollen chest. Lucas watched as the man expanded in under twenty seconds  to the same size as Craig, but as the man went to fall to the ground from the sheer size of his girth, he became wedged between the wall and the pizza countertop. His belly kept swelling in all directions, spreading across the countertop as the man rose slightly in the air. Unperturbed, the server began grabbing slices of pizza and eating them himself.

Lucas panicked for a moment before realizing he had to get away from these two inflated men before whatever this was infected him. He ran from the dining area towards the stairs that would take him back to his cabin. Muffled grunts and outcries of shock could be heard from different hallways as he ran, occasionally followed by a loud and padded thud. Lucas was nearing the stairs when he felt his pants burst open at the front, the button skidding off across the floor. Slowing to an alarmed stop, Lucas looked down in horror to discover a round slab of fat pushing out atop his shorts like a doughnut swelling with cream. 

“Oh god, no,” Lucas exclaimed, as he felt his butt begin growing so quickly that his shorts split up the back. Involuntarily turning back towards the dining area, he felt hunger overtake his body as his shirt drew tight across his swelling chest and nipples. He began waddling forward, his thighs forcing themselves together with new chub as his calves melded into his ankles with fat. From the periphery of his vision, he saw his cheeks rounding and his face settling into the fat of his neck. Beginning to feel the pull of his own massive heft and knowing that soon he would be stuck on the floor, a fattened ball of a man, Lucas maneuvered his enormous form towards the closest source of food he could find. As his legs slid out from under him and he fell onto his massively padded ass, pinned beneath the still growing fat of his body and overcome with the undeniable need to feed, he leaned his head back and opened his mouth to eat from the food source he was ultimately able to reach: the cruise liner’s soft serve ice cream machine.

[kyaada]

Marketing Belly Master Bait

by kyaada

Ever since Barrett started working at Chunk’s in the mall, he’d developed a bit of a cult following.  Barrett’s collection of too-tight tee shirts never failed to highlight every succulent bump and bulge, and the tops combined with packed skinny jeans never failed to impress.  Barrett had the most amazing pair of bubbled buns sitting atop mature tree trunk-sized thighs, finished off with meaty calf muscles.  Of course, his immaculate fade and neatly trimmed beard gave him a timeless look of masculinity to his handsome features, deep blue eyes, and pearly white smile.  When Chunk’s manager realized what a draw his recently hired ex-military muscled hunk had become, he immediately put him in the window-- so to speak.

After Barrett had finished his main tasks, the manager would set him up in a front table alongside the main walkway with one of the biggest sandwiches.  Chunk’s was known for their huge stacked sandwiches and fresh breads, warning patrons that they may need to loosen their belts to finish one of the enormous two-handed sammies.  The live eating demo was effective in drawing in a variety of customers.  At the beginning of the sandwich, lady shoppers would file in to gawk at the handsome young stud while they’d split their lunch and still take half home.  Near the end of the sandwich,  Barrett would slow down a bit and labor as his stomach filled to the top.  His tight tee shirt couldn’t hide his brawny tight bulge, and he’d just lazily lean back in his chair, giving up the thought of sucking it in.  The post-sandwich advertisement would draw in the fat hungry dudes looking for a nice full gut, and Barrett would inspect them like cattle as they’d pile in for a good feeding.  

A couple of months passed, and Barrett couldn’t help but notice how difficult it had become to squeeze into this hot jeans, much less get them buttoned.  The big 6’2” ex-military hunk would stand in front of his bathroom mirror rotating around to inspect his budding love handles and protruding belly, still flexing his biceps to validate his manliness.  Barrett would grope each of his pecs with satisfaction, causing each of his nipples to poke out against his tighter tee shirt.

One day, Barrett went into work to find that his manager had decided to double his demo time by having him eat two of the smaller sandwiches, which together summed up to about one and a half of the biggest ones he’d been regularly devouring.  Initially, Barrett wasn’t too sure about the idea since he’d already fought especially hard with his top jeans button that morning.  The manager upped the ante with two extra-special sandwiches for him, and Barrett happily gorged himself on the thick and meaty deli treats.  The manager didn’t want him to have Barrett leave his feeding station for anything, so he brought him several Coke refills to keep washing down seemingly endless sandwich.  The manager even brought him a couple of their popular side salads because the big beefer was getting so swollen.

Business was especially good that day late in that lunch rush as lustful fat guys lined up for large sandwiches, drawn in by the potbellied poster boy in front.  Barrett just sat there like a god with his thick thighs pushed apart, shoulders back, and his stretched-taut belly bulging out from his marbled beefy pecs to his excruciatingly tight jeans waistband.  Barrett applied both of his hands to his blown-up round belly and alternated pushing in with rubbing on each side of the prominent bulge. The big overfed stud breathed shallowly due to how much room his stomach was taking away from his lungs, and he managed a few choice belches that brought in some more wide-eyed guys.  Chunk’s manager came out from the back after adjusting his impossibly hard dick in his jeans and approached his prime Grade-A beefball that adorned the front of his restaurant.

Barrett rested his hands on his thighs as the manager came up to him, showing off how the sublimely tight well-worn cotton hugged every bump and bulge, and perfectly outlined his plump belly button. Barrett tilted his head back and looked his manager in the eyes, “Oh my God...I’m so ff-ff-uu-uu-ll-ll-ll-ll.”  The manager smirked as he reached down to push around on Barrett’s big bloated belly.  Engorged Barrett emitted a combination of grunts and belches, unable to tighten his long-softened abs enough to protect his pregnant belly against the directed pokes and musical thumping.  “Sorry, Barrett, we have those new Chunk-y S’Mores Cookies and we need to push ‘em.  That means, we’re gonna have to push this stomach of yours a little bit more.”

Barrett’s eyes somewhat crossed as he processed the latest directive.  “I dunno.  I think ...” Barrett paused to let out a really big burp, “I think I might explode.”

“Nah,” said the manager, “a big strong guy like you? Pfft. That strong table muscle of yours will just s-t-r-e-t-c-h to accommodate extra loading.  The worst thing that might happen is that you’ll have to pop that top jeans button.”

“Okay, alright, well, let me get ‘em.” Barrett insisted, scooting his chair back with an obvious noise.  Spreading his thighs apart and dropping his hard gut through the open space, Barrett placed his hands on the tops of his legs to push himself upright.  It was no small amount of effort lifting his bulk off of the chair, but once he succeeded he had the attention of most of the diners in the seating area.  Barrett’s belly was bloated out in a circle in front of him, and the ultra-taut waistband of his ridiculously stuffed jeans was scrunched down to a fraction of its height.  Just south of the hefty gut was another bulge that eagerly pushed against the low-rise zipper. The manager followed the wobbling stuffed stud, smiling at all of the attentive chewing faces.  It was so difficult not to fixate on Barrett’s widened back and his stout bubble butt, and the manager fought hard not to just slap his fat ass.  

Once Barrett was standing, he realized that it was going to be harder than hell to sit back down and continue to eat, so he compromised with the manager to stand at the end of the counter by the register to stuff in his melty delicious cookies.  Capturing the attention of a very hefty daddy type in line waiting for his giant sandwich to be made, Barrett smiled at him and stretched his thick arms up in the air.  The hem of his overburdened tee shirt inched slowly up the sphere like a curtain rising on a stage as it bared the divine appearance of Barrett’s thick treasure trail and his perfectly shaped deep belly button.  The round-gutted daddy ventured closer to the register after being served his thick sandwich and dessert cookies, still captivated with the sight of Barrett’s bare crescent of belly and naughty zipper that had started to escape down its track.  

“Well, these sure looked good so I had to have some,” said the fattened daddy, winking at the manager, who stood beaming behind the extra full Barrett.  “After all, I gotta keep up my figure.  The food is always so  damn good and filling here-- I never know when to stop!”  The fattened daddy finished signing his credit card receipt and poked the capped end of the pen into the side of Barrett’s thoroughly pumped lunchball. “Looks like I’m not the only one, guy.”

Barrett chuckled as he ran his meaty hand across his swollen gut, “yup, the hazards of the job, I’m afraid.  You just gotta remember to stop before you pop!”

The manager put his hand on the big stud’s shoulder, “tell you what, why don’t you go have a seat with this nice gentleman while he enjoys his lunch, and I’ll make you one of our Gut Topper Cake Shakes.  Deal?”

“Gut Topper? Well, today, it might just become a Gut Popper...but okay.  Load me up...”

The two guys headed off for a table in the back of the seating area near the kitchen. The fat daddy couldn’t wait to start pushing food down his gullet, so he plopped his big butt down and started shoveling.  Barrett towered next to the table for a moment deep in thought, then reached under his enormous belly bulge to fight with his jeans button.  “Dude, I’m sorry, but these things are cutting me in half.”  The fat daddy’s cheeks bulged with food as he witnessed Barrett’s abdominal muscle contortions caused by the stuffed stud’s efforts to suck in the protuberant swell, but finally Barrett was able to pop open the top and breathe a little.

“Ooofff,” sighed Barrett, giving his rounded midsection an invigorating rub. Barrett held on to his zipper as he sat to make sure that the open “V” of his jeans didn’t spread too wide in a family restaurant.

“I couldn’t help but notice those jeans were pretty much painted on ya, big guy,” remarked the fat daddy.

“Yup, I’ve gained a few pounds since I started working at Chunk’s.  The manager feeds me up daily.”

“Daily feedings? You might want to get some pants with an elastic waistband so you can expand in comfort.”

Barrett hovered down and planted his meaty bubbles in the chair directly across from the fat daddy, pretty much looking like a leaned-back, very-pregnant Buddha.  

“Well, I know what that’s like to plan ahead for such things,” said the fat daddy, “my wife has been overfeeding me for years.”  He leaned back and thumped his obvious gut bulge, “can’t say that I mind too much, after all, I love food.” The fat daddy’s eyes cruised over the topography of Barrett’s tight tee shirt.  “I used to look like you when we first started dating, well, you about 50 pounds ago and before you stuffed your gut today.”

Barrett chuckled again, his facial expression slowly turning into concentration as he tried to do arithmetic in his head. “...and you’re not as tall as I am.  If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you weigh?”

“By the way, my name’s Josh.”  Both had to spread their thighs apart to make room for their bellies so that they could lean in to shake hands. “I don’t mind you asking me how much I weigh-- in fact, I just got my 300 pound ribbon at Recipe Club.”

“Recipe Club?”

“It’s something my wife got us into.  Just a small group started by women who love to cook or are learning how to cook, and they invite their guys to join them to enjoy their rather prolific production.”

“...and you got a ribbon?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s the opposite of what Weight Watchers rewards, but we watch our weight as well.  Watch it increase!”  Josh giggled. “Needless to say, the guys get more ribbons faster during the holidays.  We have to weigh in when we get there, and some of us weigh again as we’re leaving... just for fun.”

“What a trip!”

“...speaking of trips, we just took the kids through Vegas and then on a Disney cruise, and I can’t believe the amount of food.”  Josh continued through frequent large bites of sandwich, “it was like the ideal glutton vacation... I was powerless amongst all those buffets and high-calorie foods! My belly was so damn big and tight at the end of each night that you could have rolled me to our room. Roll... Burp... Roll... Burp...”

As Barrett was drawn in to the imagery of Recipe Club and Josh’s trip of unrestrained gorging, he wondered about the timing of certain things.  “So, when did you go from DadBod to DadBalloon?”

Josh got a good laugh out of the pointed question.  “Kid number two.”

As they were both still cracked up over Josh being fattened up, Chunk’s manager appeared with a large frosty cup and a funnel.  “Okay, Barrett, tilt and open!”

Josh smiled broadly as he detected Barrett’s newness to the concept, though he suspected that he must have beer bonged a little during some wild parties.  Barrett wrapped his full lips around the bottom of the funnel opening and the manager pushed it a little farther down into his mouth once he felt his lips tighten up to steady.  As he poured the giant vanilla cake shake slowly into the funnel, he was careful not to spill a drop.  Barrett’s eyes widened and he put his hand on top of his again-swelling belly.  Josh stuffed his face as he watched the bottom of Barrett’s rib cage rise as his bloatation device deployed fully.  One of the cooks was returning from his break and stopped by the filling station to put his hand on top of Barrett’s solid round protruding stomach ledge, “wow, it’s a Gut Topper!  Barrett-- you’re gettin’ to be a whopper!”  The cook couldn’t resist giving Barrett’s barrel a parting slap to hear him grunt.

Barrett’s breathing was getting quite labored towards the end of the giant shake, and his nipples were practically shooting through his ultra-taut tee shirt.  The advanced size of the Barrett’s fattened belly coaxed the hem up again to bare succulent skin and dark-colored fur.

Josh nearly choked shoving food into his mouth at such a high rate of speed, but he got down his enormous sandwich just as the manager finished loading Barrett’s firm round Buddha gut.  The manager lifted the funnel out of Barrett’s O-shaped mouth as the dangerously overfull stud licked shake remnants off of his lips and continued to swallow the rest down his gullet.  Barrett just had to sit there with his hands down his sides, feeling that his beefy pecs were about to bump him in the chin at any moment.  The manager nodded his head and reached down to thump the mighty round bellyful.  The combination of thick muscle walls, a nice layer of fat, and a thoroughly packed digestive tract made the most sublime of deep satisfied sounds.  

“Good God, that melon is ripe.” Josh critiqued, leaning back to rest his hand on top of his big sandwich lunch. “And Barrett bared it-- that shirt is too small for ya, big buddy!”

Barrett’s smile curled onto his lips with a bit of a delay caused by his food coma.  After the manager left, Barrett put his hands on his overblown balloon and rubbed.  

“Man, you look like how I felt after the 24 hour buffet pass in Las Vegas.  You know, I knew that it was going to be a bad thing-- I could tell when I walked in the first place and saw all of the groaning, belching guys.  They looked like fully engorged ticks about to pop. Well, that was me a day later because we just kept going back for more and more and more.  My lovely bride overate, my daughter got bored, but my son found his groove.   I was laughing at him little at breakfast because he’s got a weakness for waffles, pancakes, pastries, and bacon.”  Josh laughed as he listened to Barrett wheeze with his eyes half-closed; Barrett’s fully distended gut had swollen even more with the cake shake, pushing him farther back against his chair.  “Of course, he got me back later in the day after second dinner.  We were back in the room, and I was bloated out on the floor next to the couch while we were all watching a movie.  Ever since I read him “Hop on Pop” when he was a kid, he’s wanted to bounce on my belly-- especially after I eat too much. He thinks it’s really funny.”

Suddenly, Barrett emitted a lengthy bass-toned belch, causing both of them to laugh heartily.  Barrett patted his thoroughly round belly and flexed his pecs.  “I’m pretty sure that if anyone hopped on me right now, I’d pop for sure!”

Josh munched on his cookies and agreed.  “You could bounce a quarter off of that gut right now, Barrett.  You remind me of some of those big bloated-up young guys on the cruise ship.  Poppin’ Fresh Pillsbury Doughboys gorging their way to tight-skinned ecstasy, unbuckling their belts and stuffing themselves like Thanksgiving turkeys.  I would think ‘damn, I hope we don’t hit a rock and end up shipwrecked on some island full of hungry cannibals’” Josh said as he finished the last bite of his marshmallowy chocolatey gooey cookies.

“Ooof, a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey-- that’s how I feel at the moment,” Barrett admitted as he gave his stout round belly another rubbing.

“And look,” Josh said, supporting the astute observation. “Just squeeze you in between some big bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and sit a pumpkin pie on top of your belly ledge for dessert.”

Josh glanced at his watch and realized that he was late to get back to work.  “Guess I better get my fat ass in gear.”  Josh hoisted himself up, satisfied with the extra-large lunch and conversation, brushing past Barrett just as he took that moment to stretch his arms up in the air.  Josh paused to smack a couple deep-seated belches out of Barrett.  “Keep eatin’, big guy, keep rollin’ down that path to the big 3-0-0... but keep an eye out for cannibals!”

~.~

Many weeks passed, and Barrett’s allure changed somewhat to the ladies who lunched at Chunk’s.  It seemed that the amount of weight he’d gained was difficult for some of them to accept; after all, he’d plumped by forty pounds in a relatively short time after significantly long lunchtime stuffings.  Barrett still presented as quite beefy with one foot still in the gym, but there was no denying his big round belly and widened booty that mercilessly stuffed his shrinking wardrobe.  His handsome face had filled out accordingly and he had the start of a second chin hidden under his fuller beard; regardless, his piercing blue eyes and immaculate grooming still caused heads to pivot.  Josh the 300+ pound daddy continued to come in once a week to stuff himself with sandwich, and Barrett always treated him to at least one Gut Topper.  Josh would especially enjoy the belly blowout when Barrett personally funneled the extra creamy cake shake down his gullet.

Awhile back, the manager had hired a new cook when Chunk’s had added pizza to their calorie-driven menu.  Barrett had recognized the guy immediately from high school, although Peter’s 5’11” frame had filled out some since those earlier days.  Peter had been a swimmer all during high school and was always pretty wide-shouldered and lanky, which changed through his college experience in the dining halls.  Of course, Peter recognized Barrett right away as well, and would tease him about how fat he’d become.  Barrett would always comment right back about Peter’s modest college weight gain.  Chunk’s cooks wore nice pullover shirts that bore the restaurant’s logo on the left breast, and Peter’s shirt was always a little pizza sauce-splattered and tight.  Peter’s pudgy round belly pooched out over his Dockers taut waistbands, and no one could miss his pasta butt that stressed the seam in the back.

The two former schoolmates never really talked much in school, but they developed a friendly, yet somewhat tense, rivalry at work.  Peter was slightly jealous with the fact that Barrett got away with hardly working and mostly just eating while he sat on his constantly widening ass.  The manager had added pizza to Barrett’s daily demonstration, and Peter was usually the one that made the pie.  Peter would deliberately pile on additional toppings, knowing that Barrett would have to stuff the slices down on top of his torturously large sandwich and sides.

After a month of silent warfare, both Barrett and Peter had packed on weight.  Barrett was undeniably impressed with Peter’s bloat capacity and how much the littler guy could stomach in one stretching session.  Peter, who loved the fact that his packed pizzas were adding to both Barrett’s bottom and front lines, immensely enjoyed the big stud’s trips in to the kitchen to moan about his overloaded gut. Barrett was supposed to sweep around the kitchen after his lunch demonstration, and he’d invariably be as close as possible to Peter so that he could bump him with his solid gutsphere.  Barrett would belch in Peter’s general direction to egg him on, and soon Peter would march on up to the 6’2” beefster and playfully threaten to punch his big ol’ gut.  Barrett would push his belly out even more and tell Peter to give it his best shot.  The manager would always intercede in time saying “Don’t pop him! Barrett has to work tomorrow!”

Time bulged on, and the manager had to bring in a scale due to rising concerns about their Frontline Eater position, of which Barrett had done such an incredible job filling.  “Boy, are you ever fat now,” the manager told Barrett as he processed the number on the scale’s display, “three hundred and twenty pounds. I’m afraid that we’re going to move you to back of house for awhile-- put the big beefer out to pasture, so to speak.  Your gluttonous performances are still bringing in the fat guys, but the average group of ladies who lunch seem to think you’ve gotten too fat for them to fantasize about over their porky husbands.”

“Aw, come on!” Barrett spurted out, “I know women still look at me.”

“Well, yeah.  They look at you and think about the big fat growling gut they’re going to have to go home and feed that night.  All the work they’ll go through stuffing their husband’s belly enough so he’ll fall asleep on the couch and not bother them for the rest of the night.”

A vision of his fat daddy friend Josh popped into Barrett’s mind.  “Some women enjoy feeding their hubbies-- in fact, they relish the thought of fattening them up.”  Barrett’s crotch tingled a bit as he remembered Josh’s most recent Chunk’s visit when he owned up to weighing 350 pounds and whispering the most arousing admission in his ear.  Josh had dreamed one night that he’d been stretching his belly for weeks in the hopes of growing it immense enough to hold a stuffed Thanksgiving Barrett.

The manager’s mind was made up, so he put Barrett next to Peter in the kitchen so that they could work out any issues the two had while Barrett shed a few pounds.  The days went by with the two reminiscing about the old days and pretty much making a buffet of the prep tables.  It was on a Friday when Peter offered one particularly compelling memory.

“You remember that time at the school assembly when three of you guys on the football team had a pizza eating contest in front of the whole school?”  Peter asked.

“Oh yeah.  My gut ached the rest of the afternoon,” Barrett confessed.

“Oh damn... well, you won....and you ate the entire pizza,” Peter recalled.  “You had the biggest fucking belly that day...”

“I remember that.”  Barrett smiled, “after school, I was sprawled out on the grass in Senior Square warning guys not to step on my belly.”

“You were wearing this really tight orange pullover shirt and I thought your belly looked like a big pumpkin.”  As Peter shared his thoughts, Barrett chuckled and patted his much fatter, bigger belly.  “I had like ten dollars and I wanted to take you to McDonald’s and get you whatever you wanted.”

“You did? Huh...” Barrett thought for a moment.  “Guess that would have made you ‘Peter Peter Pumpkin Feeder’ in a way...” Barrett thought for another moment, “wait... that’s why you would makin’ my pizzas so big! You’ve been fattening me up on purpose!”

Peter slapped Barrett in his big ol’ belly.  “Well, truth be told, you were already amply fattened when I started here... nicely marbled beef... I just wanted you to get a little fatter.”  

“A little fatter? Well, I’m 320 pounds now.” Barrett stated, bumping his firm round gut into Peter’s fat belly.  “Feel the size of this beast now!”

“My guess is that this beast needs to be fed,” Peter said, grabbing on to each side of the studly gut being pushed into him.  “I’ve got ten dollars for McDonald’s after work...”

Somehow, Peter and Barrett kept their minds on finishing their shifts at Chunk’s, and agreed to meet at the nearest McDonald’s at six o’clock.  Peter decided to keep his work clothes on, despite the fact that he smelled like an overweight pizza.  Since he’d gone ahead and eaten his free work meal, his Dockers were exceptionally tight despite the fact that they were pushed down far below his fat belly.  Barrett had gone home and rifled through a few drawers to find that famous orange pullover shirt from high school, only to find that he nearly ripped it getting it over his much more developed chest and arms, and the old top was no match for his very ample belly.  The shirt couldn’t reach to cover his wide love handles and the hem created a crisp line around his big manly gut above his dreamily deep belly button.  He had one last pair of jeans that he put forth his best effort to button, and walked out of the house looking like a giant overstuffed sausage.

Barrett walked in to the McDonald’s and immediately felt eyes gluing to his bared belly; among other sets, one set of eyes belonged to Peter, and another set belonged to Josh-- Barrett’s fat daddy friend from Chunk’s.  Josh’s hefty wife turned her head to see who her chubby hubby was gawking at and seemed suitably impressed.  Peter stood up, shifted his boner, and walked over to meet the vision in orange that wobbled his way closer.  

“How about that-- that shirt fits differently than it did in high school, Barrett!”  

“Just a little bit. I’m a few pounds heavier now.”  

Both of them strolled up to the counter together, each enjoying the reaction of the chubby young counter dude whose mouth dropped open in response the audacity of Barrett’s attire.

“What do ya want? My treat.” Barrett offered, rubbing Peter’s shoulder.  

“Oh, it’s my treat, Barrett.”  

“Let’s do this-- I’ll get you what I want you to eat, and you can do the same for me.  How about that?”

Soon enough, the two Chunk’s employees had decided on a booth across from where Josh and his wife still sat eating.  Before taking a seat, Barrett and Peter said hello to the oversized married couple, carefully noting the pile of empty boxes and wrappers in front of Josh.  Even though it was one of the booths made larger to more easily accommodate fat people, Josh was obviously stuck.  The table’s edge butted firmly against his enormous round belly, and the portion above table level bulged onto the surface an inch.  Josh’s ribs were shoved up and back around the bloated stomach, and it was as hard for him to speak as it was to breathe.

“Josh, I do believe that you’ve been fed into place!” Barrett said.

“Indeed he has,” came the voice from across the table. “We’re stretching his belly all day today-- kids are at their grandparents.  There’s a young pup at Recipe Club that’s about to get his 360 pound ribbon and Josh has got to keep up! You must be Barrel-- I mean, Barrett,” she said, looking at the tall stud’s ample belly.  

Barrett chuckled. “Yes, that’s me, Barrett. And I guess I do resemble a food barrel these days.”  He shook her hand and introduced Peter.  “Well, well, Josh.  Just look at this huge belly wedged in this booth...”   Barrett gently poked around on the top of Josh’s overstuffed belly.

“Careful, now... don’t poke too hard.  You’ll pop the pig! He’s been eating all day to stretch his belly for an upcoming Vegas trip.  I mean, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that 24 hour buffet pass and wants to go for a three day gorging weekend.”

“Haven’t been able to get enough to eat today, boys,” Josh wheezed.  

“That can definitely be a problem,” Peter observed with an unmistakably evil smile on his face.

Barrett thumped Josh’s enormous gut and said, “keep on stuffing, Josh-- Thanksgiving is comin’ and you’re either going to eat or be eaten!”  Reaching over to his serving tray, Barrett grabbed a Quarter Pounder box and sat it on top of Josh’s solid ball of food.

Two McDonald’s employees, including the chubby guy poured into his uniform, brought two trays each over to where Barrett and Peter had chosen to plant their numbered sign.  Without much more conversation, the two guys got down to business and began stuffing themselves.  Josh sat and belched while he digested, watching with great interest as Barrett and Peter blew up in size.  Their enthusiasm for gorging was amazing to watch.  It was no surprise that they finished all of that food and four soda refills only to look at each other and say “More!”

Josh’s wife took his wallet up to the counter and surprised Barrett and Peter with another round of Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, fries, and Chicken McNuggets.  Peter’s incredible ability to bloat up into a round ball raised eyebrows near and far in the restaurant.  His Chunk’s uniform shirt’s hem inched up the stuffed belly ball, and his Dockers launched into space as he heaved a satisfied sigh.

“Your belly is gettin’ big,” Barrett said to his rotund dinner mate.

“Well, look who’s talking,” plump-bellied Peter turned around on the overstuffed stud.  “It’s like someone connected that pumpkin to a tire pump!”

Barrett’s orange pullover had slid up above his packed-taut bloatsphere, exposing the full height of his treasure trail.  Barrett’s belly button, with its fat rounded entry, begged for a chubby finger to explore its warm depths.

“I say we go pick up a box of donuts and go to my place, Peter.”  

The two roundbellied twentysomethings thanked fat daddy Josh and his wife for their generosity and waddled their way out to their trucks.  “Hope you get full enough, Josh!”

“Never!”

Peter picked out the fat pills at the best grocery store bakery in town, making sure to choose an enticing array of all kinds, including extra-filling-fattening cream-filled ones, before speeding on over to Barrett’s address.

“C’mon in if you have donuts...” Barrett teased as he stood there in his ridiculously undersized orange pullover and underwear with a spot of wet pre-cum at the end of his fully lengthened cock.

Peter broke into a sweat from the heat radiating off of the engorged stud, shaking a little as he set two boxes of donuts on the dining room table.  Barrett slapped Peter’s butt that was as yet encased in the seam-stressed Dockers, “damn your ass got fat after high school.”

“I like to eat,” Peter told him turning his head sideways.  

“I can tell.  The pregnant belly was another dead giveaway.” Barrett pulled Peter’s pants down and bent him over the dining room table.  Peter’s stout full belly smacked on the surface like a gargantuan slab of bacon and Barrett watched his sides bow out under the pressure.  Barrett shifted his loaded cock into the upright position and rubbed it back and forth between Peter’s plump buns.  “Fuck that feels good....my gut’s so fucking big that I can’t see what I’m doing, but I can definitely feel the heat from your hole...”

“Jesus, your dick is as big as I always thought it was...” Peter grunted.

“You got me so hot that I’m brimming with cum today... if I pumped your ass right now, I’d shoot a load so fat that your belly would explode.”

“Do it, fat stuff,” Peter begged, “because after you pop my cherry in grand style, I’m gonna feed you every last donut in that box.  You stuff my butt and I’ll bust your gut.”

Nearly breaking the table in the process, Barrett finished the deed, pumping Peter completely full of his seed.

Taking Barrett by the hand and grabbing the box of donuts, Peter led his round target into the bedroom.  Getting situated leaned against the headboard and spreading his legs far apart, Peter motioned for the ballooned stud to lay belly-up on him with his head on his shoulder.  Once Barrett was in place, there was not going to be any moving him for an extended period of time.  Peter’s view around Garrett’s head was of a tall round mountain that wobbled from side to side when the bed shook.  “Will you just look at the size of this fucking tank?!” Peter put his hands on either side of Barrett’s enormously swollen stomach and spread his fingers.  Gently shaking the massive sphere of manflesh, Peter breathed heavily in Barrett’s ear as the heavy stud continued to weigh down on his own achingly full stomach.  “Soldier, you’ve really let yourself go...your punishment is going to be severe... forcefeeding until your greedy belly bursts like an overblown balloon.”

Peter picked through the donuts and began stuffing them into Barrett’s eager maw in rapid succession.  As icing began to collect in the overfed boy’s beard, his tongue worked overtime to get every last bit.  As Barrett was chewing nearly unmanageable mouthfuls, Peter rubbed all over the swelling stomach.  With a whole box of donuts down the gullet, there was a giant mound formed that pushed straight up in the air.  Peter thumped on the top of the donut dome, amazed at how dense it sounded and the volume of belch it quickly produced. Barrett’s advanced gut was easily the size of a beach ball, and Peter was wishing that he had a view far enough away to fully appreciate its fullness.

“Oh God, I’m gonna pop,” Barrett moaned.  

Peter pushed his index finger into the top of Barrett’s solid donut dome and tested it for doneness.  “Nope, you’re not ready yet,” Peter whispered in his 320+ pound stud’s ear and opened the second box.

Engaged in relentless stuffing, Barrett’s gutsphere stretched wider and taller.  Peter spread his fingers as far apart as possible to rub as much belly at once as he could. Barrett’s panic was becoming more evident as his taut, shiny ball maxed out with half of the second box of donuts crammed inside.
 “Okay, Soldier, I’ll spare your gut from certain explosion,” Peter announced.  Barrett responded with an wall-shaking belch.  Squashed a little under the weight of the overfed stud, Peter wriggled his way out and stood at the side of the bed admiring the gigantic beach ball.  The bottom of his enormous gut was as taut as the top, and the roundness bumped against his spread meaty thighs.

Peter slowly made his way on to the bed, throwing his leg over Barrett’s wide body and bouncing his fat butt briefly on the tall mountain of belly. Realizing that he was about to push several donuts right out of Barrett’s mouth, Peter quickly slid down off of the ball gut and landed on his hard-again cock.  Peter was reminded of how full his own belly was as it met fatly against the bottom third of Barrett’s gutsphere.  Peter regained his strength, grabbed a hold of each of Barrett’s meaty pecs and humped his cock against the giant hard belly.  Getting ready to shoot his load, Peter grabbed another donut, plugged Barrett’s furry feedhole with it, and ate up the sight of Barrett’s hungry expression as he spurted cum all over Barrett’s lower bellysphere.

“Feels good to get caught up on lost time, huh?”

[delamaster]

A morning in the life of a pig

"Wakey wakey Emma, it's time for breakfast"

The smell of bacon, eggs, and about a dozen other fried items filled my nose. I started to push myself up slowly. Since hitting 600lbs, this was becoming harder and harder. My feeder, seeing my struggle, gently placed his arm under my lower back and gave me a hand up.

"Can't have you wasting calories now, can we"

Grunting a little, I could finally feel my belly shift from pinning me down to sitting on my thighs, spreading them apart. I was long past the point where I could let it just sit on my lap. My muscles were burning from the comparatively little effort of sitting upright, and I was panting heavily, trying to cool off.

"Is it getting a bit difficult for my little piggy to move?"

"Yes, my belly..."

"No, MY belly, your belly was a small, cute thing, my belly is the vast tribute to my love and passion for you that you see now".

He was right, I had barely been 200lbs when we met. He fed me until I couldn't eat anymore. When I got too fat to work at McDonald's, he let me move in and paid for my food. Now that I can't even reach all my rolls, I've become dependent on him to clean me.

"Your belly is pinning me down, it's making it really hard to get around"

He smiled a cocky smile as he brought forward the food.

"I guess we could put you on a diet..."

The smell was overpowering. Delicious, fattening foods just out of my reach. I could barely keep focused. My mouth opened just as the huge belly under discussion growled like a caged today.

"Maybe I'll keep on eating for now"

He took a rasher of bacon on a fork and moved it to my mouth. The size of my belly forbade me making any attempts to get it until it was at my mouth. I barely used my arms for anything other than getting up in the morning and holding a controller. They were just so heavy. Of course it wasn't my fault, as my feeder kept on reminding me, he did this to me. And now that I couldn't get up easily, and couldn't lift my arms much, I really had no choice but to be a pig. To sit here and eat and fuck, and fuck and eat. Or rather be fed and fucked, and fucked and fed.

My belly started to feel full of delicious, greasy, fattening food. The gentle fullness started to arouse me, exciting parts that are otherwise completely hidden by my vast gut.

"Are you ready for your milkshake?"

"Yes!"

I was really feeling it now. The excitement of being completely stuffed never quite got old. The sweet potion of weight gain, a mixture of protein powder and flavoured milk, slowly filled my mouth, then went down my throat and started to fill every gap left by the food. 2 Liters later and I was panting.I needed to recline backwards, just to relieve some of the pressure. At the same time, I soaking wet. I could see my feeder rock hard as he looked over my body. I knew there was no way I could pleasure myself anymore. The very same thing arousing me was completely blocking any ability to do so. At the same time, my huge, bloated belly was so stuffed that all I could do was let out a rather pathetic one word plee.

"Horny"

"Of course, anything for my pig"

Missionary was long lost as a position. And anything with me on top wasn't happening after such a big stuffing. Or ever at all these days. He grabbed either side of me and started to move me down to the end of the bed, until my pussy was right at the edge. For my part, I tried to spread my legs as far as I could. My massive thighs were still touching, but at least now there was more room to move them. He slowly shifted my thighs apart with one hand, while caressing my belly with the other. Being reminded of what a pig I was certainly helped.

"Uhh"

I could only let out grunts and moans of pleasure as he thrust in to me. Each movement sent every inch of my fat body jiggling. My belly, stuffed and bloated as it was, was still coated in a thick layer of fat, leaving it free to wobble like an ocean of flab. My whole body was overcome with the pleasure of being completely given over to my feeder. In the climax I could slowly feel space being freed in my belly. Maybe if I asked, he'd get me some more food, after all, I may be his piggy, but he's MY feeder.

[shrubberylogistic]

QueenDom

Sausages. Seven of the fattest in the pack. Four eggs, fried to a tender crisp. Six hash browns. Two slices of toast. Baked beans. And bacon, drizzled in rich brown sauce.  

I opened the fridge for a glass of whole milk, and ice for my water. Five minutes to nine. I shivered, pulling the bands on my loose dressing gown. Warm sunshine petered through the windows while I poured. I nudged the magnets, and looked at the photo of us.  

It was a night out, sometime in final year. I could tell by the band shirt I was wearing. You in a ripped jumper and skinny jeans. You were smiling, beer in hand, your head on my shoulder, my arm around your waist. Hard to imagine now. Your hair was a beautiful mess. I think you’d been dancing. I’d been drinking. We’d fallen by the cloakroom door. It was your idea to go in. Pushing past coats to the back. Pixies in the shadows. Minutes turned to hours. Guiding my hands round your body. Rigid tone, warm to the touch. Silky curves. Poised muscle. You pinned me down. Then, I told you what you wanted to hear.  

Breakfast is ready. I set the goods on the tray, steadied my heart, and carried it upstairs to our door. Your door. Everything’s yours. Five years of me finding more for you to take. To own. To consume. To build your queendom.  

I tiptoed to where you slumbered, snoring. I levelled the plate on the pillow, letting the sizzling scent of succulent pork waft under your nose. You sniff. You rouse.  

The mattress creaks. Your thick arm slides through the covers, fingers probing. Your soft nose wrinkles. A grin crosses your lips before you open your eyes.  

“Morning,” I chime, watching you stretch into a sultry yawn. The bedsprings creak some more. You ruffle the duvet, bunching and shuffling, easing yourself up to the headboard. Rolls tense, shudder, then relax. You source the centre of the bed, and let yourself spread.  

“Where’s my knife and fork?” you query. The kitchen. I paled. I rushed for the drawers, dashing back up the stairs, returning with what you wanted wrapped in a napkin. There were crumbs. You’d started tucking in already. Gobbling and gulping, the toast was reduced to meagre crusts before I could resume my place.  

I offered up the cutlery. Half the time it was a passing fad. You preferred to eat with your fingers. Snacking and stuffing, slurping and smacking your lips, scrabbling for more and more. But the look in your eye had me stunned. You had something else in mind.  

“Sit.”  

I complied. The bedposts whined under the weight of the two of us. You brushed off the covers. Your belly sunk into a quivering shelf as you laid the plate on top. Your hair was pushed back. Your eyebrow was raised. Your eyes were on mine. I knew what that look meant.  

Leaning over, you purred as I began to feed you, hips wiggling softly while you inhaled every bite. Jiggling met my knifework, scooping up mouthful after mouthful on the edge of the fork, counting the calories you breathlessly munched, pausing only for sips of milk. I learned what steps to take watching the curl of your lips. Your mouth only opened when what I offered was large enough. When it was good enough.  

“You like it?” I hesitated.  

You held up a finger. One moment, two moments. Then you let out a pampered belch, scooching your hips in a pleasured little dance.  

“You want more?”  

A curt nod. Your double chin creased, your beaming face radiant. But then you picked up the plate and left it by the bedside table. You guided me with your finger. Come hither. I edged toward your bare, glutted stomach.  

“Skimmed milk next time, hmm?” you cooed, pouting, breathing in my ear. “I’ve got a figure to worry about.”  

Your smile stole my eyes, belying the look in your own. Your hands snaked to my collar. Soon my throat was in your grasp. You twisted. I toppled onto the bed. I heard you grunt. Your legs thrusted. A wide shadow loomed. Then the air was sucked out of my lungs.  

You rolled on top of me, squashing me into the sheets, stealing my breaths, pressing me supine underneath you. Your pillowy body flooded over my skinny frame. A buck of your hefty hips and my power drained to nothing. I was stuck, trapped, buried in you. You latched onto my shoulders, taking in more of me, enveloping my chin with your cleavage. Your face closed in on mine, your breaths racing, your cheeks misty. I could feel your body beginning to heat up.  

A kiss. You gave me a single, precious kiss on the forehead.  

“Gotta be careful with what you’re cooking,” you smiled, looking down on me through a curtain of luscious locks. “I might be getting a bit fat.”  

I groaned in ecstasy. You threw back your hair, grinding your lower belly into my crotch, giggling at my helpless struggles. Too much of you. Too little of me. I stood no chance.  

“You like it?”  

You winked, stretching for the plate, seizing a sausage, sliding it over your tongue. Hundreds of pounds. Hundreds of reasons to adore you.  

“You want more?”  

[shrubberylogistic]

The F Word

No. Don’t say it. 

 I fingered my belly, bulging over the counter. My other hand grasped for the creamy muffins, coated in chocolate sauce. I flicked back my hair, ready for one more. I pushed the sugar-dusted surface past my lips. My tongue rolled. My cheeks bulged. My eyes closed, I moaned and grew wetter. So good... 

 Three bites was all I required. Soon I’d reduced the fist sized snack to a slither of crumbs. I let out a groan of self pity as my stomach growled in complaint, then a whimper of pleasure as the warmth drifted down. I was bloated and taut. My legs were quivering.  

I’m hungry, I told myself. This is normal. This is necessary.   

I licked the casing, desperate for every last sprinkle. My fingers were messy. I licked them too, a long draw of each. I let out a burp, sighing as I felt some of the pressure disperse from my belly. I no longer felt like I was about to blow. Now, I just felt heavy...and soft...

More food. I bit my lip. There were two more muffins left. Seizing them together, I squished them into a glob of chocolatey goodness, and thrust the deconstructed wave of flavours into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed, gasped, chewed and swallowed some more. I raised my face and drew a breath, shuddering in ecstasy. My hips wobbled. My bottom swayed with me. More crumbs tumbled into my cleavage, piling up in my overburdened bra. I was in bliss. 

It’s okay, I reasoned with myself. You just need to go up a size or two. It’s no big deal.   

 But the straps were digging into my back. I fished for the clasp between my rolls and set myself free. My breasts rolled out, puffing up on top of my swollen tummy then cresting over to my sides. I glared down, mesmerised, before catching sight of a trail of crumbs. Lifting my boobs with a succulent smirk, I slid my tongue into my cleavage, gathering morsel and morsel of deliciousness. My weakening arms began to ache as the pressure of lifting my rack began to take its toll. I cocked a hip, rolled my shoulders, threw back my hair, and plunged my fingers into more helpings of gooey, doughy goodness.     

‘Um...hello?’ 

I froze. I turned my paling face over my shoulder. 

 There was a man standing in the doorway to my apartment. I clasped my hands over my barely covered breasts, kicking aside the junk-laden bags from my shopping trip. I’d never bothered to shut the door behind me. I looked him up and down in placid shock. He was in a freshly ironed shirt, clutching a bouquet of roses. His stance was bashful, his face blushing. He smiled. His greeting was nervous. His thumb traced over his phone, I saw a picture of my complexion, beaming, angular... 

“Am I in the right place?” he asked. “I’m looking for...”  

 My eyes rooted on the screen between his fingers. Oh god, I realised. My Tinder photos. We were meant to go out tonight. And he doesn’t recognise me because I’ve been getting so... 

No.  

“Oh...ermmm...that’s me. Hey,” I spluttered, every bit as embarrassed as he was. I forced a chocolate-spread smile. Beads of sugar sparkled across my cheeks.   His eyes went wide as saucers. I tilted my head and tried to match that pose in my profile picture from that party years ago. I’d been trying to show off my earrings. I liked my earrings. I think they were buried in one of my drawers under a pile of snacks, somewhere. Now all he saw was sticky lips, and that queer little fold I could feel beneath my chin. 

It’s nothing. It’s just an angle... 

“Is this a good time?” he said, gently. “Errr, we could do this tomorrow...whatever’s cool with you...” 

Tomorrow. I cringed. Yeah, the day I thought this was happening. I felt my spirits wallow. I was getting so sleepy. My bottomless binges were going longer and longer into the night, and I was losing all track of time. Tomorrow had become today.  

“No!” I choked out instead. “I’m good, right now’s fine - I was just fixing myself a snack...and getting changed...” 

 I tried to show some semblance of having power over myself. I straightened my bra. I smoothed over my hair. A trail of crumbs trickled onto the floor.   

“Err.” His eyes flickered down in disbelief. “I could come back...” 

“No, no, this is fine. Ermm. You can go chill in my living room. I’ll make coffee!”  

I jabbed a swollen finger, pointing between the piles of pizza boxes on my couch. He nodded, gave a thanks and scurried through the doorway, leaving me to let out the breath I’d been holding.  

My mind was gyrating. My panties were a moistened, twisted mess. They kept their pale pink colour, though only for how much they were stretching over my ass. Shifting, I picked the strained knots from where they giving me a wedgie. The cotton lace raked the nerves up the inside of my thighs. I felt the tingle down my spine. 

No, I hissed to myself. Not now...   

I composed myself. I needed to clean up but there was no time. Not even for a shower. I’d just have to squeeze on some fresh clothes, lay on a splash of bodyspray and go as I was. 

Go where? 

 I clawed some lucidity back from my food induced haze. I unstuck my thighs, and started to slowly lumber to my room. I remembered the messages. His name was Michael. We agreed he’d pick me up from my place. He was going to take me out to dinner.  

Dinner. Oh god. 

 He said he knew a place that did the best seafood. I’d agreed. It sounded delicious. It looked expensive, but he was offering to pay. I could still sniff the waves of pearly aftershave. This guy was rich. Or at least, well-presented. Ivy League, Major League, something or other. The elite. 

 And now he was scraping through my leftover takeaways, trying to clear himself a space to sit. I peered through the crack in the door. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cleaned up. I blanched, realising how content I’d been just to sit around in my own garbage. A half eaten cheesecake lay on the table, a spoon rammed messily in the centre. Whipped cream smears were calcified on the wooden surface. He had his back turned, fluffing up a pulverised cushion. 

God, he must think I’m pathetic... 

 I winced at the smell as I slinked out of sight. I tried to quieten my footfalls as my lumber turned into a waddle. I reached my room and flung open the wardrobe door. The hangars were empty. All my clothes lay in two piles at the bottom – the stuff that fit me, and...well... 

 I got down on my knees and fumbled through my blouses, leggings and skirts, breathing quickly and quietly. I snatched hold of a shirt in the corner and counted the buttons. Too many were missing. I tossed it aside and found a halter top. I tugged it and eyed the stretched-out lettering. Too trashy. I let it fall to the floor.  

 There was a dress folded over my computer chair. I’d got it on sale online, but I hadn’t got round to trying it on. Huffing, I hauled myself to my feet. My muscles grouched. My hair tumbled into my face, and I lowered my head as I dodged the mirror on the outside of the wardrobe door. It wasn’t my reflection I was hiding from.  

 It was that word. Even the thought of it. It was ruining me. My home was a mess, my career was in jeopardy. My body was turning from bulges of toned muscle to rolls of softened flab. Just a mention, and my appetite would ratchet from delicate to ferocious. My face would sweat. My skin would strain. My stomach would stretch. 

I held the dress across my body, brow reddening with costernation. I tried to breathe. The bottom of my stomach jostled softly on top of my thighs. The lacy material looked woefully unyielding.  If he saw me in this, what would he think? One word. 

Just one mention – and I’d lose all control... 

[shrubberylogistic]

Long Weekend

Twelve missed calls. You fumble the jelly donut out from the packet. Six new messages. You lift the sweet pastry to your quivering lips. Twenty different emails. You push it into your mouth, seal your eyes and softly moan, rubbing your sugary fingers round your belly rolls. Work’s getting angsty. You munch, and swallow. Clearly people miss you.       

But not as much as you’ve missed this. Comfort, peace, and a world without restrictions. Hibernating with a whole cabin to yourself, secreted in the forest’s edge. A wood burning stove. A hot tub. A blanket of stars. Cushions and pillows, and warm, silky sheets. And cupboards filled with of mountains upon mountains of food. Succulent, delicious, dripping junk food. Your vacation budget has gone down a treat. You’re free from work. Free from stresses and strains.       

Free to indulge to your heart’s abandon. Free to let it pump a little faster, every time you try to get off the couch...       

 Maybe it’s your fitness, slipping away. Maybe it’s the sugar rush. Or maybe it’s just the feeling of your chest, jiggling as you find your feet, your tummy flopping over your beltline. Everything inch of you is getting so sensitive. It feels so strangely familiar. But your memories are a haze.         

 Time here passed in a blitz. An evening turned into a weekend. The packets piled up on the furniture. The sun crossed the sky in the blink of an eye. You were stuffed from the moment you hit the hay that first night, yet you snacked into the morning from your dresser. Days blurred in your bed. Meals merged into one, a massive smorgasbord of munching, gorging; making more, and more. Your eyes stayed glazed. Your stomach stayed ravenous. Your mind lingered drifting on a river of ambrosia, as the hands of the clock creaked by...       

 A weekend turned into a fortnight. You cleared out your cupboards and began to order in. You were weighed down by your stomach – so pinned, greedy, and wanting – and so difficult to dress all of a sudden. A few more days were all it took for the clothes you brought from home to start pinching. Your flannel shirts constricted your arms. Buttons gapped. Jeans flinched from their seams. You devolved to your underclothes, but it wasn’t long before they too began to grow tight. Waistbands started to dig. Elastic threatened to split. You made a conscious choice when you stepped in the bubbling tub for another soothing soak – towels, gowns and stretchy vests from now on, if you felt like wearing anything at all...        

 A fortnight turned into two perfect months of hedonistic bliss. Your former firmness disappeared as you stuffed and slept, while softly, your body turned pudgy and thick. You ate through your funds. You grew and grew. You knew what was happening and wanted more. Flesh piled between your fingers as you massaged your blubbery midriff, swollen, rolling on your thighs from your latest feast. You could barely get up. You’d let yourself grow wide and round. Your fattened fingers grasped for the donuts, television blaring, your breaths shallow, your belly bulging up against you as you scooted and jostled for more comfort, more food...         

The buzz of your phone snaps you back into reality.        

You sigh. You grunt, and groan. Another notification. Not the only thing piling up on you lately...       

The cider’s empty and your battery’s riding on 3%. You yawn. Night’s fallen, and you haven’t even finished packing for the journey home tomorrow. It sucks, but it's time to get up.    You flick off the TV and toss the remote. Kicking your legs, you lurch and struggle to your feet. The frown softens on your face the second after you tap in your passcode. Oooh. Looks like you got a love react on your profile picture.        

Oh God. If only they could see you now.       

 You tug your pants free from your ass and take short, waddling steps. You make for the bathroom, tossing your hair, swinging your thighs. You puff, pulling your white shirt down over your heaving stomach. Smirking, short of breath, bloated and sated, you stare at the mirror and try to match the pose. You smooth back your hair. You cock a hefty hip. The folds of your belly merge and shift. Your butt cheeks quake, printed into your straining black trousers. You grin.       

You take the shot the second your shirt rolls back up your waist. Pale flesh jiggles for the world to see. Your mouth falls open. Your double chin bulges. You look huge.       

Another message shoots into your inbox. Your heart flutters. They’re going to be shocked.        

You swipe the screen, itching to read it when an add pops up for a takeout. Tacos on a special offer, just a couple miles away.        

Your fingers tremble. Your stomach aches.        

You’ll get back to work, eventually.       

Tomorrow. Maybe... 

[shrubberylogistic]

Red

Red. It’s your colour. You saw it on on your food first - the packets, boxes, bottles and bags, branded fiercely for their salt, sugar and fat. You scoffed over the guidelines. But the fire was not there. Those calories didn’t burn.  Then you started to see it in the mirror, filling your cheeks up a flight of stairs. It graced your brow at the first sign of exertion. The fire was in your lungs. Slowly, even the thought of exercise brought you to the cusp of a flush.  Seasons pass and it settles on your body. Sunshine, lounging and lazing - the summer keeps you still. Sweat keeps the fire dormant; you feel no urge to move, so you lay, softly spreading under the heat... Now it’s on your friends’ faces, the first time they’ve seen you in a while. The stop light. That awkward pause. Then the forced laugh, the hug that squeezes and probes. The fire is all over you. The burning heat of shame.  The colour consumes everything. It’s in ripples, where the clothing strains round your hips, in lines where the armrests press tighter and tighter into your sides. The fire is between your chafing thighs; the soreness keeping you slow and sedentary. Feeling your body grow, and grow... You’re unrelenting. You see it in the news, on charts, on scales. The danger zone. You feel the spike in your blood pressure. Your body is quivering - the rush of delirium as you tilt back your head, bloated and sated. But the fire is in your stomach. You can’t stop eating. You can’t stop wanting more.  The slow burn. You’re stuffed. You’re stretched. You’re boiling. You’re itchy. You lift your shirt. You gasp. Stretchmarks, breaking through your skin, blazen on your rolls.  Red. It’s your colour. And it sure looks good on you.

[shrubberylogistic]

Quarantine Kitchen

Ninety eight... Ninety-nine....  You hold the pose, rigid muscles rippling. Then you thrust your knees to your chest, leaping up with a beaming smile for the camera.

“One hundred push-ups," you declare, sweeping back your hair. “Phew, that feels good. Not bad for Day 3, huh?” You down a smooth glass of icy water while you check the timer. “Sweet. So we’ve hit five minutes. Let’s check out how our dinner’s doing.”  

You tilt the camera to the steamer basket, lifting the lid on a bubbling bounty of shredded kale.  

“Oooh, looking awesome.” You smile. “Okay next, we’re gonna add it to the stir-fry with some chili and garlic for the last two minutes. I think we’ve got time for one more exercise, don’t you?” You wink. “Let me know in the comments. Don’t forget to use the hashtag Quarantine Kitchen, and like and subscr –”  Click.  “Okay, so, Four-Cheese Pizza for Day 44. That’s Mozarella, Parmesan, Brie and Ricotta. I tried a little bit of each before I mixed them all together – they're delicious! Mmmpphh.”  

You dive your hand into the tangy mush of freshly grated cheese, washing it down with a swig of sweet orange soda. You tug your shirt, then seal the sloshing two-litre bottle. A burp escapes your lips.

“Mmpphh. Oh! Excuse me, sorry,” you squeak, patting your chest. “Where was I – oh yeah, so I preheated the oven to four-fifty fahrenheit earlier for ten minutes.” You toss your hair. “The pizza’s gonna bake for ten more, I thought maybe I could do some squats?”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing them with the curve of your ass before bringing it round to the shimmering window.

“There. So you can see what’s happening on the top shelf. Mmmm...” You dip your thighs, stretching the seat of your spandex. “Just look at all that pepperoni...”  

You pause, lift, squat, and lift, squat...and lift....squat....lift....and again. You breathe. Again....and again....  “Man, can you feel it hotting up in here?” You itch your brow. “I’m boiling. Wheeew...” you wheeze.  

You reach for your stool, pull it beneath you and settle down with a grumbling creak. You stretch your pale arms for another sip of soda.

“Sorry guys, getting a little thirsty,” you mumble to the camera. “I’m just gonna sit here and watch those bubbles of cheese for a bit. Damn, it looks yummy,” You swap screen, licking your lips.

“I’m really looking forward to this one. Oooh - let me know what toppings you wanna see me try next time. Don’t forget to –  

Click.  “Yeah...so...umm....Day 183. Here’s my... uffff... here’s my recipe for creamy pork lasagna. It’s one of my favourites. Ugghh, that was heavy.”

You set the pot of lightly salted water on the stove. You squeeze the cramp in your soft arms, padding back to the cupboard for the bag of noodles. You step wide over the kitchen tiles, pulling at your shorts, nursing the rubbing flesh between your thighs with probing fingers.  

“Here we go. We want five-hundred grams, plus the same amount of sausages...” 

You pick up the hefty packet and waddle back a step.    

“Like I said,” you breathe, nudging the door shut with a hefty hip. “It’ll serve six to eight people, but really...” You tip in half the contents. “Really... it’s up to you.”  

The plastic crinkles as the pasta falls free. You pull at the hem of your vest, letting it ride a little up your stomach as you scrunch up the packet and toss it at the garbage can.  

“Okay...we’re gonna let it boil for eight to ten minutes. Then we’ve gotta cook the meat, mix the Parmesan, lay the lasagna sheets over each other – it's a lot of work, I’m kinda hungry already...”

You break off a portion of the chocolate you were saving for stout waffle sundae dessert.  

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I...err...sit this one out.” you murmur, plopping your wobbling butt down on the stool. “I’m sure this won’t spoil my lunch, just a little piece. Mmmm...” You wolf down a palmful of squares, munching and gulping. “Mmmpphh. Yeah, I’m gonna read some of these comments while we’re waiting. Let me know what your favourite thing for lunch is, then if I’ve got the ingredients maybe later I’ll –” 

Click.

“I know, I know, they’re not the healthiest, but if you’re having one of those days...”

You dip the last cookie in the batter.  

“...then they’re the best. I mean, why not? It’s Day 300.”

You swirl the tongs in the frying oil. Your belly bunches and shifts on the countertop.  

“They make you feel worth it. There we go, that’s the last one,”  

You drop your latest culinary creation in the bowl.

“Deep fried Oreos. Voila.”

You clap your hands. Your butt does the same as you turn to the fridge, retrieving a long-awaited milkshake. Chocolate, of course. You flick the cap off the bottle and pump yourself with the succulent dairy stream, moaning and slurping. You take the bowl in the crook of your arm as you journey to your living room, side-stepping through the door, lungs yearning for the couch.

“Some people like to drain theirs first with paper towels,” you say, tilting your head, phone tucked into the flesh of your chin. “As you can see...I just like to get stuck right in.”

You flash a greedy grin as you roll your tongue around the first Oreo, fingers juicy with oil. You inhale the bite sized piece and licked them clean.

“If it’s cold out, if you just wanna spend the day in your sweats, like me...”

You lower yourself into the couch. The cushions blow up with a wheeze.  

“...then they’re perfect,” You set the bowl on your lap, scooching your thighs, pulling the TV remote from under your ass. You slip your thick fingers into the dripping mound of batter, cheeks aglow as you push another past your lips.

“Mmmmpph. They’re super rich,” you mumble through a mouthful. “Every one’s like, a meal in itself...”

You chug some more milkshake. You rub your heaving stomach.  

“And...mmmpphh....while we’re....” you swallow. “While we’re here, I thought I’d talk about some of the comments I’ve been – ” 

Click.

You pause your latest upload, closing your eyes, and wriggling yourself comfortable again. Your bed creaks and groans. You blow the hair out of your face. You sigh.

Click.

“getting about my weight, and why I don’t exercise like I –”

Click. You swish the mouse and press play again.

“whale emojis, all of a sudden, it’s really...”

Click. You edge the cursor a little further along.

“So, I’m taking a break. I won’t be streaming daily anymore – I need to find out where all this is going, I need a little me time.” Your arms wobble as you reach for more Oreos. “I haven’t left my apartment in months; I’ve already found myself making a few lifestyle adjustments, but this isn’t over. Quarantine Kitchen will be back. I’m gonna whip myself into shape again. It’ll be better than ever. Later, haters.”

Click. 

You let out a puff of breath. Your laptop leans, threatening to topple off your belly. You snatch it before it can fall, but slick with grease, your fingers let it slip to the floor.

“Ughhh...”

You groan. You grunt. Hoisting a leg, your breasts jostle and tumble as you roll onto your side, steadying yourself, before you plant your chubby feet on the carpet. Your knees ache as you stand, gathering your laptop off the pile of potato chips. Your other hand drifts to the small of your back, soothing the strain while you lift your head and shake back your sweaty hair. You breathe in, then make the slow waddle toward your desk.  

Your naked belly smacks into your thighs. Squeezing into the chair, you straighten the screen, letting your elbow rest on your love handle. You bite your lip, and dabble a message in the comments.

Day 423. I know it’s been a while.  

You gaze at your puffy reflection in the mirror.

I wanted to cook for you today, but I’m exhausted, you type. Somebody wanna recommend somewhere for takeout?  

You bite your cheek.

Please?  

I’m starving... 

[shrubberylogistic]

Bathtime

 It’s a ritual. Work, home, check your phone, tease off your clothes, then run a bath.  

It used to be a shower - when the gym was a thing - but standing still is starting to suck. Your back hurts. Your knees ache. Even your arms feel heavy as you tie up your hair. You take another deep breath, lungs strained from the trip up the stairs to your door. You’ve...changed.

And you’re not skipping an opportunity to lie down. Not any more.  

Besides, you work hard. After such a long, tough day of walking all the way to your desk, you need the rest. Might not be the weekend, but... it’s fine to relax, for now. You find yourself slipping a can of cider out from the fridge. You were good today. You deserve this.  

The bubbles roar as you shoot a splash of soap, swishing the froth before you seal off the taps, the water nudging up the edges of the tub in mellow waves. You barely wait for it to cool before you slip in, teasing the surface with your toes. You smile. You ease in your other leg, gently, slowly. The heat soothes your calves, and in an instant, you let yourself go. You drift on to your back, closing your eyes, loosening your legs, resting your head. You take a deep breath, and let the calefaction sink in.  

The water crests up to your chin. You open your eyes.

You sigh. Your body’s out of sight, curled below the white clouds, soft and safe. You reach for your phone, flicking droplets off your fingers, bringing it close for a selfie with the cider. You smile some more. You twist. You suck in your reddening cheeks...adjust the shadow a tad...lift your chin a little...there. You take the shot. Smirking, you save your handiwork.  

In that one, fleeting moment, it’s like you never gained all that weight...

You exhale. Your cheeks puff up to their full thickness.  You raise an eyebrow, catching a glance at the camera screen as your stretch your back, letting your breasts break the surface of the water. You smirk, watching them wobble. You’ve grown a little more...buoyant...than you were before. Your body bunches and shifts as you guide a palm to your chest, moaning as you squeeze. They’ve grown. And you feel wonderful.

You bask in ecstasy, running a myriad of changes in yourself through your brain. You take a sip. You can almost feel your skin thanking you as the soreness subsides from your stretch marks, laddered in red round your sides, white up your thighs. The temperature’s burning, but barely more than what you felt on the way to the office this morning. Your chafing was out of control as you marshalled to your desk, late again, stumbling and wobbling, apologising and sweating profusely. You roll over, letting the warm water stream through your itching folds, the stresses of the day washing away. Getting so fat, so quickly...it’s work in itself.  

Ten minutes pass in blissful peace, before the water grows tepid. You glug the rest of the cider, reach under your butt, find the metal chain and wrap it round your fingers. Then you pull the plug.

Between your heaving breasts, you watch your belly rise as the water falls. Your mouth falls open. It’s grown so huge. It flops into the side of the tub as you turn your legs. One blubbery thigh crashes into the other. You grunt. Your blanket of comfort disappears down the pipe, and you feel the press of gravity on your body all over again. You feel naked, soft, fleshy, vulnerable. And tired.

You yawn. The bath’s drained, and so are you. You sigh, grip the edges, unstick your stretching skin and with a deep breath in, you struggle all three hundred and forty pounds of yourself out of the tub.  

Your body jiggles with every thrust, courted in thick, glistening rolls. You heave yourself over to the towel rail, one jostling step at a time, your belly pulling with its sway, your hips concocting their latest foreign motion to roll you to the next place where you can stop, breathe, and rest. You grip the metal bar tight, groaning. Deep down to your bones, your body’s dreaming up ways to cart you around while you’re getting bigger, and bigger....and bigger. You feel it even before you towel yourself off – long hours at work, a long lunch at your desk - another sweeping tide of snacks and sedentarism straight to your waddling hips.   

You skirt the fluffy cotton over and under your flab, scrubbing the damp, squashed folds secreted in between your bulges and curves. Again, your shoulders are tired. It’s what happens when you swap barbells for burgers. You stopped lifting, and started swelling. You reduced your chiselled arms to floppy appendages, simply there to satisfy your greed. You could bend light with your biceps – one time. When you had real, physical power. When the strength of the sinewy fibres wasn’t succoured by adipose...  

God – you're getting weak. Thank goodness you kept your hair dry. A towel up top would be too much. Fidgeting to see your feet, you find your bathrobe and cover what you can. You tie a knot over your belly button, and feel a spark shoot from your fingers to your toes. The belt sinks into your fat. The surge flushes your cheeks.  

There’s got to be some other name for this. Another word. Pudgy was when your ribs disappeared. Overweight was when you popped your skinny jeans binging on pizza and couldn’t do up the button again next morning. Obese was when you cleaned a whole tub of ice cream with your tongue and got out of breath snooping for more. You wobbled. You rippled. But this is different. This is something else.  

This is knowing you’re spent. Knowing you’re not going to put a thought past the edge of your couch for the rest of today, tomorrow - much less a weighty, plodding footstep. You’re warm, drowsy, sleepy, swaddled in yourself, wrapped up in width. You don’t want to do stuff. You don’t want to move.

Then the ache switches to your stomach. You widen your eyes.  

Your phone’s on the edge of the tub. You double back. You need takeout. You need to refuel. You lick your lips. By time it’s arrived, you’ll have found something to squeeze into. You’ve got cake in the fridge. More cider, too You’ve got a recommendation on Netflix. Fresh bedsheets. A cupboard full of snacks for later. Everything...  

But before you can move an inch, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror.  

It’s not your belly that stops you dead. It’s the look in your eyes. So greedy. So gluttonous. And now so shocked, as you take in your face, your body, your figure. You’ve never looked like this before. You’ve never looked so wide, so massive. Not even in your dreams.  

You see the word. You moan. It’s written all over you. Every curve. Every bulge. Every meaty inch.  

You grab your phone. You can’t put the call in quickly enough...  

[shrubberylogistic]

Candyshop

‘All Free Today’

My teeth chattered. I scraped open my sodden campus map. I locked eyes with the girl in the sandwich board by the window, grinning in her little red riding hood. Her speech bubble glowed in flowery pink. All free today? Seriously? I glared at the sign above the door.  

Grimm’s House of Sugar. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, looking at my map. I was so pathetically lost. The auditorium with the signups – that was ten minutes away. Residence halls were up the hill. I was somewhere in between. I could’ve gone to the cafeteria like a normal person. But that meant more lines, and tables, and chairs, and noise, and...ugghhh...more people.

My starved muscles were chastising my stupid nerves. I bit my lip, trying to concentrate, scrying for a blob of pink – maybe, somewhere between the football field and the cafe I wanted, tucked away under a crease, or a fold. What’s the international sign for a sweetshop? I checked the grid.  

Nothing. Great. It wasn’t even on the map. First day of college, and so far all I was getting was a cold. And a drenched sweater. I squinted my eyes. I felt wet fabric bunching and shrinking under my arms. The wind howled down the avenue and the cold sucked on my bones. I cursed, clenching up my zipper jacket and pressed it tighter to my chest, dipping my chin as the gust hit, blowing my hair into a maelstrom.  

The map flew away behind the flash of blue. I swept my hair back and stretched a wispy arm, too late to stop it falling headlong into the gutter. Great I mumbled, weakly, watching the colours drain. Asking a stranger for directions while looking like a drowned rat. What could be worse?  

I swallowed. I practically curled up, shivering. I was skinny as a damn toothpick – another gust like that and I’d be carried to the clouds. The biting air breathed its last, and my arms ached as I regained my composure. I needed warmth. I needed fuel. I needed somewhere to just fall in a heap...

Then the door opened, and the smell nearly swept me off my feet.  

A man, a woman and their two kids pealed past me beaming and smiling, laden with armfuls of boxes and bags, everything brightly stamped, all packed to bursting with pastries, muffins, cream cakes and chocolates. I widened my eyes. One of the kids had a golden-brown paper bag the size of his sister’s head. It was loaded with warm fudge, strawberry laces, love hearts and gumdrops in every color under the sun.  

Pick n’ mix. I burst through into the storefront. I gasped.  

You’re a long, long way from New Jersey, I wondered to myself.

The colors were radiant. The whole room looked like it’d been lifted out of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. There were crowds and counters and helpers and makers of all kinds of crazy delectables. Everyone was dressed in Bavarian lace, the men in lederhosen, the women with flowers and ribbons in their hair. Grimm’s House of Sugar. It was like a palace for the tip of your tongue.  

I needed something. Anything. Something sweet.

Sweets.  

A little old lady beckoned me from by the hot chocolate bar. Her basket almost glowed. Her soft hands parted the checkered covering to reveal a host of Mozartkugels. My cheeks lit up.

“Hey, um. Can...can I try some?” I asked.  

“Of course!” she beamed, handing me the whole thing. “Take as much as you want, deary!”

She turned on her heel and picked up another basket from the straining stand behind her. My mind buzzed. My arms buckled under the weight of the thing. I thanked her, smiled, and dipped hurriedly to a quiet spot by a bookshelf and a long, glassy window. There were tables and booths, then couches, beanbags, and lounge chairs collected in a cosy corner with a warm, tempestuous fire.  

I found a chaise-longue and eased myself down, slowly.

I unwrapped my first sweet in years.

I put it to my lips.  

I ate.  

And I ate. 

-------------- 

Two weeks was all it took for management to start recognizing my greedy ass as a regular. All my self-consciousness fell to the sidelines. To be honest, I might as well have left my credit card behind the counter – I couldn’t help myself. Two more weeks and they even reserved me a seat by the donut dispenser for my breakfasts. From there on in, I was hooked.  

Weirdly I guess I really could help myself – to chocolate cream and marble frosting, sprinkles, glazing and dashes of fluffy powder. Two became three, every single morning, then a box of five to snack through to lunch. I loved choosing the flavors. There were just so many that I couldn’t wait for my appetite to accommodate them all. I took a sizeable chunk out of every working day just to feed myself, massaging my belly beyond the point of fullness. It was otherworldly.  

And if I didn’t already have proof this place was literal magic, I even made a friend.  

Her name was Sally. She was a freshman like me. She was from England. I saw her on shift when I started dropping by for pancakes in the afternoons – she might’ve been five foot nothing but she wasn’t easy to miss. Her hair was pink ringlets, her eyes were forest green, she walked with a spring in her step and she had this gigantic smile. She wore her Dirndl with a burgundy apron; it brought out her rosy red cheeks.

“Sakura, right?” she said, reading my name on the box I’d ordered.

I nodded, murmuring my thanks, snaking my arms back through my jacket. I was late for my seminar. I had deadlines on my mind. It’d barely been a month and I was already falling behind on my studies. But all of that worry withered away the moment she pressed that slice of cake into my hands.  

“You should come over for Happy Hour,” She looked me dead in the eyes. “That cake’ll be half price.”  

“Really?” I said. “What time?”

“Five o’clock until seven, every Wednesday afternoon,”

“Oh...oh no, sorry – that's when my seminar group meets for our weekly discussion,” I cringed. I can’t understate how much I hated leaving strangers disappointed in me. “I can’t let them go – actually I've missed a few of the meetings already. I really need to catch up,”  

“That’s okay,” She tossed her hair, pouting, piling up my leftover plates on her platter. “We’ll wait. Would you like anything else?”

I curled my toes. I lowered my gaze to the cake. A big commiseratory bite was bound to make her feel better. It sure would for me...

Within seconds of me sinking in my teeth, that slice was devoured. Gone. It was orgasmic. I rolled my tongue. I half tugged off her arm of her shoulder begging for another. We sat down together. We drank pearly peach schnapps. I ate. We chatted about bands and concerts, then home life and family. I ate. Then we talked about cooking, and baking, and traditional recipes. I missed my goddamn meeting.

Then I ate some more.

Grimm’s House of Sugar. It soothed all the strain. Pretty soon I started bringing books from the library to study there instead. Sally joined me when she was off the clock. There was always something special to savour no matter how I felt. Happy? Blueberry pie and vanilla ice cream. Sad? A Jolly James gingerbread man with gumdrop buttons. Tired? Some tangy fructose strawberry whips. Too hot? A Silvretta Glacier slush, naturally. Winter melted into spring and I was already feeling warmer. And cramped. And even a little bloated, though nothing a Cracklepop Plum Soda couldn’t fix.        

It was getting close to Thanksgiving when I started to notice Sally’s eyes peering over my shoulder, every so often. At first I thought she reading my research, when she brought over her platterfuls of fruity pie. It took a while to see she was staring just a little lower. At my lap. At my jeans. Something about the shiny button drew her in like a magpie.  

I was curious. I started wearing them more. And washing them more. Which would explain why they were feeling a little snug every time I sat at the dispenser for my six of the best. I swapped fabric softeners but they were still feeling uncomfortable. I switched to plaid skirts for a few weeks before the winter weather stiffened its grip. A storm shorted out the electricity to half of campus midway through my laundry routine. My clothes were still damp the next day, and I was left with no other option but to claw through the bottom of my drawers. I blew the dust off my jeans and prized them over my thighs. They’d shrunk a size in the darkness. My struggles ate into my schedule. Thrusting on a tee and a duffer jacket I had to stagger to class with the button still undone, bustling the route with a carefully placed fanny pack until I could flop into my desk, worn out, and seal the two pieces whilst gasping for breath. I spent the next hour and half scribbling notes in shorthand in a mild amount of pain. Life was so unfair.  

Grimm’s, praise all goodness, hadn’t suffered any power cuts, which probably explained why it was twice as busy all of a sudden the moment I stumbled in for lunch. I bit my lip, a bag of nerves all over again, shifting through the crowds. So many voices. So much noise. But I swear, if they’d run out of donuts I was ready to scream...

I had Sally to thank for keeping my tiny table reserved for me. Seats were scarce. My tummy began grumbling. I hopped up the last couple steps. I tapped the glowing green ticker on the flavour creator interface, and threw myself into the chair.

In an instant my zipper exploded. The button pinged off the dispenser, bounced under the table, then rolled into the clamoring throngs of people. Twenty different stunned faces zeroed in on me. My belly gurgled. Soft, fatty flesh pooled into my lap, pressing down the zipper into a full-on rip down my inside thigh.  

My face drained to snow white. I tried to stand, and run, and the next thing I knew my hand was in Sally’s. She appeared out of nowhere. We ducked and dived through a grove of thick coats and jabbering customers, then suddenly she was leading me through oaken doors. We trotted up a wooden staircase with paintings lining the walls. The rip snickered and lengthened as I pounded my legs to keep pace. My heart raced. She took me through a curtain, a corridor, then a final door for which she kept a key in a pocket sewn subtly under her breast.  

“Oh my god. I don’t know what happened,” I babbled. “I must’ve dried them funny or something, this has never happened to me before, I -”

“Sshhh,” Sally calmed me. “Shhhhh...”

She opened the door of the room on the floor directly above.  

“Where are we?” I mumbled.

“The Lips,” said Sally. “What you guys would call the second floor. It’s where we keep our makeup and wardrobe wings. And our advertising resources. You’ve gotta be quiet – the Brain’s the floor above us.”  

“Management?”  

“Yeah,” Sally whispered. “Let’s make this our little secret, okay?”

She reached into one of the closets, and withdrew a pullout handrail. I saw rows of clean, sparkly, beautiful dresses on silvery hangers. She wafted through each with a prying hand, scanning for the sizes.

“This should do,” she uttered, passing me one of the employee uniforms. The cotton was gossamer soft. The handiwork was exquisite.

“No way,” I whispered. “I couldn’t possibly,”

“Just so you can get home,” Sally unzipped the zipper and laid the dress by my feet. “You’ve got stuff that fits you, right?”

I clasped a shielding hand over my stomach. I shrank into the pit beneath me.  “I...” I choked on my words. “I don’t know...”

The sound of footsteps curdled my blood. I heard business shoes. Men in suits, shaking hands in the corridor. Idle chatter.  

“Hurry up!” Sally hissed, crouching low.  

I peeled off my jacket and tee, and slipped into the dress. My skin bristled with softness. It sat prettily around my hips, the skirt poofing out a little, the apron a pristine hue of navy blue, like my hair. Sally drew close, kicking my discarded outfit under the floor-length mirror. She helped me ease in one of my shoulders, tensing my bra under the neckline.    

“Does it look a little big to you?” I mumbled, nervously twizzling my hair. “Do I look a little big, I mean?”

The fabric had plenty of stretch, which I was glad for. It held up quite nicely. The apron covered up my gut. Yeah, my gut. My thick, chubby, fat girl gut that had stuck itself to my body without me realizing...

“You look fantastic,” Sally insisted. “It really suits your figure,”

I watched her cross her fingers in the mirror.

“Sakura, do you wanna work here?”  

I paused. I looked at her. A queer expression formed on my face.

“What, you mean like a waitress?” I asked.

“I could teach you everything,” Sally offered. “It’ll be fun. You’ll love it,”

“Um. Is there even an opening?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know they were taking new hires.”  

“I can put a good word in for you,” Sally smiled, reaching into the wardrobe. “I could even speak to the guys outside. You could start tomorrow!”  

“You’re sure?”

Sally spoke with her fingers. She helped me ease in my other arm under the frilly neckline, then grasped the zipper. Looking me in the eye through the mirror she pulled the corset tight, and ignoring my wince, she drew up the fastener. I let out a gasp as my boobs went up to my chin. Suddenly I found myself staring at cleavage I’d never had before. I looked like a temptress. I looked curvy. I looked big.  

“Sure, I’m sure,” she whispered into my ear. “You’ll fit right in.” 

-------------- 

Given a prod, I’m certain the shy girl I still was...deep down...might’ve made a quiet comeback. But you’d have had to prod me pretty hard. Turns out, I’d put on forty-six pounds in fewer than three months. No wonder I was struggling to tie my shoelaces.  

But becoming overweight wasn’t everything I expected. Somehow, I sort of became more energetic. My new job brought me a new personality to go with my new, voluptuous body. I was Sakura the epicurean. Sakura, the sugar-plump fairy. Sakura the slut, if I didn’t keep an eye on what my boobs were up to. They sewed my name along the bodice of my uniform in sapphire blue, my favorite color, but already I was beginning to overflow the cups. My breaks were spent tinkering with lace and tweezing my nipples – they were always so sore. Oh – not to forget eating, of course. Grimm’s granted its employees a budget of twenty dollars' worth of baked goods a day, and unlimited pick and mix. Most took the extras home to their families. But I chowed down on mine through the hours, and pretty soon Sally started offering her allowance to me too.  

I accepted. I grinned and I gorged. I was raking in the tips, the love, the extra inch...or two. I embraced it. It felt so nice to be somewhere where people looked so happy to see me all the time. I let my cheeks grow with my smile. It never budged, even when I started having to fasten my Dirndl dress with safety pins.

Oooofff. Did someone say bigger buns?

I marshalled my smirk as I tried on my new plus-sized panties. Sorta came with the territory, I guess.

But that territory was getting smaller by the day. I kept continuing to eat, through every bust seam and broken zipper. My cravings were consuming me. A couple more weeks and I couldn’t pass the tables by the muffin maker without my hips giving battle. My waving curves were a breeding ground for nudges and bumps; my hitlist of glasses knocked off the tabletops only grew starker as I grew larger and wider. Nobody was complaining. I started getting comfortable with some of the regulars. Knickerbocker glory with an eyeful of ass? You betcha. Sweet churros with some sidefat on the side? Sure thing. Muffintops? Ohhh, coming right up...

I never went home that summer. Strangely, things picked up while the students were gone – Grimm’s took a lot of trade from vacationers on their way to the Sound. They asked if I’d like to stay through to the next year, mostly serving ice cream. I barely needed convincing. I loved my job, the pay was great and...let’s face it, so were the perks. I couldn’t live without practically throwing my face under the soft scoop machine when my shift was up. I traded in for five unadulterated minutes every day after my takeout, letting Sally turn the crank while I gulped and slurped my dessert from the nozzle. It was heavenly.  

Of course I cleaned it afterward – I was the model employee – and it’d probably be baffling to the outward eye that my room in residency was a wreck. My roommate had moved back to Kansas and I was ashamed to say my trash was spilling over into her side. It had become nothing more than a pit for me to sleep in. I let the leftover muffin casings blanket my bed – sometimes I even napped on top of them, waking up and snacking through the time I was meant to be in lectures. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t make me feel delicious, but cross my heart, the walk up the hill was taking the wind right out of me. By time I hit my bedroom door I couldn’t be bothered to clear up. My energy just wasn’t there, physical or mental. If I wasn’t working, or sleeping, or eating, then pretty quickly I wasn’t interested.  

To no-one's surprise but my own, I’d plumped up another forty pounds by the week before term rolled around again. Not to mention the forty more I’d put on before we even broke up for summer vacation. Grimm’s House kinda marketed itself as a special trip out for the family – not some lazy student’s breakfast, lunch and dinner – and it was little surprise I was ballooning so massively. My skin took on a creamy shine, stretching over my fat. My cheeks became rounder. My chin grew thicker and thicker, filling out my face, but I was spared the shame of feeling it fold in on itself. I started to take on a very feminine shape – huge hips, thick thighs, a blossoming chest offset by a heaving, swelling stomach, and soft shoulders framed by my long blue hair. I got it dyed darker before freshman’s week, and I could hear the salon chair creaking underneath me. Sakura the student, Sakura the sophomore, Sakura the six stone overweight mockery of the slender girl who’d burst through Grimm’s front door the year before.

“How do you do it?” I remember saying to Sally while she rifled through the deepest rack in the Lips. “How do you stay so petite?”  

“Diet and exercise,” she exclaimed, winding the tape over my jiggling waistline.  

Yeah. Right.

There wasn’t the time to make any drastic adjustments. Freshman’s week meant ‘All Free Today’ - turns out it was an annual promotion. I bunched and bustled through shift after shift and by the end of the free stuff giveaway, I needed a bigger uniform all over again. Even my name tag was getting distended – the pink stitches slowly pulling free over my burgeoning boobs, fraying the lettering – though it was only when an elderly customer called me ‘Akuri’, that I swallowed my pride. I put on a smile and took their order. I wasn’t offended. I really had become a completely different person, after all. A quick, quiet word with the Lips assistants at closing and I was back to being Sakura again – in size XXL, the largest they carried. Any more expansion of my blubbery midriff and I’d have to put in a special request. It wasn’t a humiliation I was ready to face.  

But if the option meant giving up chocolate, and jelly tots, and marshmallows...  

It wasn’t my most mounting concern yet, anyway – that was my fitness level. The strength boost I got from swapping my thinness for thickness soon dissipated. The pounds kept piling on. The walk home after work was really starting to suck. My hips ached. My legs burned. Even my arms felt heavy. And my lungs felt like they were lathered in honey; probably a symptom of all the sugar I was inhaling. I could barely take a deep breath anymore and I kept coming to work ringed in sweat. I had to evaluate my options. The campus bus didn’t run through the avenue, only around it. You couldn’t get a car between the tightly squeezed streets up in residency. When my sister suggested a bicycle I had to laugh. I could barely squeeze into the desks in the lecture theatre, let alone fit my lardass on a bike seat. Most of my family hadn’t seen me since I’d started gourmandizing at Grimm’s, twelve or twenty dress sizes ago, depending where you shopped. For me, those options were growing limited; another couple of worries for the back of the drawer, another caramel-thickened fudge slice to take my mind away...

Worst was that my sense of balance was creaming in all over the place. My belly had gotten huge and my thighs were like tree trunks, wobbling past one another. I wheezed and I waddled, and when Christmas came I couldn’t seem to stop chafing under my dress. By New Year's I was fighting the blubbery slap of my belly under my skirt line. I was morbidly obese before Valentine’s Day. And I felt it.  

“Sally,” I puffed, struggling into the kitchen, setting down my platter with a crinkle of clattering glass. “Could you cover me for five?”

“Sure babes,” She squirted the last drop of icing on the dessert she was making. “You need a drink?”  

“Heh. I need.... phew.... I need to sit down,”

I dropped my knees, panting, and blobbed out on the stool by the bain-marie. My flesh hung over every side, softly jiggling. I lifted my dress to give it some relief, closed my eyes, placed a palm on my chest and breathed until my heart had stopped pounding relentlessly. Five tables cleared, four more to go. It was getting tough to keep up.  

Sally pried a glass of juice into my hands. I thanked her.  

“Maybe you could do some shifts behind the counter,” she said, her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure Mildred would be happy to swap with you,”

“It’s not...phew, that’s great, that’s really kind of you...but it’s more than that,” I breathed slowly, dipping my head back, squinting my eyes in the light. “I’m getting so heavy. I’m leaving earlier and earlier for work because I’m taking longer to climb the stairs, and even then, I’m late sometimes. It’s getting hard for me to move.”  

I swung my legs, smiling weakly. Flab squeezed from the ladder in my stockings. Even my socks felt tight. A soft groan escaped my lips.

“Then maybe you could move in with us,” Sally exclaimed after a pause.

“Huh?” I mumbled.  

“You could live here. There’s rooms in the Brain. Didn’t you know?”  

I blinked. Grimm’s was huge. It made sense there’d be space on the top floors, near where the managers worked. But was it what I needed right now?  

“We’ll take care of everything,” Sally reassured me. “We’ll send our deliverymen to yours tonight to help you transfer your things across. You could save loads of money on rent,”

The scent of liquorice wafted through the air. I nodded with a blank stare.  

“And you’d only have to walk a couple flights of stairs every morning,” she smiled. “That’ll help you out, won’t it?”  

“But I’m gaining weight like crazy,” I murmured, smoothing a hand over my stomach. “Sally - can't you see what’s happening to me?” I raised my eyebrows with a dumb smirk, feeling for my bellybutton under the dress. “I’m pushing three hundred pounds. I’m addicted to all the food in here. I’m always so hungry...”

“Then maybe you could try some of my pecan pie,” Sally smiled sweetly. “I’m sure it’ll make you feel much better...”

She dumped the warm pan on my stomach. My eyes bulged in awe. The pie sank into my fat, sitting level, as if it were on a shelf. I stroked my pinky finger around the edge, picking flecks of pasty into my chubby palm.

“I’m not sure if this is what I need,” I said, concerned.  

“I made it myself,” said Sally.  

“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “But it looks so fattening. I don’t know. I really think I oughta be watching what I eat...”

“I made it...”

She seized my index finger. Her eyes were radiating. She planted it dead in the middle of the pie. My knuckle rose out, covered in butter and vanilla.

“...myself.” She curled her lip.  

Sally let go. Her eyebrow remained arched. A chill and a warmth concocted within me both at once. I tried to form a smile. She waited, watching like a huntress.

I placed my finger to my lips, looking her coyly in the eye, and sucked.  

Fireworks rocketed. My hairs tingled. My tongue surged. My soul yearned. I scraped up a great globby handful straight from the middle of the pan and ploughed it into my face. Staff sweeping back from the breakroom balked while I pigged out in front of them. I was insatiable. I groaned, drawing my tongue up and under the delicate toppings. My stomach billowed and swelled with every bite.

“Good girl,” Sally praised me, though from which ear I could hardly tell. “Keep going... I’ll make you some more...”  

-------------- 

“You’re doing a great job down there,”

“Mmmpphh,” I gulped, rolling my eyes with a grin. “Yeah, totally. Sure.”

“No, honestly,” Sally trotted down the stairs. Her breath was sparkly in the refrigerated air. “Management sent me to tell you handling our excess stock is a vital role. It warms their hearts that you’re taking to it so well.”

“Oooh,” I batted my eyes at her. “Do they say that to all their human dumpsters?”  

I burped. Guess it was as good a time as any. It freed up some space in my gurgling belly for me to wolf down a double chocolate éclair, smacking while lips while I got my grip back on the controls. I cranked up the heat of the oven stroke furnace, where we sent everything we couldn’t sell or recycle. The atmosphere was a glimmering haze. Even the smoke tasted sweet.      

“Don’t be silly. You’re more than that,” said Sally.  

I snorted. A couple hundred pounds more, if I could see what the scale even said. My tummy was quaking on my knees as another trough full of perfectly good stock tumbled down the chute into my chamber. They called it the Belly, unsurprisingly, and it was cold and colossal. I’d underestimated the depths of this place. I’d underestimated a lot of things. My appetite for sure, on the daily. How quickly the hours blitzed by while I sat in my reinforced chair. How little I could move after dinner. How much I’d have to concentrate just to place my pudgy fingers on the correct buttons.  

But Sally was right. I was doing a good job. I had everything – snacks and sweets and...well, I don’t really know what else. She was there to help though. She was good like that. She reached the edge of my chair and helped me put on a fresh napkin, tying it nice and snug under my pillowy chin. She stroked a droplet of cream off my cheek with a smile.

“Hungry?” she asked me, her eyebrow raised facetiously.

“It hurts,” I admitted. “I can’t let all this food go to waste. The thought of all those poor cinnabon swirls burning up in that thing...”

I turned my eyes to the iron hulk by the conveyer belts, flicked a switch, then leaned on my blubbery paunch, grasping the travelling muffins with a greedy grin. Crumbs fell into my cleavage. I plucked them out, smirking. I’d kinda given up on wearing uniforms now I was working out of sight. My job at the counter had lasted about as long it’d taken me to become unable to squeeze behind the register. I’d said goodbye to most of my clothes. I’d resorted to a wintery jacket over a stretching wire vest, with the largest leggings I could find online. My mountainous belly was fully bared, heaving and pulling against me.  

“You’re so kind, Sakura,” she said, her voice almost like a song as she returned to the stairs. “So generous. So good to us.”

“Mmmpphh. Thanks,” I called. “Wish you could write my appraisals – I don’t think my tutors are pleased with me...”

I sighed. The rigours of the job, my physical exhaustion, my tendency to get pointed if I was any more than a couple hours gone from Grimm’s – it was starting to add up against my grades. I’d told my folks I was studying for a Master’s; in reality, I’d been forced to extend senior year. I’d fallen too far behind, and now I needed another twelve months to retake everything I’d failed. Luckily I had the savings – but my enthusiasm was waning. I hadn’t made it to the library in months. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if there were any chairs that could hold me anymore.  

“Hey, graduation’s boring,” Sally – the postgrad princess, answered. I couldn’t help but glare in envy. “And besides, they might not even get jobs. Especially not somewhere like Grimm’s.”

“True,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “At least I’ve got my feet on the ground here.”

Then I tried to get up. It was a long-winded process. My soft feet kicked. I pressed down with my arms. I tucked my chin to my chest and twisted my face with effort, grunting. My belly dropped between my thighs, bouncing on my chair with a weighty plop. I shot down a few inches, and yelped as I felt myself begin to slide.  

“No, no...wait...don’t hurt yourself. Let me help you!” Sally leapt the last two steps and ran toward me. Just as I was about to tumble off, she grabbed my arm, tucked under shoulder and hauled me back onto my seat with a surprising burst of strength. Sapped, glutted and stuffed, I felt the sweat travel down my spine as she settled me into place. Her arms held me tight. I caught my breath, smoothed back my hair, and stared.  

She wasn’t letting go. A crackle echoed from the innards of the belt-fed oven, and a spew of embers shot out onto the floor.

“Hah,” I flicked my eyes back from the fire and winked. “Is this the part where you shove me in?”  

Sally turned her soft cheeks. Her green eyes seemed to glow.  

“Don’t be silly, Sakura,” she giggled. “You’re too wide.”

I stopped breathing. My jaw would’ve dropped if It weren’t for my chin. It cushioned my shocked, fat face as I tried to find my words. Basically, it framed her point.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, blinking. “I’m too heavy for you to lift as well. For the record...”

“You’re not too heavy for me,”

“Sally, I weighed myself on the industrial scale,” I scoffed incredulously. “I peeked over five hundred pounds yesterday.”  

“You’re not...” She put a finger to my lips. “...too heavy for me.”  

She stroked my hair, then my shoulder, then traced her fingernail down my napkin and onto my swelling chest. My muscles tensed all at once, the shiver shifting through my layers of fat. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come.

Then she kissed me on the stomach. Slowly, she gripped my love handles and began to squeeze. I crinkled my toes as she fondled and groped. I found myself slipping back on the chair a little. She lifted the lowermost roll of my belly, wafting it up in her palms, like a pizza chef kneading his dough.  

“Umm.” I tilted my head. “Heh, err...plenty to go around down there, huh?” I said in a low voice, frozen in apprehension.

“Mmmm...” she hummed. “More...”

“More? Umm, okay. I thought maybe you’d wanna talk a little about this, but –”

“More.”

The éclair hit my tongue like a rocket. My cheeks bulged. The cream mushed on her fingers as she shoved it down my throat. The sugar rush warmed my brow, surging through my veins as she settled in my lap, smooching my neck, cooing as I munched and swallowed the chocolatey mass in my mouth between my moans. My eyes stayed rigidly open.

“You’re beautiful, Sakura...” she murmured, spellbound by my sloshing stomach. 

“That’s...” I coughed with a gulp. “That’s...very kind of you Sally, but I -”

“I know you don’t want me.” she mumbled. 

I blanched. “Hey...err...it’s not like....I think you’re great... you’re pretty, you’re smart...I just don’t think...”

She turned her face away. She clasped her fingers round my thickened wrist, removing it from the controls. She punched a button, and twisted a dial.  “But I know what you really want.” she breathed in my ear. Cogs whirred. I trembled. The sound of clanking ratcheted around the room as my secret little machine was brought to life.    

I began to pale.

“This food,” she went on. “These sweets. I’ve seen what they’ve done to you.” She pinched my sausage-like finger. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

She took that same finger and guided it lower, and lower. Beneath my belly. Between my thighs.

I winced. I moaned. I looked up at the cavernous rafters above, at the staircase that twisted to the lights of the shopfront beyond. I wasn't going to make it up that thing. Not tonight. Not without her help.

Not that I wanted to. My secret was laid bare. My eyes caught up with two towers of delicious donuts, stacked on a set on approaching tongs, bowed in the direction of my quivering mouth. Suddenly I found myself licking my lips. Sally’s pupils grew shiny and wide.  

“We could help each other feel better,” she whispered. “You...and me...I think we could something work. Don’t you?”

She rested her palm on my stomach. The machine hissed to a halt before us.

“Would you like anything else?” Sally whispered.  

I was throbbing. I was whimpering. I was so, so hungry.  

I jabbed the red button. I moaned.

The donuts surged toward me.  

I ate.