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"Fat Trimmings": Volume 37
🕑 Added 2024-11-22 22:00:10 +0000 UTCBack from hiatus, baby! Here's 7 fat fiction stories totally over 7,700 words of fattening content!
Enjoy!
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“Can’t Keep It Off”
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She couldn’t stop the fat.
As much as she tried, diets exercise, it didn’t seem to matter. The tireless march of time, and her constant craving, meant that the calories that she consumed kept turning into fat. Pounds piled on, soft yielding pounds of flesh plopped onto her now redundantly flabby body.
It wasn’t always like this.
She used to be fit. She used to have one of those figures she loved to flaunt, sexy six pack abs that she used to show off.
No she had a keg, a humiliating gut. And even though she dreaded the idea of people looking at it, her spongy stomach demanded to be seen. Unlike the rest of her, her fat gut couldn’t give up being the center of attention. It strained against the seams of any dress she tried to wear, and made those dresses look like sausage casings. And if she wore a shirt, her flabby pot belly would always make it ride up exposing flabby flesh for all to see. She had a big jiggly muffin top perfect for people to laugh at.
She used to be the one who laughed.
She used to be the one who shot others judgmental glares and said mean things behind their backs to their fat faces. When she was feeling particularly bold, she would shake a tummy, pinch a love handle, or tap some thunder thighs.
Now she’s the one on the receiving end of all of that. People love to point out how much her clothes don’t fit. They love to point out how much weight she’s gained, how much softer she is. They say all sorts of things:
“You’ve really let yourself go.”
“You used to be so hot? What happened?”
“What a shame. You really larded up.”
“I didn’t think you’d get fat. But… wow. You’ve really gotten fat. I mean FAT.”
“Lay off the snacks. You’ve really porked up.”
And then there would be the pinching. She found herself being pinched constantly. If there was anyone she had ever pinched or poked or patted in anyway and they saw her now, it was inevitable. They would giggle as they took their revenge, pinching her love handles, shaking her blubbery tummy and tapping her thunder thighs as they commented on how soft and out of shape she had gotten, how much weight she had gained, how fat she was.
It might have been the thigh tapping that got to her the most. She used to have such lean but powerful thighs, and now they were flabby and weak. She had thick, cellulite covered thunder thighs, and they were large enough to slap together as she walked, constantly threatening her with being forced to waddle. She knew those days weren’t far off.
She knew the pounds weren’t going to stop.
They were going to keep filling her stomach, pushing it out into a proper spare tire, turning it into a sagging double belly, an apron of fat that flopped onto her flabby thunder thighs which would become thick as tree trunks. And her once perfectly tight ass which had already turned into chunky cellulite covered cheeks would continue to balloon into a truly wide load of flabby fat, bouncing blubbery butt cheeks with no muscle tone and a mind of their own, jiggling furiously with every labored step.
She felt like a hog, but it wasn’t like she was going to stop eating any time soon. And her gym days were numbered as well. The gym was too humiliating now that she was so fat and flabby. When she was fit, she used to love it. She used to love flaunting her figure and her fitness and turning heads. Now it was just another place for her fat ass to be mocked the way she used to mock others. Besides, it’s not like the gym was helping anyway. She was just fat and getting fatter by the day. She couldn’t keep it off. There was no longer any point in trying.
It was time to accept who she was. She wasn’t a fit girl anymore. She was a big fat lazy couch potato, and the sooner she accepted that, the sooner she could get to eating another tub of ice cream.
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“Licking Up Lard”
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The lard that didn’t make it from the spoon into her greedy mouth, slid down her multiple chins and landed with a satisfying plop as a glob that quickly trickled into her canyon of cleavage.
How had she let herself get this way?
How had she given in so completely?
It started with small indulgences. She had always been so fit, so prim and proper and perfect. Her entire life had been about holding herself to a higher standard than others, looking down on them as she admired herself, and yet….
Indulging had felt so good. It felt so bad too. She knew she shouldn’t have done it, that she should have kept counting calories. But she felt like she was in total control. She could afford a cheat day now and then. She did it all in secret at first too. Her friends couldn’t know that the slim and sexy woman who seldom ate anything but salads was a secret snacker, a fat girl inside a fit one’s body who would secret away to fast food spots deep in the night and set herself up in a shadowy corner where she could stuff herself like the naughty little piglet she wanted to be.
And those late night feasts started to fatten her up. The secret snacking caused the pounds to sneak onto her slender waist. Soon enough, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was gaining weight from her friends. Once she popped the girdle she had started wearing in front of everyone, people could tell the truth.
She was getting fat.
Once they knew that, there was no stopping it. She could have used it as a wake up call, a signal to really get serious about diet and exercise, but instead she started to spiral further into decadence because, as she stuffed her face with cookies and cake and chased it all with tubs of ice cream, she knew the simple truth.
She wanted indulgence.
She wanted to be fat.
She wanted to get fatter.
And that’s just what she did. After the girdle broke, it was like the damn burst on her weight gain.
Once her friends knew her secrets, she no longer had to hide her indulgences which means she began to eat far more freely in front of them. She would still keep her secret late night stuffing sessions going, but those would become even more intense. In public, she was known for letting go, for eating whatever she wanted. She would order multiple items, eat them all, and still have room to sample what everyone else was trying. She no longer limited herself and had become a two desserts kind of girl. Choices bored her. Why choose when she could simply have everything she wanted?
And she wanted a lot.
Pasta, sausage and peppers, sweet and savoring things, it didn’t matter. She wanted it all. French, Chinese, Indian, Mexican, Brazilian, North African, Italian, and more, so much more, she was a consumer of cultures. She sucked down hot dogs like a Hoover and guzzled down gallons of ice cream. She was turning herself into a real glutton, a total pig.
She went from being the slim and sexy queen bee to the fat friend very quickly. And as she continued to expand, and her piggishness became more apparent, those same catty friends who took joy in humiliating her started to grow bored and distant. But she didn’t care. She wanted more.
The hot stares of others had fallen upon her, judging her, and she couldn’t get enough. It was a thrill unlike any other. “Ruining” herself had become an intensely intimate process. At first she had just wanted to eat, to indulge without consequence. But now she wanted something far greater.
She wanted to get fatter.
She wanted to feel her body growing, to feel the flab oozing through her fingers, to rub her overstuffed belly and groan, barely able to move after stuffing herself silly. She craved attention, positive and negative. She wanted people to look at her, to comment on her girth, her appetite, how far she had fallen, and how much fatter she was still going to get.
So she got herself a high quality webcam, accounts on OnlyFans, Clips4Sale, and Curvage, and went to town. She stocked up on plenty of food and shot video after video. Her favorites were the ones where she would pose with pictures of her old slim and sexy self in a bikini and talk about how hot and mean she used to be as she shook her belly and slapped her ass for the camera. Then she would stuff herself silly and invite people to make fun of her as she ate and made oinking noises.
And as she licked another spoonful full of lard like it was a lollipop, she smiled and new the truth.
She was one happy piggy.
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“I was Possessed By a Gluttonous Ghost”
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Look, I didn’t expect to get possessed by a ghost that would make me stuff myself until I became a woman who weighs over six hundred pounds and is struggling with mobility issues.
Who does?
I used to be a real sexy babe, and hey, I know plenty of people would still find my fat ass super sexy. I respect that. I’m glad for that, honestly, otherwise I would be stuck being super fat and bone dry. But I think I look like a hog. Perhaps hog is too light of a word, and I’m anything but light nowadays. I used to be a very slim and sexy woman, hot as they come, but these days I’m a blob.
All thanks to that ghost.
So how did I get this way? How did I go from fit to outrageously fat?
I’ll tell you.
Me… well I’ve always been a kind of arrogant person. Okay, I’ve always been a really arrogant person. Ever since high school, I’ve always been a mean girl. And past there it only ever got worse. I’ve always had a fit figure to die for, well… when I say always I mean up until right up until this ghost encounter- which I’m getting too. I promise. Please, give me some time to talk about how freakin’ hot I used to be first. My memories of how slim and sexy and confident I used to be are all I have left right now. I’m never going to be thin and toned again. Hell, I’m unlike to go anywhere without waddling again, and I’m much more likely to be needing a mobility scooter to cart my fat ass around soon, so- again give me some freakin’ grace here.
I used to be so smokin’ freakin’ hot, like otherworldly. And I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, but I had plenty of guys and gals who liked that about me too. They would drool over me, and I loved to watch them do it. I had a perfect figure with a full but tight ass, thick but muscular thighs, and a slim waist with a toned tummy. I even had great breasts, a beautiful bosom perfect for any kind of top. I looked great in leather pants and a halter especially. It was like my go to look, especially when I was ghost hunting.
Yeah. Ever since I was little, I loved the idea of hunting ghosts. I know a lot of people gave the all lady reboot of Ghostbusters a lot of crap, but I loved that shit. And I’ve always been into ghost hunting reality tv shows.
So I figured… I’m smoking hot, like drop dead gorgeous, way hotter than anyone else I know. People love to look at me, and I love having them look at me. I bet you people would look at me- watch me- as I hunt some freakin’ ghosts. Then I’d even get some like goth modeling gigs on the side, people loved to have me model things, and I’d make a ton of money doing what I’m passionate about. Then I’d be able to flaunt that money along with my perfect figure. It was perfect.
Then I met that freakin’ gluttonous ghost.
And he made me eat. And eat a lot. Until, well look at me, like I said I’m a real porker, an oinker, a pig girl, an absolutely obese sow, a blob, a- well I’ve got a lot of names that I could call myself because I haven’t exactly let go of my old prejudices and embraced the whole body positivity thing yet.
Anyway, you wanna know the details of how I went from a hottie to a freakin’ fatty, right?
I’ll tell you.
I had a few ghost hunting adventures under my belt (back when wearing a belt was still a thing I could do), and I was really feeling myself. So I went to this place that I had been warned about. People had had some real spooky experiences there, mostly involving food. And, apparently, the people who spent the night there ended up gaining a lot of weight afterward. I figured it was because they were just destined to be lazy fatasses, but it was a great chance for me to really show off my figure and ability to “beat the curse”.
It turns out there was no curse, just a massive freakin’ ghost who loves to make people fat.
And I guess because I was super arrogant or whatever, the ghost took special interest in me and possessed me. Then he made me eat, and eat, and eat. Like, I ate so freakin’ much. It was insane. The whole time I could feel everything but fullness. I tasted all the delicious food that my face was getting stuffed with. There were dishes of every kind. The kind of food didn’t matter to the ghost as long as there was a lot of it. I was stuffed like a sausage and soon I started to look like one.
My trim tummy blew up into a big blubbery gut that the ghost liked to make me wobble with my now chubby hands. My thighs lost all of their tone and became thick flabby thunder thighs that widened my stance I was stuck waddling about. Boy, I sure do miss waddling now. These days I can barely do it. I mostly use my motor scooter to get around, even around the house. I used to at least be able to get to the kitchen and back to the couch without it, but now I’m just too freakin’ fat.
My breasts got huge too, but now they’re just these saggy freakin’ boulders, man. They’re killing my fat back all the time. Oh, and my ass, my previously perfect ass, well sitting on your ass all day eating makes that ass super fat and super soft. I’ve got an enormous ass now, a real big broken down dumper, fat as hell and covered in cellulite just like my thighs. Damn, I can barely lug this thing around anymore.
Anyway, I still do ghost shows, but I don’t move around much anymore. So it’s mostly just reaction stuff. I also make pretty good money eating on camera and playing with by big fat blubbery gut for people. People find some weird stuff to be pretty freakin’ hot. I don’t get it, but whatever. Lots of people watch my stuff to laugh at me. That I get cause again like my prejudices haven’t actually changed much. I haven’t really learned much of a lesson from this whole thing. I’m just a big fat fatty now, a big six hundred pound ball of blubber.
I’m hungry. I’m always hungry. So like I guess if you want to see me eat this entire bucket of fried chicken along with an entire freakin’ chocolate cake, don’t forget to like, subscribe and ring that notification bell and then join me on Patreon to watch me stuff myself and play with my big ol’ greedy blubber belly.
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“The Adipose Zone: Luck Be a Fat Lady Tonight”
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You’re walking through a door, one that opens up into a realm beyond taste and smell where the senses stretch on forever and reality is but another word in stirred up alphabet soup where anything is possible.
You’re walking into… The Adipose.
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Meet Mike. Mike is a rather average man who, through quite a bit of luck, has managed to marry Michelle who is the very stereotypical definition of a trophy wife. With her fit figure and wandering eye, Michelle is someone clearly out of Mike’s league and hanging around him because of his money.
Michelle loves to flaunt her fit figure. She has a stacked hourglass that she loves to show off in glamorous dresses that hold tightly to her slim figure, showcasing her bountiful breasts and her trim waist in equal measure. Her hips are generous, but her curves are tight. Like most men, she has Mike wrapped around her little finger which wouldn’t be an issue for him. She’s also extremely out of his league, something that she reminds Mike of constantly as she flaunts her figure in front of everyone. Again, it’s not an issue for Mike. He feels very lucky to be where he is.
There’s only one issue in their otherwise perfect relationship.
Mike has a gambling problem.
That’s why Mike finds himself in the sports betting section of a Las Vegas casino early in the morning, ready to bet on some east coast football games. It’s a quieter day at the sports betting parlor because who bets in person anymore when there are like five million online sports betting apps that all over 100 percent profit boosts on live five part same game parlays and what not.
Mike’s here because he’s in the whole, and his vain arrogant trophy wife is here sucking down free cocktails and eyeing slim waiters up and down as he tries desperately to dig himself out of it. He knows that if he doesn’t do something quickly to turn his luck around, if he doesn’t come up with a big winner, she’s bound to cuckold him at best and leave him completely at worst.
And that makes him incredibly desperate.
It is the perfect time, therefore, for a man ominously dressed in an all white suit and with a perfectly trimmed curly black goatee to appear. Other than the slight smell of sulfur that follows him around, he seems perfectly pleasant as he approaches Mike with a smile.
And the whole world around them stops.
“Hello there, Mike,” says the man with a smile.
“Looks like you’ve found yourself in a dilemma, a bit of a jam that I’m happy to help you get out of.”
Mike looks around at all the frozen people around him. His wife is in the middle of sipping her third martini. Then he turns back to the good looking if not so great smelling man.
“W-who are you?”
“People call me many names. This is where I usually tell you something like I’m Mr. Pip, John Milton, Mr. Nick, Old Scratch or something like that. But I’m going to be straight forward with you. I’m Satan. That’s right, Satan. I’m the literal devil standing in front of you offering a bet. But if you wish, you can call me Stan.”
“I’d rather just call you Satan at this point, if it’s all the same to you.”
“That’s fine. That was certainly one of the options I presented.”
“Thanks, Satan. Now why are you here?”
Satan smiled in exactly the way one would expect Satan to smile.
“I’m here to change your life, Mike. I’m going to offer you the chance to make an absolutely life changing amount of money, and you won’t even have to wager any of your own. Instead, you’ll wager your wife’s weight.”
“My wife’s weight?”
“Yes. That’s right, your wife’s weight. In order to achieve the kind of figures you need to keep your wife living in the luxury that has become accustomed to, you must be willing to risk her perfect figure.”
“You’re really enjoying the word play aren’t you?”
“I really am.”
Mike tapped his chin thoughtful and took another glance over at his wife’s flawless body clad in a figure hugging dress that showed off her tight curves and made her look extra alluring to all those around her.
“Okay. What’s the game?”
“I’ll let you choose.”
“And the wager?”
“Let’s say I’ll wager 100,000 dollars and you bet 100 pounds.”
“So if I pick the loser, my wife-”
“Gains 100 pounds. I’m keeping this as straight forward here as I can.”
Mike strokes his chin as the Devil strokes his own. The two look very thoughtful.
“You’re on,” says Mike as he looks at the board to see which game he wants to bet on.
“Now let’s see here. I need a sure bet. A can’t lose. Oh, I’ve got it. Saints vs Panthers, and I’m taking the Saints.”
“Are yous sure?”
“Of course. The Panthers suck! And the Saints have already beaten on them like a drum this season. Plus, they need this game desperately. This is their get right game for sure. They couldn’t possibly go from dropping like 90 points in the first two games of the season to losing seven straight games, not after they’ve gotten completely boat-raced in the last three! They’ve gotta win!”
“Very well….”
A surprisingly few amount of devil manipulations later…
“Son of a bitch!”
“I’m really surprised you you thought I could ever let the Saints of all teams win.”
“Yeah. I shoulda seen that coming.”
“And now, allow me to collect my winnings.”
Mike looks over at Michelle and watches as his wife’s tight and toned figure begins the balloon.
The first parts of Michelle’s body to bloat up are her breasts. Already quite large, her bosom balloons and stretches the top of her dress before starting to sag and looking far more deflated than her previously perky set. Her flabby breasts soon come to rest on her belly. That belly, which until moments okay was simply trim and toned abdominal muscles, now bulges outward, straining her dress and still growing. Love handles grow at its side to give her middle, once a cinched waist that formed the smallest part of her hourglass figure, a much more barrel-like shape.
Down below she fattens as well. Her thighs press together creating a nice fat lap for her blubbery belly to rest on. Michelle’s once muscular thighs become made of creamy, cellulite covered flesh as waves of flab fill her body. Her ass softens as well becoming two big chunky cushions that raise her in her seat as her third martini is replaced by a third hotdog.
That hotdog is being held by a flabby arm. Both of her formerly lean limbs now feature blubbery bingo wings, and as she stuffs the hotdog into her fat face, her doughy double chin is clearly visible.
She is a fat woman, almost double the weight she once was, having gained 100 pounds in a matter of moments, and yet she doesn’t seem to notice. She just keeps eating.
The whole think is noticed by Mike, however.
“Damn. You really changed her.”
“What did you think she’d look like with an extra hundred pounds?”
“It is a lot of weight.”
“It is,” mused Satan.
“But don’t worry. I’m happy to give you a chance to gain her old figure back. Shall we say… double or nothing?”
“That was a very ominous pause you threw in there.”
“It was.”
“Very dramatic.”
“It’s kind of my thing.”
“So double or nothing?”
“Double or nothing.”
“And I get to choose the game still?”
“You choose.”
Mike racks his brain as he tries to pick a game that would put Satan in the position he wanted him in to give Mike the best chance of winning. When he hit upon it, a little twinkle of devilish delight lit up in Mike’s own eyes.
“Alright. You want to put your finger on the scale? Then I’m going to bet on the Devil’s favorite team.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I do.”
“You mean?”
“That’s right. Put it all on the Cowboys.”
One 27-21 loss to the Atlanta Falcons by America (and apparently Hell’s) team later…
“Damn. Why’d you have to do Dak like that?”
“It was the only way,” said Satan, hanging his head in shame.
“I’m glad that hurt you at least.”
“This whole season hurts, but at least now I’ll claim my prize.”
Michelle begins to balloon again as another two hundred pounds piles onto her already portly frame. This time the hourglass is impossible to maintain as her globular gut grows bigger taking up even more of her lap as it becomes a gelatinous sack of fat. It wobbles as it pushes outwardward, waves of fat crash against her thick thighs, thighs that of course keep getting thicker as well.
The fat from her thick thunder thighs and titanic ass begins to overwhelm the sides of chair she is sitting in, and soon she is sitting in two chairs so that each of her incredibly chunky cheeks gets its own seat. Even then, her blubber still spills over the sides. She has rolls and rolls of fat that cover her body, thick cankles, and pillowy arms. Her mammoth breasts are huge but extremely saggy and hang like pendulums until they rest on the shelf that is her heavy gut. That gut keeps drawing Mike’s attention. Its tremendous girth and the way it fills her fat lap is exceptionally impressive especially considering how trim and toned her middle used to be. And her face, her previously slender, model quality face is now piggish with a wide, fat nose, jiggly jowls and multiple chins.
Even her outfit has changed. The glamorous dress she used to wear is now a food stained muumuu clinging to every roll of fat and stretched to its limits. The hotdog she was eating is now two, one in each of her fat hands, and there is a tray piled high with them right in front of her like she’s ready for Nathan’s on the Fourth of July. She looks like a dutiful hog as she continues to chow down on her fattening feast. Mustard and ketchup continue to find their way onto her muumuu painting her fat chest like a Jackson Pollock piece.
Mike notices people noticing his wife, but unlike before when they see her they mostly quickly look away, and those that linger also smirk and laugh.
The devil nods at his handiwork.
“Quite the change, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes. She’s over…”
“Four hundred pounds. But don’t worry. We still have the primetime game left to go. I’ll let you win her weight back. All you have to do…. Is bet your soul.”
There is a long pause and then a slow building laugh, but not from Satan, from Mike.
“Ha. Ha ha. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Why- why would I do THAT?”
For the first time, Satan is momentarily speechless then-
“B-because… because look at your wife.”
“Yeah! Look at her! She’s a big fat slob, a total cow. I love it! Nobody here is even looking at her, except maybe to judge her like she used to judge them. Serves her right. And me? I get more cushion of the pushin and all to myself. And all I have to do now is keep her fat and happy? That’s way cheaper than before with much less risk. This is the best!”
“But you were supposed to bet-”
“My soul? No way! I get to keep my wife and watch the Cowboys lose. This is a perfect day. And you really thought you were going to what? Drag me to hell? I’ve got news for you buddy, I’m already there. I’m a Jets fan!”
Mike laughs and laughs hysterically, putting one arm as far as he can get around the wide waist of his over four hundred pound wife while pointing and laughing at Satan who hangs his head in defeat.
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Let this be a lesson. If you’re clever and not too greedy, you can make your own luck and even pull one over on the devil himself… here in the Adipose Zone.
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“Gluttony Looks Good On You”
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Gluttony looks good on you, darling. It really does. I love the way it’s flared your hips. You look so much more sensual now. I can see where all of those sweet treats have gone. It’s just like the old saying says, “A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” And yours are so delightfully wide, so grabbable.
Your whole body is so squeezable now, so squishy. The fat flesh that has covered all of the muscles you used to have is remarkable. When you’re laying there like this, I can see the waves of fat undulating across your gloriously gelatinous body. It’s a sea of fat, and I love to let my hands journey across it, feeling every inch of you, pinching, poking, squeezing, jiggling. I can’t get enough of watching your fat move, making your fat move, making you fatter still.
Do you want another chocolate covered strawberry?
Of course you do. You want a dozen. Don’t you?
And cake, lots of chocolate cake, and cookies, cookies of all kinds. You really are such a gluttony, such a fatty, such a greedy pig.
I bet you if I put a trough full of chocolate mousse in front of you, you’d eat it all face first face like a good little piggy. Wouldn’t you? Of course you would. You’d love it. God, that would be so hot. We should try it. We have to. We must.
I want to watch you eat more. I want to feed you more. I want to watch you grow fatter, softer, and I know you do too. That’s how you’ve gotten this way. You wouldn’t be this fat if you didn’t love it. Maybe you didn’t love the fat at first. Maybe you just loved the act of indulging, of giving in to your every desire. But now you see what you’ve become, you’ve gone from such a fit and sexy thing to this blubbery beauty. You’re so much hotter now than you ever were even if others can’t see it.
We both know people love to tease you now, like you used to tease others. You’re on the other end of a lot of rude comments, but it’s a fun little game isn’t it, to hear them, to read them, to know that people out there are gossiping all about how you’ve let yourself go.
And then you love just letting go of all of it, not just your slim body but of all their expectations, the expectations that you forced upon yourself and others for so long. You’re a greedy glutton, a lazy fatty now growing fatter and softer by the day, and you love it. You can’t get enough of it. That’s why I’m here, to keep your blubbery body growing.
We’re going to make your thunder thighs even thicker, your backside even broader. Your greedy blubber belly is going to fill your lap. Your face is going to get fatter, rounding out and with two chins becoming three. You’re going to be so weak and helpless, as fat and pathetically lazy as you want to be. You’re going to do nothing with your days but sit around and pig out, growing fatter and fatter.
And you’re going to look so good doing it.
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“Obesity is a Marathon Not a Sprint”
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Elizabeth liked to go by the nickname Thin Lizzy, you know, like the band. And she earned this nickname because she was in fact wire thin, and she loved being that way because it helped her to do what she loved best, which was running.
Lizzy loved to run. It was her passion. To her, running was the best way to show off her superiority. She could literally run circles around people, and she loved it. She would use running to show off her fit figure and to put others plagued by perceived figure issues down.
What she really loved was that running made her metabolism so fast, and that fast metabolism meant that she was able to eat whatever she wanted (and in fact needed to keep herself loaded with calories just to do all the running that she did) without gaining any real weight. Even during the winter, when there were less races to be run so she put on a few pounds when she dialed back on her training, Elizabeth always shed that weight and was lean and mean come the spring.
She loved being lean.
And she really loved being mean.
Being mean was almost the entire point of running for her. Proving that she was superior and lording that superiority over others was the main motivating factor for all of her hours spent training, honing her perfect body to run her best.
So how did it all change?
How did she become the blubbery blob that she is today?
Well, ironically it started with what she loved most. Running had been everything to her, but one bad full and a lot of blown out knee cartilage later, and Elizabeth found herself in bed for a long time. It was quite the shift for her, going from being extremely active to no activity whatsoever. She tried to get herself out of bed far sooner than she was ready to on more than one occasion, but her arrogance and stubbornness just led to more setbacks and an even longer recovery time.
Her arrogant and haughty demeanor never changed. She still thought extremely highly of herself and felt like it was her right to be waited on hand and foot by those she still thought herself better than, and she was extremely bitter as she bickered with people and ordered them about. She was a mean person, unceasingly mean. If anything, she got even meaner and more critical of others. It was as if, without running to keep her attention, the only thing she could think to do was turning to bullying for amusement.
The other thing that did not change about Elizabeth was her appetite.
Elizabeth kept stubbornly eating the same calorie laden meals and snacking constantly throughout the day. Her body was just used to it. Even without the exercise to burn it all off, Elizabeth found herself craving food constantly, and in her arrogance she figured she could indulge those cravings as much as she wanted. She had always flaunted her ability to eat whatever she wanted without gaining a pound before. Why should this time be any different just because of one unfortunate injury.
What she didn’t count on was her metabolism falling off a cliff.
Once that happened, the pounds began to pile on. She didn’t notice it at first, but that was due to a combination of factors: She was in fact technically getting lighter at first. While she was gaining fat she was also losing her hard earned muscle mass. But soon enough the weight began to come noticeable, at least to everyone around Elizabeth. The other factor that led to Elizabeth’s downfall was her own vanity and arrogance. This kept her in an extended state of denial for far longer than should have been reasonable.
Elizabeth’s abs melted away into a spongy pot belly that absorbed plenty of fat from the calories that she was consistently stuffing herself with. It kept growing and growing becoming softer, more blubber and more voluminous. As it grew, so did her appetite. She began to eat even more than she did when she was a runner, and with her slowed down metabolism this meant that the only thing that was speeding up for her was her weight gain.
The pounds that followed her increased gormandizing really glutted her glutes and thickened her thighs. Her ass cheeks became blubbery pillows, saggy masses of fat, and her toned runner’s thighs became flabby messes, thick thunder thighs that slapped and then rubbed together as she walked (which was seldom once she gave up on trying to force her recovery.) She became quite accustomed to sitting on her fat ass all day shoving food into her mouth and growing fatter even if she didn’t realize the full extent of her fatness.
What Elizabeth did notice was that she was definitely getting weaker, and that weakness along with her growing hunger meant she was becoming consistently more reliant on other people to help take care of her, and those other people were the same people that she had spent so much time bossing around and belittling. Those people saw how much weight Elizabeth was piling on, so how fat the former fitness queen was getting and decided that this was the perfect opportunity to teach her a lesson in humility.
They began to ply her with even more food, and they were even more helpful to make sure that Elizabeth moved as little as possible. They kept her in comfort so that her cushiony body could continue to expand. And by the time Elizabeth really noticed how fat she was getting, how obese she was, it was too late. Elizabeth was trapped by her caretakers, completely reliant on them and too helpless and greedy to send them away.
Previously, Elizabeth’s greatest deadly sin was pride, and she was often prone to bouts of wrath and sometimes quite a bit of lust. But as she grew from fit to fat, she became the embodiment of greed, sloth, and most of all gluttony. She had once inspired envy in others, but as her body ballooned, she became the one who was envious, especially as her caretakers became emboldened by her reliance on them and began to taunt her, playing with her fat and commenting on her sloppy, helpless condition. Elizabeth had been a proud woman reduced to a pathetic blubbering blob.
Her belly soon filled up her lap, a lap that was quite wide thanks to the continued expansion of her thunder thighs into the size of extra wide tree trunks. She rose in her bed not under her own willpower but because her ass had grown so fat with extra flabby cushion. Even her arms were fat now with flabby wings, and her face, constantly stuffed with food, was fat and piggish with jiggly jowls and multiple chins.
Elizabeth’s caretakers loved what they had done to her, helping to turn the formerly fit runner into a six hundred pound obese blob. She would have been obese no matter what thanks to her own bad habits, but they had really pushed her into becoming something truly special. And they had one last humiliating trick up their sleeves.
The former marathon runner was invited to be a special guest for one last local marathon. It was supposed to be a celebration of body positivity, of an “anyone can participate” attitude. But Elizabeth’s caretakers saw it as the ultimate humiliation. There was no way she could actually run, so instead the woman who once won marathons with ease found herself motoring about at the back of the pack on a motorized scooter with her fat spilling over the edges as everyone along the route gawked at her, especially those who had known Elizabeth was the vain slim and sexy woman that she used to be.
Large Lizzy lugged her lard ass about on her motorized scooter looking every bit like an over six hundred pound parade float, bringing up the rear of the race so everyone could see her and laugh. Lizzy had plenty of snacks to keep her going, but they ran out halfway through which meant the rest of the marathon was pure hell.
It was humiliating, but it was her life now, and Large Lizzy knew it. She just wanted to get the marathon over so she could eat some more.
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“Thick Burger Delivers the Fat”
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Jared loved his job.
Jared got to make people fat.
Technically, making people fat wasn’t a part of his job description. He was simply a delivery man, so he very well could have been delivering salads and other healthy foods for people looking to lose weight. But the reality of the situation was that Jared delivered Thick Burger. And delivering Thick Burger meant he was helping to make people fat.
It usually started with a party, small ones, maybe just a few friends getting together and needed something quick and delicious as a spur of the moment kind of thing. Thick Burger was tasty. Thick Burger was fast. Thick Burger was addictive and extremely fattening, but they didn’t know that last part yet. A group of friends would get a large sampling of things, and then that one party would become a bi-weekly then weekly occurrence. Fit friends would develop closer bonds and tighter pants as their waistlines widened over time. Sometimes, Jared would be very lucky and find himself delivering to multiple locations only to find that he was meeting chubby people at the door who were once slim people from the party he had delivered to earlier. That was particularly amusing.
There was also a large call for late night delivery of Thick Burger, especially to people who were home from a long night out and looking to soak up the alcohol that they had ingested. Intoxicated individuals, already bloated from beer, loved indulging in Thick Burger late at night. When he found the fit ones that were doing this, he knew they were goners. Thick Burger was habit forming. And the slim and sexy people who loved to party were doomed to plump up because of it. They would be going from fit party animals to helpless fatties soon enough, piggies addicted to the product.
His favorite ones to fatten were the haughty ones, especially women who looked like they had been privileged with prettiness their whole lives. Jared had gotten a sense for who were the former mean girls in high school, the cheerleaders and prom queens who used to make fun of fatties. And he loved being a part of turning them into the kind of piggies they used to make fun of, feeding into their karmic comeuppance. They would inevitably go from prim and proper, to plump party goers, to full blown porkers.
What he found most satisfying was the look in their eyes.
It would always change over time. He was used to judgmental stares, glares of disdain at the fact that he was a simple, rather portly, delivery guy. Hot women loved looking down on him as they flaunted their own fit figures. But he would always know as he handed the greasy bag over and watched them grasp it with their slender figures, that those figures were doomed for fatness and he would be the one laughing last.
The slim and sexy vixens that Jared loved to fatten always started off looking so arrogant, but as their figures softened, as their outfits got unintentionally tighter, Jared would always see the change in their eyes. First that arrogance became stubborn denial. Then he watched it slip into self-consciousness. That was often Jared’s favorite part. The moment a beautiful queen bee realized her fit figure was fractured and felt the kind of shame she had forced on others. He loved the way the woman who took the greasy bag with her now chubby figures would question herself. As her blubber pressed on the seams of her dress and her greedy tummy rumbled with hunger, he could see her promising that this would be the last time she needed this but then she would get everything under control. And as her flabby arm quivered when she snatched the bag, Jared always knew that would never be the case. The next time he saw her, she would be even fatter.
And she was always fatter.
Sometimes the weight gain was less noticeable, but it was always there. Thick Burger made her crave fattening foods beyond just itself. And she no longer had control. She was a naughty piggy, a greedy fat girl who needed to give into her cravings.
Jared was there to help her do that.
And that’s when he would see the change in her eyes yet again. This time there would be a sense of wild desperation, a last gasp of wanting to change, swirling with a desire to stuff herself full of greasy, fattening, but delicious food. She knew what the food was doing to her. She knew she was getting fatter and fatter, falling farther and farther from the fit, slim and sexy and proud woman that she had been. She had seen the judgmental looks, heard the nasty comments, felt the incredible shame, but she couldn’t help herself.
She was his greedy, greasy, piggy.
Dressed in greasy ill fitting sweats, her eyes would be full of hopelessness at her situation as her fat fingers seized the bag and clung to it. He loved the way her nostrils would flare as she inhaled the scent of her feast. It always made the formerly proud woman look exceptionally piggish. He loved the way her belly would slosh out from under her food and sweat stained shirt and he could see the greasy sheen on her sweaty stretch mark covered gut. She was practically begging him for it, begging him to stuff her until her big greedy gut was as tight as a drum.
She needed him. She needed the greasy fattening food that she would bring him. She needed to be fattened further, to be brought lower, to lose control completely and eat and eat and eat. He needed to make her fatter.
And he would.
He would make them all fatter.
He would turn all the arrogant pigs into fat ones.
Fat, helpless, pathetic ones desperate for Thick Burger, desperate for his aid. They would need him to fatten them further, and he would do it.
Jared loved his job.
