James Duke
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Street Fighter Slob Strike: Makoto's Bad Sushi Addiction.
🕑 Added 2022-03-18 04:02:50 +0000 UTC"Uuuuurrrpp-oooohhh." Makoto's belch faded into a light moan with perfect ease. She lay in bed, cradling what she could reach of her massive gut. "Ooohhh that's last time I. . . .BBLLLUUURRUUUP. . .ugggh. . .eat there." She belched louder than before, her stomach gassily displaying its unhappiness. She wiped the sweat off of her eyebrows, feeling it immediately start collecting again. It was a hot summer in Japan, humid and muggy to the point that you could almost swim through the air. It was objectively the worst time of year for the karate butterball. Sweat and grease collected on Makoto enough already, the current humidity only made it worse. There were days when it was so bad that you could visibly see the dirty sweat rising from Makoto in a haze. The lone bright spot was that her rolls had started to get big and flabby enough to collect and trap her sweat better. "Oooooohhh. . .gotta. . .Mmmllluuuraaappp. . .train today." Halfway delirious with food poisoning, Makoto started to work herself over to the edge of the bed. Her rolls squelched and squealed, leaking grease and sweat. Despite laying in bed and eating, the karate-blob was out of breath through the simplest of actions. Near 600 pounds of Makoto edged her way to the bed, exhausted and ready to go back to sleep. Her stomach was the only thing that kept her going.
A deep, painful churning helped to fend off her laziness. Resting in bed wasn’t as fun when she had to constantly massage and hold her stomach. Besides, she thought, maybe a little bit of training would help knock the forming gas in her stomach loose. At the edge, she slowly leaned her stomach over. The massive, single rolled tub of fat slid off of the bed. Sweat, grease, and sushi remnants dripped from it. It dangled slowly in mid air, a bit of stink wafting off of it to further pollute the room. The rest of Makoto was soon to join it. The heavy, hardly mobile woman use the weight of her stomach to slowly throw the rest of her body off of the mattress. Heavy, pillar legs hit the floor with a thud while the mattress screamed its relief about the killer weight being removed from it. Makoto painfully stood, her knees aching as they were forced to accept the weight of her body. “UuuugggghhhhUUUURRRRPPP. . .” Makoto’s groan turned into a blech as she disgorged more of the sickness in her stomach. Once on her feet, she took slow steps forward. Her body swang and bounced, more grease flying everywhere. Makoto smelled herself, shuddered, but kept on waddling. There wasn’t much she was able to do about that. Washing herself had gotten hard to impossible. She let her messy hair collect grease just as much as the rest of her body, it flopped down nearly over her eyes now. The stinky, slobby martial artist wobbled her way over to her closet.
Her closet was filled with martial art gis, all washed and pressed. While Makoto herself was a mess, she at least retained the strength to clean her clothes. Not that they stayed that way for long. Grabbing one, she slowly stepped into pants. These days she mostly went without panties or bras, having snapped out of the last pair some months ago. Her dirty, quaking thighs filled the pants easily, threatening to rip them. The smell of fresh linens mixed strangely with gal-stink as Makoto slowly dressed herself. Her body odor, strengthened by years of intensive physical activity, filled the room to a pungent, eye watering degree. Sweat trapped in her rolls, between her ass cheeks, and under her breasts was finally released; having long since gone stale in its fleshy prison. Cellulite riddled her buttcheeks, even more obvious as the plants slid up and over her sweaty crack. The brilliantly white pants rested tightly on her sloppy booty, they would not stay that pearly white for very long though. “Ooo come on. . .” Makoto groaned as she tried to tug the shirt on and over her bingo-wings and around her stomach. Her breasts, grown huge and fat from all the feasting, slapped against her stomach. They were overripe fruits, left to rot out in the sun. Makoto was the kind of fat that just looked unkempt and sloppy. Her rolls rested in odd and highly unflattering ways.
She finally tugged her gi on, fitting it to her massive body as best she was able. Her pants made it halfway up her ass, leaving most of her sweaty, greasy asscheeks exposed. Her stomach was fully exposed, flopping it's sweaty underside onto her pants. Her breasts were partial exposed, only the edges of her gi and black sash working to keep her somewhat modest. She nervously ran a hand through her greasy, oily black hair. Would this be the day where she was accosted on the street for her appearance? She knew that her town had become progressively less happy with her as she gained weight. How much longer would they allow the karate-hog to live among them? She'd just have to wait and see. Makoto sighed and waddled towards the door, rotten sushi and sweat smell trailing after her.
Can’t Resist.
Makoto wandered down the streets of the quaint, little Japanese town she lived in. It was a beautiful town, rustic and filled with naturally blooming trees and flowers. Unfortunately, every town had its blemish; Makoto being her towns particular eyesore. Five steps out of her house and she was sweating in the summer sun. Despite it being a mild and temperate summer, to Makoto it felt like she was walking through the steamiest rainforest. Sweat poured off of her, running and mixing with her naturally occurring grease to create a somewhat grey slime. The sterling white gi was already dampening and yellowing with sweat buildup. Makoto started to wheeze, her bulk shifting from side to side as much as it waddled forward.
She was so fat and out of shape that even the waddle to her dojo felt like a death March. She winced everything she felt her stomach slide across her thighs or had to tug up her pants. Her massive, half exposed ass lifted and dropped heavily; each fall like the toll of a heavy bell. She saw people grimacing, turning their noses up, or spitting in disgust. How could she not see the disdain and contempt people had for her. She was a gigantic ball of fat, sweating profusely, and reeking of rotten sushi. It was shameful the condition she was in. She tried to sinch her gi a little tighter, trying to contain her massive body. It only succeeded in dampening the gi with more of her ripe sweat, turning her once pristine uniform a grayish yellow. More people stared at her as she plodded past.
Makoto, feeling awkward, waved at people she knew. Her doughy, sweaty arm would wobble back and forth; sweat droplets flying everywhere. Most people simply turned their nose and walked away, wanting nothing to do with the slobby martial artist. Most people save the sushi monger. She was always happy to see Makoto. Makoto's thoughts turned to the strange woman as she neared her shop. The sushi monger was a middle age woman who was beautiful. . .in her own way. It was hard to describe the power that she had over Makoto. She just made her feel awkward, tingly, and self-concoous. Even before Makoto's slow descent into gluttony and sloth, when she was an athlete in her prime, she had felt that way. Now, fat, smelly, and sweaty she felt it all the more.
Despite her mental protests, Makoto's feet were pointing her in the direction of the sushi monger's shop. Her thighs chafed, despite the abundance of sweat blanketing them and Makoto had to constantly pull her pants up. Despite having the biggest ass in her corner of Japan, Makoto constantly fought to keep her pants up. Something about her heavy, dumpy, cellulite riddled cheeks prevented them being clothed. Constantly, her enormous ass crack was visible to the public. Much to Makoto's shame. It was as much out of embarrassment as hunger that made her dip into the sushi monger's shop.
"Aaahhhh, my favorite customer. What's my little darling want to day?" She said, blowing smoke out of a long, ostentatious pipe. The shop was dirty, smoky, and small. All the wealth of the place was draped about the sushi monger. She was a tall, busy woman who wore a very, very loose kimono. She smoked from a pipe constantly. She had a black eyepatch with gold designs resembling a dragon set on it. When she smiled, Makoto could see a shining gold tooth. She was strange but she was very beautiful. "I have such a hard time keeping things in stock with you coming in." She smiled, gold tooth flashing in the dim light.
“Ju. . .juscht one. . . or two packages.” Makoto said, literally slobbering all over herself. She smelled the sushi, packed with god knows what, and it melted her resistance. Slobber and drool ran over her messy chins, flecks landing on the counter in front of her. She knew that she shouldn’t eat more, that it would make her sick and further her spiral into disgusting gluttony; but she couldn’t help it. There was something about the smelly, rank, fishy taste that enthralled her. It was worth gaining another 25 pounds and smelling like a dumpster full of fish eggs. Almost anything was worth that delicious, sickening taste. Reaching under her massive breast, Makoto plunked down the appropriate amount. The money was slick with sweat, not that the sushi monger minded. She picked up the sweaty, sticky bills and slithered them between her own breasts. She winked after.
"Ah its like I get a piece of you every time you come in here." She smiled, already arranging Makoto's order. The sushi was. . .not great looking. Misshapen, miscolored, and bad smelling, it was hard to imagine anyone being able to stomach the rancid food. Yet, Makoto was crazy for it. There was something about how the food made her stomach rumble and gurgle with displeasure that thrilled her. By the time the food was presented to her, she had started to drool over the countertops. Her chins were soon packed with slobber, sweat, and the fishy remnants of sushi. Makoto was just as slovenly in her eating as she was her dress. She ate with her hands, too excited to use utensils or chew hardly. She stuffed the fat sushi rolls into her mouth with intense glee. "You just let me know if you need anything else, ok?" The sushi monger said, patting Makoto's heavy cheeks. She did not mind how they came back with sweat or slobber.
"Thanksch!" Makoto said in between bites. Her fat stomach bunched up on the bar, flowing on top of the counter. Makoto ate with gusto, her face soon covered with all manner of stains. She would sometimes pause to lick them off. As she ate, sweat and grease seemed to build on her body. Ot was like an advancing tide of grease was pouring directly from her rolls. Something in the sushi provoked a strange reaction in Makoto's body. She felt sick, horribly so, but was unable to stop. The sickness and her hunger would grow in equal measure. Even after she was finished with the sushi, she would he starving for hours and in need of something to dull the hunger and sickening pangs from her roiling stomach. Snacks, sweets, meats, and carbs would pour into her then. Makoto would be unable to stop herself, needing to eat in order to help calm her riotous tummy down. "You. . .oooowwww. . .do sush a. . .BLLUUUUURRUUUPPP . . .good job." She wheezed, fanning her face with a dirty hand.
"Why thank you!" The sushi monger said, slipping from around her counter. She showed off her incredibly short and loosely tied kimono by merely walking over to her bloated, gassy customer. "I do everything I can to make my favorite customer pleased!" She hugged Makoto, draping a leg up and onto the massive girls body. She buried her face into Makoto's sweaty neck folds, not bothered by the smell. "People tell me my food is awful and that I'm no good. It's good to have someone like you around to set the record straight." She smiled, pausing to stuff one of her enormous breasts back into her kimono. "Say, you wouldn't know anyone else who would be interested in my food? I figure bird of a feather flock together. . .so you must know some people!" She smiled with catlike glee. While Makoto thought, she sauntered back around behind the bar.
"Well. . .*schmack*. . .I might. . .UuuUUURRPP. . .know schome ladiesch." Makoto said between bites, her mouth full of food. Chun-li, Sakura, Karin were all likely candidates. The question was, would they even want to see Makoto in the sorry state she was now. She continued slopping the food into her mouth, wiping her fingers on her gi to get rid of the stains. "But. . .I. . .we. . .haven't talked in a. . .while." She sighed, looking down at her disgusting body. Her thick, fat breasts drooped fully over her black sash and her stomach rested uncomfortably between her greasy thighs. How could she ever explain her sorry state of affairs to her friends? What would they say when confronted with the thing that ate Makoto?
"Aahh, well, it's not a problem. I'm sure I'll get some other customers, some how." The sushi monger said, tapping the counter and looking a bit dejected. Makoto hated to see her that way. The older woman had done such a good job cooking for her. Makoto had to pay her back some how. It didn't katter that she was so fat that she had turned rancid. She had to get some customers for her friend.
"I'll. . .do it!" She said, slamming a porky fist on the table before clutching her stomach. "Oooohhhh, at least once this goes away." She scooped more sushi up, numbing the pain with more food. Makoto resolved to find more customers for the shop. If nothing else, she wouldn't have to eat alone anymore.
