Kallie Tell
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Amusement Park Pounds- Part 4
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 01:30:24 +0000 UTCAfter a particularly humiliating incident where Carly managed to split a t-shirt right up the belly despite the fact that her entire gut wasn't even contained within it, she finally relented and purchased clothes with some room to grow. The selection of those 3XL garments seemed to open another floodgate, and Carly was filling herself with the most expensive, and most caloric, spreads the park had to offer. Without the painfully tight clothing holding her back Carly gorged herself fuller and fuller at every opportunity, her belly growing massive beneath her expansive new clothing but not yet testing its limits.
She had just finished a couple's combo, a selection one step up from a single portion and one step down from a family portion that, at this point, felt like a healthy choice. Two double bacon cheeseburgers, two portions of fries, two drinks, and two shakes, although Carly had taken to replacing the drink with a shake and adding a dessert of her choice, typically the apple pie at Down Home Diner. The staff there knew her well, and by this point, treated her a bit like a garbage disposal, bringing her extras of pie or other desserts in order to honor the ‘made fresh every hour’ diner rule.
She'd eaten a full pie slice by slice and sucked down an extra milkshake, an amount of food and sugar that was leaving her in a stupor lately. She felt so incredibly tired, inexplicably tired, and rested both hands on the roll of her upper belly, even the light touch pushing out a deep burp. Her shame surrounding her eating, her size, and the burps she could no longer contain seemed to ebb and flow, and while she was often mortified to be waddling around in a fatsuit of her own creation, in other moments she was unabashed about her gluttony and the results of it.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, swearing to herself she’d take it easy at the next meal if the pressure in her overstuffed middle would subsist when her eyes flew open. The caramel apples were back in stock. She’d been waiting for that day, especially considering that a meal plan snack consisted of a full pack, or ten, candied apples. More than any one person could eat, but not if they had the determination Carly did. Still so full that each movement produced another burp, Carly packed her laptop and began to slide out of the booth.
She grunted, paused, and heaved herself sideways again, confused as to why her belly didn't slide along the booth’s table as usual and pop free like she’d been expecting. Her gut had been pressing against the booth table for months now, and while it had been taking more effort to slide in lately, she never suspected that a contributing factor to the pain in her middle was how tightly she was wedged between the booth and the seat. Her blubbery gut had been pushing onto the table and she simply arranged her plates around it and ate until she couldn't take another bite, but now she was genuinely and truly struck. She truly couldn't move, truly couldn't make an inch of progress despite her struggles, and she grunted again as her body wobbled with the effort.
She attempted to suck in, and the rolls of flab bulging over and under the table didn't move a centimeter, the only impact being the jiggle that pulsed through her body when she gasped for air after the attempt. She moaned, the haze of fullness wearing off enough for the mortification to begin to sink in. She looked around, hoping all the other patrons were engrossed enough in their own meals to allow her battle of the bulge to go unnoticed, and couldn't help but cringe as she scanned the room, feeling her head and neck engulfed by the fat she’d been piling onto her face, chest, and shoulders. She felt like she was being swallowed by fat, like the plush softness that now covered every part of her body would consume her entirely someday soon.
Her upper arms were like bulging hams swollen with plushness, and that same weight carried down through the rest of her body, her belly taking center stage but her overly voluptuous backside coming in at a close second. She felt so unwieldy as she waddled about, like every part of her body was wobbling and jiggling in a different direction, and it made her feel like a fattened-up spectacle. Like a thing to be stared at, swollen, gasping sideshow attraction that can't stop stuffing itself silly.
Being this fat was beginning to make her feel like less of a woman and more of a thing. A blob. An accumulation of lard. Single-minded, useless for anything but growth. And the more she ate, the more difficult that point was becoming to contest. Especially when binging herself stuck in a booth that was more than roomy 7 months ago.
She attempted to suck in once more and quickly gave up, her willpower as flabby as the rest of her, and then gave freedom one more attempt, pushing down on her stretchmark-laden upper belly in the hopes that she could finally wiggle out. Stuck. She sighed and opened her computer. At least she could get some work done.
Carly managed to crack her home office chair shortly after eating herself stuck, and the back-to-back incidents increased her caution about her seating options tenfold. The larger her ass inflated, the fewer chairs she felt comfortable cramming it into, and between the weight of her belly and the improbably large surface areas of her thighs, she was well aware she was an overall hefty load.
After over 240 days of near unbelievably hedonistic daily stuffings, she’d grown so thoroughly addicted to food that nothing could make her stop eating. She sized up her clothes once more, stuffing her face all the while, and had taken to ordering two nightly pizzas as well as a third for the morning, the only time of the day left in which she wasn't shoving oil-coated calories into her fat-pursed lips. She was panting with effort at the most basic of tasks and her gut had rounded out to the point that her double belly was disappearing, new fat quickly filling the gap and creating a bulging beachball that Carly was finding more and more difficult to balance. She no longer waddled because of the amount of food that she had crammed into her body but instead because of the sheer size of her body, and she was finding transitions more and more difficult. Standing up, sitting down, she was so profoundly unfit that these tasks were near herculean for her fattening, lazy body.
Buckling her seatbelt over the mass of her gut was becoming more and more difficult, and that difficulty was multiplied in the evenings after she’d been stuffed with a day’s worth of her dining plan. On her most ambitious days she was putting away well over 9,000 calories, although those days were far less common than five or six thousand calorie days. She hadn’t consumed less than 4,000 calories in a day's visit to the park in months, and her greatly reduced activity and stubborn gluttony was visibly wobbling all over her body.
She still desperately clung to the hope that the park would notice what she was doing to their profits, notice what she was doing to herself, but no such reprimand ever came. Instead, Carly developed rolls on her arms and thighs, her belly pushing further and further forward into her lap when she sat and hanging lower and lower when she waddled. She didn't bother to look in mirrors or glance as she lumbered past reflective surfaces, already well aware she wouldn't recognize the cow struggling to make its way past.
She’d learned to compartmentalize her gain and her true self, and while she was able to acknowledge the whale splitting another pair of 4XL leggings was so fat it was apathetic, she wasn’t the whale. That logic allowed her to buy the seatbelt extender she desperately needed, leaving her only vehicular problem the way her gut pressed into the bottom of the steering wheel, and also gave her the cognitive dissonance to replace her bedframe, her previous one clearly fed up with her accumulating blubber as assessed by its constant creaks, cracks, and protests. She bought a new desk chair, replaced the stools at her kitchen island, and finally gave in and stocked her pantry with snacks, now fat enough, greedy enough, and shameless enough to admit she needed round-the-clock satiation.
She couldn't believe how enormous she’d grown. Couldn't believe the way her lower belly pooled on the bed when she spread her widened thighs apart, couldn't believe how firm and bloated her upper belly still grew when she stuffed herself. She was beginning to struggle with basics that she never considered would become difficult for a woman of her size, and the first time she’d realized she was getting too fat to bend down and retrieve her nightly pizzas, she invested in a small table to be positioned directly outside her front door. Giving up the gluttonous feast simply wasn't an option.
She stuffed herself with much less abandon when she was home alone, and she often shocked herself by what a slobbish, greedy animal she became behind closed doors. She devoured the pizzas more quickly and messily than she did anything in the park, and the snacks she was keeping stocked in the pantry and freezer were requiring replacements more and more quickly.
Her entire life, her entire world had become devoted to nothing but food, and everything else simply fell away. Her job performance suffered, her other relationships suffered, but she couldn't focus her attention or energy on anything outside of stuffing her fattening face. The larger she grew and the more she struggled with her size, the more she stuffed herself. She’d spent much more than she intended to save, and yet she still couldn’t stop herself, still couldn't put an end to the snowball effect that had swollen her up with so much lard she hadn't seen her toes in months.
Eating herself stuck in a booth was becoming a more and more common occurrence, and instead of panicking, Carly simply waited, usually unable to avoid the temptation of eating more before she digested enough to be free. It seemed that no matter how large her clothes were, she was struggling to keep herself in, struggling to confine all the blubbery, jiggling fat wobbling for freedom at every opportunity. When she was stuck, she usually massaged her exposed lower belly, learning quickly that forcing out more burps meant wiggling her way to freedom (and her next meal) more quickly. Her worry that she was becoming a spectacle was well-founded; the fatter she got, the more obvious it was becoming that she was eating herself stuck.
While practicality would demand that Carly switch to tables, the meager chairs meant she would likely need at least two to support her blubbery heft, and in Carly’s mind, requesting two chairs for her overthickened ass would be a level of humiliation beyond getting stuck in a booth. While her body was obviously struggling to adjust to all her new weight physically, her mind was clearly struggling on a different, and more complex, level. She was concerned about engaging in activities that made her look or seem fat, as if fat wasn't her defining characteristic. Her concern with asking for two chairs was calling attention to her weight, as if the nature of her weight alone didn’t call attention to itself. She somehow still didn't quite see herself as the oversized blimp of a woman she’d become even when slapping her overflowing lapful of belly and watching it shake.
She was positively painted in stretch marks, and her hips, thighs, love handles, upper arms, and even the backs of her knees were covered with her skin’s protests to her gain. Her belly was the most dramatic example of all, and the bright red marks marched up her lower belly, some concealed by her gut's own weight, and past her belly button on both sides, some fainter and some clearly more fresh. She was piling on weight so quickly that her stretchmarks served as a guide of sorts, mapping her gain and revealing which spurts of growth had been directed to which fleshy area.
She‘d grown so heavy that waddling from eatery to eatery was a chore she could no longer abide. After 9 months and 5 days of rapid fattening at her own hand, she sheepishly waddled up to the guest services counter panting for air and rolled away on a double-wide mobility scooter.
I’m lighter than the other fat asses who actually needed the chair for their size, she reasoned to herself. I need it because I'm out of shape, not because I'm too fat to walk.
Regardless of the reason for her need, the scooter, while humiliating, made stuffing her face so much easier. She was able to gorge herself too full to walk then use the scooter's motorized capabilities to wheel herself to the next spot, all without lifting a finger.
Piling all her blubbery mass into the scooter each day was the most exercise she got, and she felt herself begin to swell more quickly again, well aware that the weight was piling on. She ordered larger clothes, and for the first time (to her vague horror,) larger shoes to accommodate her fattening feet, but she couldn’t stop stuffing her face. Couldn't stop cramming down every bite of the comically oversized meals the park continued to serve her. She barely gave the money a fleeting thought anymore, barely considered anything but the next meal she’d be cramming down her greedy maw into her overfed body. She was beginning to feel more than enormous, like an over-fattened farm animal waddling through a crowd, but she’d lost all control of her own appetite. She truly couldn't stop herself.
In the tenth month she felt her mobility scooter beginning to slow under her climbing weight, but she still couldn't contain her appetite, couldn't use a modicum of willpower to cut back on the pounds of blubber she was piling on per day. Just before the eleventh month, she grew too fat for her car, realizing she had eaten herself out of the ability to effectively press the gas and break under the weight and size of her own lard-swollen gut.
She’d taken an Uber to the park that day, selecting an extra-large SUV and hoping for the best, and had crammed herself into the back seat with the driver's help, his hands sinking into her flabby blob of a body while she blushed and panted. Squeezing herself into another Uber that night was even more difficult given how tightly she’d packed herself that day, shame driving her to eat like a sedated animal, and she’d wasted precious meal plan time the next day to trade in her now dangerously undersized model for the roomiest car on the lot. She readily paid the substantial trade-in difference and all but sped to the park, eager to make up for lost time and stuff her face.
