Weight Room Title Bar

More Than Just Pizza
By LittleGuy

Outside the snow was falling; it was the kind of day in which normal routines were falling by the wayside, and people were just generally in a good mood. Except for, my boss, the head of the marketing department.

Her name was Kathy, she was in her late thirties, maybe forty. She was generally a jolly person-even if this a bit of cliché description for someone who stood about 5'1” and was as big around as she was tall. A beach ball, encased in silk from nine to five, Monday through Friday. Her face was cute-great smile, pretty eyes. She also had a sarcastic edge to her at times, which I enjoyed. I had a pretty good working relationship with her; I think she respected my experience and what I could bring to the department. During my four months on the job, we had become pretty friendly.

But her routine for the day had been disrupted. She had gotten her signals crossed with her “lunch friends.” She had ordered a pizza to be delivered for them all to eat-they had separately decided to go to the greasy spoon next door and eat there. There may have been some other tensions there, I don't know. Anyway, when I knocked on her door to ask her a question, she sat there with a scowl on her face, a pizza box on her desk, and a slice in her hand.

I arrived at her door, poked and poked my head in. “Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt your lunch. This can wait.”

“No, that's ok Mike, I'm fine…just eating some pizza. Do you want some?”

“I normally would have jumped at the chance, but had actually just finished my own brown bag lunch. “No, that's ok. I just ate.”

“Are you sure? My friends had other plans. There's no one here to eat this but me…I need you to make sure I don't eat this all myself!” She said the last part with a half-laugh, but one could have imagined that there was a ring of truth to it. Because we were on pretty good terms, I decided to see what I could get away with.

“Aww, come on. You can't eat that all by yourself. That would be some serious eating.” I said, hoping she would take the bait.

“Well, look at me. Wouldn't you think that I'm a serious eater? I'm pretty sure I could polish off that whole thing, no problem.”

The bait had been taken. I decided to kick things into high gear, which was a bit of a risk, given that she was, after all, my boss.

“Oh, come on. I mean, I love pizza, but would probably only be able to do about five slices before I got uncomfortable. If you can do all eight, I'd like to see that.”

“Okay. You just gave me the only excuse I needed. Sit back, and prepare to be amazed.”

I grabbed a couple of the French fries off her plate, and got comfortable in the chair at the side of her desk. She started in on piece #2. Just a couple minutes later, piece # 3 found its way into her mouth. I made the comment that she was well on her way…but that it wouldn't be until about piece #5 or #6 that she'd start to run into trouble. She had her own reply for that.

“Oh come on. Just because you would be giving up after five pieces, it doesn't mean that I would. I mean, I think I can fit a bit more in my stomach than you can in yours.” She was right, of course-and there was almost a hint of a boast in the way she said it. Although it was tough to tell under the big baggy dresses she always wore, her stomach must have been enormous. She went on.

“I mean, I must weigh almost three times as much as you…so I think it stands to reason that I could out-eat you by a wide margin.”

“I guess so”, I replied. “ But there's no way you weigh three times as much as me”. I was really pushing it now. “I'm about 155…so that would mean you're, what 465.”

“Okay, so I exaggerated. But I do weigh almost 400 pounds.”

“I would have guessed as much.” I didn't mention that trying to estimate her weight was virtually a daily pastime of my life at the office.

“You would have guessed that? I would think most people would be surprised to hear how much I weigh,” she said without the slightest hint of self-deprecation.

Yeah…I would have guessed 380, 390. I guess I consider myself to be pretty good at guessing the weights of heavier people-not that I get that many chances to.

Despite my attempts to be low-key, I think she was starting to get the picture here; that I liked what was going on. That there wasn't anything more in this world that I would have rather talked about with anyone, than to be sitting in that office with Kathy, discussing her enormous, voluptuous body.

“You're an FA, aren't you?” she asked me, point blank. And, I was glad to hear her say it. Not only would it give me a chance to answer, it told me that she was familiar with the whole online BBW culture-and maybe was even a bit of a player.

“What gave me away?” I said with a smile on my face that I'm sure was as wide as her backside.

Well, Mike, I've seen you watch me as you go down the hall…looking just a little too long at my butt. And, I've also seen you flirting shamelessly with Angela (another BBW in the department, probably 220 lbs). But the fact that you're enjoying sitting here, just watching me eat pizza was the dead giveaway.” She said this as she stuffed the last bite of piece number 6 into her mouth.

“You got me. Now you know why I like working for you so much.”

“Well, it's nice to have a fan in the group. But you know, I think I'm going to let you down here.”

“What do you mean?” I couldn't have imagined what was coming next.

“I'm really starting to struggle with this pizza. And I've got two big slices still to go. I guess I shouldn't have had those four Krispy Kremes at 10:30.”

“Oh my god…now I'm really impressed. Four donuts? And now you're trying to slam a whole pizza?”

“Listen, that kind of eating has gotten me this body I have today. Don't get me wrong, I've had fun along the way, but I'm not sure I can measure up to what I used to be able to do in my feedee days with my ex-husband.”

My jaw dropped open, I'm sure, at this last phrase. I had never met a true feedee in the flesh. I tried hard to retain my composure. “You husband was a feeder? How much did you gain while you were with him?

“When we were married, I weighed about 170. Within three years, I was at 420. It was a lot of fun, but I'm too old now to be doing that. I've got kids to worry about, you know? So that's why I've stopped that stuff, and have even lost about 25 pounds”

“So he fattened you up and left?”

“Not really. One thing had nothing to do with the other. I was certainly a willing eater…I can't complain about the good time we had.”

“That's good. You certainly had a good run as a feedee. Sounds like you both got your money's worth.”

“Yeah, but those days are gone, I guess. Can't even get through this pizza. Sorry to disappoint you.”

I got extremely bold at this point. I figured the way the conversation was going, just about anything was fair game. “You know, I've read that if your tummy is massaged while you eat, you're able to digest better and more quickly. If you really want to finish this, I'd be happy to do that for you…” I was quite coy and playful-protecting myself if I was crossing a line. I was happy to hear the response.

“I think I'd enjoy that. My ex used to do that a lot.”

I pulled my chair forward slightly so that I was within a bent-arm's reach of her. I reached out, touched the silken dress with one hand, a little timidly, and then started to massage her enormous belly. It was quite firm, and moved up and down as several huge units. I moved my fingers around, more boldly now, searching for the deep dark folds that I knew had to be there. I began for the first time to get a better understanding of exactly what she had been hiding under loose dresses. But I didn't truly feel like I was getting the full experience, with a millimeter of synthetic silk between my fingertips and the soft skin of her belly. Within fifteen seconds, it became evident that she wasn't getting the full experience either. She spoke next, as she chewed on her 7th piece of pizza.

“Go lock that door.”

As hard as it was to tear myself away from her enormous stomach, it was evident that if I did so, that things could certainly get a whole lot more rewarding. So I got up, walked the couple steps to her door and turned the lock-checking it twice to ensure that I'd gotten it right.

Kathy laid down slice number seven, and wriggled around in her chair. Before I knew it, her panties were around her ankles. And the buttons down the front of her dress were completely undone. What this revealed was quite a site to see. A tract of bare skin, folded into three pillow-like sections, Firm but soft, colored with just a hint of her olive complexion.

“I only dropped my undies to give you full access to my belly…no need to go any lower, got it?

At this point, I didn't really care what limitations she placed on the rest of her body. Her enormous belly was all mine. My hands resumed their position; digging deeper into her belly. Getting the ultimate enjoyment as she resumed eating her pizza.

Her enjoyment increased as well. Periodic moans came from her mouth; she was enjoying the sensuality of the moment as much as I was.

Finally, she started the final slice, number eight. Within about sixty seconds, it was gone. Too quickly, for my money. Because once she was done, there was no legitimate reason for me to keep massaging her tummy.

After the final swallow, she thanked me. “Wow. That was great. I don't think I could have finished it all if it wasn't for your magic fingers. And, I don't know what I enjoyed more-the mozzarella, or the massage. Thank you for the best meal I've had in a long time.”

“No problem. I think that was my most enjoyable meal ever…and I didn't even have a bite.” I really meant it. It had been a truly fulfilling experience for both of us. I never imagined that I would ever get to find out how much Kathy truly weighed, or what her belly looked like under her dresses. But to have an experience involving feeding and her bare tummy was beyond my wildest fantasy. I gazed at her body, almost unable to take my eyes off of the folds of her stomach and the apron it formed across her huge legs.

Kathy spoke next, with intense seriousness in her voice. “Now, what can I do for you?”

I was jarred back into reality, into work mode. “Well, I just came by to run these timelines past you…”

“No, not that. I mean what can I do to you?