A HOT NIGHT IN VEGAS
BY SASHA STEELE
Welcome to Fat World, a place in the future where a woman's beauty is not only measured in the seductive lure of her face, in the flawless perfection of her skin, in the proportional contours of her body, in the style of her hair and clothes, but also by how much weight she has accumulated. And in this last respect, the more weight she has accumulated, then all the more beautiful she is considered to be. Fat World is a place of modern cities that are set up to accommodate these extremely large women and there vast tonnage - wide doors and entrance ways, moving walks and halls, every staircase escalated, every floor with an elevator, automated furniture seats set to lower and raise these beauties back up again, even toilet seats; and the latest word in fashion runs sizes so large that new systems of measure had to formulated.
Even the movies and TV shows cater to behemoth babes - if a budding starlet doesn't weigh in at least 700 lbs she had better slip down to Weight Gainers, or Jenny Giants, and start on a crash gaining course because all the really big stars weigh well over 1000 pounds.
Yes, Fat World is place full of big beautiful women - fantastically fat women in fast cars and short skirts, with big appetites, and even bigger asses and stomachs. Fat World is where Paige lives with her husband, John, and this is the story of a hot night they had in Vegas.
John was ready to go, but Paige was still in her underwear, standing in front of the mirror admiring her prodigious beauty. He came up behind her broad back and leaned in over her massive protruding backside to kiss her round cheek and the collar of fat around neck. "Mmm, sexy," he said, looking over her huge shoulder at her colossal four foot wide image in the mirror - delicate hands, though swollen with fat, sensuously rubbing the sides of a monstrous belly that she could no longer clasp her hands in front of; the bottom portion, where her hands were, covered by the belly panel of shiny black panties, and underneath it, a lace paunchette to lift and support that magnificent mass.
"Better get dressed, Paige," he said, "the reservation's for seven." Except for the tray of snacks that Paige had devoured while she perfected her makeup, she hadn't eaten for over two hours, and John knew that she must be getting hungry again.
"Get my dress, then," Paige ordered as she turned on an angle to admire the harmonious balance between the protrusion two feet out in front of her with that of the same dimension in back. Paige's slinky black dress was on the bed. He picked it up and held it with his arms outstretched, taking note of how large it was before bringing it to her, where he knelt so that his ponderous wife could step into it. She did, steadying her weight on his strong shoulder to balance on one black five-inch-high heeled shoe and then the other. John drew the dress up. Paige's sexy smooth legs, which were clad in black lace top nylon stockings, pulled high into her crotch; difficult because of the two-foot-wide stance that Paige must assume due to the mass of her colossal calves and gargantuan thighs.
He pulled over her massive ass, the shelf of her wide hips, and onto her bloated stomach. Paige slipped her forty-inch arms through the straps, and adjusted the dress onto her extremely large, watermelon-like breasts cupped in a pretty lace bra, while John zipped up the back. Paige turned back to her mirror, making the final adjustments, and, as suspected, she was perfect.
The tight black dress - shiny with mat-black flowers on it - followed the massive contours of Paige's voluptuous body; tight to breasts, over-protruding belly, and flaring hips, rounded backside, in and under a short way, then down to terminate shamefully short at the hem. He helped her into the matching jacket and Paige was ready.
(To Be Continued)