A Serialized Novel by Wilson Barbers
They went to an Italian restaurant for dinner, and Bob surprised himself by surpassing Shelley in the amount of entrees he was able to put away. Feeling stuffed but unwilling to call it a night, they found a bar with a deejay and worked the dance floor until closing. The sight of Shelley bouncing and swaying to the music was erotic as hell. Better yet were the slower songs: as he held her with their fingers intertwined, Shelley's fulsome front thrust against him deliciously. He could hardly wait to get back home.
Saturday morning Shelley went to the bank and showed Bob around town. He half expected to run into her ex-, but no such interesting confrontation took place. They did meet a number of small-town acquaintances, though, which insured that word of the divorcee's new lover would quickly reach Greg. That would have to do, he supposed. The rest of their Saturday was spent being lazy around the house, acting domestic and loving, ordering Chinese takeout that night. Late Sunday morning, they returned to Camp Venn.
Soon as they walked into Shelley's room, the phone rang. Shelley dropped her wheeled suitcase and grabbed the receiver. After a brief exchange, she handed the phone to Bob.
He looked at her quizzically.
"Think you wanna take it," she said, then she backed away and sat on the edge of her bed, watching him all the while.
He gave her a puzzled look, picked up the phone and heard several seconds of what sounded like a heavy breather phone call. He was about to ask Shelley what the joke was when the caller spoke.
"Bob Williams?" it opened, and in a flash Bob knew who was on the line: the voice was a woman's, deep and husky.
"Got it in one," the voice confirmed. "I'm calling to invite you and your ladyfriend to Sunday dinner. I know it's short notice, but I think it's time we got together."
"So do I," Bob agreed.
"Can the two of you make it tonight then? Seven o'clock. Casual dress. Just bring your appetites."
"I need to confirm with Shelley, but I think she'll be interested."
"I like that," Kay Venn said. She gave Bob a phone number, and he promised to return her call within the hour.
"Good," she said before hanging up. "I need to know so the kitchen can be prepared."
"Was that what I think it was?" Shelley asked, once he'd hung up the receiver.
"Kay Venn's invited us to dinner. Wanna go?"
"You kidding?" she answered, eyes lighting excitedly. "How could I resist an invitation from Camp Venn's mystery woman? When I was a girl, I read a library of gothic novels. Here's my chance to be in one!"
He remembered that remark when dinner time came around. The evening was cool and overcast, hinting of autumn. But where Shelley probably saw Jane Eyre, Bob was flashing on the image of some guy in a hockey mask. As they made their way on the wood chip path to the Venn house, he kept scanning the woods, more nervous than he had any reason to be. It was a relief when they got to the house.
From the front, Venn house looked friendlier than it did from camp: a chalet with two large bay windows facing the driveway, dim forms and candles visible through the sheers. "How do I look?" Shelley asked once they reached the front door. Dressed in a skort with an open oversized shirt, a red tee clinging to her torso, she looked luscious. Her lightly made-up face glowed angelically in the porch light.
"Good enough to eat." Bob leaned forward to kiss her. When he turned back, he saw Dale Harvey standing in the doorway.
"Evening!" the computer man said. "C'mon in, you two! Kay's dying to meet you both!"
"Good to see you, Dale," Shelley said, as she accepted the invitation. "How long you been at the house?"
"Moved over the day I left camp," he answered, "but we can talk about it over dinner!" He lead the two down the hall to the dining room, and it was there they got their first slight of Kay Venn.
She was huge: beyond the size of any woman Bob had seen before - over twice Shelley's size. (What did that make her? Seven hundred plus?) Wearing a light brown gauze float that draped over her cumbrous form to the floor, she ponderously waddled across the room, a smile on her kewpie doll lips. Beneath her loose flowing garment, her astounding belly swept ahead of her, lower bulges shifting in prominence from left to right and back.
Bob held his breath, entranced by the sight, and, if he'd been paying attention to the woman beside him, he'd have seen Shelley was almost as transfixed. They'd never seen a woman so big and at the same time so feminine: her cheeks and first chin were prominently dimpled, her pudgy hands curiously dainty beneath her fleshy arms. She was like some ballooning version of turn-of-the-century womanly innocence.
The image had to be an illusion - no woman could be as successful as Kay Venn and retain her innocence - but that didn't dim its power. No wonder Dale Harvey had been so obsessed with her.
"Welcome!" she puffed, once she'd reached halfway across the room "I'm Kay, and I hope you're hungry."
"Famished," Shelley responded, looking over at Bob. She moved closer to him, unknowingly mirroring the pose of protection that Bob had once struck with her before Dale Harvey. Kay Venn smiled, deepening the folds of her chins, and gestured toward the great dining table to her right. As she did, her upper arms swayed insouciantly.
The dining room table was large and round, with wide chairs that were supported with legs the size of railroad ties. It was set for four, though capable of seating eight. The tabletop was covered with platters of food: a variety of salads, cold meats and cheeses, two elaborate displays of shrimp and crab meat, herring in cream, marinated mushrooms, smoked clams and caponata. Kay took a dab of salmon and cream cheese ball with a forefinger, held it up to her lips and licked. Then she went to the head of the table and pulled out its sturdy chair.
"Have a seat," she said, adjusting her dress and spreading her fat legs to comfortably seat herself.
They did, Bob and Shelley seated across from each other. Bob quickly looked the room over. It was spare and built to accommodate its giant of a mistress: the doors were double-width, the corner furniture equally doubled in size.
"Dig in," Kay advised, "then we can talk. Good food and good conversation should go together."
She spooned a large helping of Greek salad on her plate, adding extra feta from a nearby bowl, then covered the rest of her plate with a creamy pasta salad. This task completed, Kay grabbed a stack of crackers and cut a triangle of salmon and cream cheese. She swiftly and efficiently sliced it down into cracker-sized pieces. Then with one hand picking up crackers and the other forking salad, she started on first course.
They silently ate their way through two helpings of salads and appetizers; as they finished each plate, a round figure in a white chef's outfit appeared to carry it away. He smiled approvingly at their efforts.
"George likes to see his preparations appreciated," Kay explained, after he'd acknowledged their efforts a second time. She dabbed her kewpie lips and told the chef to bring in the main course. "He knows that Dale and I relish his cooking, but he doesn't often the chance to show off for company."
"You could make a meal of these salads," Shelley said, sipping at her wineglass.
"I hope not," Dale said from his end of the table. "We've got plenty of courses to go!"
"I'm up for it," Shelley replied, an unfamiliar note of defensiveness in her voice.
"Don't doubt that one bit," Kay said reassuringly. "After a summer of calorie watching, it's gotta be a relief to be totally unrestrained for once."
Shelley Laile, the gal with the calorie schedule that had every other camper at Camp Venn jealous, settled into her chair and took another sip of wine. A moment later, Bob felt an unexpected pressure on his right leg: she'd stretched under the table to massage him with a bare foot. He looked her in the eye, saw her take a large bite out of a heavily buttered roll, and felt himself stiffening under the table.
The main course had arrived: chicken stuffed with potatoes and olives, angel hair pasta with broccoli and three cheeses, tomato sauce. Each plate had two quarters of a chicken, while the pasta and vegetable dishes were served in separate bowls. When he first saw his plate in front of him, Bob wondered if he could even make a dent in it, but as he grew more aroused, his appetite also grew. He wondered if Shelley was feeling the same.
At the head of the table, Kay was tucking into her first chicken quarter, chins undulating, eyes half closed. A secretive smile added extra dimples to her face. Sitting back, her hands barely reached the table, but she'd adjusted her massive body so it leaned into the table's edge, bulged over against the place settings. With belly cut off by most of the table, her breasts were more noticeable, over a yard in circumference with cleavage you could get lost in. They shook as she quickly stripped her first helping.
Bob looked back to Shelley, saw she was almost done with her first quarter. Off to the side, Dale Harvey was watching with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"An unbeatable experience," he said. "To eat like this when you're sexually aroused. Everything tastes sharper, cleaner. The more you eat, the hotter you get, and the better it all tastes."
All that Shelley and Bob could do was nod, their mouths full of food. Shelley ceased stroking him under the table to concentrate on the main course, but the way Bob stayed stiff, it was like she'd never left. Was that a flush of red on her neckline or a visual spillover from her tee shirt?
"I saw you two, you know," Kay said suddenly. "Early this summer. Out on the beach. It was instructive to see how attractive a fat woman could look to a man like you - or Dale." She rolled a fork of angel hair and slipped the pasta between her lips. "I didn't believe him all those years when he tried to tell me himself how sexy fat could be. I thought he was just sick."
"Could be we're both sick," Bob joked. "But I doubt it. Who can tell about sexual attraction, where it comes from? I went for years, keeping my foremost desires tamped down. If you ask me, that's sick!"
"First erotic dream I had was around a fat woman," Dale said. "Something that young and deep had to have a biological basis. Anything else is just societal coating."
The group ate in silence for the rest of the course, then George appeared with yet another offering: Tripe Florentine with linguini, a spinach and artichoke casserole. They were all into a rhythm of eating by now, incapable of feeling full, hooked on the act of putting ever more flavor into their mouths. If Bob or Shelley could have stepped back to watch themselves, they'd have been amazed - by now, they'd eaten enough to fill a week of Shelley's menus.
Finally, the main course came to an end. The meal had lasted far into the night: the star-less dark surrounded Kay's lodge, and it was as if they'd all left the rest of the world behind. Nothing existed but these four, their unabated lust and hunger.
"Shall we retire to the living room for dessert?" Kay offered, and though they almost felt too full to rise from their seats, Bob and Shelley agreed. Bellies bloated, the two matched Kay's ponderous walk as they headed for the sunken living room area off the dining room.
The lodge's conversation pit was festooned with layers of large, thick pillows, some fully as big as their owner. A theater-sized teevee was mounted against a wall, along with other accouterments of the well-stocked home entertainment system. As she lowered herself onto a pile of pillows, dress hiking up over the legs and lower belly, Kay let out a sigh of satisfaction. Her lower legs segmented into four bulges, the smallest drooping over her ankles, with two folds creasing her inner legs. The flesh of her calves was taut and smooth, though from what little Bob could see of her thighs, it quickly grew more textured.
"So nice to have guests," she sighed, "to have an excuse to put on the dog. I don't eat like this every day, though Dale probably wouldn't mind it if I did." She winked at the computer man, lying on his back and resting against her right side. It was the position that made most sense, letting their overstuffed bellies rise freely, so Bob and Shelley copied the couple. Under her top, Shelley had lowered the elastic band of her skort. Bob had unbuttoned his jeans; in so doing, his freed paunch forced his zipper down.
Kay dimmed the light with her remote, turned on some fifties sax jazz and splayed her hands on her uncovered lower paunch. Dale eyed her belly apron approvingly and admitted, "I wouldn't mind at all."
As if on cue, George appeared by the edge of the pit with a cart loaded full of cakes and pies. It looked like a bakery display case, and he rolled it first toward Shelley and Bob.
"That strawberry cheesecake looks good," Shelley decided, and the house chef picked the entire cake off the cart and placed it by her edge of the conversation pit. "I couldn't eat all that," she protested, rubbing her belly for emphasis. George said nothing, just handed her the cutlery.
"Eat as much as you like," Kay said. "George'll box the rest." She nodded approvingly as Bob selected a key lime pie, then she took the largest item, a triple layered German chocolate cake with cherries on top. Balancing it on top of her paunch, she dug into it without bothering to cut off a piece. Dale started stroking Kay's well-fed torso as she ate with increasing speed.
The sight seemed to inspire Shelley. Cutting her cake into six slices, she took a great bite from the first. "Delicious," she pronounced, then she bit deeper into the slice.
It was all too much for Bob. He rolled over and started kissing the uncovered portion of her belly. Shelley moaned happily, and as he traced his tongue around her deepening navel, she finished her slice. By the time he got to her belly apron, she was nearly done with her second slice. "Keep going," she pleaded, stopping to pull and kick her skort off her legs, then grabbing even more cake.
Bob moved a pillow to give his head more room and then dove under her apron. Lifting his gaze, he took a quick peak at Kay and Dale. Her plate had slid off the massive camp owner's torso, but by now the cake itself was depleted to a size small enough to be held in both hands. Kay burrowed into it, chocolate crumbs and icing scattering on her face and breasts. Her dress was pulled all the way up over her voluminous mams. Dale cleaned her breasts with his mouth, stopping to occasionally linger on her prominent nipples. He winked at Bob then returned to the task at hand.
Careful not to rest too hard on her belly, Bob dug into Shelley's vagina. One effect of all her exercising: it had tightened the area around her vulva, making it more accessible. As she leaned over to one side, her belly flowed into the pillows. Once he reached her lips - which were glistening from her dining foreplay - he started to suck on her clitoris. Above him, Shelley was cramming more cheesecake into her mouth.
She suddenly bucked Bob away and fell back, shuddering.
Dropping his shorts, Bob climbed up the pillows, kneeled and straddled Shelley's head, then aimed his aching member into her mouth. She took it readily, and as she reached for the edge of the conversation pit and his pie, she began to lick and suck on his erection. Halfway into his second piece, he came, the essence of lime filling him as Shelley gorged herself with his fluid. Once he came down to Earth, he saw he'd somehow eaten his way through another third of his key lime.
Rising unsteadily, feeling like he'd never be able to bend at the waist again, Bob looked down at his sated girlfriend. "That was fantastic," she declared. "Unbelievable."
"Glad we invited you over?" Dale Harvey asked, and they both turned to see their hosts gazing at them.
"Were you watching us the whole time?" Shelley asked, as Bob collapsed alongside her. Without knowing it, she was picking at the remains of her cheesecake.
"Not all the time," Harvey admitted. "We had our own hands full." He leaned over to kiss Kay's left jowl, as she adjusted her dress back down over her torso. The gauze stretched mightily, as if it had suddenly shrunk a size. "But I bet you gave a much better show than I did through that peephole."
"Fair enough," Bob said, as he slowly pulled his jeans back on, unsure if he wanted to try buttoning them.
"Kay," Shelley asked, chuckling at the sight of her lover's swollen paunch over his jeans. "I know I won't comfortably fit in my skirt after all this feasting. Got anything I could borrow to wear back to camp?"
"Might have a few things closer to your size," Kay said appraisingly. "Nuthin' fancy, though. The pickings were slimmer when I was small as you." She paused, then reached up to squeeze Dale's shoulder. "Of course, back then I wasn't feeling good enough about myself to buy anything too fancy. I was waiting for the day Camp Venn'd make me thin enough to deserve good clothes. Pretty naïve: just because you own the facility doesn't give you any magic guarantee it'll work any better than it does for anyone else."
"That was almost a decade ago," Dale told her. "We all were lots dumber then."
"No argument there," Bob said, thinking of the time he'd spent denying his attraction to women like Shelley and Kay.
Kay's offering turned out to be a muumuu, and it didn't look half bad on Shelley. Dale gave Bob a pair of sweatpants to replace the unfastenable jeans, and though they were at least two x-es too big, they gave him room to breathe. He remembered the first time he saw Dale Harvey. Then, he'd seen the man as just another client - and a cheating one at that.
Now he considered him a friend.