I am writing this to all the lovers of fat women out there. Many of you are still in the closet, hiding your true desires, unwilling to admit to this streamlined, aerobicised world that you like your women fat. I used to be like that. I felt out of place in a world where thinner was hailed as better. I was afraid of what my friends might say, afraid of the ridicule. Now I am a true convert. I set aside my inhibitions and have come to experience the truly encompassing beauty of a heavy woman. This is my story.
by The Studio
I didn't become a fatty lover overnight. I lived in a state of denial, trying to convince myself that I really longed for some female jock or ananorexic model. Still, the older I got, the fatter my dates got. After a few years of gradually working my way up the poundage scale, I matured enough to face the inevitability of my true desires. I got used to the idea of admitting what I liked, regardless of what other people thought. When some of my supposed friends tried to mock me for going out with big women, I ignored them. I didn't tell them what kind of women they should go out with and I didn't appreciate them trying to tell me. Some of them got to wherethey were embarrassed to be seen with me and my dates. Only my true friends stuck by my side through it all. Eventually, I was glad to be rid of the others.
My love for fat women was two-fold. I not only loved their abundance of flesh, but also fantasized about meeting a woman who I could fatten up. Nothing got me hornier than the thought of taking some fairly plump woman, indulging her appetite, and watching her get fatter and fatter until she ballooned into a massive beauty. To that end, I trained myself to be an excellent cook. I got so good at it that no woman I went out with left the relationship without gaining a few pounds. Unfortunately, all of the women I went out with were so insecure about their size that it always became problematic. As each one gained weight, one of two things happened. Either they became more insecure about their size and even more worried about getting fat, or they cared so little about it that they just let themselves go and became slobs. As soon as either one of these things happened, I lost interest. I wanted a woman who would appreciate her obesity, not fear or neglect it. How was I supposed to treasure them if they didn't treasure themselves? I soon became convinced that all big women in the world were plagued by these same neurosis. Then, just as I was ready to give up on my dream, Donna Mosely came into my life.
I nearly spilled my drink the night she walked into the bar. The sight of her was so stunning that I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She was in her early twenties, 5' 7" tall, had deep chocolate skin, long, braided black hair, catlike eyes, and was packing every ounce of 200 pounds. She had a beautifully rounded face, full sensuous lips, nice meaty arms, hefty breasts, a generous tummy, well-rounded thighs and a massive ass and legs that tapered perfectly from her full hips to her meaty calves. She was wearing skin tight blue jeans and a black T-shirt that clung tightly to her breasts, showing that her bra was a little too small for her. She looked like she'd recently gained weight and hadn't bought new clothes yet. My dick started swelling at the thought. She brushed by me and sat down at the end of the bar. I went down and introduced myself.
One week later, she was sitting at the dinner table in my apartment eating fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits, green beans and coleslaw. I got her to talk about some of the relationships she'd been through recently. Her candor utterly amazed me. None of the men she'd been out with had appreciated her at all. Most of them tried to make her go on diets, telling her how much more beautiful she'd be if she lost some weight. Others used her as the brunt of their jokes. She was fed up with it. She liked to eat and she knew it. She also didn't like being alone and was attempting to curtail her habits and shrink down to a size more desirable to men. Most of her efforts had met with little success. She'd go on a diet for a while and then break down and start eating again. She contributed her lack of success to a lack of desire. Being heavy had never bothered her and eating had always made her feel good. At the end of the diet roller coaster, she was fatter than she'd ever been. She finished her first plate and then asked me, "You're not going to give me shit about being fat, are you?" I responded by asking her if she'd like seconds. She politely refused and then sulked down in her chair. I asked her what was wrong. "You're making a joke out of it - using me for the brunt. I hate that. I thought you were a nice guy," she answered. I reached over, took her plate, filled it, and sat it back in front of her. She sat up in her chair and glared at me. I returned her gaze and told her that she didn't know as much about me as she thought she did. I said that all of the men she'd been out with were fools. She was a remarkably beautiful woman with an equally beautiful personality and, if she wanted to eat, then she should eat. I added that I'd been out with a few heavy set women and that she put them all to shame. She looked me in the eye and asked pointedly if I was just trying to make fun of her. I looked straight back at her and answered that I would never be so insensitive, that I was being absolutely sincere. If she wanted the absolute truth, I added, she was actually a little bit on the thin side when it came to my preferences. That made her laugh. "Thin! I've never had a man refer to me as thin," she said though her giggles. Afterher laughter had ceased, she stared at me again (apparently trying to discern my sincerity), smiled, shrugged her shoulders, then picked up her fork and went to work. When dinner was finished, she asked for two helpings of dessert.
Our relationship proceeded slower than I was used to but I was trying to be careful. She had the potential to be all that I had ever dreamed of in a mate and I didn't want to scare her off by moving in too fast, especially in relation her gaining weight. It was an entire month before she was laid out on the bed below me, lost in orgasmic fury. I was pounding her as hard as I could and, with each thrust, her body would jiggle and her breasts would leap up and smack her on her cheeks. Each time she came, I would grab her thick, long nipples and pull, stretching her tits into striated cones. She loved it. I proceeded to pump her pussy from every angle I could imagine so I could enjoy various views of her splendor. In return, she straddled me, sucked me and smothered me. When we finished, she laid on my chest and went straight to sleep. I laid awake, staring at the ceiling fan, hoping that Donna was going to be the fat woman of my dreams.
Over the next two weeks, we saw each other almost every day. She worked at a local bank and I was constantly stopping by to give her some flowers and a treat. I'd buy her a cheesecake, pound cake, jelly-rolls, eclairsor doughnuts - anything that I thought might add an ounce or two. She would always beam as I entered her office and her coworkers would look on in jealousy. Many of the women she worked with were plumpers, a result of the sedentary nature of their jobs, but few of them had a man who appreciated their corpulence (and definitely not enough to bring them goodies). As an ambassador of plumpness, when I brought Donna something to eat, I always made sure she had enough to share. It got to the point where, every time I showed up, a small crowd of women would gather around to see what the treat of the day was. Donna loved the attention.
During her off hours, I did my best to show how much I appreciated her. I'd go over to her apartment to cook her dinner, take her out to the movies, take her for walks in the park, write her letters, do anything to show her that I loved her for who she was - not who she thought I wanted her to be. The way I saw it, there was a happy, fat woman trapped inside of her and I just wanted that woman to be free. As our relationship continued to bloom, Donna bloomed right along with it. She was still a little insecure about her weight, and worried about the new pounds that continued to appear as the days went by. I set aside her insecurities by taking her out to buyc lothes to accommodate her growth. Most of what I bought her was loose enough to allow for even more expansion, a gesture which she fully appreciated.
Soon, my constant visits began causing problems with her roommate. She'd complain that she could never get any privacy. The real problem was actually that she was getting too much privacy and was just jealous. I offered a solution to the situation and Donna agreed. She moved in with me. It had gotten silly for us to live in two different apartments anyway since we were spending most of our time together. The first thing that we did after she got moved in was to have a heart-to heart. She wanted to talk aboutt he fact that I seemed to be encouraging her to gain weight. I thought for a moment and then laid my cards on the table. I said that I was guilty. I told her about my dreams and how I had hoped that she might fulfill them. I also said that I would love her regardless. The fat would just be a bonus to having such a splendid woman at my side: a bonus I could live without. As I spoke, I truly realized just how important she was to me. With Donna, it wasn't really about the fat. I had been so preoccupied with the prospect of fattening her up that I hadn't realized how deeply I'd come to love her. As the realization struck me, I shared it with her, half ashamed at the truth of it. She beamed. She said that she'd been worried about it for weeks, but not for the reasons I might think
.
"I love to eat...I mean REALLY love it," she said. "With a man like you, encouraging me and apparently loving the results, I could get as big as a house. I worry about that. It's not the size or the weight, but the fear that I might get so fat that you'd leave me. Then where would I be? I'd be fatter and lonelier than I've ever been. I don't know how I could live with that. So I'm asking - could I ever get too fat for you?"
I gulped as my dick started to harden in my pants. My voice cracked as I answered a simple "never".
"Do you promise?" she asked. "I believe that you're a man of your word."
I regained my composure and replied, "Yes, I promise. You could never get too fat for me. You're just too beautiful."
She leaned me and gave me a hearty hug. As we sat there, locked in our embrace, my mind reeled at how brightly fortune had shined on me.
I immediately started working on a bigger Donna. Most of her present weight had come from snacking so I made sure that, between meals, there was always food within arm's reach. I kept the house chock full of little candy bars, peanuts, chips and candies - placing them at strategic locations so that she could snack at any moment. I also kept a continual supply of her favorite homemade desserts at her disposal. Donna made good use of them all. She began eating more and more as the days passed. Consuming all those goodies had the additional effect of making her incredibly horny. Correspondingly, watching her stuff down all that food kept my dick at constant attention. We took care of our mutual conditions in due fashion.
Donna had meddled with her appetite for so long, dieting and bingeing, that my influence combined with her appetite produced profound results. By providing a nurturing environment for her cravings, I had initiated a gloriously cascading reaction. By the end of her first month of living with me, she was eating like never before. I'd order pizzas for us and would only get a couple of slices, fry some chicken and only get a few of pieces, cook an entire meal and only get half a helping. I certainly wasn't complaining since all this overeating was evidencing itself by the pound. Inch by inch, she started slowly swelling up. Her tits started bulging out of her bra, her shirt sleeves were getting tighter on her arms, her stretch pants were getting filled to capacity and her underwear were pulled taut against thec hunkiness of her ass. She responded by going out to buy some new clothes, claiming that her old ones must have shrunk in the dryer.
By the end of our second month, Donna had put almost twenty pounds. Her weight gain, in addition to bringing me unparalleled joy, was also causing her problems at work. Her supervisor said that, since she worked with customers, her appearance was of the utmost importance. He felt that she was letting herself go and ought to take better care of herself. He couldn't fire her,since that would have been discrimination, but her did transfer her to amenial filing job. She hated it. I seized the opportunity by calling in a favor from an old friend that I'd been saving for just such an occasion.
I got Donna a new job. She put in her week notice and, at the end of two weeks, began working as a shift supervisor at a local chocolate factory. In addition to her managerial duties, she was responsible for periodic checks on the consistency of their products. While most of the supervisors took small nibbles to test for quality, Donna took handfuls. She caught small discrepancies that the other workers had let slip by since she was constantly aware of what was coming off of the line. In less than a month, she'd become an expert on every sweet they produced and actually made some suggestionst hat made them even better.
Kay Dalton, the owner of the factory, was the one who had given Donnat he job. We had met years ago through one of my old girlfriends, and if Kay hadn't have been in her mid-fifties, I would have given her a whirl. She was a 400 pound, mature beauty who carried every ounce with pride. Even though we had never gotten intimate, she fully appreciated a younger man who truly admired her corpulent form. Kay also appreciated Donna's zealousness and handsomely rewarded her by promoting her to chief quality control expert. Along with a marked increase in pay, came a different job description. Donna would sit at a large desk in her private office doing paperwork. Periodically, she would call for one of the supervisors to bring her some samples. She would test them, make notes on her results, and test them some more. Every day when she came home from work, she was nearly ecstatic. For the first time in her life, she actually had a job she loved. Meanwhile, I was loving the results. By her third month at the factory, she'd added almost fifty pounds to her continually swelling body.
Kay had known, without being told, exactly why I had asked her to hire Donna. I knew that she was exactly the person to help Donna stay comfortable with the concept of expanding to super-sized proportions. In short order, they became good friends. Kay treated Donna like the daughter she'd never had. Fortunately, she wanted that daughter to be just as fat as she was. A few times a week, they would go out to eat at some fancy restaurant. Donna always got more than her fill. She'd also come home with an armful of goodies that Kay had given her. She claimed that the only way Donna would ever truly be an expert on chocolate was to know it in all its nuanced forms. Toward that end, she was constantly buying her boxes of chocolates from all overthe world. Donna consumed them with passion, loving every bite. It was asthough she were in heaven - getting to eat all the sweets she wanted, getting paid to do it, and getting appreciated for it at home.
This heavenly bliss manifested itself in the only way it could. Donna exploded. By the time she'd spent six months as the quality control expert at the factory, and subsequently as Kay's friend, she had surpassed the 300 pound limit of our household scale. She looked absolutely phenomenal. She'd gone from a size 18 to a 26 while adding six inches and three cup sizes to her bustline. But all of her obese beauty did come with its own set of demands. For one thing, the grocery bills associated with her fatness were no laughing matter. It took hundreds of dollars each month, just to keep her full. Her clothes had to be sought out at specialty stores and they also weren't cheap. Her legs were so big that, to keep her in panty hose, we had to resort to mail order businesses that carried over 4X. I even had to trade in my Toyota for a large-sized pickup truck, just so she could ride in comfort.
In lieu of all the unforeseen aspects associated with my inflating woman, I decided to make her an honest woman. There wasn't one thing that I disliked about her plumpness or any of the related expenses. In fact, few things gave me more pleasure than when Donna told me that she needed some new clothes because her old ones had "shrunk". We were married in a splendid ceremony, financed partially by Kay Dalton, and took a honeymoon cruise to Hawaii. We took the cruise ship because, at Donna's size, traveling by plane would have been problematic. In Hawaii, we split our time between the bedroom and the fabulous restaurants by our hotel. I had the woman o fmy dreams at my side and thought that everything was perfect. I was wrong - it was going to get even better.
When we returned from our honeymoon and Donna returned to work, it immediately became evident that she viewed our marriage as a license to eat. No longer having to concern herself with getting or keeping a man, she set about stuffing her face with newfound vigor. At work, she was demanding more and more quality checks, and in larger quantities. She and Kay started going out to eat more often. Immediately, her loose dresses got tighter and the tighter ones became impossible to wear. Her chubby chins started to swell, her massive arms began to inflate, her tits expanded outward and downward, her jutting belly rolled over onto her pussy, her ass became a bulging, weighty shelf protruding from her lower back, her thighs took on an increasingly pebbled consistency, and her calves and feet thickened and puffed up. Even her fingers were getting fatter. From the perfect woman, Donna was turning into a woman I would have scarcely ever dreamed of. I was in absolute ecstasy.
Kay and I kept encouraging her and Donna kept voraciously satiating her unfettered appetite. I bought a new, heavy duty scale that went up to 500 pounds, just so I could keep track of her weight. It was bizarre how, where most people use scales to track their weight loss, I was using it to keep track of my wife's weight gain. Every time the dial stopped at a higher number, I considered it a matter for celebration. Donna didn't completely share my enthusiasm since she was the one carrying around those extra pounds and dealing with the subsequent inconveniences. Her thighs were so thick that they rubbed together when she walked. Consequently, she burnt holes in her panty hose on a weekly basis. Her tits and ass were so big that, unless she took extra care, she'd constantly be knocking things over as she turned around or leaned over. As for leaning over, it was no easy task for her. Every time she tried to bend over, her huge thighs would push her rolls of belly fat upward into her tits which bulged up into her rolling chins. With all that fat in the way, tying her shoes or picking up something she that she dropped were significant tasks. It was even getting harder for her to get up out of her seat or to climb a flight of stairs. She was getting heavier so fast that her muscles could barely keep up so the effort it took to lift all those pounds of flesh was no small matter. But, in the end, none of these problems slowed her eating down one bit. She took each inconvenience in stride and gave new meaning to the phrase "no pain, no gain".
As Donna's weight continued to produce larger numbers on the scale, Kay began fostering her appetite even more. She had taken in Donna as her protégé and, seeing her getting closer to her dimensions must have been an inspiration. The factory added five candy bars to their production line and, of course, Donna's pay and her taste-testing responsibilities expanded accordingly. After work, they shared dinners that would sometimes go on for hours. Usually, by the time Donna got home she'd look like she was ready to bust. Of course, I was doing my part to help too. I'd gotten quite good at baking and made certain that my wife had a steady supply of irresistible cakes, pies and pastries. I also made sure that all the other foods in the house were loaded with fattening ingredients. Her incessant eating at work and eating out with Kay, combined with the treats I baked for her and my high fat adjustmentst o her diet, were causing Donna to visibly gain weight every week. By the end of her first year at the factory Donna had reached Kay's proportions. I thought that, having attained such a monumental size, her weight gain would cease or at least slow down. I couldn't have been more mistaken.
It happened on a Wednesday morning. It had been almost two weeks since Donna had weighed herself. I hadn't mentioned it. It was obvious that she was still packing on the pounds so the number on the scale was just a detail. It was so hard for her to see past her belly that she had to have me read the number for her. When she stepped on, the dial took off in a blur, rocked back and forth and then settled at a number. Two weeks earlier she'd been at 385. Now the number said 410! Twenty five pounds in only fourteen days! I was speechless. When I read the number to her, she was stunned too. She said that she'd noticed that her clothes were getting uncomfortable, but she hadn't had any idea that she'd put on that much weight. I said that she looked marvelous. She stepped down off the scale and leaned over for a kiss. "That's all I need to hear," she said, then waddled to the kitchen. When I went in to join her, she was plowing into a three layer chocolate cake, a two gallon bucket of vanilla ice cream, and a container of real whipped cream. She was using a serving spoon to shovel down one huge bite after another. I'd bought the treats for her the night before and she hadn't touched them. Now it looked like she was going to eat them at a single setting.
I sat down across from her and didn't say a word. I was too startled and enthralled at how she was stuffing herself. Half an hour later, nothing was left of the cake but crumbs and the containers were both empty. She got up and threw them in the trash and then grabbed two boxes of chocolates from the cupboard. As she sat back down, I asked her if she was depressed about how fat she'd gotten.
She smiled as she opened one of the boxes and said, "No dearest, it's just the opposite. All the time I've been gaining weight, a part of me has kept thinking about how I could always turn back: about how I could always go on a diet and lose the weight. I've been telling myself that this is only temporary that I'm just "a hundred and some" pounds away from my original weight. But when I stepped on the scale in there and realized that I weigh over a fifth of a ton, something clicked in my head. I felt liberated, as though a great shroud had been lifted from me. I realized how foolish I've been. Worrying about getting fatter is absurd. Fretting about the massive amounts of food that I constantly crave is preposterous. I am a fat woman and I'm still getting fatter. It's time that I started enjoying myself and appreciating myself to the fullest. I know you've been telling me this for a while, that my fatness is beautiful, but I only just realized the full truth of it. I'm not going to deny or control my appetite anymore, to any degree. I've been trying and it's just a waste of time and energy. From now on, I'm going to eat what I want, how much I want, whenever I want. I'll probably get huge, but that's fine. And it's not like I don't care - I do. I care so much that I'm going to enjoy every pound along the way!" Done with her speech, she popped a chocolate in her mouth and then another. I sat there in a daze. With as much as she usually ate, I had never imagined that she had been controlling her appetite. I tried to think of something to say. "I love you," was all that came out.
Donna did just what she said she would. She started eating with a passion unlike any other I'd witnessed. I'd try to bake her a cake but, before I could get it into the pan, she'd be eating the batter out of the bowl. I'd cook her a big dinner and, an hour or so after we'd finished, she'd call and order a pizza. She'd get up in the middle of the night and launch raiding campaigns on the refrigerator. Some mornings, I would find her asleep at the kitchen table, surrounded by empty plates, wrappers and boxes. I'd wake her up by cooking breakfast and she'd devour it like she hadn't eaten in days. Despite the fact that Donna seemed out of control, I was loving every minute of it and she seemed happier than ever before. She was the fattest, most beautiful woman I had ever seen and she was still getting bigger and better!
As Donna continued to grow, things also changed at work. Kay made adjustments to make it easier for the new, fatter Donna. She moved her to a larger office, had her doorway enlarged, and bought her an armless office chair that could hold her comfortably. To repay Kay for the special treatment Donna's tripled her taste-testing responsibilities. She was keeping close tabs on not only the company's wares, but also on competitive goods from manufacturers around the world. At her suggestion, Kay added a line of cookies incorporating their chocolate. Donna had researched the project with hundreds of additional samplings and came up with a recipe that was strictly phenomenal. Within a month, they couldn't produce enough of them to meet the demand. For Donna, it was just a continuation of her dream come true. Her newly unfettered appreciation for food and fatness was getting indulged and rewarded beyond her wildest expectations.
As the months passed and Donna continued to get fatter, I began to see that Kay paid special attention to her when she ate. She knew that at her age, if she ate like Donna, she could be putting her health in jeopardy. At just over 400 pounds and in her fifties, she was already pushing the envelope. But Donna was young and could get away with her unchecked appetite. So Kay would continually stop by her office under the pretense of checking her work, but actually she was just there to watch her young friend eat. Once, when I was visiting Donna at work, she stopped by and stayed for twenty minutes, talking to me but keeping an eye on her. Her mouth was watering so much that she repeatedly had to wipe it off with her handkerchief to keep from drooling. She tried to be subtle, but I knew what was going on. I guess that, like me, Kay was just enjoying Donna's fatness to the utmost. One night, I told Donna about the vicarious pleasure I thought her boss was getting. She replied that she'd suspected as much but hadn't really paid it any attention. For Donna, the prospect that Kay was getting so much pleasure just added a new dimension to her continuing gluttony. Knowing that her eating habits were actually making someone happy (besides the two of us) caused her to approach food with an even greater level of passion. She took to her job at the factory with such additional determination that Kay gave her another generous raise. Afterwards, they started hanging out together even more. Soon, with her combined intake at work and home, Donna's stomach got stretched out to where she could eat all day without any problems. She jokingly referred to herself as "the missionary of fat" who was bringing so much joy into the lives of two nurturing souls.
Because of her "calling", Donna grew past the reach of our 500 pound scale within a few months. To keep tabs on her continuing journey into the vast reaches of corpulence, I bought an old meat market scale that went up to 800 pounds. It was so big that I had to put in our spare bedroom. I put that scale to good use, pridefully keeping track of almost every pound she gained. When she sat on it for the first time, her arms were so big that the rolls of fat on the back of her arms hung down to well past her elbows. Her forearms, wrists and hands looked like they were flesh colored marshmallows. Her huge, thick tits hung down past her knees, capped by saucer sized aureole and acorn-sized nipples. Her bloated, stretch-marked belly folded outward and downward toward her swollen ankles. The needle shot around the gauge and finally teetered to a stop at 527 pounds. In a few short months, she had gone from a fifth to well over a fourth of a ton. I was ecstatic as I read the weight to her. She smiled as I helped her up off the scale. Her jutting hips jiggled and the chunky, spherical, protruding shelf that was her ass heaved and fell. Her cheese-filled thighs quavered and her calves wiggled as stepped over to me asking if I liked the new pounds. I said nothing. I gave my answer by fucking her right there on the bedroom floor.
As more weeks rolled by (with subsequent new rolls of flesh), Donna began having serious problems coping with the effects of her ravenous appetite.The problems had nothing to do with acceptance, they were all about size and mass. She was fast approaching the 600 pound mark and was so broad that she couldn't even fit through most doorways without having a tight squeeze.When we went out, we could only go to a few places because her acre of ass wouldn't fit into most seats. When she was on her own, driving anywhere was considerably difficult. Her belly and tits were so massive that shec ould barely get her fleshy arms around them enough to grab the wheel and steer. When she did get somewhere, like the grocery of a department store, she took up most of an aisle by herself, causing more than a few jams. The inconveniences associated with her incredible girth were compounded by the physically demanding aspects of her poundage. Every time she took a step, her ass would rock to one side, her tits would sway to the other, and her belly would bob up and down and her legs would shake like tubs of jello. It took considerable effort to keep her undulating bulk under control. Aside from that, just standing around took substantial exertion since she was constantly being weighted down by so many pounds of fat. Climbing stairs was barely feasible. It could take her minutes just to make it up a single flight.
She wasn't the only one having to make adjustments for her size and weight. Every morning, I had to help her get dressed since she could no longer reach her feet. To help her stay comfortable, I traded the pick-up in for a van and dropped her off and picked her up from work almost every day so she wouldn't have to strain herself with driving or walking across the parking lot. She couldn't do a whole lot of the housework since she couldn't stay on her feet for very long, so I had to pick up the slack. I had to install a larger toilet and bathtub to accommodate her expansions. She took up most of the bed and, if she inadvertently rolled over while she was sleeping, I'd nearly get crushed. Our sex life was also having to be adjusted. I just couldn't take her weight on top of me and she couldn't take mine on top of her so we were limited to a few positions. Getting deep penetration took special effort since I had to get past her pillar-sized legs and the pudgy layers of fat surrounding her pussy.
In spite of these and other increasing demands from her extreme obesity, Donna continued to gain weight. I was still loving every pound. From my end, every inconvenience was offset by a greater reward. For example, driving her to work meant getting to watch her body wiggle and jiggle with every time I hit a bump. I'd hit potholes on purpose just to watch body undulate from the jolt. The toilet and the tub were no problem since they just served as testimonials to her extreme size. When she was on her back during sex, her jugs were so huge that she'd beg me to lift them off of her chest just so she could breathe easier. I'd oblige by pulling on her nipples until her tits were stretched into stretch-marked teepees. I'd pretend that I was a rodeo star and that those tits were her reigns. Then I'd ride her so hard that it would send ripples and waves through every inch of her body - one of my favorite sights. I had more woman than I'd ever dreamed of and I was going to enjoy every inch and pound of her.
Because of her ever increasing appetite and her ever decreasing physical activity, it was only a few more months before she blew right past the 600 pound mark and promptly reached a full third of a ton. Unsurprisingly, Kay continued to play a big part in getting Donna to continue packing on the pounds. They constantly went over to her house for 'after-work snacks' which always included loads of Donna's four favorites: butter, cheese and sugar and shortening. Tray after tray of fattening goodies would appear before her and then disappear into her stomach to later manifest themselves in new pounds of flesh. Kay could get Donna to eat like no one else on the planet. Maybe it was the 'missionary of fat' thing - that she was giving Kay so much vicarious pleasure by stuffing herself. Maybe it was that Kay had some mysterious hypnotic control over her. Maybe Donna didn't want to disappoint her boss. I didn't know and I didn't care. All that I knew was that Kay was helping my wife to get fatter, at work and otherwise, and that I was loving it. Most nights, Donna would waddle into the house at about eight o'clock looking like she would explode if I stuck her with a pin. Her tent-like dress would be stretched drumhead tight over her bloated belly. Her breasts would be bulging plentifully over her bra cups, forced upward and outward by the vast mound of her glutted tummy. Her arms would be sticking out from her sides to help her balance the many pounds of food that had been loaded into her stomach. Her legs would quake as they attempted to carry all her weight to the bedroom. The effort of eating so much food was tiring and she'd usually take a nap as soon as she got home (which was also perfect since it maximized her weight gain). If she didn't take a nap she'd get undressed, removing the constricting dress and her parachute of a bra. She'd take her bra off so that her breasts could hang to either side of her belly when she sat down.
The pressure of her huge, heavy tits sitting atop her distended belly was too uncomfortable for her. Fortunately, under the deluge of Kay's constant stuffing, Donna's stomach had gotten so stretched out that she didn't stay full for long. About two hours after she got home, she'd get hungry again and I'd bring her some more fattening food to top off her day. It didn't end there, though. During the night, her growling stomach would wake her up two or three times demanding more food.
Donna's gorging continued to escalate to new heights. She met me at the door one night and told me that she had a surprise. She took me to the bedroom where I stood dumbfounded at what she'd done. The dresser on her side of the bed was no longer there. In its place was a refrigerator. She said that she bought it because it was getting too tiring for her to walk back and forth to the kitchen three or four times a night. She hoped that I didn't think she'd gone too far. I walked over to it, opened the door, and found it fully loaded with fattening snacks. For a moment, I pictured the effect that this new addition would have on my wife. Anytime during the night, she could roll over, sit up in the bed, stuff herself silly, and then lay back down and process all that food directly into fat. I closed the door, turned to face her, and gave her a devilish grin. She smiled back and then began to lift her dress off over her head. She dropped it to the floor and asked me if I would help her take her bra and panties off. She turned her back and I slowly undid the long row of clasps that held her tit-harness closed. As the last one came undone, the weight of her tits pulled the straps out of my hands. I pulled her panties downward to expose over a foot of crack between two beachballs of ass. I strained to get them all the way down because the force of her thighs pressing together held them in place. I stayed at her side as she waddled over to the bed and sat down, spreading her legs and lifting her feet. As far as she could spread them, her thighs still pressed together. I slowly worked my hand in under her massive folding belly and between the warm rolls of her thighs until my fingers felt the warm wetness of her fat pussy. I rubbed her clit and she moaned. Minutes ater, she was lying on her side as I straddled one of her huge legs, and thrust my cock deep within her. With every thrust, her belly and tits heaved and fell in rippling waves of flesh. I ran my hands over her vast regions of undulating flesh as she moaned in satisfaction. I was in heaven.
The refrigerator by the bed was a great contributor to Donna's continuing weight gain. Pound after pound of food was loaded into it, dispatched into her belly, and then transformed into new pounds of fat on her already massive body. She continued to eat all day at work, most evenings with Kay, and all night at home. This resulted in her weighing 767 pounds on our second wedding anniversary. At that point, I began to realize that every appetite and every passion must have its limits. At her size, Donna could barely even do her job any more. Simply walking to her office from the front door left her out of breath. In her office, she couldn't even stand on her feet for more than a few minutes. She was so big around the chest and stomach that, when she was sitting at her desk, it was almost impossible for her to do anything without some part of her fat body getting in the way - especially since her stomach hung down to her shins and her tits stuck out in front of her almost as far as her arms could reach. Kay responded by relieving her of any duties that would require her to be on her feet. Astoundingly, to make up for her lost duties, Donna increased her taste-testing responsibilities. Samples that had once come up in trays, now came in boxes and those that had come in boxes now came in crates. She started going to Kay's every day after work and staying over even longer. A few nights, she didn't even come home at all because she was just too stuffed. She started taking days off from work just so she could stay home and eat all day. I'd arrive home late in the afternoon to the sight of my wife sitting on the bed surrounded by a mass of empty pizza boxes, burger wrappers, ice cream containers and other assorted remnants of a massive eating orgy. For me, this was an incredibly confusing and trying time. It was obvious that Donna's passion had become an obsession. I loved her and didn't want to see her do anything to hurt herself - and I knew that she couldn't keep gaining weight indefinitely without endangering their health. But my passion had also grown into an obsession. Watching my incredibly beautiful wife as she continued to balloon outwards towards some unforeseen and unimaginable weight and dimension was engrossing. Donna, my wife, was becoming gluttony incarnate.
She continued unabated. Within a month of our anniversary, she surpassed the meat market scale. Soon after, she had to take an extended leave of absence from her job. She was just too fat to get back and forth to work. Kay was understanding and even accommodating. Every day, she would have boxes of chocolates delivered to our house for Donna. Every day, Donna would eat them all and then call Kay to report. She wasn't really working, but it made her feel like she was. She wasn't doing any work at the house either. Her life was centered around simple concerns: eating, watching T.V., eating, fucking, eating, sleeping, eating, bathing, eating and going to the bathroom. After only two weeks of her entirely sedentary, incredibly gluttonous lifestyle she had gotten so fat that conventional clothes no longer fit her. Unaffected, she spent most of her time naked. When she did wear clothes she was limited to muumuus that we had to have made especially for her since she was well beyond the size measurements of any commercial clothes supplier. As she continued to fatten, her mobility was reduced to a bare minimum. She made only a few short trips each day: from the bedroom to the bathroom, from the bathroom to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the living room, and from the living room to the bedroom. During the day, she had food delivered by a boy we had hired so she wouldn't have to get up any more than necessary. But anytime she got up, she did it without any help. I would offer but she would always refuse. Donna's philosophy was that, as long as she could still get up and move under her own power, she wasn't too fat. Until that day arrived, she was going to continue satiating her appetite to its fullest. One might think that she would have depressed at this turn of events, but exactly the opposite was true. She was ecstatic. She knew that she was getting to experiencing something that few people ever did: the total and unbridled indulgence of an appetite. The hardships that she was having to cope with were merely small prices to pay for her joy. I remained concerned but also continued to help her get fatter.
After another few months, my concern was finally beginning to rival my lust. Even so, I continually marveled at her physique. Donna had gotten so fat that, while standing, her stomach nearly reached the level where her ankles should be. Her rolling calves had swollen to the point that they were covering almost all of her feet. Her incredible mounds of ass had extended outward to the point where gravity had pulled them downward on top of her oil barrel sized thighs. Her hips were rolls of fat that jutted out ponderously, each one half the size of a car tire. Her hands were two loaves of flesh with splayed, pudgy sausages sticking out of them. Her forearms had swollen to the point where they engulfed her wrists, forced downward by the huge, rolling mounds of flesh that hung down from her upper arms, obscuring any traces of her elbows. Her arms were forced outward by the masses of layered flesh that comprised her torso. Her face had gotten so pudgy that her lips were continually puckered by her swollen cheeks pushing from the sides and her rolling chins pushed up from below. Most amazing of all were her tits. They had always tried to ride atop the barge of her belly, but the belly had undertaken to push them to either side. In the end, they reached a truce. The two mammoth mammaries straddled her gut, neither sitting on top or riding beside. Since Donna had also stopped wearing bras (because they were so uncomfortable) the masses of pendulous fat that were her breasts had felt the inevitable effects of gravity. Where her ass had been supported by the mass of her thighs, her breasts had no support without a bra. Consequently, their spongy flesh had been pulled downward to where they hung down almost as far as her stomach. They were striated, vein laden masses of flesh that looked like twin, gigantic water balloons hanging inside two mammoth stockings. At their thickest point, they were accented by plate-sized aerolae and thick, bloated nipples.
With all those masses of hanging and rolling flesh, Donna could only manage an imitation of waddling. Her legs, encircled with their own rolls of flesh, were also sandwiched between the piled mass of her tits/gut and the elephantine rolling shelf of her ass. To 'walk', she would shift her weight to one ofher feet just enough so she could slide the other one forward a few inches. She'd get her balance and then shift her weight again, pushing the other foot forward. Slowly, but surely, she would shuffle along, inches at a time, until she reached her destination. I loved to watch her move. It was almost like witnessing a miracle. Each time one of her feet slid forward, her breasts, arms, belly and ass would swing and undulate back and forth in great waves of fat. Her entire body was affected, with different parts undulating, quivering, shaking or swinging. It had gotten to the point where just watching her perform the simplest tasks was a spectacle. For instance, when she had to bend over at the waist to get something out of a drawer, her tits and belly would actually spread out in front of her and her nipples would just barely tickle the floor. She'd close the drawer and then put her hands behind her, on her ass, and hoist her gut and jugs upward again.
At dinnertime each day, she would make her way to the dining room where watching her sit down at the table was another special treat. To make it easier on her legs, she would lift one breast and then the other, dropping them on the tabletop. Then she would lean forward placing her hands to either side of her breasts as I pushed her specially reinforced, oversized chair in behind her. Cumbersomely, she would lower her weight about three-quarters of the way down and then drop into the chair. She and the chair would groan in union as her weight got settled and her body shook from the impact. While she ate, she'd leave her tits on the table and sit her plates and bowls on top of them. It was the only way she could eat without them being in her way. When she was finished, she'd sit for a while and gather her resolve. Getting up was a lot harder than sitting down. She would clear off her titties, putting the dishes aside and then put her hands to either side of her breasts again. She'd lean forward as much as she could and then force herself upwith a grimace. Once she got upright (which might take a few tries), I'd hold the table as she stayed leaning forward, slowly backing away from the table until her breasts slid off and landed on her stomach and the floor with a loud thud. She'd have to fight for a few seconds to get their quaking mass under control and regain her balance. When nearly two hundred pounds of flesh fall down over three feet, it's no small matter, but she said that it was easier than trying to lift them up off the table. In no uncertain terms, I loved every stretch-marked second of it.
Then it happened. One day, she called me at work and told me that she needed me to come home immediately. I didn't ask why, I just went. WhenI got home, she was lying naked on the bed, eating a piece of fried chicken. She swallowed and then smiled at me. I asked her what was wrong. She said that it was nothing except that she'd finally reached her limit. She'd been trying to get up for over an hour so she could get something to drink, but she was stuck. She was just too heavy to do it anymore. Luckily, the phone was right beside her and she'd called me. While she was waiting for me, she'd gotten hungry and decided that the bucket of chicken in the fridge shouldn't go to waste. I asked her how she felt. She said that she'd never been happier but that it was time to go see a doctor. After she sat up and put her feet over the side of the bed, I tried to help her get up so we could get out to the van and to the hospital, but it was nothing doing. She had eaten the straw that had broken the camel's back. I got her muumuu over her head and covered the essentials. One hour later, it took six paramedicsto get her into the back of the ambulance.
And so ended our journey into the extents of our obsessions. The doctor at the hospital couldn't believe Donna when he saw her. He was a young man and knew that her case could probably be worth a publishable paper or two so he made special arrangements. The scale in the hospital couldn't register her weight so he had one brought in that could. It had a special sling that Donna sat in (I later learned that it was a scale used to weigh farm animals) and, with help, we got her settled into the device. The metal arm that was supporting made a sharp creaking sound as her massive body swung suspended.The digital readout on the scale went black and in a few seconds flashed a number in red. I stood amazed as the doctor took notes. Donna asked me what it said. I told her a number and she asked me to repeat it. I said it again, 1176 pounds. I leaned over and kissed her.
The doc put her on a special diet that, coupled with light exercise, slowly shrunk her down to a more reasonable size. Donna was intelligent about slimming down and took years to lose the weight so that her skin would have time to shrink down with her. After about six months, she was able to move around enough to return to work which also served to ensure that she didn't lose the weight too quickly. I was glad she was taking it slow because it meant that I got to enjoy her immensity for that much longer. After five years, her weight finally leveled out even though the doctor kept telling her that she needed to lose more. Donna wouldn't hear of it. She knew how much I loved my big fat woman and besides, at 420 pounds, she still got to indulge herself without having to skimp. Since she'd weighed almost three times that much, it didn't seem like much weight to carry around. Presently, her weight is a little up, getting near 450, because she's carrying our first child.
If someone had told me, years ago, that I would be as happy as I am today, I would have thought they were crazy. I have had my wildest dreams satisfied while getting to help another indulge their's. There probably hasn't been another marriage that could be more correctly described as "made in heaven."
Thus ends my story for the lovers of fat women out there. I hope that you can find yourself a beautiful woman who loves to eat and wants you to love her for it, that you'll love her and feed her and get to watch her blossom to beyond your most fantastic desires, that you'll let her know how much you love to see her plump up, that you'll let her know how much you love that fat. Never forget to tell her that you love her, apart from the fact that she's the big woman of your dreams. Don't worry about a thing as long as the two of you are happy. And remember, nothing will fatten her up quicker and make her happier than for her to know that you'll lover her no matter how big she gets. If you do all these things, your reward could be a big, beautiful woman who knows that you cherish every inch and pound of her wonderfully fat body. Take it from a man who's been there and still is...it's heaven on earth.