Greetings from Fat City, USA

A novella by Melanie Bell

Chapters
1	\|	2	\|	3	\|	4

Chapter 5

"Our downtown is practically bulging at the seams with amenities normally found only in much larger cities. Barbers Plaza, the downtown pedestrian mall, is crammed full of restaurants and shops offering food and clothing from all over the world. At one end of the square is the institution for which the Plaza was named: The Wilson Barbers Memorial Library, amply endowed by the world-famous writer -- one of many literary lions who have called this town home. Nest to the library is the R.B. Lawrence Museum. The Lawrence is overflowing with a collection of masterpieces spanning the whole of human artistic endeavor, from the primitive petroglyphs of the long-lost natives of the mesa, to works by Titian, Rubens, Renoir and many others. At the other end of the plaza, stands City Hall, with its unique rounded and sensual form built exactly as it had been envisioned by the award-winning architects of The Studio." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

They returned a moment later with a huge pot of pasta and sauce they'd prepared for dinner, pulled up a couple of dining room chairs, loaded up a big forkful of spaghetti and began to feed me. "That belly of yours is so big -- for you, anyway," Diana said, wiping away the stray sauce that flecked my chin, "that we can't resist trying to make it even bigger!"
"We're going to feed you until you pop!" said Tonia, her daughter echoing the last word.
Half of me wanted to protest, but the other half of me wanted nothing more than to sit back and let myself be fed that entire five-gallons of pasta, even if doing it would really make me explode. It was just my imagination, but it seemed like, with every bite, I could watch my belly growing, see my panties getting tighter, feel my weight pressing me further and further down into the soft cushions of the chair; my pussy was getting hotter and wetter as my stomach swelled out further than I'd ever seen it before. Eventually, though, I reached my limit. My jaws refused to chew anymore, my face was hot and flushed, my head was spinning with dizziness and I could feel that the incredible quantities of food I'd eaten that day had filled up every available bit of space in my body.
Through my hazy vision, I could see that I had barely made a dent in the pasta, and that my roommates, excited and aroused by the whole scenario, were settling in to the job of finishing every last bite themselves. Over the swell of my gorged belly, I watched the two of them eating furiously, feeding themselves and feeding each other. Immobilized, I watched as they moved their chairs on either side of me and began using the mound of my inflated tummy as their plate. They'd spoon a huge helping of the hot pasta and sauce onto my tender flesh, then they'd begin to clean off my stomach, using just their mouths.
The sensations it raised in me were more intense than any I'd ever felt before: the passivity and lassitude of my body, which was busily devoting all its energy to digesting the ponderous quantities of food I'd stuffed myself with; the hungry flicking of their tongues and lips all over my tight skin; the tickling caused by the stray pieces of pasta and drops of sauce that rolled down the slopes of my fat stomach, and got lost beneath the folds of my boobs or tangled in the wiry hairs of my furry patch; the excited anticipation with which I waited for one of the two eating-crazed women to find those bits of missing food with their hungry mouths. I could feel the orgasm building inside me, starting with the heat between my chubby thighs, then changing into a cold and delicious shiver which moved across my skin, turning every little hair into gooseflesh. The shiver grew and grew into an electric current which shot up my spine and arched my back, making it appear, from my vantage point, that my already distended belly was swelling and growing even more huge. My two roommates were so consumed with their single-minded consumption, that they just went along for the rise, their sauce-smeared faces pressed deep into my bucking flesh. When my back could arch no more, I fell back to the chair with a flop, the mass of all that food shaking and sloshing around in me, the ripples and jiggles of my blubber resonating down my thighs and up my love-handles and into my floppy boobs.
They ladled another helping of spaghetti onto my skin, the sauce first hot, then cold in the deep well of my belly-button. When they finished that helping, I figured they must have crammed all that pasta into their own bellies, because suddenly, there were two mouths firmly attached to my erect nipples and two fingers plunging deeply into the volcanic crevice between my legs. I screamed and then I came and came and came and came as my consciousness became so focused that I existed only as a fiery pussy and a gorged belly...
For the second time that day, I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember was trying to move myself into an upright position. When I finally heaved my swollen body out of the chair, I found a pretty scene around me. The futon couch was unfolded, and in the middle of it lay my two unconscious roommates, their bulging bodies pressed tightly together with Tonia's enormous ass exposed to my full view and her soft belly pressed into Diana's back. Diana's own massive gut was providing a cushion for Samantha's sleeping form. I crawled into the bed, too, molding my own inflated stomach into the twin globes of Tonia's massive butt, and listening to the protests of the bedframe as it strained to support nearly one thousand pounds of gluttonous femininity.

"Standing in its place of honor in the center of the plaza is the statue of our town hero, the F.F. Rebel -- the 'F.F.' standing for 'Food Fighting.' A relocated southern man, he earned his fame and his nickname when, early in the town's history, the city was under siege by an army of desperados, seeking to take the town and its supposed gold by force. Knowing that an army moves on its stomach, and that there was no food around except what was in the storehouses on the mesa, Rebel took command of the town's defenses, ordering everyone in town to sit down and devour every scrap of food they could and carry the rest, leading the citizens to a hideout in the hills. When the hungry invaders came into the deserted town, they discovered there was not a scrap to eat. Then, a mountain blizzard which blocked the trail down from the mesa finished them off, so that when the much-fattened townspeople came back into their city a few days later, they found only the dead emaciated bodies of their would-be invaders. The first act of the first mayor of Las Mujeres was to commission a statue of the Rebel for the town square." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

It wasn't until this morning, when a tow-truck brought back my car that I even remembered what I'd set out to do yesterday. I toyed, for a moment, with the idea of trying to make the journey again, but my plans were interrupted by the smell of freshly-made pancakes and rich maple syrup and Diana's voice yelling, "Sooooo-eeeeee! Pig! Pig! Pig! Pig!" Looking down at the new rolls on my fat stomach, still distended from yesterday's indulgences, I wondered what it would be like, if, instead of me coming to visit you...
Love,
Your sister.

"However one chooses to look at Las Mujeres -- its past, its present, or its future -- it is obvious that we live in a fascinating place, rich with history, bounteous in beauty and overly-endowed with all the abundance of the earth. Wouldn't you like to live here, too?" (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)