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Old 02-10-2008, 02:51 AM   #1
Scx
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Default Five Bridesmaids - by Scx (~BBW (Multiple), ~Sex, ~~WG, ~XWG)

~BBW (Multiple), ~Sex, ~~WG, ~XWG - A big event with even bigger surprises!

[Author's Note: ... The usual you've come to expect from Scx. I think.]

Five Bridesmaids
by ~Scx

The wedding of George Arturio Betancourt Guiglimo-Harrison and Veronica Judith Baselton was going to be the event of the year. All the gossip magazines had done specials on the fabulously wealthy Guiglimo-Harrisons (and their shadier ancestors in 1920’s Chicago) and the stunningly beautiful Veronica, runner-up for Miss Teen in her state, successful model by 21, etc., etc., etc. Even stranger was that none of the bridesmaids, nor the bride, had been seen for a year, all hidden away by the Guiglimo-Harrisons!

The music began to play, and all the guests stood up, and turned towards the doorway, where the first bridesmaid, Tamara, was slowly coming in.

Tamara was an old roommate of Veronica’s from college. They’d gone through thick and thin together. Literally – Both had gained the freshman 15 (more like twenty, in Tamara’s case) and struggled to lose it again (not entirely successfully, in Tamara’s case). Over the few years since, the weight had come back with more, and the 5’6” tall Tamara weighed in at 170 pounds of smooth round woman. She had also gone into modeling, but where Veronica was glamourous, Tamara was only called in for catalog shoots where they needed a ‘girl next door’ type, and her slowly increasing weight were making even them fewer and farther between.

Then came the invitation. It looked like a nice holiday: The invitation was to spend an entire year at the Guiglimo-Harrison country house, with everything taken care of, and be at the wedding afterwards.

It wasn’t until she arrived that the whole deal was exposed. All the bridesmaids were taken to a rack of dresses, bridesmaid dresses, all blue satin with foofy bows on the butt. The surprising thing was the sizes. They went from what Tamara would have called ‘tent-size’, and up to what could only be ‘big top’ size. And then the money – a million dollars per position in the line of bridesmaids, ranked by weight.

All of Tamara’s problems were solved, but she’d have new ones too.

She sniffled as she waddled down the aisle towards the priest, partly because she knew her vacation was over, and partly because she’d only managed a single million dollars, but mostly because she knew she’d never lose the 330 pounds of soft white flesh she was hauling into the church.

There was nothing else to do at the country house but eat and laze around. They were surrounded by goodies constantly and meals were multi-course affairs. Tamara had never had good will-power when surrounded by food, and nothing here made it easier. Over the course of a year she’d lolled by the pool, lazed in front of the TV, slept off ridiculous meals in the sun on the porch, hardly lifting a finger except to request more to eat, and the results were obvious by the end of the first month alone.

Her thighs had thickened, her waist widened, her breasts grew heavier. It was like her first months in college, as her weight soared and body expanded towards those ridiculous dresses. She’d always been lazy, and here she could just let go. So she did, indulging her every taste sensation, picking out her favourite foods and loading up her belly with them.

Tamara was definitely expanding, growing weaker as she grew fatter. At 250 pounds she was practically limp and softer than a marshmallow. Her already wimpy metabolism slumped even further, and she bloated even faster. Soon three hundred pounds dripped from her frame, and the staff helped her stand, sit, roll over, and eat. Her cheeks stuffed with sugary goodness, they had stabilized her on the scale earlier this morning and read off 331 pounds.

With Tamara still half-asleep, the seamstress measured her, then let her sit down for a little while. The dress was adjusted, and put on her. Tamara dimly recalled how surprised she’d been at the first sight of those dresses, and now she was wearing one, nearly twice the woman she had been, delivered to the church door in her own limosine.

The bridesmaid was lazy, the walk down the aisle was long. Tamara was sweating before she was halfway through, the farthest she’d walked in months, and now at her fattest. Her feet were in shoes meant more for decoration than walking. The butt-bow waved, rising and falling with each heave of her thick thighs pushing on her fat ass, slowly propelling her soft fat towards her place. Finally, panting for breath, she reached the end, and took her position tiredly, wondering what the future was for a millionaire butterball.

All heads turned back to the door as the music continued to play, and Kellie, the second bridesmaid, sailed in.

Kellie had always been a big girl. Standing nearly 6’ tall, she’d been a star on the high school girl’s basketball team. Veronica was also on the team, but where Kellie was playing starting center, Veronica’s role was rather more decorative. Kellie had gotten a sports scholarship to some tiny college in the backwoods south, and they’d drifted apart for some years, then started exchanging cards and letters and email again. Then came the invitation.

Kellie had gotten a business degree and was working idly in an insurance office in a small town, keeping herself in shape and trying not to frighten off all the available men, and the idea of a year’s vacation sounded great. Again, like Tamara, she was shocked by all the terms of the deal, but she’d be going back home many times a millionaire, and that, well, that made it all right.

She’d been just slightly heavier than Tamara when she arrived, at 178 pounds, but where Tamara was doughy softness from snacking and laziness, Kellie was all long strong muscle. Her breasts were high and firm, her glutes toned, her thighs muscular. Or they had been.

There wasn’t any exercise machinery at the country house. There wasn’t a basketball court, or even a tennis court. There was a pool, but it was strangely shaped, more for ambience than swimming laps. And Kellie was naturally competitive – This would just be a different kind of game.

So Kellie dove into the arrays of food with a will and a way. But even so, she only made it into second-to-last place. Her high-energy metabolism had been burning off calories all her life. Months had gone by. Tamara’s weight had shot past her own, having gone over 200 in just two months, and Kellie was just looking a little softer at 190, so she had to make a change.

So no more walks around the house to look at the flowers and birds. No more swimming. No more of that. Kellie realized she’d been unconsciously ‘eating healthy’, too, picking up more of the fresh vegetables and less of the red meat. No more. She came out of her room that morning and announced her intentions to everyone, the staff, the other bridesmaids, and most importantly the cooks that she wanted food, junk food, and wanted it now.

Her body finally got with the program. Either through force of will or because it was already reeling from her twenty pound gain, the blast of empty calories, butter, sugar, and lard knocked it flat. Kellie remained as close to horizontal as she could, as long as she could, every day, and kept pushing sugar between her lips and gulping it down. At mealtimes she deliberately took more gravy, larger helpings of everything, and ate as quickly as she could. And she got results.

Kellie had always been a big girl, but now she was getting much bigger. Her underwear stretched thin, then snapped. She stopped wearing any. Her sweatpants began to strain keeping her thickening thighs and bubble butt in, then tore away. She decided to wear only a bathrobe. And the numbers on the scale kept ratcheting up. Two hundred pounds came on fast. Then two hundred and fifty. Her butt was widening rapidly. Her thighs touched, then pressed together, tone and definition fleeing under the onslaught of fat. Her sharp-boned face rounded out, cheeks chubbing up, her breasts racing forwards, and losing, to the expansion of her belly.

More calories chased each other between her teeth. The hard-charging competitor’s weight caught the indolent and lazy Tamara at 312, and kept going, but there was only a month left in the year, and now Kellie was sauntering down the aisle, smiling at everyone, admiring the expensive flowers.

The smile was a little forced, in fact. The last few days had been an incessant blur of chewing, her stomach always aching from overloading. Although the final weighing had been some hours before, she’d glutted herself one more time just before walking in, just to show them even more, as the tightness in her stomach and the tightness in her dress fought each other.

And she was showing them. She’d been weighed at 351 pounds, with a fifty-inch bustline and a sixty-inch waist, good for two million dollars. The seamstress had made it fit excellently, but Kellie had gone and stuffed herself one more time, obviously straining the smooth fabric as she swayed along. She reached the end, a powerful dominatrix woman of tight dresses, tight skin, and firmly quivering fat, and accidentally brushed against the doughy softness of Tamara.

Both women giggled nervously, neither of them really familiar with how large they’d become, and turned to watch the third bridesmaid enter.

There was a noticeable delay. The music continued.

Last edited by Observer; 09-04-2008 at 09:28 PM.
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Old 02-10-2008, 02:53 AM   #2
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Mei-Linn finally staggered in, bumping into the door and wobbling unsteadily towards them. Despite her legs splaying wide and obviously desperate attempts at remaining stable, she seemed only seconds from falling.

Mei-Linn was a Korean foreign exchange student during Veronica’s senior year, living with the Baseltons, and they’d become great friends. When she went back to Korea to study for her physics doctorate, they’d never seen each other again, but had sent across the Pacific a nearly constant stream of pictures, email, instant messages, talking constantly about everything.

Dr. Mei-Linn was casting around for funding some interesting research she wanted to do when the invitation arrived. It would be sort of like a sabbatical, she thought, and was riding 1st class in the next 747 out of Seoul. The tiny Asian was nearly swallowed up in the big chair. Mei-Linn stood only 4’10” in shoes, and weighed barely ninety pounds soaking wet, much of that in her thick black hair nearly three feet long.

When she heard about the money, she decided to get herself some. Unfortunately for Mei-Linn, she was very small to start with, and knew she’d have a long way to go to catch up. So the moment she understood, she opened her mouth and started stuffing.

Except she was used to eating like a bird. It seemed like only moments before her little stomach protested it was full. She overrode those feelings and stuffed in more. Her belly ached, but Mei-Linn wanted to be sure she was completely full. She stuffed in a little more. Her belly was noticeably swollen in the middle of her waifish form, bulging forwards. It was just a little bulge now, but it had definite potential. Mei-Linn curled up on the couch, softly moaning as her stomachache slowly receded.

When she felt better, she rose up again, and went back to the table. Several plates later, she was curled up on the couch again, once more loaded completely full, belly bloated and aching again. As the pain again diminished, she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up, she desperately had to go to the bathroom. She took a long hot shower as well, washing her three-foot-long silky hair, and rubbing soap all over her body. Her stomach had, she noted ruefully, flattened out again, back to invisibility on her twiggy frame. Well, there was one solution to that, and hair wrapped in a towel, dressed in a fluffy bathrobe, she went back to the table. It was always set with heaps of food, and one or another or all of the bridesmaids would be wolfing something down.

Mei-Linn wolfed something down. Then something else. Then some more. Her belly was spending its time nearly constantly in pain from what she crammed into it. She’d stuff her face until the pain made her stop, then rest, then go back to eating until she had to stop again. Finally, exhausted, bloated, and full, she’d drift off to sleep.

In the morning Mei-Linn would shake her head, though, looking in the mirror. It always seemed flat in the morning, however bulbous it was when she last curled around it after her final evening cram session. In fact, it was growing, quite quickly, but since she always compared it to last night’s swollen state, she would vow to push herself harder through the day in the hope that something would stick. And push herself she would, going beyond just ‘full’ to whimpering in pain trying to eat just a little more.

It wasn’t until a month had gone by that she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in profile one morning. Her capacity had rocketing upwards, and when she passed out from overeating the night before it looked like the tiny young woman had swallowed a basketball. And finally seeing herself from the side, she realized that she really did still have a big stomach, curving outwards under her two tent-shaped breasts in a wide arc of soft brown skin. She was delighted, and celebrated by reloading her gut to its previous swollen state, then shoveling in a little more.

It was sticking. The now potbellied PhD had the staff wake her in the middle of the night to cram herself full again. She began to lose track of the days, nights, time, there was just a sequence of stuffing, aching, resting, then finding something, anything, to reinflate her to her ballooning limit.

It had affected her appetite, too. Now whenever there was space inside her, a growling hunger forced her to fill it. And fill it tight, packing it to high pressure, stretching her belly even more, so she needed to pack more in to fill it, so it stretched some more. Like many feedback loops, it started running faster and faster.

The rest of her swelled some too. Her breasts went from A’s (in size and shape) to B’s, then expanded further. Her thighs, not far apart to start with, rubbed softly together when she walked and her rump rounded out, losing its bony edge. But it was her belly leading the way. As the feeding loop accelerated, her weight rose as her belly pulled her around.

150 pounds passed unnoticed. As she approached 200 she looked like she’d swallowed a beachball, or heavily pregnant, with nearly half her weight protruding forwards in a constantly loaded belly. At 220 her belly was getting so big she had to cradle it in both arms while walking to keep from falling forwards and she still stuffed it fuller. By 300 pounds her belly was twice the size of the rest of her, a still doll-like Asian totally overwhelmed by 200 pounds of pure belly fat.

And she kept eating as fast as she could. The staff helped her do everything. Her belly expanded further, sticking out three feet, then four. She couldn’t reach her own bellybutton for the enormous sack of her own flab in front of her. She could barely walk for falling over, and staggered around the house trying to steer her belly from place to place. After only a few steps, she’d helplessly collapse, either on her front, draped over her own stomach, or on her side, with her belly mounded up in front of her like an overstuffed beanbag chair, and still she ate constantly.

It was difficult to weigh Mei-Linn the morning of the wedding. First, over the course of the year, she’d practically forgotten the wedding, her brain overwhelmed by her overeating. Then she was so unstable with her huge stomach sticking out she had to be propped up on the scale. Then they read off 393 pounds of pure gluttony.

She still had elfin features. Her hair was six inches longer. Her legs were still little twigs, her arms thin and bony. All her inhalation had gone straight to a nearly three hundred pound belly.

That belly had then been crammed into a dress. A sling had been arranged to help her carry that weight down the aisle. But she had to make that walk alone. And, like Kellie, the time between the weighing in had been used to assuage her hunger, to refill the empty spaces inside her massive belly. And her capacity was much larger than Kellie’s.

So now, certainly weighing over four hundred pounds, her dress frighteningly taut over her huge front, she, who’d hardly walked a step unassisted in a month, had to steer a belly so big she could barely see over it down a long aisle. She staggered. She waddled. She swayed from side to side, bouncing herself off the pews, apologizing and giggling.

It was a long walk. Her arms were trying to keep her belly under control, but were rapidly tiring. Her legs wobbled from the great weight on them and from leaning far back to stay upright. Sweat was streaming from her brow, and all could hear her wheezing for breath, lungs imprisoned under that fat, as she reached the end. Nearly at her position, almost there, she relaxed just a little, but that was too much.

The release of tension caused her gut to sag slightly forwards. That overpowered her aching ankles, and, almost in slow motion, her oversized belly pulled her forwards one stumbling step, at a half-run, crashing into Kellie, who was pushed into Tamara, and all three of the freshly fattened women, none too stable, tottered, wobbled, and fell.

There were three thin screams. Mei-Linn’s enormous belly landed on Kellie’s legs. Kellie’s landed on Tamara. Three resounding thumps echoed through the chapel, accompanied by ripping noises, and followed by pandemonium.

Tamara managed to wriggle out and stand up, only disheveled, her carefully styled hair askew. Kellie grunted and struggled, eventually making it out from underneath Mei-Linn with the help of some of the attendees lifting. She’d come down on one ankle wrong, and stood awkwardly, trying not to put much weight on it. The seams at the side of her overloaded dress were rapidly separating under the pressure of the inflated woman inside.

Mei-Linn couldn’t get up. She wasn’t strong enough to lift her own stomach. The men who’d helped Kellie then tried to help her. More came up to help. Eventually they got the woefully overfed Korean back onto her weak and wobbly feet. She’d burst out the front of her dress, and a great slice of her belly was exposed to the air. A low bench appeared from somewhere, and she, still only standing because of the men supporting her, gratefully leaned forwards a little and rested her wildly outsized gut upon it. The dress was falling off her belly in shreds, but the show must go on.

Kellie whispered to Tamara, “Do you think it’s worth it?”

Tamara replied, “Three million dollars! I only got one.”

Some minutes had passed sorting out all the women, but once they were all sort of back in position and the attendants back in their seats, some more time passed, as the ushers outside worked on getting Angel unstuck from inside her limousine.

Last edited by Risible; 02-11-2008 at 09:51 AM.
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Old 02-10-2008, 02:54 AM   #3
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The organist reached the end of her music, stopped, and looked around. The priest made some flapping gesture at her and she shrugged, flipped back to the beginning, and started over. Mei-Linn’s heaving breathing was starting to recover.

Angel and Veronica had known each other for years. They’d been Best Friends Forever in second grade. But they’d gone to different high schools, and drifted apart. Where Veronica was beautifully “All-American”, tall, blonde, lithe and slender, Angel had been dark-haired, dark-eyed, a luscious curvaceous sexpot from south of the border. An exaggerated hourglass shape, she had enormous firm breasts and a big round ass to balance them, long dark lashes and thick red lips that would beckon with animalistic lust. Where Veronica was a classic beauty, Angel exuded sex appeal.

At her private high school, Veronica dated wealthy preppies on the football team who behaved with dignity and decorum except when they were really drunk. Angel, in the inner city, dated rough boys who rode motorcycles and had spiky green hair who did not behave with dignity and decorum except when very badly stoned. So they’d drifted apart over the years, exchanging the occasional card, but not talking much.

Angel had invited Veronica to her second wedding, but it fell apart when the groom was caught in bed with another of the groomsmen, enjoying him much more than he’d enjoyed Angel. So it wasn’t too surprising that Angel was invited to this one, Veronica’s first wedding. What was surprising was the year’s holiday.

Angel hadn’t done very well over the years. Her first husband only married her at the end of a shotgun. The baby miscarried anyhow, and when he disappeared a few months later Angel didn’t mind, although it was nice to have someone to pay the rent for you. As a high-school dropout she didn’t have much in the way of work skills, and spent the next few years bouncing around between apartments, bouncing in other people’s beds, fast-food service jobs, and thirty days in jail for drugs. Her second husband was going to be the ‘nice guy who straightened her out’, but straight was one thing he wasn’t. What with that humiliation, Angel was quite happy to skip town and spend a year in sybaritic luxury.

Angel was sure there’d be some eligible men there, too. While not Kellie, she had some competitiveness of her own, and was secretly jealous of Veronica for landing the rich husband she’d never had. If the husband was there for the whole year, well, perhaps Angel would get the chance to show him how much nicer life might be with a hot-blooded Hispanic who knew some amazing things to do in bed. Or, if not him, anyone else would do.

The deal surprised and shocked her, but after a few hours thinking about it, decided to go for the glory. She’d be set for life, wealthy hubby or not.

She had another advantage, in that she started in first place. Her bohemian lifestyle had been fun, but healthy living it wasn’t, and after many sessions of scarfing down Twinkies at 4am her hourglass form had grown significantly. Her breasts, still large and firm, got larger, drooping just a pencil’s worth. Her rump, always large and curvy, seemed to have gotten larger with every set of fingerprints placed on it. Her thighs, always strong, had gotten thicker, and, inevitably, her waistline was widening as well.

So she stepped off the private plane at the grass runway in the country standing 5’9” in boots, 195 pounds of pure dynamite. One of her favorite sayings went something like “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful” [Mae West. Ed.] and that had seen her through a lot of sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll. She was ready to party.

She was convinced this would be cake. Meeting the other bridesmaids didn’t change her opinion. Kellie was a big girl, but looked like she had a really fast metabolism. Tamara was just too lazy, and while Mei-Linn’s gluttony was impressive, she didn’t believe the little Asian could get anywhere near fat enough, starting so small. And Celeste? Celeste had her own problems.

So Angel coasted along, eating, sleeping, and raiding the liquor cabinet. Drunk practically all the time, she didn’t care what she ate, as long as it tasted good. And it all tasted good. Between the alcohol and the sugar, pounds packed on. She’d been one of the first to discard clothing in favor of the big fuzzy bathrobes provided by the house, and unfettered by underwear her breasts bounced into F-cup sizes, her hips rounded out over fifty inches, her belly chasing at forty, her weight chasing 250 pounds.

Disappointingly, however, there just weren’t very many targets for her charms, and drunk she got horny. The household staff were all old and tired, neither the groom nor groomsmen were around, it was just a house full of old men and fattening women. They weren’t supposed to go out, nobody was invited in.

For the first months, she just spent a long time in the shower, and sometimes took a candle to bed with her, but it was driving her crazy. She even made a drunken pass at Kellie, who turned her down hard. Then came Kellie’s announcement, and with a shock (Angel happened to be mostly sober for once) she looked around and realized that everyone, practically everyone except her, was getting much fatter. If she didn’t hustle, she’d lose!

Mei-Linn’s belly was ridiculously obvious, swelling rapidly. Tamara was visibly softening every day. And now Kellie would blimp up! Was Angel really going to be left behind, in this prison, no company, no nothing? She needed a plan.

Now that Kellie wasn’t running around the gardens any more, Angel could go out there to be alone. Equipping herself with a big glass of vodka and Sprite she wandered off out of sight of the house, and found a little bench in a grotto to sit on. Sitting and sipping, she tried to think, but wound up feeling sorry for herself. More vodka went in, and she got drunker, more lonesome, more miserable, and more horny. Soon she was sobbing her heart out, and fluently cursing ever having accepted this stupid deal.

Sure enough, one of the gardeners heard her. He was a rough son of the country, not too bright, but good with his hands, young and strong. He was just what Angel wanted. He wasn’t expecting Angel.

When he stepped past the bushes at the entry, she looked up from between her hands, expressive dark eyes moist with tears. Her thick red lips parted slightly, to show long white teeth. Her hands slowly lowered, and she watched his eyes as they descended too, stopping firmly on the v-neck of the bathrobe, roaming around on the heavy curving breasts it completely failed to conceal.

“H- h- hi, mm.. miss,” he managed to stutter out, now realizing where her eyes had roamed to. He instinctively covered the now tented front of his trousers with his hands, and went back to staring at Angel’s magnificent breasts as she, smiling, arched her back and slowly stood up. Shimmying slightly, she approached him, looking deep into his eyes, letting the robe slowly slip from her shoulders, her hair flow in the breeze.

Mere minutes later all his fantasies came true, and the grotto echoed with flesh slapping against flesh and the moaning and grunting of ecstasy. Angel was getting the hard, if unpracticed, screwing she wanted, and now she had a plan and an accomplice. Angel was going to win after all. But first she was going to get thoroughly laid.

Her plan was really quite simple. All those drinks she’d been having would just quietly get laced. The boy, putty in her hands, went shopping for weight gainer powder and some not-quite-so-legal substances, and Angel could meet him in the grotto three times a week. Everyone’s needs got met.

And so Angel too began swelling.

While Mei-Linn was stuffing herself solid to the point of pain, Angel slurped her way through uncountable drinks. She drank more than ever, beer, wine, anything creamy. Her belly constantly sloshed and swayed full of ultra-high calorie liquids. The calories went directly to Angel. Her belly was finally catching up with her breasts as she passed 275 pounds. On all fours in the garden it would sway back and forth, in and out of time with her bounding breasts. When she was on her back it would rise like a soft dome, quaking with every thrust skewered deep into her. The weight piled on. Angel kept getting fatter. Her hips, wide to begin with, kept getting wider. More fat piled into her breasts. Her backside, fingerprinted again, got bouncier every day.

Summer waned into autumn. Angel blossomed. Much firmer than the nearly inanimate Tamara, curvier than the bulk of Kellie, her belly blimping to nearly match Mei-Linn’s, Angel cleared four hundred pounds with more than a month to go. Her breasts pushed outwards sixty-four inches around, her waistline sixty-eight, her hips measured seventy-two, and she was happily drunk, fat, and screwed.

But it couldn’t last. Several grocery bags full of gainer powder were found in the grotto by the head gardener. He also found there at the same time his assistant, quite naked, on his knees, forcing a huge erection deep into the 420 pounds of Angel on all fours on a blanket in front of him. Her breasts were sweeping the cloth, her belly pressing it firmly down. Both had their eyes shut and their mouths open, emitting non-verbal grunts in time with every deep stroke.

Naturally, the chief flipped out. The young man got fired on the spot, and ran off with his pants in his hands. Angel got restricted to inside the house. But the larger punishment was to keep the gainer powder. Now all of Angel’s drinks would be spiked with it, and she’d have to drink them all.

It was a badly hung-over and weakly protesting against another supply of high-caloric alcohol Angel that was weighed a few weeks later before the wedding. Her bridesmaid dress was extended to eighty inches around the hips. Her cleavage seventy, her belly somewhere in between, the numbers on the scale clocking up 453, up to 454, back to 453, where it stayed. Angel had to drink another four large glasses, taking the scale up to 455, then she was let down.

And like Mei-Ling, and Kellie, that wasn’t the end of it. The dress fitting took time, as did the primping. The hair-stylist took his sweet time. The limo wasn’t in a big hurry. More alcohol, more calories, more food was funneled into the nearly helpless Angel, and her dress too was showing strain, but the hard part was getting her out of the car. She’d slid in sideways, and that went all right, but on her way out, her great big breasts pushed out, her belly tried to follow, and her hips jammed up tight against the car door frame.

She tried to back in again. Her belly caught on the sill. She was well and truly stuck, and beginning to panic. One arm was inside the car, the other on the outside. She flapped her hands and quaked, but it only caused her to get jammed in tighter. Someone gave the already intoxicated whale another drink, and that calmed her down for as long as it took her to drink it, not long at all. But now there were ushers in the car pushing, attendants on the outside pulling, and with another ripping sound, Angel, and most of her dress, popped out. She’d left rags caught on parts of the car, and another half-dressed bridesmaid had to struggle down the aisle.

Angel’s balance was better than Mei-Ling’s sober, but she was far from sober, and had been for many hours. Waddling a twisted route between the pews, she hung on to the decorations and candlesticks for balance, bumping her excessively large body into people trying to help her, then pulling a candlestick down, and with that loss of support crashing herself over the end of a pew, breasts mashed against a man sitting there.

Two ushers restored her to her feet, then stabilized and guided her bloated body to her position beside Mei-Ling’s stomach. They left here there, but after watching two seconds of her swaying in increasingly large circles, a bench was provided for her too, and she gratefully slumped down onto it.

She slumped down too hard. It wasn’t really rated for four hundred pounds, and with a crack, it plopped her cushioned rump onto the ground. The long-suffering strong men in the front rows climbed up again, hoisted up her flabby body just far enough to slip another bench under her, then with a grunt lowered her down again. This one held. The men went back to their seats, and wondered – How fat would the next one be?

Tamara, now tiring from just standing around, held up four fingers and waved them at Kellie. Through a slight misunderstanding, an usher thought that was a request, and two more benches appeared. Still, it was a good idea, and with a relaxing wheeze, the first two fattened bridesmaids sat down. Kellie took her shoes off and started rubbing her twisted ankle.

The audience, taking this as a hint, sat down themselves, also thankful, for they were getting tired too. But the music played on. The ceremony didn’t start. The bride didn’t appear.

People fidgeted. Angel looked at Mei-Ling. Mei-Ling looked at Kellie. Tamara looked at Kellie. Kellie looked at her ankle.

None of them really knew why Celeste Methfinkle had been invited to be a bridesmaid at all. All of the rest of them knew each other somewhat. Kellie and Mei-Ling were friends from high school, and they’d met Tamara over the summers. None knew Angel very well, except through Veronica, but they’d heard about her and knew all about BFFs. But only Tamara had met Celeste, and didn’t think Veronica liked her at all.

They all knew her by reputation, anyhow. The only daughter of Senator Barry Methfinkle, she came from a family wealthier than the Guiglimo-Harrison’s. If Veronica had been a princess in college, Celeste had been the queen. Veronica was a successful model, but Celeste was a supermodel. If Veronica was pretty, Celeste was gorgeous. Veronica was popular – Celeste was the center of attention. In fact, all Tamara knew about Celeste was that she’d come in between Veronica and one of her dates, and stolen him away, just like that. Why had she even been invited to the wedding, let alone made a bridesmaid?

Last edited by Risible; 02-11-2008 at 09:53 AM.
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Old 02-10-2008, 02:55 AM   #4
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Even stranger, why would she come? And put up with the fattening? She had no need of money.

For this, dear reader, we have to take jumps in time and space. The first will be to a dingy warehouse on a dock in Chicago. The year is late 1931, the day unimportant, but the weather is blowing snow, and bitterly cold.

A magnificent Duesenberg, long sleek lines of chromed luxury, has just been admitted through a large door, and once inside the building, in private, several well-dressed men get out. Most of them are suspiciously large men, not talkative, with unusual bulges beneath their suits. Another, silver-haired, is clearly the leader.

Other men, dressed in rough coveralls, sit around the room, on boxes or chairs in no particular organization. Jobs were hard to come by in 1931, and these men look like they want to keep theirs. With beefy muscles and a hard stare, longshoremen of this ilk are not to be tangled with. Two have just closed the heavy wooden door the car came in through.

There’s an office built on a second floor in this warehouse. On a rickety balcony stands a greasy man in a greasy suit, smoking a greasy cigar, watching what’s below.

To cut the story short, the silver-haired man is Melvin Methfinkle, Celeste’s great-grandfather, and he’s got a problem. The man with the cigar is Cippino “Chianti” Guiglimo, and he’s got a solution. Hands are shaken. The door opens, the car drives away, and most everyone promptly forgets they were ever there. But there are some who remember…

Now we jump again, and land again just two years before the present day, in a luxurious apartment in downtown Manhattan. The sunset over Central Park is spectacular, with high thin clouds, but it’s been chosen for a setting, not something to watch. It’s a setting for a marriage proposal between our two heroes of the day, George and Veronica. George has asked, she’s accepted. They gaze happily into each other’s eyes.

Then begins the wedding planning. Who to invite? Where can they sit? Can they get along? What about the reception? What will it cost? Often the bride’s family pays for the wedding, but here that would be ridiculous. Veronica’s family certainly isn’t poor, but the Guiglimo-Harrisons own skyscrapers, airlines, banks, things like that. It’ll be George who pays for everything.

Veronica has an acquaintance she doesn’t like very much. In fact, she hates her. This is her big chance to get back at someone who, many years ago, just rubbed her face in her own inadequacy. Getting married to George is part of her revenge, but she wants to go farther. She’s listing bridesmaids to George.

“Celeste Methfinkle,” says Veronica.

“The Senator’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Why?”

“I want to make her look terrible. I want to put her into an incredibly useless and ugly dress. I want to make her play second fiddle, it’ll be MY day, MY wedding, MY marriage, and for ONCE I’LL be the center of attention!”

“So you want to make her a bridesmaid?”

“A humiliated one!”

“So you want her to wear a dress that, say, makes her look fat?”

“Yes. Something like that. Or one that’ll fall off during the wedding, so everyone will laugh at her!”

“But all the bridesmaids will have to wear the same.”

“I don’t care. They’ve always been secretly jealous of me anyhow. They can look ridiculous too.”

“We don’t have to just make her LOOK fat.”

“What do you mean, George?”

“How about we really make her fat?”

“Really fat?”

“Really, really fat. We’ll have to do all the bridesmaids, you know.”

“I don’t care. Make them all get fat. Angel’s gotten a fat ass anyhow, and Tamara’s a tub of lard. I can’t believe that butterball is so out of shape.”

“I think I can arrange that,” said George slowly.

And now we jump back to our splendid church, where a wedding is trying to get under way despite the antics of four obese bridesmaids. The organ is still playing, although it sounds like there’s a dump truck outside.

Tamara whispers to Kellie, “So, why Celeste?”

Kellie just looks over, shrugs with her eyes, and goes back to studying her ankle. Mei-Ling looks sadly at Angel. Angel is wishing the room would stop spinning, her eyes firmly closed.

Tamara continues whispering, although Kellie’s not paying her the slightest attention. “I mean, she was there, the first day, then we went off to see our rooms, and she, well, never came back out. What? Did she leave in the middle of the night, maybe? I remember when they caught Angel outside with that gardener. If she left, does that mean we get her money?”

Mei-Ling whispers past Kellie, “Yes, that strange, I ask once, and, and, the butler-san, he say she doing fine, but nothing more. I knock on her door one time, but no answer. Then,” and Mei-Ling gives out a self-depreciating giggle, which sends a ripple through her enormous stomach, “then I get big belly!” Mei-Ling is the only one still standing, but her fat is supported by the bench in front of her.

The organist starts playing louder, to try to drown out the dump trucks outside, and although Tamara’s lips are moving, only Kellie could hear anything, and she’s not listening.

The organ plays on.

Squeaking joins the dump truck noises.

And then there’s a shadow at the door. Two ushers appear, pulling on ropes, and drawn by them, transported on a squeaky-wheeled tray, a pile of blue-satin swathed fat wheels in. It’s all fat. Without the tray, the woman would be immobile, but with it, there’s just a trace of mobility left, with men pulling hard, and others pushing, a belly so large it’d anchor to the ground except for the carriage appears and moves up the aisle, followed by a woefully obese blonde. Enormous breasts rise from the top, piled up higher than her head, and an ass like two half-inflated zeppelins brings up the rear. A nimbus of blonde hair tops a face sunken behind uncountable chins and squashed by cheeks bloated to basketball size. A big blue bow is tied on the back.

The organ stops mid-note. The entire church is silent before this amazing monstrosity, this monument to flab, squeaking slowly down the carpeted aisle. The sheer implausibility of a woman fattened to complete helplessness has them stunned.

Celeste’s invitation was phrased subtly differently from everyone else’s. There were some names named, some places placed, on the surface of it, perfectly innocent, but calculated to have her show it to her father, the Senator, who showed it to her grandfather, the ex-Governor, who read it and turned white. Whiter than he was before.

It wasn’t an invitation that could be refused. Celeste had no choice but to go along with it, wondering why someone she’d hardly noticed in school would go to such lengths to drag her to a wedding. She certainly couldn’t still be bitter over Phil – He was sort of a jerk anyhow. She’d just snagged him to prove she could. And why a bridesmaid? She hardly knew Veronica, and never heard of the rest of them. Even George Guiglimo-Harrison, while a nice catch, didn’t interest her very much.

It didn’t seem too bad at first. They’d sent a jet for her for what they called a ‘pre-wedding party’ to ‘get to know the other bridesmaids’, and things like that. The country house was nice. She wouldn’t mind staying overnight, although the prospect of ‘getting to know the other bridesmaids’ made her feel sick. The mouse, the Amazon, the monkey, and the greaseball, she’d mentally labeled them. A bunch of low-class losers. The sooner she could get measured for the dress and out of there, the happier she’d be.

Celeste knew she didn’t belong here. She really was flawless. Her platinum blonde hair, neatly clipped to halfway down her back, was naturally silken. Standing at 5’10” and a svelte 145 pounds, she knew she was a knockout, a carefully maintained 38-24-36. Just enough tone to hold her shape, yet soft enough to be impeccably feminine; it was no surprise everyone from Victoria’s Secret to the Sears catalogue wanted her picture. Her teeth had been adjusted to perfection. Her lips needed nothing to redden or enhance them. Her fingers were long and her nails perfect. Hiding her true thoughts, she swept into every room, briefly took it entirely over, then sailed on with a smile.

They showed her the same dresses, but promised she’d have one custom-made to fit her. Again, Celeste was secretly shocked, but covered it with another smile. The dresses were strangely cut, the fabric quality seemed poor, the stitching only barely holding on. And that horrible bow! She silently decided she’d take the dress they made for her, and throw it away, replacing it with a similar, but much better one, from her own dressmakers.

So that was that, but apparently the seamstress wouldn’t come in until tomorrow, the planes had already left, so it was spending the night for her. She begged off dinner, on the grounds of jet lag, and went to hide in her rooms.

To her surprise, in there she found Veronica, and a couple of strange men. “Ver…ronica?” she asked, not even sure of recognition.

“Yes, Celeste, I’ve got you now! Guys!” Celeste had only time for a strangled squeak as the men grabbed her, stuffing a sock into her mouth and gripping her arms behind her back.

Veronica went on, “Yes, now you’re mine. This is going to be my wedding, my day, my festival, not yours, not yours, never again. You’re going to rue the day you stole Derek from me! And when you won the pageant at State! No more second runner-up for me. No, it’s ME, now, all about me!”

Celeste could only grunt through the effective gag. “Mrmf hmh?” which meant, basically, “Derek who?”

Veronica didn’t notice. “Now, you’re never going to win anything, except maybe prize pig! We’ll see little the Miss Perfect you are, oh yes!”

Veronica continued ranting, barely stopping for breath, listing Celeste’s crimes in serial detail while the men produced rope, and efficiently manhandled Celeste onto the old-fashioned iron bedstead, lashing her firmly down. Behind the two men was George, who was alternately admiring the squirming figure of Celeste and raising his eyebrows at the unhinged ranting of his fiancée. Celeste saw him too, and recognized him from the magazine photographs. She moaned through her gag, her clear blue eyes imploring him to do something, anything. But he just stood there, and soon Celeste was more solidly knotted up. The two rope men then produced a large key, and let themselves out, locking the doors behind them.

“Now,” sneered Veronica, ignoring George, “scream all you want, sweetiepie, these rooms are soundproofed. But I have tender delicate ears, so if you scream, I’ll hurt you. Oh, yes, you’ll do whatever I want you to, or I’ll hurt you. Yes, you see?”

Veronica leaned in and removed the sock from Celeste’s mouth.

Celeste took a deep breath, then whispered, “Why me? What do you…”

“Silence!” shouted Veronica. “I only got that out to put this in!”

“What’s…”

“It’s a funnel!” announced Veronica triumphantly. “And it’s going in here!”

“Mpph!” exclaimed Celeste from around the plastic mouth of the funnel.

“George! Get cream!”

George thoughtfully went and got a large silver container out of a minifridge in the closet. Veronica, without even looking at him, held out a hand. He put the frosty cup into her hand, and she poured it into the funnel that Celeste was, by now, desperately trying to spit out. But it was a large funnel, and Veronica was holding it in with her other hand, pushing down. Celeste couldn’t get rid of it. She could plug up the end with her tongue, so she did.

“Now now,” cooed Veronica evilly, handing the cup backwards toward George. He stepped forwards and took it from her.

Then Veronica pulled back her hand and slapped Celeste hard. “Drink up!”

Celeste just looked up, pale eyes frightened, and Veronica slapped her again. “Drink! Drink drank drunk!” Then she pinched shut Celeste’s nose. “Drink up, and I’ll let you breathe!” George was standing behind her with the steel cup, looking strangely at his fiancée.

Celeste could only squirm. Her bonds weren’t slackening at all. All she could do is wriggle, so she did. But it couldn’t last. Unable to breathe, she finally unplugged the funnel, and a rush of rich cream flowed into her mouth. She tried to spit it out, and some escaped, running down her cheeks, but most went down her throat, and suddenly she could breathe again.

“More!” ordered Veronica.

“Yes, dear,” said George distractedly. Veronica didn’t notice, but just held out her hand. George put another cup of cream in it.

“And no spilling this time!” Veronica slapped Celeste again. George winced.

“Here’s the plan,” Veronica continued, suddenly quietly. “Now, if you’re a good girl, we’ll let you rest, or maybe even up to explore your new rooms. Try all you want to escape, it’s not going to happen. We’re going to keep you here until we decide different. Oh, yes, you’re certainly going to be in the wedding! Now, drink up!” and Celeste was forced again to drink from the funnel.

“You’re going to drink everything we give you. You’re going to eat everything we give you. And if you’re good, we might let you go. You see, we’re not going to change the dresses to fit you – We’re going to change YOU to fit the dresses…”

The door re-opened, and the two men came back in, wheeling a dinner trolley. Veronica kept rattling on, “These two will be your feeders. They’ll tell you what to eat, and when to eat it. I hear you skipped dinner tonight. Well, no you didn’t. Here’s your dinner. Eat up! I’ve got parties to go to, places to be, places to be seen, you’re staying here, piggy, until you’ve finished your dinner.”

“So are you, Veronica,” suddenly interrupted George.

“and that won’t be un… What?” Veronica whirled to look at George in shock. That gave the two men enough time to look at each other, shrug, and grab Veronica. More rope instantly appeared. Fortunately it was a big bed – Now with two stunning blondes tied up on it.

“I’ve been thinking,” continued George, to the astonishment of both the women. “Veronica, you’re mad. All this time you only wanted this revenge, and it’s warped your mind. But speaking of warped, the more I’m thinking about this, force-feeding Celeste until she’s so fat she can hardly stand sounds like more and more fun. So much fun, in fact, I want to feed you up too! The butler downstairs is going to pork up all your other friends, while I stay up here, with the two of you! It’ll be a gorgeous wedding! And I’ll tell you what. The fattest one’s the bride!!”

Last edited by Risible; 02-11-2008 at 09:57 AM.
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Old 02-10-2008, 03:42 AM   #5
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I should now put forth the epilogue for the bridesmaids.

Tamara had nowhere else to go, after the wedding, and so her limo driver took her back to the country house. There she found that the staff had gotten used to her requests, and learned to anticipate them. So even lifting a finger became superfluous, and her residence on the couch became nearly permanent. After awhile, they learned her every need, and her favorite wants. Of course her wants included snacks and sweets nearly continuously, so she began to fade. Fading into her laziness, still well-fed, she sank into her own pillows, her own fat, becoming a lump initially chosen to be helpless, and finally, whatever her will, helpless, buried in fat.

Kellie took the money and ran. She went west, to Hollywood, and opened a big restaurant in the basement of an old building. She was her own best customer, and ate everything her chefs could put out, at a table in the middle. Eventually, her restaurant’s clientele also grew such that the narrow stairs down into the restaurant became a problem, so she became a leading figure in innovative elevator solutions. As a test subject.

Mei-Linn flew back to Korea, in a cargo 747. There she found that George had already set up an institute, but it was dedicated, more than anything else, to seeing just how big her belly could get. With a myriad of doctors and nurses on staff, and elaborate laboratories, she was in no danger, but they did try to make her belly even larger, even more immense, and soon Dr. Mei-Linn was a student of herself, how massive overeating could swell a stomach to limits before undefined.

Angel was also without interesting places to go, but it happened that a Colombian warlord was at the wedding as one of George’s less savoury friends. As she wobbled out the door of the church, barely stable, she was offered a spiked drink, and woke up in South America. The Colombian warlord had been trying to kidnap skinny blonde girls for his son, but hadn’t had any luck – The son displayed no interest – so he kidnapped an obese brown woman instead.

Angel was still out of luck. The reason he’d not been interested had more to do with sexuality – Yep, he too was gay. But they came to an agreement, arranged bedrooms on either side of the central courtyard, and there was a steady stream of attractive men flowing into their castle, and half turned left, and half turned right, and some even went back and forth. Of course, each brought gifts of food and drink, and it’d be rude not to consume them. So Angel consumed them all, steadily swelling herself.

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Old 02-10-2008, 05:31 AM   #6
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what mean NSFW ???
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Old 02-10-2008, 06:22 AM   #7
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Quote:
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what mean NSFW ???
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Old 02-11-2008, 12:32 AM   #8
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Very interesting, I love it so far, it's quite an enjoyable read!
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Old 02-11-2008, 07:59 AM   #9
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I havn't even read it yet.

But a new story by SCX? Apparently of impressive length?

I'm gonna wait till I have some time and attention to devote to this sucker. Light some candles, maybe. Pour myself a glass of wine.


TMI? Probably.
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Old 02-11-2008, 11:10 PM   #10
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Back in church again, here came the fifth bridesmaid. As the bloated blonde approached, so fat that her belly was drawn before her on wheels, the bridesmaids looked back.

“Ve..ronica”? whispered Angel.

“Celeste?” asked Mei-Linn.

“V?” asked Kellie.

“C…” mumbled Tamara.

With some struggle, the enormous belly cleared the doorway, and moved heavily into the church. All wrapped in blue satin was the woman, wrapped up tight as a sausage, but even that couldn’t control the immense weight inside. Her breasts had obviously been piled up and stuffed inside the dress in an effort to keep from them falling off to the side, and the fabric between them was as tight as a drum. Her belly had also been wrapped up tight, but the follies of the first bridesmaids had given her yet more time to ingest, and had tightened it up further as she swelled. What had been a dress had been obviously slit up both sides at the last minute, to allow her two-foot wide thighs at least a little freedom to move. It was necessary, yet with every shuffling step the cuts ripped higher, exposing even more pale white flab.

Her feet, splayed wide to clear her satin-swathed belly and because of the thickness of those legs shuffled forwards, a few inches at a time. A worried-looking nurse, pushing a cart with two cylinders, followed behind, and as the procession, centered around the wobbling flesh, moved farther into the church, a wide wheelchair brought up the rear just in case.

The men pulled hard, hauling that great weight down the aisle. The belly shook with every shuffle, waves rolling out and heaving the breasts alarmingly within their tight blue dress. Her ass shook, swayed from side to side, the bow on the back looking practically petite by comparison, and twisting like a broken propeller on this ship-sized bridesmaid.

She didn’t make it very far. If the men were sweating, she was awash in perspiration. Her mouth was wide open, emitting little grunts with the effort of every foot pushed forwards. A pudgy hand on the end of a swollen arm made a little flapping gesture, and the nurse rushed forwards, practically climbing over her shelving rear and sloping back fat to insert first one hose, then the other. Twisting valves, she gave her a shot of oxygen to breathe, and a shot of fluid to keep her stomach filled.

There was a moment’s pause, while she stood still. Although her feet were stationary, the rest of her elephantine body continued to quiver and wobble. From the front, her face was completely obscured by the balls of her breasts, and only her hands and feet, forced outwards by her width, were visible. Those closer could see her cheeks, already swollen, inflate still further with every pulse of the pumps on the cart.

A moment later, she feebly flapped both hands, and the nurse, leaving the hoses connected, stepped aside, and the big wheeled chair shoved up against her behind, sending another huge shockwave through her flabby body.

Somewhere at the top was a tiny ripping noise. The wave heaved her breasts like ships on the ocean, then ran down her belly, impacted the carriage it was riding on, and reflected back up again, causing her breasts to heave again, and that was too much for the overstressed cloth. The tension it had been under trying to hold those overinflated mammaries was already far greater than the dressmaker had intended, and with the extra double shock, it began to slowly give way.

Like massive stones seen from a huge distance, the split between them grew, and her breasts began a majestically slow roll forwards and down each side of her stomach. Her squeaking of shock was muffled by the tubes in her mouth still pulsing away. Her arms flapped helplessly on the ends of arms that could hardly bend, only causing more waves to shake her.

As the dress, in no hurry, ripped onwards down her cleavage, it went from demure to daring, daring to racy, from racy to slutty, and from slutty to obscene, peeling back away as it let the otherwise unsupported and uncovered breasts go. Ushers rushed towards her. Grabbing the corners of the ruined neckline, they yanked them up at least to re-cover her dinner-plate aureole and pill-bottle-sized nipples.

For they were much too late. By the time they’d arrived at the scene, the blue satin had peeled away completely, both ends flapping like kites with the released tension. Everyone from the priest to the janitor got a completely unobstructed view of a pair of two-foot diameter breasts, an image that would stay with them for some time.

The dress continued its leisurely splitting, relieving tension over her tight belly as well. It too sagged dangerously.

Recognizing futility when they saw it, the ushers whipped off their coats, and covered her breasts, at least, one coat on each. Still a slice of belly was visible under them, but at least for a moment the ripping had stopped.

With two more ushers, each holding a coat on each side, the procession continued down the aisle, but the furious Veronica no longer had to shuffle. The chair behind her had jacked up her backside a few inches, and although she couldn’t lift her fat knees against the mass of her stomach, her feet skimmed a few inches over the carpet. One of her shoes had fallen off, and the nurse put it on the cart with the two tanks.

Sure enough, it was Veronica, and she was furious.

Everything had gone wrong, at the moment of her triumph. She’d had Celeste right where she wanted her. She was going to marry a filthy rich mobster. She was going to have a marvelous wedding and a beautiful revenge at the same time. Then George had thrown her onto the bed beside Celeste, and everything went wrong. And now her dress had completely blown open, in front of everyone. Unable to speak around the tubes pumping her, she could still fume, and fume she did.

Fume she had, too. From the moment George had finished his little speech, Veronica exploded like a tiger. “What? What? How dare you, you, sicko, I can’t believe, George! George!!”

She bucked against her bonds, thrashing against them, but George’s Boy Scout thugs were capable with knots. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts up, kicking her feet frantically while she swore at George, Celeste, the thugs, someone named Derek, random chance, bad luck, and George again. While the thugs watched appreciatively, George got the funnel, and with a little help, shut her up by pushing the tube between her teeth.

“Best start eating, love. Wouldn’t want Celeste to get fatter than you…” stage-whispered George the moment he could get a word in edgewise. Muffled complaining noises came up the funnel tube from deep in her throat, until they were silenced by the funnel being filled from the top.

Celeste just lay there and watched.

There were funnels for both of them. Veronica had believed in spares, so there was at least two of everything. Now there was a spare blonde, too.

Minutes later, both Veronica and Celeste had funnels in their mouths. Where with Veronica it was a struggle, Celeste just lay there and sadly accepted it. Once both were ready, each thug held a funnel, and George two large cups, and stretching out both hands poured them equally into each funnel.

An hour later, both women were in tears. Veronica was tiring from her struggle, and Celeste resigned to her fate, but mostly because George had come back with more cups. Each one had been poured in, over and over again, always equally into the two beautiful young women. Now both their bellies were noticeably distended, little swelling pots on their midsections, and painfully overfilled.

George finally stopped when both had consumed two gallons of highly concentrated weight-gaining drinks. The last few had a few shots of rum in them to help their belly muscles relax, and then he left them for a short break. He removed the funnels, and an exhausted Veronica took a deep breath and began cussing again. For peace and quiet, she was promptly gagged. Celeste just lay there quietly, having no inclination to be gagged herself.

A few minutes later, the overeating and the alcohol took its toll, and both blondes slipped into a drowsy bloated stupor, and from there to sleep.

Last edited by Risible; 02-12-2008 at 06:05 PM.
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Old 01-03-2017, 05:17 AM   #11
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This story is one of my long time favorite.
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