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Old 05-31-2014, 02:05 AM   #1
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Default The Sting

BBW (Multiple)

The Sting
by None


Chapter 1

(Lacey's Point of View)


We all go overboard every now and again. Well, in my case it is more like everytime. You know how it is, right? Someone says we should go out to eat some burritos. You act all obstinate like ‘you know that is going to go straight to my waist. I’m dieting’.

It is a lie. A fugazi, subterfuge and misdirection.

Because you know how friends are. They say ‘You’re not fat, you’re curvy...real women have curves. It is healthy’ when they mean, ‘You’re right you shouldn’t eat some burritos, but I’m hungry and I don’t want to be that person eating alone at a Chipotle’.

They never really have to twist my arm, but they always sweeten the pot when you add, ‘You think so?’.

It is putting their backs against the wall. That moment when they put their money where their mouth is...that always leads me to putting an obscene amount of burritos into my mouth. It works out. They don’t get to eat alone and I get a free meal. Sure, I put a hurt to that wallet, but hey, a girl’s gotta eat.

What I am saying is that I go HAM sammich when it comes to life. Generally it is food, but booze, horse fighting, comic books, movies, video games, competitive cooking shows, night clubs where people dress up like Cake Boss, a society of rough trade sailors worshiping Paul Giamatti, men and women are all game. Whatever it be, I go overboard. Dive deep into it. Feet first. Realistically I just want to spring off that high dive straight into an Olympic size pool full of slow churned ice cream. We all need something to aspire to though.

“You’re getting fat,” I declared. Sure it was blunt, but I had an idea.

See Sara and I had been friends since we played with Polly Pockets. Through thick and thin, we’d been inseparable. Even when Evan broke up with me freshman year and I fell deeply into a depressed stupor. Or when Sara though bangs were a good idea. There was a year when I wore shoulder pads like Patti Lupone. What I am saying is we done been through a lot.

The only thing we never did together was get fat. I mean, I got fat. Fog horn fat. The kind of fat that my ass needs two chairs to sit down and makes booths impossible to maneuver in and out of. I am a woman of taste and a propensity to double fist twinkies. Yet Sara always stayed trim even among my legendary appetite.

“Rude. What’re you talking about? I am still wearing the same clothes from freshman year.” Shge retorted. That was true. Sara sat in a recliner wearing a teal blouse and some skinny jeans. One she had for years.

Except now, instead of the blouse flowing from her, it hugged a thick roll of fat that used to be her tapered waist and the top of her breasts spilled out the neckline like bread dough. Those skinny jeans used to fit like a dream making everyone envious of her thigh gap and butt. Now though, they were packed tight like sausages casings about to burst open from sitting in a pan.

“Of course you are! How many times do I have to hear you tell people, ‘Can you believe they still fit?’ until you realize the irony?”

“What do you mean?” She said this as she was in the middle of plowing through a row of double stuffed oreos that I may have happened to have had some part in them being in the living room. She was either in denial or oblivious.

Probably denial though since she had a good head on her shoulders. Top honors in school and landed a sweet gig doing 3D modeling for one of Sony’s first-party developers. That’s where the issue started. Girl used to work retail for a few years after college. It was a job where she was on her feet and moving all the time. When she started the job, the stress and the sedentary nature had predictable results. She was playing a Sim with her waistline.

“Girl, you are seriously going to act like there is nothing suspect with them jeans?” I replied.

“This is my favorite outfit. These jeans and my heart shaped ass get compliments on the reg thank you very much!” she shot back.

Her science was too tight. Or her denial was impenetrable. She knew very well it took her nearly an hour to squeeze them chubby flanks into those jeans. I knew they were unbuttoned. It was just no one noticed thanks to a clever belt cinched below her potbelly.

“Whatevs,” I aswered.

My eyes rolled so far into the back of my skull I fear the retinas would disconnect. I had a plan though. The important part was to play it cool. Let her shove more oreos into her fattening face and continue watching Chopped. Lull her into a sense of complacency and wait until her belly was full.

“Okay, Miss skinny jeans. How about a bet?” I challenged.

She perked up at this polishing off the oreos and throwing the container out of the way. If there was one thing you could count on with Sara it was a competitive streak and a fondness for games of chance. For a city girl, she did have the mindset of a rube sometimes.

“Not only do you have my interest, but you have my interest,” she declared nonsensically, speaking so quickly that she didn't catch her gaffe.

“That is not how it goes,” I noted.

“Shut up. What’s the bet?” she sputtered with irritation.

“It is simple, really. We go into your closet and find your favorite pair of skinny jeans. The red, extra tight ones that show off your butt so well. You try them on,” I started.

Her eyebrow cocked at the terms. Like I had told her all you have to do is breathe and manage not to die for thirty seconds.

“That’s all? What’re the stakes?” she inquired.

“Well...if you get them on and buttoned then I pay the cable bill for the next the months. If you can’t get them on then you go on a diet with me,” I said.

Now I had no intention of dieting. I am already in perfect shape, contoured to my own prference, fully formed though that may be. That wasn’t changing... However if I revealed my cards then Sara would never go along with the bet. Saying we both go on a diet when she inevitably didn’t get those pants up and buttoned would seem like support. No, I had much grander intentions with this diet. It is what you could call an anti-diet.

“Deal!” she said. She was always short on money and her share of thecable bill was wrth over a hundred dollars.

That girl’s bedroom was a nightmare. It was like a garbage barge near her bed with fast food wrappers and pizza boxes piled up. I didn’t know her work habits translated to home this intensely. It is a start. Her computer had panties and bras slung over it haphazardly and a pile of clothes bunched up near the desk. Subconsciously she must be realizing the jig is up. The girl was a rube sometimes.

Watching her belly bunch up in that recliner made it seem smaller than it was. Standing near her closet digging through her hangers showed the true damage. As she reached up to grab them the blouse rode up revealing a sweet, jiggly piece of belly flab pushed up by a belt on its last legs.

If her belly revealed all its pudgy glory standing then her butt reveled in being horizontal. Shorty, Sara is a 5’1” so it is both colloquially and true, had a donk. How she squeezed them two blubbery cheeks into those jeans is a mystery. But it meant ya girl ain’t paying the entire cable bill.

Like a pig hunting for truffles, Sara found those red skinny jeans. They looked even smaller as she held them out in front of her now much chunkier body. Pushing a boulder up a hill is an apt analogy for what happened. The first issue was undressing. Sara was poured into those clothes. The blouse wasn’t too bad. Some struggle with getting it off her much larger boobs, but nothing strenuous. Those jeans though. It took some doing to roll them off her pudgy hips and down her jiggly thighs. The newly minted chub quaked and shook as she finally peeled them off.

The bet hadn’t even begun and it was already in the bag. Seeing Sara stripped down to an ill fitting bra and panties the extent of her new job became evident. Her potbelly was deliciously round pushed out into a nice little dome. There was some foreshadowing of it drooping down and hanging over her waistband with another few pounds.

Her thighs were showing signs of dimpling and cellulite and clearly the thigh gap was a thing of the past. Them hips and that butt were basically a Louisiana purchase of junk food. Their real estate on her body now resembled something like a McMansion. Two big blubbery orbs suspended over those juicy thighs. She was totally in need of a diet, winky face emoji.

Sara always played things aloof and cool as can be, but seeing them jeans in her slowly sausaging fingers caused a bead of sweat to trickle down her forehead. Never one to betray her word or quit, she held them tiny leg holes out in front of her and slid her feet into them. Bunched around her ankles, things didn’t seem so dire if not for the flab quaking solemnly above them. The real problem quickly emerged as she pulled them up to her thickened thighs. They stopped dead at the fattest part of them. This is where she showed her new adeptness at the fat girl two-step.

With the waist band firmly clutches between her hands, she spread her legs out and shimmied her hips and wiggled to force those thighs down into those legs. To my disbelief she managed to pull the jeans over the thighs. Those thighs were packed in there though. Like overripe fruit. Now they rest rolled up under her hips. The true test between the trunk and all that junk was about to begin. She inhaled deeply and prepared herself for the battle of the bulge.

Rolling out the denim wasn’t much of an issue and her hands had a firm grip on the waistband. The issue became that the amount of denim is mathematically not enough to cover all that ass. Yet Sara wasn’t discouraged. She tugged, jerked, jumped and yanked to get them over that rump.

Watching her dance getting those jeans over her butt was mesmerizing as that booty flab flowed like fields of grain in a stiff breeze. Again defying reality she got them over her hips and her butt. If I hadn’t done this myself time and time again then I wouldn’t have believe it. But fat girls squeezing into jeans is the closest our world will get to having the power of the Infinity Gauntlet.

Those jeans were up and Sara smirked smugly at me. As if she proved her point and won the bet. What a tragic fool she was at times.

“You haven’t won anything yet. That is only have the bet. Now you have to button them.”

Now she may have defied logic with getting the jeans over her thighs and big butt, but the denim was stretched so tightly that there wasn’t anything left to contend with her tubby tummy. Futilely she tried to pull the flaps together, but to no avail. She shot me a pleading look.

“Can I lay down on my bed please?” she asked.

“Having some trouble? Sure.” I repied charitably.

Pathetic.

Leaning back on her queen mattress her gut seemed to be less of an issue. It was still an issue, but it allowed Sara to pull the flaps together with such force her face turned beet red. My eyebrows shot up when she got the button in the hole. Could she really win? No, no she couldn’t. She still had the zipper and there is no way that was happening. Yet Sara’s smugness returned as she rocked forward to stand up and claim victory. Rookie mistake.

Her rump should have been plastered with a contents under pressure warning because as she shot up the jeans gave up. The button flew across the room hitting me right in the gut. Now an immovable object is rarely affected, but I ain’t going to lie, the force that metal button hit my gut with left a bruise. Who cares about a tiny quarter size bruise though? I had won.

Sara, defeated, fell back onto her bed. You can guess what happened next. It is physics really. With the intensity of lightning Sara’s bubble butt broke three slats in her bed frame.

“Okay, I may need to go on a diet,” shr conceded.

We are going on a diet that is for sure. Except we’re going to the opposite of what you’d traditionally do to diet. Sara, we are going to be the fattest besties.

(Continued in post four of this thread)
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Last edited by Britt Reid; 06-29-2014 at 09:34 AM.
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Old 05-31-2014, 08:05 PM   #2
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I like this, please continue.
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Old 06-08-2014, 08:08 AM   #3
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The turns of phrase that you used in this were quite original and enjoyable! Well done!
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Old 06-26-2014, 12:56 AM   #4
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Default Part 2

Chapter 2

(Sarah's point of view)


“Screw you!!” my battlecry must have pierced our two bedroom’s walls so sharply they heard it in Poughkeepsie.

But seriously, if this was Lacey’s idea of a diet then she must be more foolish than I thought. Not only have we not lost any weight in the last two months, but I’ve completely lost any hope of ever fitting into my old college clothes. Good night and so long, skinny jeans! Now it is nothing but spanxs and leggins with tears in the seams. Does she even understand what a diet is?

Not that it matters though. I was already going down this path without her stupid “diet”. What is 35 pounds when you already gained 30? At this point it is like adding fuel to Richard Dryfuses’ potato obelisk. What is a slightly bigger mashed potato edifice to madness? What is an ass that cannot fit into desk chairs with arms?

It was fun becoming the office chat as desperate and smelly coders and QAs slowly chattered about the ever fattening 3D modeler. Like have you seen her ass? It must have its own zip code. There is a reason these people code for a living and aren’t creative directors. A complete lack of imagination. If they really wanted to cut to the quick, they’d have said 'have you seen her ass, at this point she must be taller sitting down than standing up and it shakes like someone desperately trying to fight from sinking into quick sand.'

Yet that is why they won’t go far in this buisness and I had to ask HR for a chair without arms. My fat ass may be the office gossip, but do you think Lacey gives a crap?

“This diet isn’t working, I’m getting fatter than a Chicago Bear’s defensive lineman,” I could complain.

Sure, l could try that. She’d just giggle, eat two hot pockets and say, “It’s called carboloading. You bloat up real big then once you hit that cleanse, you’re thin as a college hipster saving for Coachella.”

Except this has been all carboloading. Two months of stuffing my fat face with pasta, pizza, grilled cheese, ice cream cake and whatever else my stubby little digits can grasp and bring back to my room. Before I had a glimmer of buttoning my favorite pants if I was disciplined and actually dieted, but now? Sue me if all those clothes littering my room haven’t been given to GoodWill for another poor freshman to buy and slowly, inevitably grow out of. The tax write off will help my ever expanding waistline buy clothes that fit, so it isn’t all bad.

It doesn’t take the sting out of getting fat though. Yeah, I’m getting fat. No denying it now. Not when I am looking like I’m six months pregnant in both my belly and my ass. Can your ass get pregnant? No, of course not. That is a weird image and if it got out would so many boners to crash onto the shore only to be pierced by jagged rocks along the coastline. But I am fat. 80 snarky, bitchy and no life having nerds, PR and QAs can’t be wrong?

Maybe it has been the transition from She’s All That to OMG, SO FAT that made the realization more acute, but I am tired of modeling traditional attractive white males and females with coiffed hair and henleys. Even if working with extra processing power and graphics, modeling these same dumb smirky faces is getting old. It is bizarre how a year ago I had no compunction with this, but now. I long to see round bodies, fat asses, flabby bellies and more waddling and jiggling in a video game. What is happening to me?

Lacey thinks she is so almighty cunning. A regular Kyzer Soze, but little does she know that I was keen to her idea. Doesn’t mean I was game, but I knew what she was about. I was just too deep in denial to realize those pants wouldn’t fit me. At this point, they’ll never fit me. No, I guess it is the fat life for me. So that scheming jerk got her wish, we’ll get fat together, eat Cookiepusses and Fudgey the Whales by the barrel loads until we’re both barrel shaped and they have to roll us out of our Los Feliz apartment like Violet Beauregarde. Except without the weird fetish-y blueberry stuff.

Just because I figured out her stupid scheme to be fat as fuck doesn’t mean I’m into it. No, it is more of a simple resignation. I am not ever going to get back to my old body. I love eating Oreos by the cartons and not exercising. If she wants to get fat together then hell, what could be worse than watching your fat best friend get fatter, while you also get fatter.

Actually, at this point it is more of an intellectual curiosity. How does the female body change, react and look in three dimensions as it piles with more and more fat. There are plenty of references for the lithe female body in motion. But fat ass mo cap is sadly behind. It took Dead Rising 3 to get a female body that was somewhere between amorphous blob and skinny minnie. You’re foolish not to take advantage of these opportunities when you can.

The plan was difficult. Well, for anyone who hasn’t worked at a AAA studio doing 3D modeling and mo capping for as long as I have. The studio’s waste is so prolific they don’t notice some green screen and mo cap suit materials go missing. Chalk it up to bad accounting. The difficult part was sewing together a suit that could stretch slightly as the female body expands and finding cameras to capture it all. Baby steps though.

Work became routine after I liberated some stuff for my own creative endeavours. Don’t rock the boat or squeak the floorboards, one was easier than the other. How often are you on a boat. I went in, did my work, answered e-mails, sat in meetings about deadlines and what we could do to up the frame rate, etc. It was all boring, I was just waiting for lunch so I could get some food in me.

Granted, lunch and breaks was not enough to satisfy me. Blame it on the diet. The slight stash of candy I kept at my desk, swelled and swelled as the weeks went on. There may or may not have been a direct correlation to the growing equator of my ass to this pirate’s booty of Nerds, Sour Patch, Toblerones, Snickers, Twix and the likes. Nothing was more embarrassing than waddling my fat ass into HR again to ask for a new chair, one more sturdy.

As I worked on my secret project at home with Lacey and myself. We both had to face the hard realization that our dual incomes weren’t enough to keep our diet up while enjoying a jet setting LA life. Lacy for her hedonism and exhibitionism suggested it first. Of course she would. It was a quid pro quo obviously.

Otherwise, I never would have done it. Either I contribute to this new plan to stick to her diet or she’d stop helping out with my project. The plan was simple. Use our HD cameras, film us stuffing our fat faces like we did and talking about getting fat. Not that it was hard for me to figure out material for the subject since I’ve been outgrowing clothes on a weekly basis and apparently that is the bread and butter of the art. Maybe a few girl/girl feeding sessions, fake make out sessions and sitting each other’s faces. Upload the clips and make money. Hell if it didn’t solve the issue of covering the cameras I’d bought.

A month of filming clips and we were rolling in it. Surprisingly. I thought we’d make enough to cover groceries for a week, but the way our clips were selling we could literally keep our house stocked in fattening treats for months. Not that this was normal. Probably attributed to being new and 2-for-the-price-of-1, but my waistline was complaining. My clothes sure were though. I’d graduated to a size 22. In college I was a size 6 after the dreaded Freshman 15, but slimmed down back to a 4. Now I was a 22. It was surreal.

Not any more surreal than at work when I came to this new size realization. I’d came in like normal with a box full of donuts, Starbucks iced frap and my laptop slung over my shoulder. The snickers and murmurs subsided, I guess, after months of the skinny Asian becoming a fat ass got dull. Most gossip revolved around the creative shake up and the “I heard this and that” about people leaving. None of it was true. Inside sources are mainly the lowest mouth breathers on the totem pole.

As I moved through half of the dozen of bear claws, things got real. Not only did my skirt, pants we’re out of the question, feel tight, but I got a strange e-mail. The tightness was normal, hell, the only mode my clothes had were tight at this point. The e-mail was weird though. While it stunned me, it didn’t stop me from mowing through those other six bear claws as I read it.

Dear Sara,

You probably don’t know me. That’s okay. Most people don’t. Yet. You’re going to help that though. I know you work at N.D. as a 3D modeler. Your linkedin profile should probably be updated with a new picture. That is neither here nor there, though. See, the way you’re going to help me is by making sure people do know who I am.


He was 100% right, this somehow didn’t get filtered into my spam folder. But he does have me intrigued. I shovel down bear claw 8 as I begin on 9 as I continue to read.

You might be asking yourself, how am I going to do that? You also are probably eating a donut or something equally fattening as you do it? You are, aren’t you? I’m good. They’ll call me Scoops soon. So chew that bite, you’re struggling with, down and relax. It is simple really.

Unknown or not, this joker is on the ball. Smug, but his cockiness is somewhat charming. Also, that command is a good touch. Donut 10 dances across my lips as I squirm in my chair. It creaks under my bulk as I do.

You’re going to give me the inside dope on the shake ups at your studio. No grapevine crap from a QA that heard it from another QA who heard it from Kotaku. Nah, you’re vital there, so I want the real deal.

This was cute, but now I am a bit annoyed. How dare he have the audacity. The donut flair was a nice touch, but this is getting on my nerves. As I hunker down to finish the e-mail, I absent mindedly grab bear claw 11.

You might be asking yourself? Why would I do that? This dude hasn’t made it worth my time. Of course, I haven’t. Meet me for lunch, I will make it worth your while there. Trust me, it will be very worth your time. And you’ll need a new, new Linkedin profile. You have no obligation, clearly, to do any of this, but I wonder what your office’ll think of your friend Lacey and your’s extracurricular activities?

Sincerely,
Kaden

P.S. wear something elastic.


My jaw drops as I polish off donut 12. I got to hit reply, but the tightness of the skirt, the increasing lowness of the chair prevent me. The pressure I ignored while reading the e-mail is immediately present. How did I miss this? But as I try to right my saggy bulk, the lycra skirt waves the white flag.

My flabby gut cascades forth like so many angry waves in a violent tsunami sending the button clinging dearly for life rocketing across my cubicle. Only ricochet off a wall, crash into the Raiden KAI Arts figure on my desk and settle quietly in the empty box of donuts.

The shock of this only lasts for a moment as stand up and bend over to grab the button. The poor lycra of this skirt has given up, put the gun to its mouth and gone to a better place. This gigantic ass of mine has finally succeeded in what I only thought happened in bad comedy sketches and dreams. But clearly is a real thing. The panties that used to cover my entire butt, except now is a thong is exposed in a rip deep as the Marianas Trench.

If the red of my face could have been preserved for posterity, it would be put in the Urban Dictonary under fat ass girl who eats an entire dozen bear claws before noon because she cannot help herself, but rips her skirt meant for a bonafide fat girl due to be so fucking fat. Probably would need to be something snappier. That is more a definition than a term.

Kaden is right about one thing though, I’ll need some elastic clothes. Whether I meet him or not.
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Last edited by Britt Reid; 06-29-2014 at 09:50 AM.
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Old 06-26-2014, 12:57 AM   #5
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Originally Posted by The Id View Post
The turns of phrase that you used in this were quite original and enjoyable! Well done!
Thank you!

Part 2 is up from Sara's perspective.
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Old 06-26-2014, 02:24 PM   #6
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Default Amazing. Please continue

Now I've been around these here forums for quite a long time now, and I have to say this is one of the better pieces put to pen that I have read. Great job!

p.s. - I hope you intend to finish this one and not leave it like so many other stories/series that seem to hit sudden brick walls!
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Old 06-26-2014, 05:29 PM   #7
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Originally Posted by Phrozen View Post
Now I've been around these here forums for quite a long time now, and I have to say this is one of the better pieces put to pen that I have read. Great job!

p.s. - I hope you intend to finish this one and not leave it like so many other stories/series that seem to hit sudden brick walls!
Thanks. That means a lot. I don't write prose on a regular basis anymore. So this will likely be my outlet for it for a few more chapters at least.
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Old 06-27-2014, 01:59 PM   #8
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The turns of phrase that you used in this were quite original and enjoyable! Well done!
....and to think that when you posted your first piece, it got criticised by Flame exactly for those distinctive 'turns of phrase'.

It is great to see you returning to the wg genre, truly one of the best at turning a plot unexpectedly, as well as those memorable phrases.

Please don't leave it another four years before your next fiction post.

L
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Old 06-29-2014, 12:10 AM   #9
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Originally Posted by Lardibutts View Post
....and to think that when you posted your first piece, it got criticised by Flame exactly for those distinctive 'turns of phrase'.

It is great to see you returning to the wg genre, truly one of the best at turning a plot unexpectedly, as well as those memorable phrases.

Please don't leave it another four years before your next fiction post.

L
Well everyone has their preferences. I can't blame someone for not liking something. Then again I was young, untrained and figuring out a style. So it might have been unfair to be too angry about that stuff.

I returned to the genre since I needed an outlet for prose and this is a more immediate way to get a response to work. Also, I appreciate its generic leanings. Thanks for the praise.


Since it'll be a little bit before another chapter, here is a weird anecdotal type thing.

Ever since I can remember liking girls, I've been attracted to chubby girls. My first crush in middle school was a short, chubby girl with huge boobs, tubby tummy and fat ass. This is neither here nor there because it was one of those dumb nerd crushes so it didn't go anywhere.

That got me thinking to my attraction to weight gain and the would/wouldn't be feeder stuff. My first concrete memory of being turned on by hearing some chick gained weigh was when I worked at Tower Records for a summer in high school. I was 15 and just doing menial stuff there. It was mostly burnout dudes who acted cool cause they worked in a record store.

But there was this punker chick with a lip ring and raccoon-y black/blonde hair and wore truckers hats and a tight wife beater. She was clearly chubby with her gut peaking out from under her wife beater and her cheetah print panties sticking out of her track pants.

I thought she just was all fuck the man with her dress style, but she was so hot. I was 15 and she was in her 20s so it was a puppy dog crush, but man. One day as I was sweeping up something I heard her chatting with some dude she knew and talked about getting into a car accident a while back.

She told him how she was laid up with a broken leg for a few months and couldn't do anything. So she just laid around and ate. Told him how she gained forty pounds and "I got all chubby". She grabbed her pudgy stomach to show him. Then talked about the typical self-conscious bullshit, I need to work out again and blah blah blah, but I was so into it.

The funny thing is after her friend left, she asked me if I tried the peanut butter Twix. I said no, and she was told me, "Oh you should, they are to die for." Her eyes rolled so far back into her skull I thought she was going to have a seizure from the ecstasy of remembering how the Twix tasted. Of course, we had someone around the counter, so I bought her one and myself one. She woofed it down quickly as she checked out customers. Then in the next lull, I handed her mine hoping she'd gain another 40 pounds. I never did figure out what happened to her or her chubbiness.
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