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Old 04-10-2016, 07:41 PM   #1
coyote wild
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Default Bellevue Tower {~XWG, ~SSBHM, ~BBW, ~IMMOBILITY}

Bellevue Tower
by coyote wild



I was at dinner with a fairly good-looking gentleman when I got the notification. A facebook (yes, I know “facebook” should be a proper noun, but if the company wants to “be cool” and keep it lowercase for the logo, I refuse to capitalize) message from my ex fiance, Dean.

What. The. Hell.

We split over…”creative differences.”

He had this weird...fetish, I guess. While he was pretty thin with a bit of chub, he loved the idea of intentionally getting fatter.

I know, right?

Not only that. He also wanted me to get fat with him. Like, really?

I mean, I can’t say I don’t see the appeal. No more early morning runs, no more careful studies of menus, no more gym membership...there’s definitely an appeal. But to not be happy with what I saw in the mirror? To not feel comfortable in my own skin? Just to make someone else happy?

I wasn’t sure I could do it.

But I have to admit a modicum of selfishness. I’m going to try to be absolutely clear. I just couldn’t stand the thought of no longer being attracted to him. And I wouldn’t have been if he had just let himself go. And that was the deal breaker.

We both agreed that there was no compromise to be had. I tried to return his ring, which he had joked about getting resized (he was always making cute little quips about a fatter us), but he told me to keep it. Sell it. Whatever I wanted to do with it.

I don’t wear it anymore, for obvious reasons, but I do still have it.

Anyway, we went our separate ways five years ago and that was it. Radio silence. Media blackout. “And now for something completely different…”

I can’t say it didn’t hurt. Dean was amazing. There was a reason I was with him for so long and ready to grow old together. I just wasn’t on board with growing fat together. And it was as important to him as not doing it was important to me.

But here we are. A text. Out of the blue. While I’m trying to revitalize my dating game.

I wasn’t exactly single in the subsequent five years. I got eight years of sexual repression out of my system. Though that isn’t fair. Dean and I had good sex. I just think we both wanted something else entirely from those experiences. So we were always at least a little disappointed. But isn’t everyone? That’s another discussion for another time.

Point is, I was in love, it didn’t work out, trying to move on, and here he was again.

One of my favorite songs sums it up succinctly: “I’m so surprised you want to dance with me now. I was just getting used to living life without you around.”

So while I’m out to dinner with this square-jawed distant Gyllenhal cousin, I notice this message. With a laugh, I effortlessly segue to: “I’m sorry, I need to run to the restroom. Would you please order me another drink if she comes back around? Thanks.”

In the restroom, I nudge open a stall door on another lady by accident. “Sorry!” I shout, already moving on with a, “No worries,” following behind me.

The next stall is open so I slide right in and have a seat, pulling out my phone in one quick go.

I open the messenger app and...there it is. A novel.

“Hey, Miranda-

I hope you’re doing well! I’m sorry to hit you up like this. I know it’s been a while.

But if you’re up for it, I’d like to see you sometime soon. No pressure. Sometimes I just get to thinking about the old days and I think I’m at a place where I can fondly revisit them.

Truth be told, I just wanna see ya. No pressure, no expectations, just a simple check up. Because I still think of you as a wonderful person. Hell, you’re still one of my favorites! And I just...I miss you.

So, anyway, there’s that! Yep! Thanks for taking time out of, what I assume is, an insanely busy schedule to read this message. I look forward to hearing from you but if I don’t, I completely understand!

Or...yeah, cool!

-Dean”

That idiot. I can still hear his maladroit voice reading every word. The same cadence and everything. Though I did sense more confidence in his words here than I would have guessed the Old Dean even capable of.

So yeah. Why not. Let’s do it.

“Dean!

I’m doing just fine! Just hanging out at home, Netflixin’ hard. How have you been?

I would totally be down to reconnect. Thursday evenings are best for me. Just let me know! Thanks!

peace,
Miranda”

And se - NO WAIT!

Don’t send yet. Just...save to drafts. Alright. Keep it ready to go. Wait, does he see me typing right now? Goddammit.

=============================

I sent the reply the following morning. I returned to my date and had, maybe, one more glass of wine than I should have. Or...you know...three more than I should have. Either way, it wasn’t a great morning.

However: Hating myself, feeling like shit, and still thinking that sending that reply was a great idea (all combined) made me more confident than ever that a meetup was at least a good idea.

He sent me an address and wrote, “I’ll put your name in the visitor list for this Thursday at 7p. Gate code is: ****# (censored for privacy)”

=============================

So Thursday evening, around 6:45pm, after work, there I was, my heels clacking against the marble floors of the most ornate lobby I have ever seen. I first assumed it to be an extremely fancy apartment building, but there were gorgeous men and women in what appeared to be uniforms that were a hybrid of maid and nurse. It could have been a hotel as easily as it could’ve been a hospital for rich people.

I approached the front desk. Chandeliers, a piano, large couches...I was still confused as to what Dean was doing in a place like this. But when I saw others in, what I assumed to be, the waiting room, some conclusions began to form.

An obese, young lady, possibly in her early twenties, sat with what appeared to be her mother and father, themselves being very slender people. They were all smiles, as the mother kissed her daughter on the cheek. One of the attractive, male...servants?...doctors?...brought a cart of cakes and desserts, locking it in place by the young woman. The mother picked up a small cupcake and peeled away its skirt. The daughter licked her smiling lips and opened them wide. The mother pushed the entire cupcake into her daughter’s mouth, only getting a sliver of frosting on her left cheek. The mother wiped the frosting away with a tissue and kissed her daughter again.

“Ma’am!” A voice shouted, pulling me back to the task at hand. A woman in the waitress/nurse uniform sat behind the front desk, at a desktop, a bluetooth in her ear.

“So sorry, I’m here to see Dean *****?” I give her my name and she quickly pulls me up on some sort of list.

“Mmhmm, looks like he’s on the fourth floor. Room 4110. Look here, please?” She said, tapping what appeared to be a small, shiny, black ball.

Assuming it to be a camera, I gave a smirk and held it perhaps a bit longer than necessary. A label with my newly developed picture was printed and she slapped it onto a keycard attached to a clip. I clipped the keycard onto my bag.

“Elevators are straight ahead.”

I thank her and continue on my way. I straighten out my skirt and run my hand over the back of my head, hoping to flatten some rogue hairs. After waiting, I board the elevator and get up to the second floor before it stops. The doors open and a lady nursemaid pushes a rather chubby woman in a wheelchair on board.

“Dum-dada-DUM!” the nursemaid faux announces, putting on a show for the adorably smiling chubby woman in her care. “Ready or not, third floor! Here comes the ever-fattening Amber!”

The girl in the wheelchair, who I assumed to be Amber, giggles at this, and yet covers her face in pretend embarrassment. At least, I hope it was pretend. She does seem to be blushing.

“At the rate you’re going, it won’t be long until you’re on this elevator again, moving to the next floor up. By then, you may need slightly larger accommodations, of course. Are you still glad you signed the contract?” the nursemaid asks as she leans over the wheelchair to get her lips within whispering distance of the young lady’s ear, yet connecting her gaze with mine.

The woman in the wheelchair nods, albeit hesitantly. But then adds, “ask me again when it comes time to move to the fifth floor.”

They both share a laugh. And not knowing entirely what was going on, I gotta say, I chuckle, too.

===============================

Upon entering room 4110, it took a moment for my brain to process what I was seeing.

A thin nursemaid feeding, what I estimate to be, a 400lb fat man, naked but of the sheet draped across his lap. He moans as she draws back a bare fork, the prongs slide smoothly from his food-slicked lips.

He notices me.

“Miranda,” the fat man breathes, resting his hands on his dome of a belly. “You're early.”

“Dean! Dean?” I stammer, not knowing what to say. How does he want me to react? Is he happy this way? I mean, it's what he's always wanted. Maybe I should congratulate him.

“You're huge,” I tell him, with a wide-eyed smile.

“Yeah, must be kind of a shock. Sorry I wasn't decent before your arrival.” Dean nods to the nursemaid, whom had already began clearing plates, gathering them all on a pushcart. She leaves, giving me a smile and a nod as she slides past me.

Dean’s breathing is labored, like he had been running a marathon. “I thought we could get something to eat.”

“Umm, didn't you just eat?” I ask, a bit impressed.

“I did, but I'll be ready to eat again soon.” He says between breaths, as he slowly kneads the hillsides of his belly. He then pushes on his broad stomach. He groans, as does his ass. A low, rumbling fart is muffled under his bulk. And although it was buried beneath a mountain of flesh, two globular cheeks, and a thicker-than-usual mattress, I could tell it was the loudest fart I had ever heard from Dean and I lived with the man for nearly eight years.

He had been holding his breath but goes back to deep, repeated breaths after the escaping of gas had ended.

“Sorry,” he pants. “That's what getting fatter sounds like.”

I could suddenly detect the smell of Dean’s most recent meal, which I guess...was the smell of Dean. It had become a part of him now, in more ways than one. And this...aroma he produces is a testament to the calories that have been absorbed by his body. I think about that last bite I saw him take when I first entered and where that bite would settle on his form. And I begin to wonder if I’ll recognize it when it re-enters the atmosphere from Dean’s enormous backside.

Dean’s enormous backside. I can’t believe that’s a legit sentence now.

“And I guess that's what getting fatter smells like,” I respond, playfully fanning my nose.
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Last edited by coyote wild; 04-11-2016 at 05:51 PM. Reason: title fix
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Old 04-10-2016, 07:42 PM   #2
coyote wild
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Default Conclusion

===============================

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, he was ready to eat again. But he had also regained his strength (massive feasts leave him absolutely powerless) and began to rise from the bed. Or rather, the bed itself began to rise. It slowly shifted into a more vertical position, allowing Dean to expel minimum effort in getting up.

He waddled toward me, a loose grip on the blanket he had pulled up to his belly button. I realized that even if he wasn’t putting forth an effort to remain “covered,” I wouldn’t have been able to see his manhood anyway. In fact, I was pretty sure it had been a while since he had seen his own dick.

He hugs me and he’s so...pillowy. He felt like falling into layers and layers of blankets on top of a waterbed. I found myself squeezing a bit harder than I would have thought and for a bit longer than he had probably anticipated.

Knowing Dean, he’s going to hug me until I pull away, so I take my fill and let go. With my hands still holding his forearms, I ask, “How have you been?”

“Good! Good,” he replies, smiling. “You?”

I shrug and smile and nod before saying, “Good! You know, making rent and hanging out.”

“That’s good to hear!” Dean says. We stare at each other for a moment, my eyes mentally noting the parts of Dean I remember but also taking note of Dean’s...additions. His face was largely the same, just a bit fuller with a more subtle double chin than you’d think. For a guy his size, it seems like his face would be fatter and while the changes are noticeable, it appears to be the least affected part of his physique.

I glance down at his massive boobs. I mean...there’s no other way to describe them. They’re definitely boobs. Not breasts, not even really man boobs or moobs...they’re boobs. And they...fit him somehow.

His boobs rest on his massive belly which is largely covered by the sheet. “I’m going to get dressed and we’ll head downstairs to the cafeteria. Cool?”

My head shakes and I realize it’s not readily obvious if it’s in the negative or the affirmative so I just say, “Cool, yeah, sure.”

He turns, skillfully swinging the sheet from covering his front to covering his ass. But not before I get a brief glimpse of just how...huge it is. Well done, Dean. Well done.

===============================

One of the first rules I learn about this place is that the “residents” (like Dean) are limited to a certain number of steps per day. He is forbidden to expel more energy than necessary in order to reach certain weights within certain deadlines.

I know, it’s...weird. But that’s why he was currently riding in a large, motorized wheelchair by my side, as we ventured down the hall to the nearest elevator. He had dressed himself in a pair of gray sweat pants, with a black, cotton t-shirt underneath a gray hoodie. The hall was largely empty, save for the nursemaids pushing food carts that were either loaded, or recently emptied. Some were emerging from living quarters with clear plates.

There was one other fatty that seemed to be close to Dean in size, and in similar attire, riding in his own motorized wheelchair, but in the opposite direction. He nodded to us with a shy smile, and we returned the acknowledgement.

“Sorry, everyone’s embarrassed to be here,” Dean explains. “No matter your reason, there’s just something about intentionally getting fatter that just...displays your inner desires to the outside world. We can’t hide it. We wear our secrets in the weight we carry. And, no offense, but you kind of represent the outside world.”

I immediately lower my gaze, as if that will help the situation. “Oh, I…” I trail off. I suddenly feel like a true outsider in a hidden, pocket universe.

“No, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong about getting visitors,” Dean assures me.

“So, how did you end up here?” I ask, knowing it to be a bit of a loaded question.

He explains…

===============================

After we broke up, I was...destroyed. I know, it was for the best but still. You can’t just walk away from something like that without any scars.

But I eventually came to the realization that I was free, you know? I can make my own decisions without any consequences being exposed to those close to me. So I got to it. I began drinking meal replacements with my meals. Gainer shakes. Snacks between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Adding ranch wherever I could. Basically, I did everything I could to get fatter.

When we split, I was 186. After two years, I managed to reach 240 pounds just on my own. And to be honest, it was a lot of fun. A lot of comments, a lot of rips and tears and button pops...it’s been quite a journey.

Remember those forums I used to frequent? Those sites I’d visit when you weren’t around? Well someone had put the message out that they were looking for participants. Volunteers.

I didn’t believe it at first and even got ready to expose them as liars! I procured a camera and microphone I could hide and paid a visit to the address I finally received after a few messages.

And...well...I found what you found when you got here. A beautiful institution that wants to examine the effects of massive weight gain on the human body. The purpose for these studies vary, as many companies and governments are chipping in for this little endeavor, but for the people that sign up...we get fatter.

They set me up in a room on the Second Floor since I was already in my mind 200’s.. It was largely similar to the room you saw. Except it wasn’t designed to minimize movement or exertion. The bed was a normal bed, if a little wide. None of the seats were motorized.

That didn’t come until the Third Floor.

To be honest, no one spends a lot of time on the Third Floor, reserved for the residents that have reached the 300 pound mark. By that point, the methods here have gradually increased your appetite to where you feel ravenous if you aren’t so full you feel ready to explode.

And in a way, you do explode. Either in the form of an orgasm or...well...you were there when I “exploded” upstairs. Sometimes, the best feeling is the relief.

I couldn’t honestly tell you which I love more. The fullness or the reprieve from that fullness, which quickly becomes hunger again.

So yeah, I didn’t spend long on the Third Floor.


===============================

“I’ve been on the Fourth Floor for about three months now,” Dean explains, sinking his teeth into the biggest burger I had ever seen.

I was chewing my caesar-dressing-drenched romaine lettuce and grilled chicken and could only raise my eyebrows in response. I chewed and chewed, covering my mouth, anticipating my next words, chewing, chewing, swallow...speak.

“So what is, like, your ‘goal’ weight?” I ask.

He’s still chewing, rolling his eyes as if waiting for him to chew is more annoying to himself than it is to me. Dean was always empathetic. And really, I’d wait all day to hear his response. I wasn’t in any hurry to go home. Physically, he wasn’t the Dean I remembered, but he was still Dean. I could see him, I could “feel” him, and I was enjoying being with him.

“Well,” he paused. I suddenly realize he was using the chewing as a way to stall. He was embarrassed to say. “I, uh, had to set a goal weight when signing up here. It’s almost like picking the duration of a lease when renting an apartment.”

I gathered more bites of juicy chicken, crispy romaine, and even managed to slide some flakes of parmesan and bits of croutons onto my fork. “And when you signed up, you put down…” I cajoled before wrapping my lips around the most beautifully constructed bite of the most decadent caesar salad I have ever experienced.

Dean gulped, swallowing what was left of his bite, clearing his tongue and cheeks for conversation. “Top Floor,” he said. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, instead analyzing the burger he held, trying to determine his next bite.

“Top Floor?” I ask, my hand hiding my mouth as I had not yet swallowed but couldn’t wait to confirm. I had deduced by this point that your floor of residence was dependent on your weight yet I had no idea how many stories this building had.

For example, the Third Floor housed anyone living here that was between the 300-399 weight range.

The Fourth Floor was reserved for those that had reached supersized levels of obesity, which meant anyone weighing between 400 and 499 pounds. And so forth, and so on, until, I guess, the coveted “Top Floor.”

“The Top Floor...” Dean began, setting his burger down. He locks his gaze with me, leaning forward onto his elbows. Hunched forward, he’s a large half circle, with a face of someone I once loved with every ounce of my heart. “...is for the ones that reach half-a-ton.”

“One thousand pounds?!” I shout, accidentally spitting particles of food in surprise. I lowered my voice and leaned forward, incredulous. “You’re trying to weigh one thousand pounds?” I ask.

Dean nodded, blushing deeply, looking down at his meal to avoid meeting my gaze.

“Wow. I mean...huh,” I say. What else can I say? What should I say? “Good for you,” I add.

It may have slipped out before I had a chance to really think about it. But once I said it aloud, I realized that I was proud of Dean. “Yeah. Good for you, Dean!”

“Seriously?” he chuckles, getting over his shame and finally connecting his eyes with mine.

“Yeah! Hell yeah!” I add. I am on board. I realize I am super happy for him. He found the perfect way to manifest his deepest desires, and he deserved every pound. He wasn’t only good to me, Dean was great to everyone. Always full of love and empathy...he just wanted everyone to be happy.

And this is the realization I have as I look into his excited eyes, my own stinging with the threat of tears. But tears of happiness, tears of pride, tears of relief.

Dean was going to be okay. He was going to be fat as hell, but he was going to be happy.

He went on to tell me about a girl that was already on the Third Floor when he moved in. Serena. They were neighbors for a brief moment, sharing meals and discussions over cafeteria visits, before she eventually got moved upwards. He told me about the pact they made, to reconnect soon. Then, he was only scheduled to reach the Fifth Floor before his weight would be monitored and maintained. But he renegotiated his deal, in hopes that he would see her again.

You see, the interaction between tenets of different weights is all very calculated. No one can venture to any floor above their weight range. And no one above 600 pounds is allowed below the Sixth Floor.

The last Dean heard, Serena had reached 601 and was being moved to the Sixth Floor. So he knew the only way to catch her was to gain as much as he could as fast as possible, and you don’t get the most intense gaining regimens without agreeing to reach the Top Floor.

“I don’t even want to tell you about the methods they do to hit the weights I must in order to stay on schedule,” Dean explains through a mouthful of sauce-drenched fries. “In fact, umm…” he hesitated before shoving another handful of greasy, crunchy fries into his chubby cheeks.

“Yes?” I ask, coaxing out his more adventurous side. Knowing Dean doesn’t get many opportunities to talk about this part of his life, I want him to have every chance to discuss anything about this experience he would like to discuss without any judgement.

“Well, I mean, how long do you think it takes to get fat through eating, alone?” Dean asks, hoping I’ll piece it together for myself and he won’t have to say it out loud. “I mean, like, really fat. The kind of fat we’re dealing with on this scale.”

“I don’t know. You could probably get in a pound a week?” I speculate.

“Too slow,” Dean replies. “But if you have more than one source of input…”

I raise an eyebrow and give him a smirk.

“...even if it interrupts your output…”

My eyes went wide.

“Are you saying…”

He nods.

“Up your butt?” I ask. A quick giggle escapes me involuntarily.

He nods. “It’s a controversial, yet proven, method,” he says, as if feeling the need to defend what he’s going through.

“Well, one thing’s for sure…” I say shrugging as I return to my enormous, yet depleting bowl of “salad.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks nervously.

I hold my large, dripping bite of the decadent salad just by my lips as I look over to him and answer: “you’ll be on the Top Floor in no time.” I finally take my bite and smile as I chew, giving Dean a wink.

He blushed again and diverted his gaze.

===============================

"It was good seeing you again!" I say, reaching wide to give Dean a goodbye hug.

We were back in his room and we both had to get back to our regularly scheduled lives.

"You too!" he says, squeezing me into his pillowy torso. My arms are cushioned by his marshmallowy waist and lovehandles, my hands sliding up, palms and fingertips gliding over the buttered rolls of his back. He reaches over my shoulders and just...engulfs me. His shoulders, arms, boobs, belly, all the parts of the human body you interact with in the sweetest of hugs, were magnified and softened to make for the most satisfying embrace I have ever experienced.

Maybe one day I'll tell him about this moment and how nice he felt. But not right now.

For a second, I thought he was yawning, but as the sound increases in decibels and lowers in pitch, I realize he's "making room" again. His body's already preparing itself for its next meal, absorbing everything it wants from its last feast and using the rest to announce added pounds through a trumpeting victory.

Perhaps for the first time ever, Dean ends the hug and blushes for the brief moment our eyes meet. He turns and waddles over to his bed, slowly rotating to face me upon reaching it. He falls backwards into the vertical support of the bed and it slowly transitions to a more horizontal status.

As he rubs his belly, groaning at the pressure of being stuffed again, he farts once more, deeper and louder than before. "You should probably go. It's only going to get worse," he says, almost panting.

"Don't be a stranger," Dean adds.

"Believe me, I won't," I say as I lean forward to kiss his plump cheek. He blushes and smiles, but takes a deep breath before farting again.

"Sorry," he says, lowering his head.

"Don't be," I say, putting my finger beneath his chin and lifting his head up to meet my gaze. "It's just what getting fatter sounds like."

---

Closing his door behind me, I smile inwardly as I begin sauntering down the hall. I already can't wait to come back. I'm both happy for Dean and, I guess, a little relieved.

A nursemaid smiles and greets me as I continue to the elevator and I return the gesture. After another few steps, I glance over my shoulder to see her pulling up to and entering Dean's room.

I have trouble suppressing a chuckle and again turn my attention forward. I hit the elevator button to head downstairs and wait for the lift to arrive.

My stomach rumbles a little and I realize I'm hungry again.

I'm thinking about what I'll pick up on the way home. I mean...all I had was a salad....

The End
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Old 04-12-2016, 02:28 AM   #3
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Yay! A new Coyote Wild story, and wonderfully written as always! Thanks for sharing it!

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Old 04-12-2016, 08:41 AM   #4
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Thank you! So glad you enjoyed!
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Old 04-14-2016, 11:43 AM   #5
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a whole lotta fun!
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Old 04-14-2016, 01:22 PM   #6
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Between positive feedback from both fatgirl and Fiji (both of which, I am a huge fan) I am absolutely starstruck!

Thanks so much!
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Old 04-15-2016, 10:30 AM   #7
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What a great fast read. Really well done!
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Old 04-24-2016, 12:45 PM   #8
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Absolutely delightful!
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Old 12-04-2017, 07:27 PM   #9
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Delightful story. How did I miss it earlier? A clever plot device, the hotel...
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