BBW Groundhog Day - by Marlow

Dimensions Magazine

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Feb 5, 2013
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Chapter 7

Renee moaned. Her eyes shifted in and out of focus. When she finally forced them to look down, she found that the plate before her was entirely empty.

All that remained of the belt-buster challenge was the French fry in her hand, dripping with cheese. Renee held it up for all to see, winked, and wolfed it down.

She reclined back in her booth, triumphant. Her tautly distended stomach swelled out against her blouse, gurgling happily, smooth and round as the burger’s bun, and she calmly folded her hands atop it. Her enormous chest heaved and she let loose a long belch.

The assembled crowd broke into applause. The bar’s cook, a scraggly young man in an apron, furtively wiped away a tear.

“You did it,” gasped the bartender. “No one’s ever even come close, but you finished it.”

Renee rubbed her gut. “Better get your camera.”

The cook stepped forward. “I just want to say…that was incredible.”

“Well, I do love a good challenge.” She smirked. “I’ve become something of an overachiever.”

Renee groaned. Her eyes had been squeezed shut as she fought off another bout of brainfreeze; when she finally opened them, she found that the enormous bowl before her was empty.

All that remained of the ice cream parlor’s birthday special—the ‘banana split trough’—was the spoonful of melted vanilla in her hand. Renee held it up for all to see, winked, and slurped it down.

She slouched over the counter, plush backside spilling over the edges of her stool like ice cream over the edge of a cone. She stifled a burp.

The mesmerized crowd stared. A child celebrating his birthday watched in awe; his group of friends had scarcely finished half of the trough they’d ordered.

“She’s gonna be so hyper,” he whispered to his appalled mother.

“Just ignore her,” replied the mother, averting her gaze; Renee had reached under her blouse to massage her swollen belly.

The boy couldn’t look away. “Mom says too much sugar can make you fat,” he offered.

“Honey,” the mother hissed, “don’t be rude.”

Renee grinned. “Your mom might be right. Better give me the rest of yours to be safe.”

Renee grunted. Her eyes lingered on the pizza palace’s menu and she wondered if it was too late to order cheese sticks. Gazing back down, she found that the broad aluminum tray before her was empty.

All that remained of the Extra-Large-Extra-Everything-Extreme-Pizza was the crust of her final slice. Renee held it up for all to see, winked, and shoved it into her mouth.

She turned and lounged back on the little plastic chairs of the waiting area. White creases were appearing on the chair-legs. Renee’s stomach rose before her like dough, filling her head with a new idea. “How big are your calzones?” she asked.

The assembled cooks and delivery drivers shook their heads in disbelief. The phone rang behind them, unheard.

“Usually the snowy days are so dull,” mused a driver.

“That was the double-stuffed crust,” marveled a cook.

Renee rubbed her belly. “For a double-stuffed gut.”

“You’re…you’re not serious about the calzone, right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She glanced at the menu, then back at one of the drivers. “Might take it to-go, though. Any of you delivery boys think you can fit me in your car?”

Renee giggled. Her vision swam. Forcing them to focus and looking down, she found that the myriad plastic cups arrayed on the table before her were empty.

All that remained of the beer was the red cup in her hand, filled to the brim, foam spilling over the side. Renee held it up for all to see, winked, and began pouring it down her throat to the chant of “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

She crumpled the empty cup and tossed it aside. Losing her balance, she fell back onto the ping-pong table, upending it and scattering cups everywhere. She flopped to the floor, feeling the beer slosh in her stomach.

The fraternity brothers whooped and cheered. The few sorority sisters they’d dragged along watched from the corner, waffling between horror and envy.

“Talk about a beer gut,” muttered one of the sisters.

Renee rubbed her paunch. “Why have a six pack when you can have a keg?”

“We have a new champ!” announced a brother.

“Big woman on campus, that’s me!” Renee sang, flopping over. “And time for someone to roll me home.”

Renee yawned. She rolled her eyes, wishing she felt fuller. Stretching her arms overhead and then reaching down to adjust her riding-up blouse, she found that the platter on the table before her was empty.

Nothing remained of her latest bowl of pasta, but there was a warm breadstick in her hand, dripping with garlic butter. Renee held it up for her date to see, winked, and pushed the whole doughy stick into her insatiable maw.

Still chewing, she shifted her mass over in the booth, belly nudging the table as she moved, and reached for the menu. Her date, a befuddled local businessman, recoiled in vain as her lovehandle squished against him.

“What should we get next?” she asked, licking her lips. “I was thinking the rigatoni, but I’m not as full as I thought I would be at this point and the lasagna sounds deliciously heavy.”

“Wh-whatever you want,” stammered her date. “If you’re still…still hungry.”

She patted his head. “You’re so funny. Of course I’m still hungry. And thirsty, too…we need more wine. You know, when I first got to town, I didn’t know the first thing about wine. But now, I’m a connoisseur. And I demand the best. Waiter!”

“I didn’t know we had a bottomless pasta sampler deal,” said a plump waitress, trying to ignore the scene.

The manager turned away from Renee’s table. “We don’t. At least…we haven’t. She said she’s from corporate and they’re testing it as a new special offer.”

The waitress cocked an eyebrow. “And you just…believed her?”

“I didn’t recognize her, but apparently she’s the new area rep, and that fellow she’s with works for the chamber of commerce. She really seems to know everything about the franchise, and about our efforts to try new things. She’s pretty sharp, I gotta say…every time I had a question, it was like she knew what I was gonna ask.” He chuckled. “She was practically finishing my sentences.”

“Well, now she’s finished another bowl of fettuccine…and she’s trying to wave you over for her next order.”

Night had chased most of the hotel’s guests back to their rooms. The lobby stood silent. At the front desk, Phil rubbed his eyes to keep from falling asleep. Footsteps crunched in the snow outside, the first sounds he’d heard in over an hour.

He looked up from his computer as the front door slid open. Craning his neck, he could see Renee as she sauntered into the lobby, a contented smile on her face.

She took a long breath, absently massaging the side of her abdomen. Her outfit, though still too large for her in places, seemed somewhat snug around her midsection. A well-fed food-baby pushed out against the pale fabric of her blouse and kept the skirt’s waistband from sliding down.

“Hey, Phil,” she called, making her way over. Her curves shifted with each step, her concealed belly making its presence known from within the blouse. Her cleavage, teased by a couple of unfastened buttons, swayed enticingly.

Phil swallowed. “Yes, ma’am? Room 237…Renee, right?”

She leaned against his desk, proffering her bosom. Beneath her makeup, her face was flushed. “That’s me. Listen, I…” She smirked. “Sorry, I’m kinda lightheaded…had a little too much wine to go with a little too much dinner. I think I lost my keycard.”

“Oh, no problem. I’ll set up a new one for you.”

“Thanks, Phil. You’re the best.” Renee turned to the door. “There you are! I was afraid you’d changed your mind.”

The spiky-haired clerk from the record store stepped inside, shaking snow from his patch-covered leather jacket. “Went back to the car for that album you mentioned…’Feast of the Elves,’ remember?” He crossed the lobby and sidled up beside Renee, CD in hand.

She wrapped an arm around him and nuzzled his shoulder. “Oh, I remember. Now come upstairs and I’ll show you a real feast.”

Staring away, Phil handed her a card. “Here you are, ma’am. Uh, enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, I am. And hey, while I have you, could you have room service send up some snacks?”

Phil looked up from his computer as the front door slid open. Craning his neck, he could see Renee as she sashayed into the lobby, a satisfied grin on her face.

She took a deep breath, pressing a hand to the side of her abdomen. Her outfit, though fitting perfectly in most other places, seemed strained around her midsection. An overstuffed beer gut swelled out against the pale fabric of her blouse and pushed down the waistband of her skirt.

“Hey, Phil,” she sighed, making her way over. Her softness wobbled with each step, her barely contained belly fighting the free itself from the blouse. Her cleavage, testing the few buttons that remained fastened, bounced mesmerizingly.

Phil swallowed. “Yes, ma’am? Room 237…Renee, right?”

She leaned herself against his desk, setting her bosom on the counter. Her eyes seemed out of focus and her voice was louder than necessary. “That’s me. Listen, I…” She bit her lip. “Sorry…one too many cocktails tonight to go with one too many hors d’oeuvres. I think I lost my keycard.”

“Uh, no problem. I’ll just set up a new one for you.”

“Thanks, Phil. You’re the sweetest.” She turned to the door. “There you are! I’d assumed, with all the running you do, you would beat me here.”

The jogging man from the park stepped inside, shaking snow from his letterman jacket. “Do I need to teach you some patience?” He crossed the lobby and cocked an eyebrow at her.

She gazed up at him and winked. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I tend to get what I want…when I want it.”

Staring away, Phil handed her a card. “Here you are, ma’am. Enjoy…enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, I am. And hey, while I have you, could you have room service send up some dessert?”

Phil looked up from his computer as the front door slid open. Craning his neck, he could see Renee as she swaggered into the lobby, a conspiratorial smirk on her face.

She paused to catch her breath, rubbing the swell of her abdomen. Her outfit, coming apart at the seams in several places, had given up on her midsection. A bloated pot belly jutted out from the flaps of her blouse, having popped several of its buttons, and bulged over the waistband of her unfastened skirt.

“Hey, Phil,” she panted, making her way over. Her pudge jiggled with each step, exposed belly celebrating its freedom from the blouse. As she walked, her heaving bosom popped the shirt’s last remaining button.

Phil swallowed. “Yes, ma’am? Room 237? Renee, right?”

She steadied herself against his desk, breasts threatening to spill out of her bra and onto the countertop. Her eyes were glazed and her speech deliberate. “That’s me. Listen, I…” She paused, searching for words. “Sorry…we were doing shots. And wings. Lots of wings…anyway, I think I lost my…keycard.”

“Uh, no problem. I’ll just set up a new one for you.”

“Thanks, Phil. You’re always…on top of things.” She turned to the door. “There you are! I knew I should’ve put a leash on you.”

The bottom-heavy sorority sister stepped inside, shaking snow from her peacoat. “I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted me to come.” She crossed the lobby and stood sheepishly beside her.

Renee kissed her forehead. “Of course I do. Theresa, you are mine, for the rest of the night.”

Trying to look away, Phil handed her a card. “Here you are, ma’am. Enjoy yourselv—enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, I am. And hey, while I…while I have you, could you have room service send up some treats?”

Phil looked up from his computer as the front door slid open. Craning his neck, he could see Renee as she stumbled into the lobby, giggling.

She stood swaying a moment, steadying herself against the wall, patting the dome of her abdomen. Her outfit was missing, leaving her in panties that pinched into her sides and a bra that didn’t support her breasts so much as clutch vainly at them. A glutted paunch hung from her midsection, gurgling loudly.

“Hey, Phil,” she called with a hiccup, weaving her way over. Her flab rippled with each step, naked belly sloshing. As she reached the front desk one of her bra straps snapped. Her left breast sagged down further, the bra’s cup hanging limply over her nipple.

Phil swallowed. “Yes, m-ma’am? Room…237?”

She collapsed against the counter, propping her head up with her hands, fingers squishing into her second chin. “That’s me. Listen, I…” She paused to hiccup again. “Sorry…someone brought the hard stuff. Figured all the food and fat would absorb it more, but…mm, more. Anyway, I think I—hic!—I think I lost my keycard.”

“Uh, no problem. I’ll just…set up a new one for you.”

“Thanks, Phil. You’re my fav—hilp!—vorite.” She turned to the door. “There you are! I was worried I…wouldn’t get to share all this.”

Abby stepped in, followed by a swarthy young man from the campus bookstore, brushing snow from each other’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You promised to model for my next project,” she explained, crossing the lobby and ducking as Renee threw an arm over her shoulder.

The waifish artist looked miniscule next to Renee’s uncovered corpulence. The boy from the bookstore followed and Renee wrapped her other arm around him, pulling her two companions close. “Guys, believe me. I…I can show you the—hic!—the meaning of fullness.”

Staring at her stomach, Phil handed her a card. “Here you are, ma’am. I hope you…all…enjoy your stay.”

“We are. Hulp! Oh, and hey, while I have you, could you have room service send up…I don’t know. Hic! Dinner? Three or four dinners.”

Phil looked up from his computer as the front door slid open. Craning his neck, he could see Renee as she collapsed into the lobby, laughing uncontrollably.

She reclined against a table for a moment, cradling the weight of her abdomen. She was entirely naked, glistening with melted snow but steaming, warmed by the effort of carrying her bulk in from the parking lot. A decadent globe comprised her midsection, filled to its expansive brim.

“Hey, Phil,” she slurred, pushing off the table to make her way over. Her flesh quaked with each uneven step and her sagging breasts flopped against the swell of her fat apron. Her feet betrayed her, though, and she fell backward in an obese heap of snickering indulgence.

Phil rushed out from behind his desk. “Ma’am? Ma’am—Renee, are you alright?”

She lay in the center of the lobby, hands caressing her belly. “I’m great. Lissen, I…” She paused to loose a thunderous belch. “Oh, am I enjoying my stay. Hee. Gotta say, Phil, there’s…there’s way more to do in this town than I ever…ever woulda…mm. Anyway, I…keycard…y’know…urrp.”

“Um. You need your keycard? I’ll…I’ll just set up a new one for you. Do you need, uh…help?”

“Thanks, Phil. You’re always…there for me.” She reached a pudgy hand and seized his collar. “I do need some help, yeah. I need…you.”

He coughed and glanced at the door. There was no one around. “Me?”

She pulled him close. “I figured out your secret.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re…”

“I know what everyone here likes, Phil. And now I know what you like. I can…feel it.” She squished her paunch against him. “Take me up to my room…bring as much room service as you want…whatever you wanna see me eat.” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach. It didn’t feel like there was any room left for more food. “Feed me everything you can…like there’s no tomorrow.”
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Feb 5, 2013
Chapter 8

The clock blinked to 6:56.

Tearing her eyes away from it with a grimace, Renee took a long pull from her beer and glanced back to her guest.

“You alright, Taylor?”

The dress-shop girl smirked sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m great.” She sat on the edge of Renee’s bed, hair mussed, wearing nothing but an unfastened bra. One strap hung off her shoulder and the lace-trimmed cups were askew, allowing her breasts to sag nearly to her lap.

Though even larger, Renee’s own had no chance to reach her lap, as a glutted belly filled that space instead. “You sure? You had a…” She set her bottle down, searching for the word. “Your face was kinda sad there for a sec.”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing.” Taylor drained her bottle and collected Renee’s empty one. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Too late for embarrassment after everything we just shared,” Renee chided.

Taylor blushed. She hopped up from the bed and weaved unsteadily across the room, stepping around discarded plates and bottles, her comparatively tiny beer gut bouncing. “I just…I was thinking about your boobs. I usually have the biggest ones around here, but yours…wow.”

Renee bounced one in her hand, sending waves upward through her cleavage and downward through the flab on her belly. “They’ve gotten a little out of control. But I keep putting on weight, so they just keep getting bigger.”

“Well, the thing is,” Taylor continued, adding the empty bottles to a pile, “I think I’m kinda jealous.”

“Of mine?”

Taylor smiled wistfully, spreading her hands. “They’re so big,” she sighed, reaching out to steady herself on the wall. “I know it’s weird for somebody who has big boobs to want big boobs, but…” She sighed. “It’s my secret thing. Always has been. I want them, like, silly big. Sometimes I dream about carrying them around on a cart.”

Renee scoffed. “I should do that with my gut.”

“Yeah, talk about ‘silly big,’ right?” Taylor pushed her hair from her eyes in horror. “Oh my god. I’m sorry…that was so mean. I’m…I must be more drunk than I thought.”

“It’s fine. Tay, you saw what I had for dinner. And then for dessert…and then the midnight snack. Do I look like I’m ashamed of this belly?” She slapped it for emphasis.

Taylor bent over, chest spilling out of her bra, and rifled through one of their bags. “I need more beer. You want another?”

Renee shrugged. “Yeah, let’s see if I can—mm—finish one more before you have to go.”

“Hey, what?” A pair of fresh bottles in hand, Taylor lounged back onto the bed and gave Renee a kiss. “This has been the most fun I’ve had in years. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” Renee glanced over at the clock as it turned to 6:58.

Taylor set her bottle atop Renee’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m stuck here. I’m trapped…” She took a shaky breath.

“Hey, it’s just a day. The snow’ll be clear tomorrow.”

“For everyone else. Everyone else gets to move on, but I’ll always just be…be stuck where I am, stuck in this ridiculous neverending day.”

Taylor set a hand on her pudgy cheek. “Renee, I…I’m pretty tipsy, and I just met you this afternoon, and I don’t know anything about your, y’know, life…but more than anyone I’ve ever known, you seem to be able to decide what you want, be open about what you want, and get what you want. I don’t know what your circumstances are, but I’ve never seen someone more cap…capable of making the best of their circumstances.”

She set her beer aside and climbed onto Renee’s lap, squeezing herself against the swell of her paunch. She massaged it for a moment and leaned in for another long kiss.

“I’m jealous of you, Renee. Everyone who met you today is jealous of you. All of us…cowards in this town, we’re too scared to be like you. We’re all afraid of who we are, just hoping we might someday get to be that person, but knowing we never will be.” She nestled herself against Renee’s belly. “Not you, though. You’re you. You are…the least trapped person there’s ever been.”

Renee kissed her. In the corner of her eye, 6:59 blazed menacingly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Taylor purred. “And trust me, I will never forget tonight.”

The clock flickered to 7:00.

Renee rolled over, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. Her belly sloshed to the side and flopped out onto the mattress as she turned, sliding out from beneath the cheap motel sheets. Taylor was gone, along with all the evidence of the night they’d spent together, as though the hours of passion were little more than a dream.

She wanted to storm into the dress shop, to continue what she’d spent so much time and effort starting, but knew Taylor would only greet her with the blank politeness of a stranger.

Voices filtered through the wall, but were drowned out by a long rumble from Renee’s stomach. Its quaggy flesh rippled as she sat up.

It rumbled with hunger, still bloated but used to constant attention.

“You remember me,” she mumbled, petting it. “You never leave me. You never forget me.”

She cradled it in her hands, lifting its decadent bulk.

“Every morning…you’re the only evidence of the day before. The only proof I have…” She squeezed and released it, watching it wobble. She nodded to herself. “If making this big belly bigger is the only thing that lasts, if my…weight is my only legacy here…well…”

The hotel phone on the nightstand was just barely within reach. The bed creaked violently as she stretched over to dial.

“Front desk,” came Phil’s voice.

“Hey, this is Room 237.” She raised a finger, reminding herself to do the introductions. It always seemed to set Phil more at ease. “My name’s Renee.”

“Hello, Renee. I’m Phil. How can I help you this morning?”

“Here’s the thing, Phil. I’ve decided I don’t want to get out of bed today, so I’m gonna need some room service. Lots of it.”

“Um…sure. What can we get for you?”

Renee chuckled as she pulled out the menu.

It was half an hour before the knock came at the door, accompanied by the sound of a wheeled cart.

“Yeah, come in,” grunted Renee, pulling the bedsheets back over her naked form. A desperate rumble echoed out from her famished stomach.

The server knocked again. “Ma’am, I have your breakfast.”

“I know, Janet,” Renee sighed. “You also have the hotel master key. Just bring everything in here for me. I don’t feel like getting up.”

The door clicked open and Janet pushed her cart into the room. It was loaded with pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast, and a pair of mimosas. At Renee’s instructions, the server left the cart next to her bed. She cast a stern, disgusted glance at her customer’s shameless corpulence and excused herself from the room.

Renee ignored her, fixating on her breakfast. She ate ravenously, as though she hadn’t fallen asleep stuffed to the gills with cake and ice cream and beer, barely pausing to swallow before shoving the next forkful in her mouth. Cleaning plates with little decorum, she simply tossed them aside, letting them accumulate beside her or clatter to the floor.

Leaving the final plate perched atop her belly, syrup dripping over the edge and trickling toward her navel, Renee let her eyes close. Enjoying a gentle buzz from the mimosas, she drifted back to sleep.

She jerked awake a couple hours later to a painful whine from her belly. Without hesitation she reached over for the phone. The plate resting on her engorged belly slid off.

“Front desk,” replied Phil, shouting a little over the din of the midday lobby crowd.

“Hey…’sme again…Renee. I’m ready for lunch.”

“Alread—” He coughed. “Of course, ma’am. You’re in Room 237? I can put your order in.”

“Awesome. Just let me find the menu again. And hey, while I look…what time is it?”

“Just shy of eleven, ma’am.”

“Oh, good. So, there’s that really cute guy sitting in that chair at the other end of the lobby. Blonde hair, chiseled face, glasses, great biceps…he’s reading a book.”

Phil paused. “I…uh, yes. I see him. Friend of yours?”

“He’s about to be. Can you ask him to come up to my room for a minute? I’m bored.”


“He’ll say yes. Just tell him it’s about…shoot, what’s his thing? Oh. Tell him it’s about the toy in his suitcase.” She tapped the room service menu to her double chin. “No. You know what? Nevermind.”

“Nevermind? You want to cancel your order?”

“No, cancel the guy. He’ll just be gone in the morning again. But there’s something that won’t, and I want that.”

“What’s that?”

“Lunch. I want lunch.”

“Okay. Um.” Phil cleared his throat. “What would you like?”

Renee ran a hand over her gut. “I don’t know. Everything.”

Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
Part of the fun of this story has been trying to figure out what will finally allow her to break the cycle - or whether anything will allow her to do that at all! Eager to see how you wind this up, and loving every installment in the meantime.


Feb 5, 2013
My apologies for the delay. Thanks to everyone for all your kind feedback.

Back at it!

Chapter 9

The clock flickered to 7:00.

Renee thought about rolling over, but only stared at the ceiling instead, feeling pinned down by the weight of her belly. She pulled the cheap hotel sheets aside, body radiating too much heat to be bothered by the wintry draft, and gazed down at her rotund stomach. Even empty as it now was, it rose in a mound that all but blocked her view of the television. Her breasts spilled up over her collarbones and upper arms, shoved aside by the enormity of her midsection. She could feel their pressure on her throat.

Voices filtered through the wall, but the radio show was little more than dull rhythm in the background, part of each day’s underlying pulse.

Contorting herself, Renee reached a hand beneath her rolls of backfat and dug out the remains of her tank top and panties. Her long outgrown sleepwear reappeared with her every morning, but, evidently, could do nothing but snap uselessly when faced with her newfound girth. She laid the old tank atop her chest, grimacing at how little it covered.

She tossed it to the floor and reached for the phone. Her flabby arm couldn’t quite reach, but she felt too lethargic to wriggle herself closer.

“Oh no,” she giggled, body quaking, “I’m stuck.”

“…looks like we’re all stuck here,” said the voice from the radio, finishing its moribund weather report.

She craned her neck and gazed at the wall, to the origin of the voice.

“You’ve got some nerve to complain about being stuck, radio man,” she retorted. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. And at least I’ve learned how to have fun with it…all you dull idiots here, just trapped in your dull little lives, never changing…I could show you people a thing or two.”

Her stomach rumbled. She pushed herself into a sitting position and folded her hands atop it.

“I could show you a thing or two,” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

After a few false starts, she flopped onto her side and rolled herself out of bed. Her feet complained immediately; she’d spent most of her recent days sitting or lying down, just letting herself get fatter. She supported herself on the dresser and table as she made her way toward the bathroom, wincing as the floor creaked beneath her.

The shower was a slow and difficult process. She barely fit in the narrow space and once inside her body had to squeeze against the frosted glass. There was so much more surface area to lather now that she ran out of hot water before finishing.

Clean but exhausted, she sat on the edge of the bed to towel off and decide how to proceed.

There was nothing in her luggage she could even hope of wearing. There was little point in bothering the couple next door now, either. She’d long ago outgrown the wife’s wardrobe and their scale only measured to four hundred, a mark Renee had already crossed even before she’d stopped leaving the room.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her glutted, stretchmarked paunch flowed out onto the mattress and hung over the side, shoving her legs apart. Veiny breasts sagged over it, hanging heavily but too fat to flatten out, her arms all but hidden behind their breadth. Looking back, she discovered that she was putting so much weight on one end of the mattress that the other end had tilted up over the headboard.

“You’re gonna get some looks,” she concluded, pushing herself up.

Wrapped in a bedsheet, Renee waddled from the room and made her way to the elevator. She was out of breath by the time she punched the button.

Heads turned as she entered the lobby. She stepped out of the elevator like a Grecian goddess of plenty, draped in only the thin white sheet. Eyes widened with shock and judgment; Phil’s bulged with rapturous awe.

“Get your van,” she huffed to him as she reached the front desk.

He coughed. “M-my van?”

“I’m borrowing your van. Pull it around front. Now.”

Before he could stammer out a question, she turned away and headed into the dining room. A hush fell over the bustle of the continental breakfast. The server froze mid-step, steaming tray of pancakes in her gloved hands.

Renee laid a hand on the shoulder of a nearby redheaded woman, partly to call attention to her, but also for support. The woman grimaced at the weight, but was too nervous to move.

“Janet,” called Renee, waving to the server, “this lovely guest here is Sharon. Sharon fell in love with the flapjacks here on a visit back when she was a girl and she convinced her husband here to go out of his way on their road trip so she could come back here and have them again. She’s been waiting all morning for you to bring out that tray.”

“Okay,” murmured Janet.

“Sharon, they’re every bit as good as you remember,” Renee continued, “but the morning rush always cleans out the tray before you get a chance to grab any. So Janet’s gonna bring that tray over here first and you’re going to eat flapjacks until you can’t move.”

Sharon stared up at her. “Do we know each other?”

“No, Sharon, but I know you woke up this morning from a dream about these very pancakes. I know you’ve been afraid the real flavor won’t match up to your childhood nostalgia and I know you’ve got nothing to worry about. I know how good a bellyful of those flapjacks feels and soon…so will you.”

Shaking her head, Janet began to return to her duties. Renee stepped forward, raising a finger.

“And I know Janet likes to sneak a bacon strip every so often while she’s back in the kitchen. It’s okay, you’ve earned it. I know you spent all that time in culinary school and you wish you could be at a real restaurant instead of a run-down motel in the middle of nowhere. But believe me, your work is appreciated. I’ve appreciated a whole lot of it lately. Let’s let Sharon here appreciate it now, too.”

Janet gaped, but turned and slowly brought the pancake tray over to Sharon’s table.

Phil cleared his throat. “Ma’am, did you want me to call a taxi? And would you like…would you like to get dressed first?”

Renee rounded on the trembling young man, bumping him with her paunch. “I want you to get your van. And I would like to get dressed, yes, but before I can do that you need to drive me somewhere.”

“I…I do? I can’t just leave the hotel while I’m on duty—”

“Van,” she repeated, backing him against the wall with her belly.

He choked. “Where are we going?”

She grinned and reached for her purse. “Dress shopping. But first…probably a drive-through. Oh, and can I borrow a pen?”

Outside the town square storefronts, locals gaped and stepped out of the way as Renee waddled past. She was draped in a heavy blanket now in addition to the bedsheet, but remained a sight.

Stopping a little ways from the van, she turned to Phil and handed him a pile of hastily-scribbled notes. “I think this should be everything you need for the first few visits. Make sure you hit them in order, at the exact times I’ve marked.”

“You’ve planned everything?” Phil wondered, scanning the first few pages. “All this detail? How do you know all this? How do you know any of it?”

“I…I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, alright? Just get going. It’ll be more fun than your usual workday, I promise.”

He nodded. “Okay. Right. And the, uh, food? I don’t think anyone around here really does catering…”

“I’ll take care of that after I’m done here. Trust me, Phil, I know where to find food in this town.” She winked. “Now get to work. You don’t want to keep this stomach waiting.”

He glanced down at it and swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll hurry right back.”

“You’re the best.” She pulled her blanket tight and shoved open the door of the plus-sized dress shop. “Taylor, hey, good morning,” she puffed.

The busty dressmaker turned from a pile of fabric she’d been folding. “Um, good morning?”

“I’m Renee. I called earlier about a fitting. I know it’s last minute and could mean a lot of work for you—I’m, uh, a pretty big girl—so I brought a couple milkshakes as an extra thank-you.”

Taylor’s eyes widened at the sight of the two large cups in Renee’s hands. “Oh, I…really shouldn’t.” She gave her tiny beer gut a sheepish pat. “I’m trying to cut back. But thanks.”

“But strawberry’s your favorite. I even talked them into extra whipped cream, just how you like it. And, come on, Taylor, putting on weight’s the best way to make your boobs bigger.” Renee shimmied her ponderous bosom, all too visible in only the sheet. “Just look at mine.”

“Just look at her,” said the cashier, swiping through pictures on his phone. “She’s got an ass you wouldn’t believe.”

His co-worker nodded obediently. The college’s student store had been empty all morning and there was little else to discuss. “Did you ask her out?”

“She won’t give me the time of day, man.” He pocketed his phone. “I’ve hit her up on all her platforms…no response.”

“Yeah, but have you talked to her in, like, real life?”

The cashier cocked an eyebrow at him. Before he could reply, the main door slid open and a nervous young man shuffled in, shaking snow from his hair.

“Hey, bro, can we help you?”

“I have...a message for you.” The visitor stared at him for a moment, swallowed, and unfolded a crumpled sheaf of notes. “Theresa’s a lesbian,” he read.

“What? How did…do you know her? Who are you?”

“That’s what it says here. Sorry. Uh…she’s just not into you,” the stranger read on. “Neither was Miranda, or Brooke…same with—um, look, there’s a bunch more names here, but I think you get the point.” He cleared his throat, scanning the page. “You’re barking up the wrong trees. None of these girls are into the thing you’re most into; the thing you’ve been trying to stop being into because it seems like you’re the only one…and there’s no one in this area on your fetish website…”

“Listen, man—”

“But you’re not actually alone. There’s someone in town who wants to live that fantasy, too. If you come to, uh, Trim…Trimalchio Hall tonight at 9:00, you might get your chance.”

“I don’t want to take that chance,” said the librarian, glancing out the window.

“But it’s gonna be a blast,” protested her friend.

Outside, a muscle-car revved its engine and peeled out of the library’s parking lot.

The librarian shook her head. “He and I just had a big fight about it. He wants to just stay in tonight.”

“He doesn’t have to come. He’s no fun anyway. Doesn’t know how to let loose—not like you do.”

“I don’t…I don’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t have fun anymore?”

“Not like that.” The librarian looked at her feet. “Look, I’ll think about it. But—”

“Good. Just let me know before you leave so I can give you directions.”

She grimaced. “I thought it was at your place?”

“Not anymore. Ran into some folks earlier...had some great ideas. We’re getting together up at the college. Trimalchio hall.” Her friend hefted a cardboard box onto the library counter. “They told me to give you this.”

“A college party? You’re kidding me.” The librarian eyed her for a moment, then cautiously opened the package. “Oh no,” she breathed.

Inside the box sat a bottle of wine, a set of exceedingly racy lingerie, and a collar. A note was taped to the bottle.

“It says, uh…” her eyes narrowed, then bulged. “Mike’s going to spend tonight dealing with his car being impounded. And I’m going to spend tonight…reliving that amazing weekend in Naples.”

Her friend grinned.

“I’ve never told anyone about…about Naples.” Her face flushed and she bit her lip. “Who did you say gave this to you?”

“Honey, look what that fellow at the front desk gave us,” called the man in room 239, a large bakery box tucked under his arm.

His wife stepped around the corner, tugging on a bathrobe that refused to close. Her pot-belly sagged out from between its folds. “Oh, John, but my diet.”

He frowned. The irresistible, sweet aroma of frosting quickly filled the hotel room. “Dear, it’s our anniversary. You’re allowed to have a little cake.”

“That’s a big cake. Anyway, how did the boy at the front desk even know it was our anniversary?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. I didn’t say anything, I swear. Oh, and he said we’re invited to a celebration tonight. The locals are apparently having some gala up at the college.”

“John, really—”

“Honey, we’re stuck here for the night anyway. You did say you wanted to experience the town a little; keep the trip from being all business…”

She glared at him, but softened. “Let’s see how I feel after the meeting. Maybe…a little night out could be fun. Do you think there will be dancing?”

He coughed. “It, uh, it sounds like there’ll be a little of everything.”

“Alright…well, help me find my bra.”

Taylor rolled up her tape measure. “I’ll be honest, Renee, I don’t think we’re gonna find you a bra today. No one around here’s gonna carry anything that…size. No offense.”

“None taken. Not really a surprise…I’m probably, gosh…probably five hundred now and it’s basically all up top. But I’m not necessarily trying to hide anything…just want to look nice for tonight. So do what you can, I guess.”

Taylor sucked at the straw of her milkshake. A sputtering noise informed her the cup was empty and she set it aside, wincing. “What’s tonight?”

“I’m throwing a party,” Renee purred. “Gonna do it up on campus. You’re invited.”

“On campus? I thought you said you were from out of town.”

“Yeah, but I’ve spent plenty of time here. And I keep hearing that it’s dead up there every weekend, that the students who actually stick around are trapped here with nothing fun to do.”

“So you’re bringing the fun? Showing us helpless townies a good time?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, good luck. We’ve tried before, but everyone has such different tastes…”

“Oh, Taylor,” Renee giggled. “I know what everyone likes.”

Settling back onto a bench—her girth encompassing most of it—she stretched out her tired feet and peered out the store window.

Across the street, Phil was pacing the sidewalk. He checked the stack of notes a few times, then stared at his watch, mouthing a countdown to himself.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the curb of the nearby intersection and flailed his arms at an approaching station wagon. The vehicle swerved and honked, but stopped. Moments later a muscle-car roared through the intersection, tearing straight across the space the station wagon would have occupied.

The wagon’s doors flew open and a shaken but visibly grateful young couple emerged. They wrapped each other in a relieved hug and hurried to thank Phil. Alerted by the honking, a fat policeman shoved himself into his squadcar and revved away in pursuit of the reckless speeder.

Renee reached into her purse and tugged out her notebook. She flipped to a blank page, licked her lips, and resumed writing.



New Member
Jul 25, 2014
I have been on this website for many many years but I have never been compelled to do anything but lurk until I read this story. It's seriously the best thing I have ever read on here and I can't wait to read more chapters. Thank you!
May 2, 2011
It is indeed the greatest, in both style and content; it takes a lot to make me delurk, but this story did it. I like it even more now that it's seems to be coming to some sort of point (rather than carrying on in a straight line till everyone's a blob). It's so nice to read proper writing, with a bit of style, and it's great to enjoy an uncompromisingly hedonistic but still basically positive view. In that respect it reminds me a bit of a story from a year or two ago, Gluttonous Aesthetics (I think).

Were I the chef, I'd sprinkle in a little more drunkenness... but that's just me.


Feb 5, 2013
Chapter 10

Snow filled the night. It continued its steady, smothering fall as the streetlights flickered on and the storefront signs flickered off.

It had covered the lawns and rooves all day, but now began to blanket the streets and sidewalks, too, as traffic disappeared. The town’s stoplight flashed to no one. Parking lots lay empty, even outside the restaurants and bars.

The town square had been abandoned. Strings of colored lights surrounding the midwinter festival swayed in the breeze, unlit. The festival’s centerpiece, the giant ice sculpture, was missing.

Tracks led from its pedestal, only faintly visible under the new layers of snow. They stretched away from the square and across the park, then headed uphill toward the college.

The school’s campus stood equally silent. There were no lights in the dorm windows, nor inane shouting from the fraternity houses, nor study groups arguing in the library commons.

“Where is everybody?” Abby scoffed, adjusting her glasses. “It’s Friday night. Even for our boring as shit school, this is eerie.”

“Hurry up and I’ll show you,” sighed George, gesturing for her to catch up.

She tugged on her knit cap and trudged after him. “You pound on my door, interrupt my private video game time, drag me out into a blizzard in the middle of the night, and you won’t even tell me where we’re going?”

He spread his arms. “It’s a party, Abby.”

“A party?” she squeaked. “George, how—I’m not even remotely dressed for a party.”

“Oh, you’re fine. Come on.”

“I’m wearing sweat pants. And this shirt lets my muffin-top hang out for the whole world to see. Why would—”

He stopped her. “Trust me, Ab: I’ve met the lady who’s throwing this party. Any ‘muffin-top’ you may think you have is gonna be nothing to worry about.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped past him, hiking up her sweats. “Whatever. Just tell me where we’re going.”

“Trimalchio Hall.”

She turned and eyed him. “The gallery?”

Music thumped through the mural-covered walls of the art building. As George opened the door for her Abby recognized that the song wasn’t the usual pounding cacophony of campus keggers, but some psychedelic folk song, lilting about mountains and elves and free love.

Streamers hung from an archway that proudly welcomed visitors to Trimalchio Hall, creating a glittering gate that fluttered in the old building’s drafts. Beneath the wandering rhythms of the music drifted the voices of dozens in revelry; laughing, shouting, cheering, singing.

A discarded pair of black yoga pants lay crumpled in the center of the foyer. Abby peered at them, then at George. He shrugged.

One of the side doors burst open and a woman stumbled out, giggling uncontrollably, clutching a nearly-empty wine bottle and wearing nothing but a thong. She pushed her frazzled hair from her makeup-smeared face and tried to catch her breath, but yelped at the sound of a hungry growl. Cackling, she fled through the archway, nearly tripping on the lost leggings.

A man emerged from the side door in a masquerade mask, shirtless and unspooling a length of rope. He gave the newcomers a welcoming wave and hurried off after the woman.

Abby cocked an eyebrow at George. “And what kind of party is this, exactly?”

He coughed. “The host-lady said it, uh, could be whatever kind of party we wanted, as long as we’re all honest about what we want.”


“Yeah, she’s…she’s this amazing woman from out of town that helped put this all together. She said it was time for everyone to live things out for once.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “She told me there would be someone here who’s also into, y’know, balloon stuff, and she’d make sure we met.”

Abby’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me. George, we’ve been best friends for years and I only know about the balloon thing because you accidentally let it slip. You said no one else in your life knows…and now you just open up about your deepest, darkest secret to some—”

“She, like, she already seemed to know. Like she could just read me. She knew about Mike’s, uh, thing, too.”

“So you guys came to her party because she’s seen your internet search history?”

“It’s…she’s…look, just come down and see for yourself. You don’t have to stay, but just come meet her.”

Abby took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll come down. But just to make sure this party doesn’t trash my art installation.”

They parted the streamers and stepped through the archway. The hall’s twisting atrium opened before them, lit by sporadic pockets of glowsticks and illuminaries.

George led her down the wide spiral of the staircase. Passing a small seating area, they witnessed a half-naked couple kissing on one of the benches.

“And how’d you meet this host-lady?” asked Abby, tearing her eyes away.

“Ran into her downtown,” he replied. “Mike and I went to the game store to pick up some booster packs. And while we’re standing there, trying to pick, this chick walks up behind us and tells me if I pick ‘the third pack on the leftmost rack’ I’ll get a foil copy of Ilta’s Herald. And we’re like ‘yeah, sure, okay,’ but then she starts listing all twenty-five cards in the pack.”

“Sounds like she’s full of it. Ilta’s Herald isn’t part of this season’s block, much less in foil.”

He held up the trading card. “Packaging error. The pack had twenty-six cards. Everything she listed was in there—in the order she’d said them. And then she told Mike where to find some rare piece for that sci-fi game he’s been playing.”

They came to the bottom of the staircase. Before them was spread a beer pong table, but rather than the usual red plastic, the cups littered around were Styrofoam. Examining closer, Abby found them to be milkshakes from the local Burger Bunker.

“I thought I recognized that couple making out on the bench,” she mused.

A groan caught her attention. On the other side of the table were a trio of students. Two were slumped on the floor, unconscious. The third sat slouched against the wall, head lolling. Her shirt was missing and she cradled an impressive bosom in her arm; her free hand was pressed to her distended gut.

“Oh, hey,” she managed, looking up. “Abby, right? It’s Taylor. We have…urrp…we have art history together.”

“Right, yeah. You…doing okay there?”

Taylor shifted with a grimace, nearly losing her grip on her chest. “Doing great. Just a little brain freeze.” She gave Abby a tipsy grin. “You wanna team up for some shake-pong? I’m getting pretty—hmmp—pretty good at it.”

“Uh…maybe later. Thanks, though.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Oh, and let me know if you see me shirt anywhere. Or a bra.” She furrowed her brow. “Wait…nevermind on the bra. Pretty sure it…broke.”

Abby nodded slowly. After a long moment she drew her gaze away from Taylor’s stomach and turned back to George. “Lead on, I guess.”

He ushered her around a gigantic ice sculpture into the main corridor. It wound past classrooms and workshops, each inhabited by a cluster of partiers.

They passed a fat middle-aged couple, slow-dancing to an old song and messily shoving cake into each other’s mouths. The wife, noticing Abby’s fascinated stare, waved sheepishly with a frosting-covered hand.

They passed a classroom with a raucous group in it, all surrounding the town librarian. She sauntered about, naked and unashamed, teasing and tantalizing the whole crowd.

They passed a small studio with a large pedestal; on it stood a stocky young woman in a sorority sweatshirt. At her feet knelt an athletic young man, worshipping her abdomen. He pushed her sweatshirt up to kiss her fat belly as she tilted her head back to chug a bottle of beer.

The passed a faculty office, out of which stepped another, more bottom-heavy sorority sister. She wore her sweatshirt as well, but no skirt, showing off her lace underwear and a plump backside. In one hand she held a set of handcuffs and in the other a half-eaten carton of ice cream.

“Abby,” she gasped, breaking into a delighted smile. “You made it.”

“Theresa, hey. Yeah, I heard it was a real…rager.”

“And it’s just getting started!” Theresa throw up her hands, tottered on her heels, and caught herself on the doorframe. She handed Abby the carton of ice cream and reached out for George’s shoulder to steady herself. “Hey, have you seen Taylor anywhere?”

Abby handed the carton back and helped her find her balance. “She was over in the atrium, playing…shake pong?”

“Oh, good. She owes me another…article of clothing. Come play once you’re settled!”

Theresa staggered off, falling against the wall a few times. Abby took a shaky breath and turned away. Another gaggle of students and townsfolk stampeded past, shouting something about karaoke.

“Quite an event,” she said with a whistle, watching them scramble around a corner. “And this host-lady just put all this on, all by herself?”

George shrugged and walked on down the corridor. “I mean…it’s more like she talked everyone in town into putting it on for each other. She gave everybody a task. Cooks are here from the restaurants, the bar folks brought kegs, that weird dude from the record store brought the sound system…”

“So what was your ‘task,’ then?”

He cleared his throat. “To bring…the guest of honor.”

Abby stopped. They had reached the end of the hall and the door to the main gallery. She fidgeted with her glasses and her lips quivered with realization.

“That’s…but my installation’s in there,” she gasped. “It’s not supposed to open till tomorrow. Please tell me—”

George pushed open the door. Compared to the sparsely lit atrium, the gallery shone so brightly Abby had to squint at first, taking in the swirling, delirious sights as her vision adjusted.


Feb 5, 2013
(continued from Chapter 10, above)

A spotlight illuminated each piece of her art project. Below each painting partygoers sat around tables loaded with excessive quantities of food and drink, messily stuffing their faces. Their shameless hedonism magnified the epicurean decadence depicted in the paintings above.

Belts hung loose, trousers lay unbuttoned and unzipped, shirts rode up and waistbands slid down; breaks in the music were punctuated by belches and hiccups.

At the end of the gallery stood Abby’s scrapmetal sculpture, her satisfied centerpiece. At its base was set the longest, most heavily laden table in the room. Here sat the enormous, insatiable woman who could only have been the infamous host.

Renee sat on a pair of folding chairs, spilling over their sides, straining their flimsy legs and backrests. She was a resplendent sight, aglow in the gallery light and jiggling with indulgent mirth.

No dress at the shop had fit her. Hurried, Taylor had spliced together two of the store’s largest gowns; Renee’s left side was covered in a midnight-blue fabric with glimmering constellations of sequins, while her right side beamed with a brightly-colored sunburst pattern. Even this double-dress barely contained her: her breasts were a false move away from tumbling free and the snug fabric revealed every curve, roll, and bulge of her colossal midsection.

She conducted the room like an orchestra, directing plates to certain tables and urging her guests on in their feasting. “Janet,” she called, “make sure you get some of that pork. You’ll love the sauce. Hey, somebody get Sharon a refill. And—Abby!”

Abby froze, face flushed.

“You made it. Hi. I’m Renee.”

“Uh…Abby. Who, um, who are you, Renee?”

“A friend. Come sit down.”

Abby cautiously lowered herself into a chair, staring across at a woman nearly quadruple her size. “George said you were from out of town?”

“I am, but I guess I’ve been around long enough to get to know some people.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. How long have you been in town?”

“For about, ah, 380 pounds.” She folded her hands atop her paunch. “So far, at least.”

Abby bit her lip.

“So what do you think? I wanted your installation to be the heart of our celebration, since it’s been such an inspiration to me.”


“Absolutely. I’ve felt so trapped, Abby, so stuck. And believe me: I know ‘stuck.’ I once ate so much in a booth at the Pizza Palace they had to unbolt the table from the floor.” She paused to take a drink, lips curling into a nostalgic grin. “Anyway—you and your artwork here taught me what it meant to be free again.”

Abby swallowed. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wobbling dome of Renee’s belly.

Renee piled a mountain of mashed potatoes onto her plate and reached for the gravy boat. “I think there are times when everyone feels trapped in their lives. Sometimes we’re trapped by our circumstances; sometimes we’re trapped by our own choices. We feel like we aren’t able to free ourselves.” She turned and beckoned a young woman from another table. “But sometimes we can unlock each other’s cages.”

The woman stiffened. She set down her fork and hurried over, pausing briefly to press a hand to her abdomen: toned and athletic, but filled to the brim with pasta and wine.

“George, this is Becca,” Renee announced. “There’s a helium tank and a box of balloons in the office next door if you two want to get…acquainted.”

George paled. “Holy shit. We’ve been working closing shifts together for…at least two years now. I never would have guessed you were into…”

She took his hand. “Your secret was a secret, too. But now it doesn’t have to be. Come on.”

They dashed out of the gallery. Abby turned back to Renee.

“Do you have a task for me, like everyone else?”

Renee beamed. “I do. And I’d like to introduce you to someone, as well.”

“I don’t have anything like—”

“Oh, you do. It’s the reason all these paintings are about eating. It’s the reason you stare at my big fat stomach instead of my face. It’s the reason your tummy is making so much of its own noise right now.” She straightened up. “Abby, this is Phil.”

“Um, hello,” coughed Phil, appearing with a tray.

“Your task, Abby, is to eat everything Phil puts in front of you.”

Abby watched as he set a plate in front of her and filled her glass.

“His task is to keep us full. Your task is to enjoy yourself.” Renee reached to fill her own wine glass. “Like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Like there’s no tomorrow!” sang a voice. “What a great…spark for our town.”

The mayor and her husband had appeared at the end of the table. The man smiled politely, but his face showed the strain of holding up his portly, inebriated wife.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” said Renee, raising her glass.

“The greatest. Thank you, Renee, for re…revitalizing our widminter festival. I’ve never seen our cit…izens so happy.”

“Neither have I, to be honest.”

“But, so, I just have to ask…” She tried to straighten up. “As mayor, I have to ask about cleanup, and the rest of the weekend’s schedule…I just…what happens tomorrow?”

Renee’s smile faltered. She swallowed and glanced down for a moment, but soon the cheery dimples returned to her flushed, pudgy cheeks. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow we do it all again.”


Feb 5, 2013
Chapter 11

The clock flickered to 7:00.

Renee reached out and covered her head with an unused pillow. Cheap bedsheets slipped off her as she moved, exposing her flesh to a wintry draft that chased away any hope of returning to her dreams.

Voices filtered through the wall, muffled by the pillow. Renee squeezed her eyes shut and tried to drown them out with a long, weary groan, only to choke as another voice, much closer, suddenly asked, “oh, hey, are you finally up?”

Renee tore the pillow from her face. She lifted her head and glanced desperately around the room, though her own corpulence blocked much of the view.

She wasn’t in her hotel room. It was someone’s bedroom, far larger and rustically furnished with paintings of geese. The voices through the wall weren’t a radio, but the cheery murmurs of a mingling crowd. The new, closer voice belonged to Taylor, who stepped over and sat herself on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” she asked, brushing back wet hair. She was freshly showered and wearing only a bathtowel.

“W-wait,” Renee choked, staring around. “Oh my god…oh my god…”

“Easy,” Taylor cooed. “I know this isn’t where you were. We found a bed for you after you fell asleep. There was no way we were getting you back to the motel…carrying you was, uh, you know…”

Renee pushed herself into a sitting position, rocking the bed so violently Taylor nearly slipped off. “What day is it?” she gasped.


She grabbed Taylor’s shoulders. “What day is today?”

“Saturday. The, uh…third?”

Renee’s eyes watered. “Saturday,” she breathed. “It’s Saturday. It’s tomorrow.”

Phil appeared in the open doorway. “You’re up! Wow. I was about to say good morning, but it’s seven p.m.”

Renee echoed his words, eyes bulging.

“Yep,” Taylor laughed, rising. “You’re a pretty heavy sleep—I mean, you know, you were passed the fuck out.”

“It was the end of a very long day,” Renee admitted.

“But what a day,” chirped Abby, following Phil into the room. She was wearing only sweats and a thin tank top; it revealed a remarkably distended food-baby, jutting proudly from her otherwise slender frame. She cradled it like an expectant mother. “I learned a lot about myself last night.”

Theresa appeared behind her, her topheavy sorority sister under one arm and George under the other. “I think we all did. Glad you’re up, Renee…we just ordered pizza.”

Renee’s stomach gurgled. She straightened and tossed her bedsheets aside.

She was still in the custom-made dress, she discovered, or what remained of it. The seams of the hastily combined gowns had split, allowing her paunch to spill out over the bed in all its grandeur.

“Sorry about that,” Taylor offered. “I guess I could’ve done a little more to keep it together.”

Renee shook her head. “You did a great job. I just…did an even better job of stuffing my face.”

Theresa scoffed. “We all did. I’ve never been that full in my life.”

“Or that drunk,” said her sister.

“Tell me about it. I’m starting to wonder if I’m just going to feel this bloated forever,” Taylor groaned, rubbing her gut beneath the towel.

“I’m looking forward to that, actually,” announced Abby, stepping forward. “You’ve inspired me, Renee. You're a muse!”

Renee dangled her feet off the side of the bed, stretching out her pudgy toes. “I have?”

The artist nodded vehemently. “I’m gonna be the subject of my next project. A living sculpture: woman too fat to move.” She patted her tiny but tautly-rounded tummy and grinned. “Phil’s going to help.”

He coughed. “Anything you need.”

A commotion in the hallway caught their attention. The librarian dashed past the door, stark naked and giggling, chased by a half dozen men and women.

Taylor shook her head. “And that one may never put clothes on again.” She looked back at Renee. “It’s amazing how much can change in a day.”

Renee finally succeeded in getting to her feet. The floorboards creaked under her weight. “Yep.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” She gazed around the bedroom. “It’s…this is different.”

Phil cocked his head. “Good or bad?”

“Anything different is good.” She smiled shakily, then looked down, wiping at her eyes.

Taylor turned to the others. “Guys, let’s maybe head downstairs. Give us a few minutes to get ready.”

The gathered crowd began to shuffle out. Taylor and Theresa blew kisses to one another; Abby linked her arm with Phil’s, chattering about desserts she wanted. Taylor shut the door behind them and wandered toward the bedroom’s closet.

Renee moved to the window and peered into the night. Through the frosted glass she studied the snow-covered streets and realized, based on the view, that they were in the mayor’s home.

“Usually I have to start a fire to get in here,” she murmured.

Out on the front lawn, the music store clerk and the couple from the Burger Bunker were engaged in a lazy snowball fight with the businessman from room 238 and his plump wife. Seeing headlights approach, they paused and yelled something toward the front door.

The pizza delivery car was pulling into the driveway. A roar of excitement from the crowd on the first floor shook the house beneath Renee’s feet.

“They decided to keep the party going,” said Taylor, rummaging through the closet and holding dresses up to her chest. “I’m sure once Monday rolls around it’ll all be back to normal here, but I think our weekends are going to be a little less boring from now on.”

Renee sat herself on a chaise lounge beneath the window, hoping its wicker frame would hold, and let her enormous belly shove her knees apart. One of the remaining seams of her dress popped. She breathed out a long sigh.

Taylor glanced over. “Everything okay? Want me to get you anything? Try to find you something to wear?”

“Everything’s fine.” Renee smirked to herself. “Everything’s new.”

Taylor pondered her for a moment, then turned back to the closet. Renee gazed absently as the dressmaker rifled through hangers and drawers; Taylor slowly assembled herself a loose-fitting outfit and set about changing into it.

“So, are you thinking you’ll head out right away?”


“You said yesterday you were here because the blizzard stopped you. The storm’s done and the highway’s open again…” Taylor looked up from buttoning the blouse. “Do you need to get back on the road?”

Renee stared. Her mouth haltingly attempted to form a few different words before giving up. Her stomach grumbled.

“If not, you know, you’re obviously welcome to stay. I don’t think anyone would mind the life of the party sticking around a little longer. I mean, after all, Renee…” Taylor headed toward the door with a bounce. “…what’s one more day?”


Thanks to everyone for reading. See you next time!

Benny Mon

Well-Known Member
Jul 7, 2011
Absolutely one of the best stories I've ever read here on Dims. Amazing work - thank you for putting in the time and care and for sharing it with us.

fat hiker

Oct 25, 2005
Ottawa, ON
It's hard to believe - it's actually over. Finished. At an End.

This story has been a great romp - thank you for creating it and sharing it with us!
Aug 24, 2014
Thanks for Finishing this up. Wonder how life will treat her afterwards.

Especially curious about her measurements.

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