Lardibutts
Aged Member
SSNNW, Eating, Domination ~Sex ~ XWG - a not-so-innocent street girl plays the game big tome, in more ways than one
Author's note: this is a sort of prequel to Lilo's earlier Projetto Rondo story
Part 1 -The beach café
At fifteen I was still as thin as a rake, but everyone can pinpoint exactly when and where my weight gain started.
It was when I was allowed to go and stay on my own with my favourite Aunty Flis. Years ago, when she too had been thin, she’d done a line with a waiter while on holiday in Spain. Now Uncle Raoul and she ran a beachside bar on the Costa del Sol which, when we were kids from east London, we’d always enjoyed visiting while on family package holidays nearby.
Going there now for the first time by myself, I was spoilt rotten like the daughter they’d always wanted.
Aunty Flis was as open minded and big hearted as she was heavy. Copying her style, I quickly slipped into the easygoing beach bar life. Proud of being a hard Essex girl with language to match, I was more than a bit lippy. So I had a great summer working the tables and learning to josh the customers.
We worked long hours from eleven in the morning until past four at night and you had to snatch snacks whenever you could. The fun was in the variety of visitors and what they ate –
the Spanish obviously with their raciones, paellas and all their range of fried and tasty spicy patatas,
the Germans and their bratwursts,
the English all-day breakfasts,
the Italians with their pasta and pizzas
There were lots of others from Scandinavia and Eastern Europe, each group with their own fattening specialities.
Then there were all the soft drinks, ice creams and big Spanish sweets – ah the flan.
Back home in time for school all my friends were agape at the new shape I sported. I hadn’t thought about it before. But they were right! Sideways it did look like I’d managed to stuff a whole Spanish water melon down me.
I returned to Spain to work during holidays whenever I could, so my gaining continued. By my sixteenth birthday in June, I was well on my way, a big girl already carrying over 200 lb - 15st on my 5ft 6inch frame.
To my delight during the summer that followed, I found myself really popular back-chatting the punters, slopping around with my great bum and belly hanging out of tatty cut-offs and skimpy tee shirts.
Of course I grew fatter. By seventeen I was ny commo0n standards a huge ungainly lump of blubber. I had to recognise I’d committed myself to being a fat woman.
Good at languages, I’d originally thought of staying on at school and going to college. Trouble was, I no longer fit any desks. Memories of the riotous fun I’d had last the last summer persuaded me that I should leave school and try to make a go of it permanently in Spain.
After arriving back in Spain I just let rip. The Germans especially would make a point of inviting me to their table to join in eating with them. In the general merriment I would get into ridiculous eating competitions, invariably coming out the winner.
I was even more popular with uncle Raoul because he found he could make easy money betting on his growing niece. I blew up spectacularly. Uncle, fondling my bum or belly, would boast proudly how his little niece was well on the way to being completely spherical.
My aunt (who’d always been sympathetic to my growth - to the extent that she’d stacked it on along with me) said that if I wanted to get more involved in the tourism business, I should start to pay attention to the way I presented myself and in particular be more careful about dressing in a more grown-up manner.
With a new wardrobe including some sharp new dresses I felt a lot more sophisticated. So much so that two polite young men started calling at the café and eventually, with great formality, sought my aunt’s permission to invite me out. They thought it necessary to volunteer a promise not to drink and drive (though since I didn’t drive I wasn’t going to promise a thing).
So, having got my aunt’s blessing, I began to go out with them to the clubs. Quickly I found a rowdier bunch to hang in with among the young set, much more my style. Once again it was the Germans who seemed to find me a big turn on - especially in the dressy little numbers I’d chosen.
I started getting in with the clique from the marina who worked on the yachts. The yacht crews were all nationalities though with a disproportionate number of guys from ”down under”. We would often end up on the rear deck of one of the classier yachts partying in the late hours/early morning. Two other big girls worked on this yacht along with the crew of Germans and Australians
One was the ship’s cook, petite but very rotund, called Pippa. She seemed to me typically southern Italian: noisy and with a short fuse. She’d become the butt of endless teasing from the Ozzies. Because she was so soft and round, the opposite of your blokey skinny “Neighbours” type, they would goad her to the point where she usually rewarded them by flaring up. Enjoying facing down her tormentors, I became a sort of bodyguard for her. It was an unheard of thing for those bastard macho Ozzies to encounter a “Sheila” capable of out-doing their foul language.
However no one teased Marijka, a tall blond Dutch Amazon. She acted as accountant for the many business interests of the absentee yacht owner. Their boss Karl Kampfer, apparently a multi-millionaire, owned amongst other things a string of night spots around the Spanish Mediterranean that Marijka seemed to run from his yacht.
They offered to throw a party for my 18th birthday on the yacht. I looked a wow in a yellow silk dress my aunt and I had fixed up for the party. Karl the owner was onboard that night and took a real shine to me. The look in his eye while he watched me shimmying on the dance floor, told me why big girls Marijka and Pippa were on his payroll.
After my solo - some really gross miming along to Tom Jones “Delilah” on the dance floor - he came across, escorted me back to my seat, and made a date with me. Provided I promised to wear “the dress” he would take me to the casino.
Author's note: this is a sort of prequel to Lilo's earlier Projetto Rondo story
LIFE in the ROUND
by Lilo
by Lilo
Part 1 -The beach café
At fifteen I was still as thin as a rake, but everyone can pinpoint exactly when and where my weight gain started.
It was when I was allowed to go and stay on my own with my favourite Aunty Flis. Years ago, when she too had been thin, she’d done a line with a waiter while on holiday in Spain. Now Uncle Raoul and she ran a beachside bar on the Costa del Sol which, when we were kids from east London, we’d always enjoyed visiting while on family package holidays nearby.
Going there now for the first time by myself, I was spoilt rotten like the daughter they’d always wanted.
Aunty Flis was as open minded and big hearted as she was heavy. Copying her style, I quickly slipped into the easygoing beach bar life. Proud of being a hard Essex girl with language to match, I was more than a bit lippy. So I had a great summer working the tables and learning to josh the customers.
We worked long hours from eleven in the morning until past four at night and you had to snatch snacks whenever you could. The fun was in the variety of visitors and what they ate –
the Spanish obviously with their raciones, paellas and all their range of fried and tasty spicy patatas,
the Germans and their bratwursts,
the English all-day breakfasts,
the Italians with their pasta and pizzas
There were lots of others from Scandinavia and Eastern Europe, each group with their own fattening specialities.
Then there were all the soft drinks, ice creams and big Spanish sweets – ah the flan.
Back home in time for school all my friends were agape at the new shape I sported. I hadn’t thought about it before. But they were right! Sideways it did look like I’d managed to stuff a whole Spanish water melon down me.
I returned to Spain to work during holidays whenever I could, so my gaining continued. By my sixteenth birthday in June, I was well on my way, a big girl already carrying over 200 lb - 15st on my 5ft 6inch frame.
To my delight during the summer that followed, I found myself really popular back-chatting the punters, slopping around with my great bum and belly hanging out of tatty cut-offs and skimpy tee shirts.
Of course I grew fatter. By seventeen I was ny commo0n standards a huge ungainly lump of blubber. I had to recognise I’d committed myself to being a fat woman.
Good at languages, I’d originally thought of staying on at school and going to college. Trouble was, I no longer fit any desks. Memories of the riotous fun I’d had last the last summer persuaded me that I should leave school and try to make a go of it permanently in Spain.
After arriving back in Spain I just let rip. The Germans especially would make a point of inviting me to their table to join in eating with them. In the general merriment I would get into ridiculous eating competitions, invariably coming out the winner.
I was even more popular with uncle Raoul because he found he could make easy money betting on his growing niece. I blew up spectacularly. Uncle, fondling my bum or belly, would boast proudly how his little niece was well on the way to being completely spherical.
My aunt (who’d always been sympathetic to my growth - to the extent that she’d stacked it on along with me) said that if I wanted to get more involved in the tourism business, I should start to pay attention to the way I presented myself and in particular be more careful about dressing in a more grown-up manner.
With a new wardrobe including some sharp new dresses I felt a lot more sophisticated. So much so that two polite young men started calling at the café and eventually, with great formality, sought my aunt’s permission to invite me out. They thought it necessary to volunteer a promise not to drink and drive (though since I didn’t drive I wasn’t going to promise a thing).
So, having got my aunt’s blessing, I began to go out with them to the clubs. Quickly I found a rowdier bunch to hang in with among the young set, much more my style. Once again it was the Germans who seemed to find me a big turn on - especially in the dressy little numbers I’d chosen.
I started getting in with the clique from the marina who worked on the yachts. The yacht crews were all nationalities though with a disproportionate number of guys from ”down under”. We would often end up on the rear deck of one of the classier yachts partying in the late hours/early morning. Two other big girls worked on this yacht along with the crew of Germans and Australians
One was the ship’s cook, petite but very rotund, called Pippa. She seemed to me typically southern Italian: noisy and with a short fuse. She’d become the butt of endless teasing from the Ozzies. Because she was so soft and round, the opposite of your blokey skinny “Neighbours” type, they would goad her to the point where she usually rewarded them by flaring up. Enjoying facing down her tormentors, I became a sort of bodyguard for her. It was an unheard of thing for those bastard macho Ozzies to encounter a “Sheila” capable of out-doing their foul language.
However no one teased Marijka, a tall blond Dutch Amazon. She acted as accountant for the many business interests of the absentee yacht owner. Their boss Karl Kampfer, apparently a multi-millionaire, owned amongst other things a string of night spots around the Spanish Mediterranean that Marijka seemed to run from his yacht.
They offered to throw a party for my 18th birthday on the yacht. I looked a wow in a yellow silk dress my aunt and I had fixed up for the party. Karl the owner was onboard that night and took a real shine to me. The look in his eye while he watched me shimmying on the dance floor, told me why big girls Marijka and Pippa were on his payroll.
After my solo - some really gross miming along to Tom Jones “Delilah” on the dance floor - he came across, escorted me back to my seat, and made a date with me. Provided I promised to wear “the dress” he would take me to the casino.
