Gentleman
Well-Known Member
SSBBW, Stuffing - A short story on the pleasures of stuffing oneself.
[Author's Note: Okay, kiddies! Heres a quick one for those of you with short attention spans.]
Im completely stuffed. Ive just finished the largest meal of my life and I literally cant move. Bending a little to one side or the other is painful. So I just sit here with a glazed look on my face. My immense belly swells before me, my breasts rolling off to the sides. Usually I can get up after a few good belches, once the food settles in. But not this time. For a moment, panic grips me. Have I just become immobile? Right here at the buffet? Beads of sweat form on my brow. My heart is pounding. Ive totally lost control, as usual. Im addicted to food and cant stop when Im full. I just keep shoving it in until I can barely breathe. And my husband wouldnt have it any other way.
Sitting there in my food-induced stupor, my mind began to wander. How did I get this incredibly fat? Nobody sets out to become a massively obese woman by the time they are 30, yet I have achieved that goal and then some. 686 pounds to be exact. I know this because my thoughtful hubby bought me an industrial scale and I weigh myself regularly. Come to think of it, that scale has become an obsession. I cant wait to weigh myself again. Im sure Ive just eaten at least fourteen pounds of food and the display will read over 700!
Unfortunately, I wont get to keep all that extra weight. To my constant chagrin, Ill be lucky to keep a few pounds of it. By the tomorrow Ill probably still be in the 680s. I know that consuming 3600 extra calories should produce one pound of beautiful fat. But that equation must be for skinny people. At the ultra-high end like me, it seems to take a lot more. I frequently consume over 10,000 calories at a sitting. I should be piling on at least two pounds of fresh blubber a day. But Im lucky if I put on three or four pounds a week! Not that Im complaining, mind you, because I live to eat. My husband really indulges me and certainly appreciates my efforts.
That damn scale! I must get home soon and stand on that thing. I cant see the readout any more, so I set it before a full-length mirror. I want the digits to flash a new higher number, another personal record, testament to my gluttony. I want it to shout, You are the fattest woman in the world! loud enough for my husband to hear even though hes out of town. I know that would thrill him no end. It would thrill me too! It doesnt say that yet, but Im working on it. For now, I am merely the fattest gal in town.
I knew that once I got married I would put on weight. It runs in the family. Both of my sisters and my mother were big girls who really fattened up after their weddings. So it was only a matter of time. What I hadnt counted on was that my dear sweet hubby was a feeder. I guess he saw potential when he first met my blimp of a mom. With some effort, I managed to keep myself under 400 pounds until the big day. After that, all bets were off and I rose like dough. Now Im proud to say that Im by far the fattest of the bunch! And I must admit that Ive enjoyed every bite along the way.
Usually my husband goes up to the buffet line up for me, making sure I dont run out of my favorites. But not today! Earlier, I got a couple of interesting looks from the other diners as I shuffled back to my table with an overflowing platter in each hand. I dont mind. I love being this fat, it makes me feel special. Not every girl can pack it on like me!
Stuffing myself to the bursting point has become an erotic pleasure. My last time up I brought back a small mountain of desserts (my hubby would be pleased). Suddenly, as I sat, I felt a tingling sensation that sent shudders through my body. It is a high that I seek. The pressure of my straining pants rubbed me just right, making me eat faster and faster. From then on, each mouthful brought on more stimulation. I squirmed in pleasure. By the time Id finished plowing through the sweets, I had practically soaked my pants.
Okay, I think Im ready now. Id better get going. My sweetheart is coming home from his business trip tonight, and I want to show off a new teddy I bought. Its the largest one I could find, but I can barely squeeze into it. I dont think he will mind.
I turn sideways in my seat to plant my massive legs clear of the table. My thick thighs scrape under the tabletop as I prepare to struggle to my feet. I grab the back of my chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other. And nothing happens. This exquisite mass of fat that Ive created still wont budge. Slightly dazed, I take a few long deep breaths. I lean back a little; then rock quickly forward. A mighty heave and Im up! I wobble unsteadily for a moment, jiggling. My ponderous bulk is getting so hard to move I probably should get a scooter. Ill have to ask my husband for one to celebrate my Happy 700 achievement.
I glance around to see if anyone noticed the loud grunt that inadvertently escaped my lips when I stood. A table of chubby young girls eating nearby is looking at me, giggling. As I slowly waddle by, I give them a smile because what do they know? I used to be one of them. And one of them might become a sexy butterball like me.
[Author's Note: Okay, kiddies! Heres a quick one for those of you with short attention spans.]
Ruminations at the Buffet
by Gentleman
by Gentleman
Im completely stuffed. Ive just finished the largest meal of my life and I literally cant move. Bending a little to one side or the other is painful. So I just sit here with a glazed look on my face. My immense belly swells before me, my breasts rolling off to the sides. Usually I can get up after a few good belches, once the food settles in. But not this time. For a moment, panic grips me. Have I just become immobile? Right here at the buffet? Beads of sweat form on my brow. My heart is pounding. Ive totally lost control, as usual. Im addicted to food and cant stop when Im full. I just keep shoving it in until I can barely breathe. And my husband wouldnt have it any other way.
Sitting there in my food-induced stupor, my mind began to wander. How did I get this incredibly fat? Nobody sets out to become a massively obese woman by the time they are 30, yet I have achieved that goal and then some. 686 pounds to be exact. I know this because my thoughtful hubby bought me an industrial scale and I weigh myself regularly. Come to think of it, that scale has become an obsession. I cant wait to weigh myself again. Im sure Ive just eaten at least fourteen pounds of food and the display will read over 700!
Unfortunately, I wont get to keep all that extra weight. To my constant chagrin, Ill be lucky to keep a few pounds of it. By the tomorrow Ill probably still be in the 680s. I know that consuming 3600 extra calories should produce one pound of beautiful fat. But that equation must be for skinny people. At the ultra-high end like me, it seems to take a lot more. I frequently consume over 10,000 calories at a sitting. I should be piling on at least two pounds of fresh blubber a day. But Im lucky if I put on three or four pounds a week! Not that Im complaining, mind you, because I live to eat. My husband really indulges me and certainly appreciates my efforts.
That damn scale! I must get home soon and stand on that thing. I cant see the readout any more, so I set it before a full-length mirror. I want the digits to flash a new higher number, another personal record, testament to my gluttony. I want it to shout, You are the fattest woman in the world! loud enough for my husband to hear even though hes out of town. I know that would thrill him no end. It would thrill me too! It doesnt say that yet, but Im working on it. For now, I am merely the fattest gal in town.
I knew that once I got married I would put on weight. It runs in the family. Both of my sisters and my mother were big girls who really fattened up after their weddings. So it was only a matter of time. What I hadnt counted on was that my dear sweet hubby was a feeder. I guess he saw potential when he first met my blimp of a mom. With some effort, I managed to keep myself under 400 pounds until the big day. After that, all bets were off and I rose like dough. Now Im proud to say that Im by far the fattest of the bunch! And I must admit that Ive enjoyed every bite along the way.
Usually my husband goes up to the buffet line up for me, making sure I dont run out of my favorites. But not today! Earlier, I got a couple of interesting looks from the other diners as I shuffled back to my table with an overflowing platter in each hand. I dont mind. I love being this fat, it makes me feel special. Not every girl can pack it on like me!
Stuffing myself to the bursting point has become an erotic pleasure. My last time up I brought back a small mountain of desserts (my hubby would be pleased). Suddenly, as I sat, I felt a tingling sensation that sent shudders through my body. It is a high that I seek. The pressure of my straining pants rubbed me just right, making me eat faster and faster. From then on, each mouthful brought on more stimulation. I squirmed in pleasure. By the time Id finished plowing through the sweets, I had practically soaked my pants.
Okay, I think Im ready now. Id better get going. My sweetheart is coming home from his business trip tonight, and I want to show off a new teddy I bought. Its the largest one I could find, but I can barely squeeze into it. I dont think he will mind.
I turn sideways in my seat to plant my massive legs clear of the table. My thick thighs scrape under the tabletop as I prepare to struggle to my feet. I grab the back of my chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other. And nothing happens. This exquisite mass of fat that Ive created still wont budge. Slightly dazed, I take a few long deep breaths. I lean back a little; then rock quickly forward. A mighty heave and Im up! I wobble unsteadily for a moment, jiggling. My ponderous bulk is getting so hard to move I probably should get a scooter. Ill have to ask my husband for one to celebrate my Happy 700 achievement.
I glance around to see if anyone noticed the loud grunt that inadvertently escaped my lips when I stood. A table of chubby young girls eating nearby is looking at me, giggling. As I slowly waddle by, I give them a smile because what do they know? I used to be one of them. And one of them might become a sexy butterball like me.
