USBBW, Feeding, Stuffing, Immobility, XXWG - another rather extreme tale of selfishly indulgent gluttony. Enjoy!
I am awakened from my morning nap by the sound of the garage door opening. My belly immediately begins to growl as that sound can only mean one thing…my boyfriend is here with my lunch! I yawn and stretch my immense arms as much as I am able. This movement dislodges nine empty donut boxes from where they were perched on my enormous belly. They fall to the floor to join the rest of the detritus of my late morning snack – 19 additional empty donut boxes, eight empty cake boxes, 24 pie tins, six empty five-pound boxes of chocolates and a dozen depleted chocolate milk cartons. I try to scoot myself up in my tiny king-size bed but cannot move my immense bulk more than an inch or two. I instantaneously break out into a profuse sweat due to this exertion and give up at once as I helplessly watch my acres of pale girl-flesh quiver like a colossal vat of pudding.
Mmmmm, pudding! My belly growls with renewed effort. He’d better hurry up with that food! I’m STARVING to DEATH in here!
He finally enters my bedroom after what seems like an eternity but what he carries in his arms is almost worth the wait. My belly growls even louder and I begin to helplessly salivate at the sight of four large family-size buckets of KFC in his hands.
“Hurry it up,” I say, “and get that chicken over here right now! I am fucking FAMISHED!”
My stomach loudly agrees with this statement.
“Okay, okay, sweetie, here ya go!”
I impatiently grab one of the buckets from him as soon as it’s within range of my flabby arm and, with both hands, stuff a chicken breast into my fat face, skillfully stripping the extra crispy, extra greasy flesh from the bone in less than five seconds. I carelessly toss the now insignificant piece of decimated cartilage to the floor and concentrate my efforts on a wing.
“Sheesh, babes, ya think you hadn’t eaten anything ALL DAY the way you’re stuffin’ your face! Didn’t you get enough to eat for breakfast?”
I think back to the breakfast (my mom comes over to our trailer and prepares it for me every morning). Twenty dozen fried eggs, about 30 pounds of home fries swimming in gravy, a dozen packages of bacon, 60 sausage links, three whole five pound hams (I just LOVE pork), 50 pancakes dripping in butter and submerged in syrup, 60 waffles drowning in butter and obscured beneath whipped cream and jam, four whole loaves of toasted bread smothered in butter and peanut butter and jelly, 16 gallons of orange juice mixed with cream, 20 gallons of chocolate milk, 12 dozen Danishes and 15 whole boxes of sweet cereal (with extra sugar added) drowning in whole cream. And, to top it all off, a dessert (yeah, you heard me – dessert with breakfast) of ten dozen pies of various flavors and 16 whole chocolate sheet cakes.
“NO,” I say, spraying out chunks of chicken flesh onto my boyfriend, “and lunch better not be so wimpy either, after all, I’m a growing girl here!”
This statement is VERY true as in just the last three years alone, since me and my boyfriend hooked up, I’ve gained 1,946 lbs. The last time I was weighed was two months ago at the local truck stop scale before my boyfriend took me to an all-you-can eat joint (which, I believe, is now no longer in business) for our third anniversary. I weighed 3,683 lbs. and I’m ONLY 19 years old!
“Don’t worry, babes, I’ve got 30 more giant buckets of KFC out in the car. PLUS 20 pounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, 15 pounds of potato salad, 15 pounds of macaroni salad, six dozen buttery buns (with extra butter), and 20 two-liter bottles of Mt. Dew.”
I toss the first empty bucket of KFC to the floor and grab a second.
“BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! But what about dessert!?! You know I MUST have dessert with EVERY meal,” I say as I shove a whole chicken leg into my grease-slavered mouth and swallow it whole – bones and all.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, sweetie! I stopped by Bern’s Bakery on the way here and bought out the entirety of all SIX display cases of goodies all for you!”
I grunt my approval as I strip the flesh from an unidentifiable piece of crispified chicken as my belly concurs with a rumble of its own.
I continue to stuff my fat face for over an hour with my scrumptious, yet modest, lunch until I’ve decimated the entire stock. My face, hands and upper portions of my enormous, ripped up, tent-size nightgown are completely covered in grease and gravy with little bits of chicken flesh and random bones lying here and there across my paunch. The floor at the side of my bed is absolutely littered with empty KFC containers and piled high with the carcasses of what must be about 100 whole chickens.
I mindlessly wiggle my toes and pat my voluminous side. My belly is utterly packed with food.
What a good boyfriend I have!
“BUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! That was totally yummy! MLLOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
It is then that I remember something my boyfriend said earlier.
“BLLAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! Hey, sweetie,” I yell to him in the other room, where he’s watching Springer, “did you mention something about dessert earlier? Cause this girl sure could use somethin’ sweet to eat! RAAHHRRRRRRRRRRP!”
“Sure, babes, I’ll bring it right in to you!”
“BLOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! Well, hurry it up willya, I’m STARVIN’ in here!”
My boyfriend immediately enters my bedroom carrying four sheet cake boxes. I grab the top one, rip open the lid and tear off chunks of cake and start stuffing them into my mouth like an animal.
After about half the cake I think of something.
“Mmmmf, shweeedie,” I say through a mouthful of cake, “you did, glak, glomp, smack, get ice cream to go with all this didn’t you!?!”
“Uh….”
“WHAT!!?!! You didn’t get me ANY ice cream!?! Well, you’d best be runnin’ out to the 7-11 then! And maybe the Circle-K too…they NEVER have enough stock on hand in just ONE of them places to satisfy ME! LAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
He turns to go.
“HEY,” I yell, “ain’t ya forgettin’ somethin’?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says stupidly. He comes over and kisses me on my fat cheek. “Seeya in a jiff, babes.”
“BLAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! I didn’t mean a kiss, dumbass! I meant ain’t ya forgettin’ to bring me in enough cakes and other goodies to last me until you get back from the store!”
“Oh, uh sure. Yes, of course!”
He goes and gets enough (or at least what he thinks is enough) goodies and stacks them on my nightstands and on top of my huge belly so that they are within easy reach for me. He then bolts out the door to the stores.
He is gone interminably long and by the time he FINALLY gets back I’ve consumed a dozen whole sheet cakes, five dozen pies and about ten dozen various pastries.
“Sorry it took so long, babes but there was an accident on…”
“BLORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! I don’t give a crap what yer lame excuse is, just get some ice cream over to me before I get even more pissed-off!”
“Here ya go, it’s kinda melted,” he says sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
I give him a nasty look and pop the top off a gallon container of Breyers chocolate, bring it to my lips and tip it back and drink it in about three or four long draughts like a milkshake. It’s actually kinda nummy, but I don’t let jackass know this because if he thinks I’m mad at him he’ll be extra nice to me and give me just about anything I want.
I glut on my dessert for another hour, eating two dozen more whole sheet cakes, 12 dozen more pies, another 19 dozen pastries and 36 whole gallon containers of ice cream. I then settle in for my afternoon nap. But before I fall asleep I tell him that my dinner better be extra spectacular tonight AND that I want double my usual portions.
He readily nods as I drift off to sleep, where I dream about floating in my own private swimming pool of molten ice cream. But the very last thing I remember thinking before I finally drift off was that maybe I should’ve demanded TRIPLE my usual portions for dinner.
Semi-Naked Lunch
by steve aka
by steve aka
I am awakened from my morning nap by the sound of the garage door opening. My belly immediately begins to growl as that sound can only mean one thing…my boyfriend is here with my lunch! I yawn and stretch my immense arms as much as I am able. This movement dislodges nine empty donut boxes from where they were perched on my enormous belly. They fall to the floor to join the rest of the detritus of my late morning snack – 19 additional empty donut boxes, eight empty cake boxes, 24 pie tins, six empty five-pound boxes of chocolates and a dozen depleted chocolate milk cartons. I try to scoot myself up in my tiny king-size bed but cannot move my immense bulk more than an inch or two. I instantaneously break out into a profuse sweat due to this exertion and give up at once as I helplessly watch my acres of pale girl-flesh quiver like a colossal vat of pudding.
Mmmmm, pudding! My belly growls with renewed effort. He’d better hurry up with that food! I’m STARVING to DEATH in here!
He finally enters my bedroom after what seems like an eternity but what he carries in his arms is almost worth the wait. My belly growls even louder and I begin to helplessly salivate at the sight of four large family-size buckets of KFC in his hands.
“Hurry it up,” I say, “and get that chicken over here right now! I am fucking FAMISHED!”
My stomach loudly agrees with this statement.
“Okay, okay, sweetie, here ya go!”
I impatiently grab one of the buckets from him as soon as it’s within range of my flabby arm and, with both hands, stuff a chicken breast into my fat face, skillfully stripping the extra crispy, extra greasy flesh from the bone in less than five seconds. I carelessly toss the now insignificant piece of decimated cartilage to the floor and concentrate my efforts on a wing.
“Sheesh, babes, ya think you hadn’t eaten anything ALL DAY the way you’re stuffin’ your face! Didn’t you get enough to eat for breakfast?”
I think back to the breakfast (my mom comes over to our trailer and prepares it for me every morning). Twenty dozen fried eggs, about 30 pounds of home fries swimming in gravy, a dozen packages of bacon, 60 sausage links, three whole five pound hams (I just LOVE pork), 50 pancakes dripping in butter and submerged in syrup, 60 waffles drowning in butter and obscured beneath whipped cream and jam, four whole loaves of toasted bread smothered in butter and peanut butter and jelly, 16 gallons of orange juice mixed with cream, 20 gallons of chocolate milk, 12 dozen Danishes and 15 whole boxes of sweet cereal (with extra sugar added) drowning in whole cream. And, to top it all off, a dessert (yeah, you heard me – dessert with breakfast) of ten dozen pies of various flavors and 16 whole chocolate sheet cakes.
“NO,” I say, spraying out chunks of chicken flesh onto my boyfriend, “and lunch better not be so wimpy either, after all, I’m a growing girl here!”
This statement is VERY true as in just the last three years alone, since me and my boyfriend hooked up, I’ve gained 1,946 lbs. The last time I was weighed was two months ago at the local truck stop scale before my boyfriend took me to an all-you-can eat joint (which, I believe, is now no longer in business) for our third anniversary. I weighed 3,683 lbs. and I’m ONLY 19 years old!
“Don’t worry, babes, I’ve got 30 more giant buckets of KFC out in the car. PLUS 20 pounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, 15 pounds of potato salad, 15 pounds of macaroni salad, six dozen buttery buns (with extra butter), and 20 two-liter bottles of Mt. Dew.”
I toss the first empty bucket of KFC to the floor and grab a second.
“BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! But what about dessert!?! You know I MUST have dessert with EVERY meal,” I say as I shove a whole chicken leg into my grease-slavered mouth and swallow it whole – bones and all.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, sweetie! I stopped by Bern’s Bakery on the way here and bought out the entirety of all SIX display cases of goodies all for you!”
I grunt my approval as I strip the flesh from an unidentifiable piece of crispified chicken as my belly concurs with a rumble of its own.
I continue to stuff my fat face for over an hour with my scrumptious, yet modest, lunch until I’ve decimated the entire stock. My face, hands and upper portions of my enormous, ripped up, tent-size nightgown are completely covered in grease and gravy with little bits of chicken flesh and random bones lying here and there across my paunch. The floor at the side of my bed is absolutely littered with empty KFC containers and piled high with the carcasses of what must be about 100 whole chickens.
I mindlessly wiggle my toes and pat my voluminous side. My belly is utterly packed with food.
What a good boyfriend I have!
“BUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! That was totally yummy! MLLOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
It is then that I remember something my boyfriend said earlier.
“BLLAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! Hey, sweetie,” I yell to him in the other room, where he’s watching Springer, “did you mention something about dessert earlier? Cause this girl sure could use somethin’ sweet to eat! RAAHHRRRRRRRRRRP!”
“Sure, babes, I’ll bring it right in to you!”
“BLOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! Well, hurry it up willya, I’m STARVIN’ in here!”
My boyfriend immediately enters my bedroom carrying four sheet cake boxes. I grab the top one, rip open the lid and tear off chunks of cake and start stuffing them into my mouth like an animal.
After about half the cake I think of something.
“Mmmmf, shweeedie,” I say through a mouthful of cake, “you did, glak, glomp, smack, get ice cream to go with all this didn’t you!?!”
“Uh….”
“WHAT!!?!! You didn’t get me ANY ice cream!?! Well, you’d best be runnin’ out to the 7-11 then! And maybe the Circle-K too…they NEVER have enough stock on hand in just ONE of them places to satisfy ME! LAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
He turns to go.
“HEY,” I yell, “ain’t ya forgettin’ somethin’?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says stupidly. He comes over and kisses me on my fat cheek. “Seeya in a jiff, babes.”
“BLAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! I didn’t mean a kiss, dumbass! I meant ain’t ya forgettin’ to bring me in enough cakes and other goodies to last me until you get back from the store!”
“Oh, uh sure. Yes, of course!”
He goes and gets enough (or at least what he thinks is enough) goodies and stacks them on my nightstands and on top of my huge belly so that they are within easy reach for me. He then bolts out the door to the stores.
He is gone interminably long and by the time he FINALLY gets back I’ve consumed a dozen whole sheet cakes, five dozen pies and about ten dozen various pastries.
“Sorry it took so long, babes but there was an accident on…”
“BLORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! I don’t give a crap what yer lame excuse is, just get some ice cream over to me before I get even more pissed-off!”
“Here ya go, it’s kinda melted,” he says sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
I give him a nasty look and pop the top off a gallon container of Breyers chocolate, bring it to my lips and tip it back and drink it in about three or four long draughts like a milkshake. It’s actually kinda nummy, but I don’t let jackass know this because if he thinks I’m mad at him he’ll be extra nice to me and give me just about anything I want.
I glut on my dessert for another hour, eating two dozen more whole sheet cakes, 12 dozen more pies, another 19 dozen pastries and 36 whole gallon containers of ice cream. I then settle in for my afternoon nap. But before I fall asleep I tell him that my dinner better be extra spectacular tonight AND that I want double my usual portions.
He readily nods as I drift off to sleep, where I dream about floating in my own private swimming pool of molten ice cream. But the very last thing I remember thinking before I finally drift off was that maybe I should’ve demanded TRIPLE my usual portions for dinner.
