BBW, Eating fantasy, ~XWG - truly a fantasy of "Daddy's Little Girl"
Removing one delicate hand from her belly to reach into a bag of cookies, Ginger suddenly realized she had been kneading the soft, plump flesh. Surprised at its size, but not its pliability, she quickly stuffed a cookie in her mouth and began pinching and prodding it, transfixed. She sat up; unable to see too well over her prominent breasts in her usual lounging, slumped position, and her tummy, already spilling over the waistband of her constricting shorts, now rested (after some quivering)on her thighs, a third of the way to her knees. This excited her even more, and she began patting her toneless midriff to see how much it jiggled, even slapping it a few times.
Ginger’s child-like wonder at her large belly, a relatively new acquisition, was due mostly to the fact she paid a lot more attention to the growth of her blossoming breasts, ever rounder behind, and widening hips; to her it seemed that this weight in her middle just materialized out of nowhere. But it hadn’t, of course; it was the product of many years of laziness, helped along by the more recent many months of gluttony.
Since childhood Ginger had despised exercise. She found strenuous physical tasks quite annoying and pointless, and avoided them accordingly. As one might guess, she grew flabby and out of shape; soft and cute as a little plush toy. By the sixth grade she no longer had the wind to jog even half a mile, a run that seemed easy to her peers left her sweaty and gasping for breath. And yet, for all her laziness, she hadn’t grown fat. Her sedentary lifestyle had added some inevitable pudge, but there weren’t much empty calories left to do any real damage-something we can blame on her parents.
Ginger’s mother and father spoiled and pampered her, buying their lazy little daughter everything she asked for (Most of it allowing her to lounge about in her room all day without getting bored)-except food. “Bad Food”, to be exact; delicious treats like donuts and cupcakes, pizza and cookies. She yearned for these fattening goodies like a poor person might yearn for her vast fortune. Then she reached High School.
Puberty had since plumped her up a bit, adding womanly hips, a round ass, heavy breasts, and even a small pot belly to her cute, doll like body. By now Ginger’s physical helplessness was starting to become a serious problem; the half a mile she was once winded after while jogging, now had the same affect simply walking. She caught no flak for this though (at least from her peers, the Gym teacher on the other hand had quite a few things to say), her cool, fun loving, outgoing personality and pretty face dispelled everything except the expected playful teasing from her friends. You couldn’t help but love her. But, despite her popularity, Ginger finally did receive a few nasty comments. It was a couple months after she discovered The Food.
Bad Food, to be exact. Everything she loved, everything she had been denied, it lay sitting behind a glass window, just waiting for her. She wasted no time in using up her allowance to get a hold of these delicacies. In one day alone Ginger would buy and eat, at the very least, 3 slices of pizza, 4 chocolate chip cookies, and 2 donuts; and that was just at school. There was a McDonalds near her High School, and although the walk was a bit hard, she soon made up for the burned calories, replacing them with burgers, fries, chicken nuggets, Mc Flurries, and the list goes on.
And Ginger grew. She found, if possible, she had become lazier with the new pounds because her weak muscles now had even more to lug around. So, consequently, she was spending more time on her cushioned bed, on some weekends only leaving it to relieve herself. The family butler and maid were working overtime serving her, but neither minded; Ginger lavishly bribed both to get her Bad Food, lots of it, and had the butler construct a hidden pantry to put it all in.
If not for her shortness of breath, Ginger would have stood in front of the mirror for ages, squeezing a handful of breast fat, lifting her tits and watching them flop back down on her plump belly, bouncing and jiggling; slapping her round, fat ass until it turned pink and watching it undulate in response. She loved caressing her new curves, but paid no mind to body parts others found not so favorable when chubby, she thought them just the trade off for her sexy boobs and ass. Too big, obviously, was not in her vocabulary.
A few months into the school year Ginger still ate ravenously, but no longer to celebrate her culinary freedom; she now wanted to expand on her hourglass figure. Her breasts had grown to the size of cantaloupes, ass cheeks big as two basketballs, and her hips as wide; yet greedy, spoiled Ginger wanted more. Only subconsciously noticing, her flabby, drooping upper arms, double chin, and growing belly, the last of which was starting to catch up with the rest of her body.
For the months following Ginger’s realization of the bold quest she must embark on to plump up her assets, she could never be found without food in her hands. She ate ceaselessly, and once again her weak, unused muscles grew even weaker, and she got lazier. Ginger ordered the butler to bring all meals to her bed, and the maid to dress her. When walking up and down the stairs became too much of a workout, her parents finally took notice of their daughter’s girth, and planned to confront her about it.
While her parents made their way to her room, Ginger sat sinking into her comfortable bed, intently examining her tummy. She was dressed messily, as if she hadn’t the time to be bothered by such trivial things as clothes. One thin strap of her halter top rested on her chubby upper arm, the other residing on the edge of her shoulder. The pliant, soft skin of her belly could be seen spilling over the waistband onto her thighs, her tight shirt covering only past her deep, plush belly button. The same shirt was also impossibly constricting around her heavy breasts, squeezing the huge knockers together and displaying a good amount of cleavage. Out of laziness, she hadn’t been wearing a bra at the time, so her breasts bounced at the slightest movement. Wide hips framed a round ass, flabby and somewhat dimpled from all the years of inactivity. Ginger’s short shorts ended just under it, leaving her velvety soft, cushioned thighs bare. In her explorations of her fattened midriff, Ginger’s tight halter top inched farther up the flabby expanse, now resting near her ample breasts.
A timid knock came from the door. Ginger had been holding her belly roll in her hands, admiring its weight and flabbiness, and now let it flop back down onto her bare thighs, both jiggling briefly.
“Come in!” she called over the TV, pulling down her shirt.
A short, petite young woman stood at the doorway, accompanied by an equally short, yet immensely fat man in his forties. The fat man was breathing heavily, and presently mopped his brow while muttering to himself about “those damn stairs”.
The woman said, hesitatingly, “Ginger, honey, we need to talk to you.” She stepped into the room while her husband, Mark, waddled over to the couch and collapsed onto the cushions, quite obviously relieved.
“Marisa, could you hand me those?” he said, pointing to a box of donuts.
The woman sighed, but fetched them for him, then turned to Ginger, “It’s about, your, umm, y-your weight gain these past few months. We thought, well, you might want to cut back on the, all t-the sweets.” She said hopefully.
We? Ginger glanced at her father as he tore into the box of donuts, lounging on the couch and taking up most of it, his immense belly almost reaching his knees; another year or two and it would be flowing over them.
“No.” she said decisively.
“A-are you sure? There’s so many-”
“Yes.”
Marisa looked, in vain, to her husband for support, but found his eyes focused on a glazed cream filled donut; chins quivering as he bit into it. When her gaze returned to Ginger, the fat, almost helpless girl was already extending a pudgy hand to grab the remote control. She sighed again, and hung her head.
“Okay.” She said, leaving the room.
“Mind if I stay in here a little while Princess?” Ginger’s father said from the couch, still tired from his trek up the stairs.
“Not at all daddy.” She said sweetly, tearing into her own box of donuts.
(For next installment click here.)
Spoiled Little Ginger
By Th3_Gh0ST
By Th3_Gh0ST
Removing one delicate hand from her belly to reach into a bag of cookies, Ginger suddenly realized she had been kneading the soft, plump flesh. Surprised at its size, but not its pliability, she quickly stuffed a cookie in her mouth and began pinching and prodding it, transfixed. She sat up; unable to see too well over her prominent breasts in her usual lounging, slumped position, and her tummy, already spilling over the waistband of her constricting shorts, now rested (after some quivering)on her thighs, a third of the way to her knees. This excited her even more, and she began patting her toneless midriff to see how much it jiggled, even slapping it a few times.
Ginger’s child-like wonder at her large belly, a relatively new acquisition, was due mostly to the fact she paid a lot more attention to the growth of her blossoming breasts, ever rounder behind, and widening hips; to her it seemed that this weight in her middle just materialized out of nowhere. But it hadn’t, of course; it was the product of many years of laziness, helped along by the more recent many months of gluttony.
Since childhood Ginger had despised exercise. She found strenuous physical tasks quite annoying and pointless, and avoided them accordingly. As one might guess, she grew flabby and out of shape; soft and cute as a little plush toy. By the sixth grade she no longer had the wind to jog even half a mile, a run that seemed easy to her peers left her sweaty and gasping for breath. And yet, for all her laziness, she hadn’t grown fat. Her sedentary lifestyle had added some inevitable pudge, but there weren’t much empty calories left to do any real damage-something we can blame on her parents.
Ginger’s mother and father spoiled and pampered her, buying their lazy little daughter everything she asked for (Most of it allowing her to lounge about in her room all day without getting bored)-except food. “Bad Food”, to be exact; delicious treats like donuts and cupcakes, pizza and cookies. She yearned for these fattening goodies like a poor person might yearn for her vast fortune. Then she reached High School.
Puberty had since plumped her up a bit, adding womanly hips, a round ass, heavy breasts, and even a small pot belly to her cute, doll like body. By now Ginger’s physical helplessness was starting to become a serious problem; the half a mile she was once winded after while jogging, now had the same affect simply walking. She caught no flak for this though (at least from her peers, the Gym teacher on the other hand had quite a few things to say), her cool, fun loving, outgoing personality and pretty face dispelled everything except the expected playful teasing from her friends. You couldn’t help but love her. But, despite her popularity, Ginger finally did receive a few nasty comments. It was a couple months after she discovered The Food.
Bad Food, to be exact. Everything she loved, everything she had been denied, it lay sitting behind a glass window, just waiting for her. She wasted no time in using up her allowance to get a hold of these delicacies. In one day alone Ginger would buy and eat, at the very least, 3 slices of pizza, 4 chocolate chip cookies, and 2 donuts; and that was just at school. There was a McDonalds near her High School, and although the walk was a bit hard, she soon made up for the burned calories, replacing them with burgers, fries, chicken nuggets, Mc Flurries, and the list goes on.
And Ginger grew. She found, if possible, she had become lazier with the new pounds because her weak muscles now had even more to lug around. So, consequently, she was spending more time on her cushioned bed, on some weekends only leaving it to relieve herself. The family butler and maid were working overtime serving her, but neither minded; Ginger lavishly bribed both to get her Bad Food, lots of it, and had the butler construct a hidden pantry to put it all in.
If not for her shortness of breath, Ginger would have stood in front of the mirror for ages, squeezing a handful of breast fat, lifting her tits and watching them flop back down on her plump belly, bouncing and jiggling; slapping her round, fat ass until it turned pink and watching it undulate in response. She loved caressing her new curves, but paid no mind to body parts others found not so favorable when chubby, she thought them just the trade off for her sexy boobs and ass. Too big, obviously, was not in her vocabulary.
A few months into the school year Ginger still ate ravenously, but no longer to celebrate her culinary freedom; she now wanted to expand on her hourglass figure. Her breasts had grown to the size of cantaloupes, ass cheeks big as two basketballs, and her hips as wide; yet greedy, spoiled Ginger wanted more. Only subconsciously noticing, her flabby, drooping upper arms, double chin, and growing belly, the last of which was starting to catch up with the rest of her body.
For the months following Ginger’s realization of the bold quest she must embark on to plump up her assets, she could never be found without food in her hands. She ate ceaselessly, and once again her weak, unused muscles grew even weaker, and she got lazier. Ginger ordered the butler to bring all meals to her bed, and the maid to dress her. When walking up and down the stairs became too much of a workout, her parents finally took notice of their daughter’s girth, and planned to confront her about it.
While her parents made their way to her room, Ginger sat sinking into her comfortable bed, intently examining her tummy. She was dressed messily, as if she hadn’t the time to be bothered by such trivial things as clothes. One thin strap of her halter top rested on her chubby upper arm, the other residing on the edge of her shoulder. The pliant, soft skin of her belly could be seen spilling over the waistband onto her thighs, her tight shirt covering only past her deep, plush belly button. The same shirt was also impossibly constricting around her heavy breasts, squeezing the huge knockers together and displaying a good amount of cleavage. Out of laziness, she hadn’t been wearing a bra at the time, so her breasts bounced at the slightest movement. Wide hips framed a round ass, flabby and somewhat dimpled from all the years of inactivity. Ginger’s short shorts ended just under it, leaving her velvety soft, cushioned thighs bare. In her explorations of her fattened midriff, Ginger’s tight halter top inched farther up the flabby expanse, now resting near her ample breasts.
A timid knock came from the door. Ginger had been holding her belly roll in her hands, admiring its weight and flabbiness, and now let it flop back down onto her bare thighs, both jiggling briefly.
“Come in!” she called over the TV, pulling down her shirt.
A short, petite young woman stood at the doorway, accompanied by an equally short, yet immensely fat man in his forties. The fat man was breathing heavily, and presently mopped his brow while muttering to himself about “those damn stairs”.
The woman said, hesitatingly, “Ginger, honey, we need to talk to you.” She stepped into the room while her husband, Mark, waddled over to the couch and collapsed onto the cushions, quite obviously relieved.
“Marisa, could you hand me those?” he said, pointing to a box of donuts.
The woman sighed, but fetched them for him, then turned to Ginger, “It’s about, your, umm, y-your weight gain these past few months. We thought, well, you might want to cut back on the, all t-the sweets.” She said hopefully.
We? Ginger glanced at her father as he tore into the box of donuts, lounging on the couch and taking up most of it, his immense belly almost reaching his knees; another year or two and it would be flowing over them.
“No.” she said decisively.
“A-are you sure? There’s so many-”
“Yes.”
Marisa looked, in vain, to her husband for support, but found his eyes focused on a glazed cream filled donut; chins quivering as he bit into it. When her gaze returned to Ginger, the fat, almost helpless girl was already extending a pudgy hand to grab the remote control. She sighed again, and hung her head.
“Okay.” She said, leaving the room.
“Mind if I stay in here a little while Princess?” Ginger’s father said from the couch, still tired from his trek up the stairs.
“Not at all daddy.” She said sweetly, tearing into her own box of donuts.
(For next installment click here.)
