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STAIRS - by Coyote Wild (SSBBW, ~XWG, ~Gas)

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coyote wild

You'll love me, I swear.
Supporting Member
Sep 30, 2005
SSBBW, ~XWG, ~Gas -A fattening wife is overcome with curiosity as to why her husband won't allow her upstairs in their new home. As she becomes nearly too big to walk, she fears she'll never know what's happening at the top of the stairs..

By coyote wild

I was already 400 pounds when we moved into the new House. With a loud click, the double doors swung open when my husband Richard swiped his thumb across his touch phone. I waddled through, my inner thighs sliding against each other and my ass seesawing behind me.

I paused in the foyer to really take in the enormity of the place.

It was three stories tall and was designed as if by Apple. It was very sterile and white with seemingly plastic or glass surfaces. Richard has assured me that I would be allowed to decorate, so the monochromatic aesthetic would be short-lived.

Richard was an engineer of some sort. He kept his work very hush-hush, which was fine with me. He assured me it was legal, and the steady cash flow allowed for a very comfortable lifestyle. Which was partially to blame for my size.

I met Richard when I was just below 200. I was shapely and thick, yes. My belly wasn't much more than a little bulge and I hadn't yet developed a double chin. My hips, ass, and thighs, however, were slightly larger than most women my size. But experience had taught me that was quite an advantage.

My face was always pretty enough that I allowed myself to be a little thicker than most. My olive skin; deep, dark eyes; and curly black hair was always exotic enough to entice potential suitors that wouldn't normally go for someone of my dimensions. Like Richard.

We were both at the same bar, the night we met. I was celebrating my article being published on the homepage of a site I worked for and he was there for a friend's birthday. He quoted Philip Larkin and I was immediately smitten.

The way he worshipped my body made me more comfortable in my skin. Which probably wasn't the best thing, because it subconsciously influenced my weight gain I believe. His interest never waned so neither did my appetite. In fact, both seemed to wax in direct relation with each other.

“It's gorgeous!” I said, perhaps a little too loud, of our new home.

“You like? It's mostly automated, and adjustments can be made from your phone,” he explained. It was so cute to watch him dork out over technology.

He led me to the kitchen. Some of the counter top's surface appeared to be an animated screen detailing inventory, recipes, oven and stove top controls. Taking my hand, he guided me to an extra wide seat at the kitchen table. My fluffy form bounced and wobbled as I tried to keep up with his enthusiastic trot. He pulled out the chair and placed his hands on my shoulders, applying enough force to guide me downwards. I eased into the chair, feeling my fat ass spread against the seat.

Richard sat at the seat across from me and suddenly became very serious. “Lori, before we get too far into this grand tour, I want to lay down some ground rules.”

“Sure, sweetie. Stop acting weird,” I said smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

“You see the stairs behind me?”

“Yes.” There was a doorway frame to a staircase that ascended into a dark corridor.

“You have to promise me that you won't go upstairs. At least not until I say it's okay. I'm working on something up there and it's not ready. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” I said rolling my eyes.

“Wonderful. Now let me show you the rest of the house.”


Richard introduced me to a cocktail he had whipped up one day. I wasn't sure what was in it and he refused to tell me. He just woke me up one morning with a full glass of it and a straw. After a while, it had become a routine. I would wake up and instinctively grab for my glass. He had taken to leaving it on the bedside table.

I began putting on weight at an incredible rate. The dress I had been wearing when we moved in used to brush the ground. Now it stopped at just above my ankles. While sitting, I had gotten used to my hillside of a belly resting at the top of my thighs, but it was now beginning to encroach on my knees.

My waddle was becoming more of a shuffle as I was lifting my feet less and less. Everything was just becoming heavier. I attributed a lot of this to Richard's cocktail, but I couldn't imagine going without them. I had asked him whether he used addictive substances and he never gave me a straight answer.

I was sitting at the kitchen table one morning with my laptop. It was flanked by a bowl of muffins, a plate of three pancake towers, two saucers – one with a stack of bacon and the other with a mountain of eggs, and a tall glass of Richard's cocktail. I was typing one-handed, raising a strip of thick bacon to my pudgy, wet lips with the other. I snapped off a piece with my teeth, feeling the flesh cushioning my face wobble with the force and subsequent motion of chewing.

The cocktail had taken quite a toll on my digestive system. I wasn't sure what it was doing to me exactly, but apparently, one of the side-effects was excess gas. I moaned a bit at the momentary discomfort. I remember farting and feeling the chair rumble against my reverberating ass. The discomfort was replaced by the euphoric stabilization of my belly. The luscious fat on my arm jiggled wildly as I fanned the air around me. I knew Richard had people over a lot, working on his project upstairs. I could see their shadows pass over the landing. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to come downstairs for a drink and walk into a cloud my aroma.

I kept my gaze on the stairs. They were a constant source of curiosity for me. What was Richard working on that was so secret? And why was he so adamant I not know about it?

Just about that moment, he came jogging downstairs.

“Hey, honey!” he said as he saw me with a mouthful of muffin. “Break time,” he declared as he bounced over to the fridge. He took out a bottle of water and popped off the lid, taking huge gulps.

“Richard, what's so special about your project upstairs? Please let me come up and see it...”

Richard walked over to me and pressed a button on my chair. I heard a beep and shortly after, he gave his answer. “Soon. But not yet.” He walked off into the living room chugging cockily at his water.

I scowled at the back of his head as I took a huge bite of muffin and angrily washed it down with the cocktail.


Time had taken a toll on my waistline. There were other factors, sure. But considering my surroundings and habits, it was only a matter of time.

I was lounging on the couch, my crescent moon-shaped table wrapped around my belly. Various snacks and desserts were displayed for my choosing, and I shoved them down with no hesitation. Every few minutes or so, my ass would groan with the sound of my gas being released into the cushions.

I was practically a human-shaped cloud. My body was fluffy and soft, my rolls and belly bulging in all the right places. I had to sit with my legs spread so that my belly had room to rest. Walking around had become quite an exercise. I didn't do it much except between the couch, kitchen, and bathroom. If it weren't for Richard, I'm not sure I'd be able to get out of bed in the morning. At least, not as quickly and with a lot more rocking and wobbling.

I shoved the last cupcake in my mouth and leaned back. Another fart rumbled out of my ass and into the couch cushions. I had grown accustomed to their smell. A consistent diet had cultivated a familiar aroma that I had begun to associate with food and gluttony. This is embarrassing to admit, but the smell only made me hungrier.

Suddenly, Richard was in the doorway with a devilish grin. “Hey, Sweetums,” he said.

“Richard, I'm upset.”

He suddenly became very concerned and hurried over to me, putting his arm around my shoulder. “What's wrong, Honey Pie?”

“You won't let me upstairs to see your new project, and any day now, I'm going to be too fat to walk, let alone make it up the stairs!” I placed my hands on my belly for effect and started wobbling it left and right, sending waves in motion all around my body.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “Everything in this house that you might walk on, sit on, or lay on, has a scale in it. The floor, your bed...this couch.”

My brow furrowed in curiosity. Without warning another, softer and quieter fart squeezed between my ass.

Richard smiled as he pressed a button on the back of the couch. He leaned up to see the read out. There was a beep and he sat back down, smiling at me like the Cheshire Cat. “I think you're ready.”

I was rather scared of the answer I might receive, but I had to know. I swallowed hard and asked like a frightened kid: “How much do I weigh?”

Richard smiled that smile and his eyes narrowed. “Six hundred pounds.”

I gasped and fell back against the couch, the rest of my body barely moving. I began breathing deeply and rapidly. Something was coming over me. A wave of euphoria, perhaps? All I knew was that there was an enormous hunger building in my belly.

I closed my eyes tight, my head resting against the back of the couch as I pushed another gathering fart out into the cushions. Without opening my eyes, I licked my lips and admitted to Richard: “I'm so hungry.” I almost whimpered it.

“Come with me,” he said.

He took my hands and pulled. I shimmied my weight to the edge of the seat. My form rippled and wobbled like a dome of jello. I planted my feet on the ground and pushed with all my might. As my ass rose from the seat, a powerful expulsion of gas almost propelled me upward.

I took a step forward and got into a rhythm as Richard led me into the kitchen. My stomach bounced with each shuffle of my feet. My knees and thighs slapped against its underside. I could feel my ass quivering with the force of each footfall.

We reached the summit of the stairs. I looked up to see the occasional blue flash of light. I placed my right foot on the first step and Richard got behind me. I could feel his palms then his fingers sink into my ass flesh. It felt like he was nearly wrist deep into my cheeks as he pushed with all his might. I lifted each foot as high as I could to clear the next step.

I could feel the gas gathering at the base of my spine from various avenues of my belly. I wasn't used to holding it in, but Richard usually isn't in the path of my ass. I was trying to concentrate on movement as we ascended the stairs, but I couldn't hold it much longer. I moaned the words: “Sorry, Honey,” as the gas pounded at the walls of my ass cheeks and poured outward, flowing over my poor husband.

I heard a slight cough. “It's fine, Sweetie. I know you can't help it,” I heard him say from all the way the other side of my body. We reached the first landing, the second floor. There were various rooms with tubes and tanks. It all looked very industrial and convoluted.

Richard came around and pulled one of the doors shut. “This isn't your floor. This is the maintenance level.” As if that explained everything. He took my hand and guided me to the next set of stairs. “Just a few more to go...”

(Continued in post 9 of this thread)

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