Too Far Gone (BBW, WG, Stuffing, Feederism)

[Cylon_bob]

Too Far Gone
________________


“C'mon, babe, jus’ follow the sound o' my voice!” Catalina called from my bedroom. “Got somethin' to show ya!”

It was my nineteenth birthday; the party was over; my parents were sleeping. I’d taken it on myself to start cleaning up when I heard Catalina. I smiled, setting down the big, black garbage bag and walking to my room. “Yeah? You d-” I froze in the doorway, my jaw hanging open.

Catalina looked so proud of herself. She was on my bed, stripped down to her underwear. She sat up straight, swaying as though she might fall over, her soft gut pouring over the front of her panties, hanging down, pudgy, pale and jiggling with every movement. She saw me staring, and smirked, “Like wha'chu see?” she motioned me closer, “Come closer.”

She didn’t need to ask twice. I climbed onto the bed, pulling her close, grabbing her love handles and relishing the feel of her silky-smooth skin giving way to the pressure of my hands, grinning as she squealed. I could feel the warmth of her; our faces were inches apart; I smiled, “This close enough for you?”

She reached behind my head, running her thin fingers through my short, brown hair and suddenly pulling, kissing me. For a second, I was lost in the physical feel of the moment; I returned the sentiment, my hands exploring Catalina’s soft, plump body, digging into her sides, fingers inching down below the doughy expanse of her potbelly, teasing between the thickness of her thighs, sinking down to the strong muscles beneath the blubber, and that’s when I recognized the bitter taste of booze. I pulled away, disgusted.

Catalina looked at me, with her big, green eyes and soft, brown hair falling down to her shoulders, her lower lip puffed out. I noticed the slightest hint of a second chin beginning to round out the angular chin she’d had when we first started dating. She looked hurt, “Wha’s th’matter, baby?” she asked, and I noticed the slur of her words.

“You’re drunk!” I yelled, tightening with fear when I realized my parents could wake up any second. I lowered my voice, talking in tense, whispered tones, “What the fuck, Cat?”

Her face was blank, “Wha-”

I grabbed her dress from off the floor, throwing it in her lap, “Just… Just get dressed, would you? You can… You can stay the night; I don’t want you driving home.”

She picked up the dress, tossing it to the side with a look of confusion, “Wha’s th’ big deal? Everybody drinks!”

“Nope.” I said, “Not everyone.”

She smirked, reaching her hand down, lifting up her gut and dropping it, letting the jiggling shockwaves echo across her flabby body, “But you like the effects it has, though, don’cha?” she grabbed a handful of jelly roll, shaking it for emphasis, “You told’ me ages ago, ‘member? You like th’ whole ‘big, fat beer belly’ look on a lady, right?” I didn’t answer; I couldn’t deny it. “So wha’s it matter how I get there?”

A nerve twitched in my eye, “It matters because you’re not 21. And it matters because remember my sister?” With that, her confident, happy façade fell away. Her eyes went wide, and her smile disappeared. “Yeah.” I said, “That’s what I thought.”

“I didn’ think-”

“No. No, you did not.” I interrupted. “Just… Just get dressed and get some sleep. You can take the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


Catalina Madigan was the first girl I told about my fetish. She was okay with it, even played into it, but that’s how it ended. We officially ended it the next morning, and went off to different colleges come fall, and didn’t see each other in person until a year later.

We talked, on the phone, through IM, texting, and we got to a pretty good place. Catalina’s not a bad person, just thoughtless sometimes.

I invited her to my next party the next year, and she agreed to come, with the stipulation that she be sober.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


She arrived late, walking through the door in a poorly-fitting white dress, looking like twenty pounds of pork packed into a size nine tube sock. I wanted to go over, say hello, chat for a while, but it proved difficult. Every time I tried to go over to the food table, where she’d taken up residence, I was intercepted by an aunt or uncle. As I cleaned up, I assumed she’d left early.

Midnight rolled around; I set the garbage out by the curb and returned to my room. Catalina was waiting for me, completely naked. All around her were paper plates, once loaded down with party snacks, now cleared of everything but crumbs. She looked up at me, her expression a mixture of concerned and hopeful. Her tone said it all, “W-well? What do you think?”

I froze. She was bigger than I’d ever seen, bigger than I’d imagined, and it didn’t look good on her.

Her pudgy tummy, so soft, so sexy a year ago, was a fleshy balloon filled with jello, streaked with angry, viciously-red stretch marks, occupying almost her entire lap, a thick slab of flab hanging down between her open thighs, covering her womanhood. Her thighs were like pillars of meat, without definition, without any signs of musculature at all. Her face was round, moon-like, and her hair looked duller. I tried to guess how much she weighed, how much she’d gained since we broke up, but nothing made sense for this much change. “Y-you’ve uh, gained weight!” I stammered.

She smiled, confidence flooding her face, “Oh, you noticed?” she asked, patting the space on the bed beside her, “Come on over, I’ll tell you about it.”

I obeyed, feeling numb, “You uh, look like you’ve been doing pretty good?”

She smirked, “Yeah, well, I’ve been eatin’ pretty good; that much is for sure! Well - eatin’ bad, but you know…” she paused, chuckling, her gargantuan gut rippling with each giggle, “I’ve been doin’ good at eatin’ bad!” She saw my staring, interpreting my gawking as interest, “Oh, you like what you see, do you? You like it? Think the whole ‘freshman fifty’ looks good on me?”

“Y- you gained fifty pounds?”

Catalina laughed some more, “Nah, I just call it that!”

“Oh! I was about to s-”

“It’s more like sixty-five or seventy!”

My jaw dropped, “W-wait, seriously?”

Catalina grinned, “I know, right? Doctors couldn’t hardly believe it, either! C’mon, feel it!” Her hand shot. Before I could pull away, her chubby fingers were wrapped around my wrist, forcing my hand into the gelatinous surface of her belly. She moaned, as if enjoying it, “Oof! Forgot how good that feels! Hey, maybe you could give me a belly massage right fast? You know, for uh, old time’s sake?” she jerked her head towards the plates scattered around, “I kinda overdid it on the party snacks…”

I obliged, sinking both hands into the mass of her stomach, down through the blubber to the solid lump of fried food and chocolate fondue, ignoring her pleasured groaning as I tried to carry on a normal conversation, “So, you, uh, never thought to try and lose the weight?”

Her eyes were closed, and her answer broken by response to my massaging, “Mmph! Oh, yeah, I. . . I totally. . . --ugh, yeah, right there-- I tried! Never did!”

I did some quick math in my head, “Sixty-five pounds, huh? So you’re what, uh, two… two hundred twenty-something?”

She laughed, “Oh, Danny, you do know how— How to flatter a girl! You got me, though, I lied about how much I gained, I'm closer to 250!”

I stopped. “Are you fucking kidding me, right now?”

She opened her eyes, “Why'd you stop? And yes, as of Dr. Owens' scale, I'm up to 248.” she smirked, “'Course, that was a week ago, so... . Let me do the math here... one week of mom's home-cooking... plus the take-out I always get on top of that... factor in the fact that I'm basically just a fat, lazy pile of squish at this point, and... Yeah! All of that, plus tonight's little... ahem indiscretion, and I should be breaking the 250 pound barrier by the morning!”

I stared slack-jawed. “two hundred fifty pounds...”

She smacked the side of my head, “Hey, get it right, would you? Two-fifty plus! I just ate like, half your birthday cake and all your hot wings, there is no way in hell I'm not 250+ pounds right this second! And when I wake up, I'll be fatter, still!” she pulled me closer, “Unless you want to help me burn some of these calories, big guy...”

I pulled away quickly, standing up. She laughed, “Oh, right, I forgot how anti- calorie-burning you could be! If it would help, I could lay very, very still while you fuck my fat rolls and I eat whatever's left of your birthday cake...” she rested her hands on the dome of her gut, “I'm pretty full as is, but I could pretty definitely fit another thousand calories inside me, I think. Then again,” a smile crept over her round face, and she grabbed me roughly, pulling me down onto the bed and heaving her huge body up, twisting me beneath and weighing me down. I could feel her belly against mine, warm and soft. Her breasts hung down in my face, shaking from side to side as she said, “you always liked this, now didn't you? My fat, squishy body, all weak and flabby on top of you, weighing your strong, muscular self down? You could always throw me off, back then, couldn't you? What about now, big boy?” She moved higher, lowering her belly down over my face, suffocating me. Muffled through her fat, I heard her keep going, “Always so big and strong! Now who's got the power?”

She pulled away enough for me to gasp for breath, “Who's got the power now, mr. Big man?” She smirked, “C'mon, now, answer me!” I didn't say anything, I just wanted to get away. I squirmed, trying to escape her crushing weight, but it was no use. I couldn't escape. She mirrored my movements above me, thick rolls of fat appearing and disappearing as she bent from side to side, “What,” she said with a maniacal smile, “can’t throw me anymore? Not now that I weigh more than you? For shame, and here I thought you went to the gym twice a week! Never saw you there myself, of co-”

I finally had enough breath to speak. I stammered, begging her, “G-get off of me!”

Catalina froze, confused. She rolled off to the side, then struggled to sit upright, finally realizing the problem. Her face was red, from exertion and embarrassment. “You don’t want me anymore…” she mumbled.

“Look, it’s… it’s not your fault!” I tried to say, “I’m just…” I wanted to claim an imaginary girlfriend, but that wouldn’t help, “I’m just not ready for whatever this is!”

Catalina’s lip curled with disbelief, “Yeah, not ready for some meaningless fat chick-fucking, I get it. What’s the matter, did I get too fat?” I didn’t answer, but my face must’ve given me away, “That’s it, isn’t it!”

“I mean, maybe a little bit?”

Catalina just fell backwards with a stone face, “Ugh. Fuck you, Dan, this is all your fucking fault.”

“What? What did I do?”

Catalina tilted her head forward, just enough that I could see her eyes rolling, “Let’s trace it back to the start, okay? Me, skinny, 120 pounds, high school senior. Senior year pressures get to me, I get kinda chunky, and this is where you come in, all like ‘fat chicks are fucking hot, gain more weight please and thank you!’ and me, like an idiot thinks that sounds fucking awesome. Fast-forward to you breaking up with me, I’m thirty pounds fatter.”

She took a deep breath and continued, “So the break-up happens, I get depressed, gain another fucking forty pounds before school even starts. So I’m waddling around campus with my gut coming into class five minutes before the rest of me, longer if I’m coming from the dining hall, which I always am, because I eat when I’m stressed.”

She shrugged, “All this is happening, and I’m turning into the blob, but I figure, ‘what the hell, some guys, like Dan, are into the fat chicks!’ so I don’t worry about it, unbuckle my belt, unsnap my pants, and waddle off to get my fat ass another tray of desserts from the cafeteria, or order a whole ‘nother value meal. Bringing us to here, now, a year after we broke up. I’m bigger than ever, officially morbidly obese; I weigh fucking two hundred and fifty plus pounds, and guess fucking what! I’m even too fat for the fat-roll-fucking freaks of the world!”

I tried, “It’s… It’s not that bad, I mean, uh, what if you tried exercising or something?”

She laughed, “Please, to a girl like me, wearing shoes that tie is exercise. I stopped wearing anything that wasn’t elastic-waisted about sixty pounds ago because it was too much of a pain to reapply my makeup.” She pointed at the dress she’d worn to the party, “Getting that damn thing on was fucking cardio, and now it’s got fuckin’ chocolate fondue all down the front. The only thing that would actually help me actually lose weight would be if I stopped eating like a goddamn pig for ten minutes!”

I tried to be helpful. I tried to make a suggestion,“So-“

She cut me off instantly, derision in her tone, “So why don’t I do that? Oh, uh, well, maybe because at this point, anything less than three, four thousand calories a day feels like starvation! Maybe because, thanks to you, eating so much I can’t move out of my chair is about the sexiest thing imaginable!”

There was a moment of silence, I wasn't sure I heard right, “W-wait, what?”

“Ugh, knew I shouldn’t have said that.” She tossed her head to the side, waving her arms as if to shoo away what she'd said. Her voice sped up, desperate to change the subject, “Whatever! S'not important! Just forget about it! Just...” she grunted, struggling to right herself. “Just help me up and let me get dressed so I can get out of here”

Even with the two of us, it took three minutes of fighting with gravity to get Catalina back up on her own two feet. She muttered thanks, and started the next impossible fight, a struggle with those juicy, jiggly rolls of blubber around her waist, straining to bend far enough to reach her underwear. It was a losing battle, and she sighed with relief as I handed them to her. “Thanks.” She said, then nodding towards the door, “Could you at least let me get dressed in privacy? Give me some level of dignity, okay?”

I did as she asked, but she failed to regain any semblance of dignity. For a few minutes, it was quiet, but then the noises started. Just a low grunt at first, then a louder one. Then the cursing started, and as it got loud enough to wake my parents, I knocked on the door, whispering through the door, “Keep it quiet, yeah?”

The door swung open, and Catalina stepped out, red-faced and sweating, “For fuck’s sake!” she hissed, “I think… I think I was rushing too much when I took this damn dress off that I fucked up the zipper!” she turned her back to me, showing me the zipper, “Could… Could you give it a try maybe?”

I took a look. It was half-zipped, to the curve of her back, where the halves of the dress split apart, and Catalina’s back fat poured through the gap. It was hopeless, “I don’t… I don’t think it’s possible, Cat. Sorry…”

She groaned, “Well, this is great! Perfect time to realize you have to upgrade to size 26, right when you can’t actually fit into anything that won’t get you kicked out of Torrids! Do you have anything stretchy? Like, sweatpants or something? Fuckin’ gym shorts even? I don’t care about my belly hanging out, or anything, but I’m wearing a fucking thong under here, so just… anything.”

I found an old maroon and white pair of shorts, made of thin Lycra, walking back into the room just in time to get an eyeful of Catalina wriggling her way out of the dress, her entire body shaking with the smallest movement, her belly bunching into big, bulky bulges as she bent down to tug at the hem, kicking the dress away with an angry glare as soon as she could. She grabbed the shorts from me, a sour expression on her face, “Hopefully, these’ll work.” She grunted, holding them to her hips to check, sizing them up against her meaty body, “Yeah, I think so, I mean, I’m fat as fuck overall, but my ass is still just medium huge, so…”

The elasticity was evident; Catalina’s 'medium-huge' ass still looked at least one size too large for these shorts, but they stretched, near to indecency. The fabric hid nothing. If I had time, I could have counted each of the dimples on her thighs. Her belly hung down, mostly uncovered. Even after she’d pulled an old sweatshirt of mine over her bosom, her lowest roll hung out below the hem of the navy fabric. She paused, awkwardly, looking at her phone, “I guess… It’s almost 1:30… I should really be going…”

I smiled, “It’s fine, I get it.” An idea hit me, and I rushed to the kitchen. “Here, take this with you,” I said, handing her the remnants of my birthday cake, “Since I know you’ll enjoy it more than me.” I winked.

She snorted, “Wow, thanks for continuing to contribute to my hopeless obesity.” She said as a smile played at the edges of her mouth.

“Oh, no problem! I figured, I might as well, since, you know, it’s all my fault to begin with!”

She smirked, “So this is... what, your last gift to me, another inch or so to my waistline? Now I gotta go out and get myself a brand-new fatty-fuckin' sugar daddy?” she shrugged, “Ah, well, I mean, I might as well, it's not like I'm gonna get any skinnier.”

“Eh, who knows, maybe someday, you’ll—”

“—Nope!” she cut me off, “I'm too far gone for fitness!” she called back as she walked to her car.

I noticed she’d started eating the cake I gave her before she even started her car, which I think, proved her point pretty well.

I laughed as she drove away.

Cat's a great girl; she means no harm, and I wish her the best.

She'll be fine.

Hell, confidence she's got, she'll have a man within a week of looking, and I promise you one thing. He'll be into feeding her, whether he knows it yet or not.

 

[JimBob]

 

[Cylon_bob]

 

[grasso]