Trying Something New - by Billsfan248 - SSBBW (multiple), feeding, stuffing, ~MWG

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Jan 1, 2015
SSBBW (multiple), feeding, stuffing, ~MWG - A skinny woman's life changes after she meets a pair of hedonists

[Author's Note]: This is the first story of this sort I've written. Feedback is appreciated.

Trying Something New

by Billsfan248

Part 1
They were out to lunch again, just like every weekend. And weekday. Rich girls who had totally given in to their growing appetites didn't need to stay home for lunch. Lee's steakhouse catered mostly to the wealthy set; fantastic food, but tiny portions. Sarah and Shannon had learned, over the course of many meals, that no matter how small the plates, eating enough of them would fill you up. So they treated the entrees like tapas, ordering four or five plates at a time and then alternating between them.

Years of embracing this sort of excess while scrupulously avoiding exercise had made the girls who they were today: soft, self-indulgent, and practically insatiable 20-somethings. Both girls had crested 400 pounds in the past year, and meals like this were slowly driving them to 450. While some women over 400 pounds might possess a degree of fitness - if nothing else, carrying that much weight builds strong legs - these lazy girls were completely without muscle or tone. In addition to their total lack of fitness, both of them were very short, so the weight appeared much greater and much flabbier than it might have on taller, slightly less indolent women.

While they had both seen a slow accumulation of girth over the years, Shannon had always lagged slightly behind her friend in weight. Being the skinny one in a pair that includes someone who might pass for a baby elephant, though, isn't a very impressive title. Shannon's body was pear shaped, with an enormously obese ass and a fat jiggly belly resting atop quivering thighs that had absorbed many of her most recent pounds. The upper portion of her thighs, hidden by her sagging belly, was riddled with cellulite, her legs folding in on themselves in a series of bumpy rolls. They would have been quick to chafe, had the lazy girl ever walked anywhere. Fortunately, she rarely had to walk, going from her car to restaurants to spas to home and scarcely taking 500 steps in a day.

Having those huge thighs, though, did not mean she was slim up top. She had jiggly arms, DD breasts that her belly pushed slightly outwards, and a neck that was really just a series of chins. Smooth, tanned skin testified to her love of lounging by her parents' pool, while her raven black hair, long and straight, bore the telltale shine of professional-grade salon styling. For the past year, that styling had taken place in her home, where the salon sent a stylist every Thursday. This had been going on for the better part of a year. The salon owner claimed she was offering it because she valued such a loyal client, but the reality probably had more to do with her fear of losing another expensive hairdressing chair.

Haircut housecalls, pools, and multi-plate meals like the one she was eating were of course not cheap. Thankfully, Shannon's mother and father were a dynamic couple who shared a talent for business and a love of work. A week before Shannon was born, her father closed a deal to buy a car dealership. Today, the 23 year old's parents owned a dozen different dealerships spread around the state, and had amassed a substantial fortune.

Shannon hadn't inherited her parents' business acumen, but she certainly enjoyed the lifestyle it afforded her. While they were ambitious and energetic, eager to climb above their middle class roots, she had grown up in an atmosphere of ever-increasing wealth and permissiveness, becoming a spoiled, needy pleasure-seeker. Unfortunately for her waistline, nobody had ever taught her to recognize when she'd had enough pleasure, and Sarah was always close by, assuring her that she should have just a bit more.

Sarah, slightly fatter, slightly greedier, slightly hungrier, dominated their relationship. She would have been a traditional beauty if she wasn't floor-shakingly fat. She looked like a model who had suddenly gained 350 pounds, much of it in her belly and breasts. Her face was moon-shaped and soft, all rounded edges and smooth curves. Her plump ruby lips, frequently set in a mischievous smile, were surrounded by dimples and a prominent double chin. Meticulously styled hair framed the tastefully made-up fat face, blonde locks bouncing to her shoulders whenever she moved her head.

Unlike Shannon, Sarah's body was apple shaped, and her wobbly gut was her chief feature. Slightly saggy when empty, her tummy surged ahead when when inflated by a large meal, which it almost always was. Not to be outdone, her chest was massive, far beyond the capacity of any off-the-rack bra. Thankfully, she, like Shannon, had money, and was able to have her wardrobe tailored to her body. This high-quality bespoke underwear allowed her breasts to retain significant perkiness despite their size.

Her arms, jealously protected from anything more strenuous than turning her SUV's steering wheel, had filled with deep deposits of fat. Every inch of her arms was tremendously soft and malleable: elbows were swallowed by upper arms, wrists by forearms, and each of her fingers was working on covering its knuckles. Those fingers, soft and plump, sported an array of jewelry, all of it sized specially to fit her sausagey digits. Where Shannon's wealthy parents were still very much alive, Sarah's passed away 2 years ago, leaving her a massive fortune, including the family home, a stock portfolio nearly as thick as her massive arms, and the number of a trustworthy accountant to manage it all. Sarah would never have to work a day in her life, which was very fortunate, since she couldn't recall the last time she was awakened before 11am. She was even lazier than Shannon.

The girls had been friends since childhood, when they'd both attended Wensleydale Academy. Average students getting average marks and enjoying average popularity, they set themselves apart from the crowd in their physiques. Wensleydale was full of chubby kids, spoiled by money and worshipful parents, but Sarah and Shannon were in a league of their own. By grade six, they were double the weight of some of their skinnier classmates. Too fat to run, jump, and climb during recess, they plopped themselves down in a corner of the playground and invented their own games that didn't require standing up. During class time, they sneakily shared snacks bought with their pooled allowances.

These snacking habits eating habits continued and became more outrageous as they grew older. Every weekend they held sleepovers where they stuffed themselves with junk food, got crumbs on their silk sheets, and watched trashy movies on huge TVs. As they got older, more and more of the sleepovers ended with the girls laying on their backs, moaning and cradling their stuffed bellies in shared blissful agony.

By their 18th birthdays, their gluttony had blown them up to such an extent that the custodian had to drag special desks into their classrooms. The standard desks, connected to chairs with a metal bar, were pathetically undersized for the 300 pound girls, who had trouble getting into them and far more trouble getting out.

The same year they escaped the restrictive desks, they also burst the last dam on their descent into obesity: exercise. They had long hated gym class, the bane of fat girls, but it wasn't until this year that they had an opportunity to get out.

Even if they had just "given it their best shot," as their gym teacher begged, they would still have ended up far behind even the laziest of their peers, and sweaty to boot. So they refused to put any effort in at all. While the others exercised, they would plop themselves down on the sidelines and relax; on days when Sarah felt especially rebellious, they would munch on snickers bars.

The teacher, a kindly woman genuinely dedicated to physical fitness, had no idea what to make of these unapologetically obese girls. More alarmingly, she could see other fat teens jealously watching the girls who had simply opted out of lugging their bodies around the track. She feared the behaviour might spread through her already unenthusiastic exercisers, and so, one crisp morning in October, while classmates played soccer, she took Shannon and Sarah aside and suggested it might be best for everyone if they could find a way to get out of gym entirely.

Sarah quickly crafted a plan, showing enthusiasm she usually reserved for projects that were edible. She had long dreamed of escaping gym class, but had never had a quiescent teacher to permit it. The arrangement she came up with was simple: they wheedled their indulgent parents into setting up a meeting with their doctors, then with the principal and gym teacher. The doctors, well compensated by her parents, provided medical notes describing the specially designed personal fitness routines they were placing the girls on, and warning that the "intense physical requirements of school-sponsored gym class might prove detrimental to the programs." The gym teacher read the notes and, sighing perhaps too theatrically, agreed that, while she hated losing students, letting the girls free from gym made sense.

The principal, who congratulated himself on reading the notes about the "fitness regimes" these butterballs were on without audibly snorting, signed off on the agreement, and that was that. Forms remained in the girls' permanent records excusing them from gym for the remainder of high school. Shannon hadn't been back in a gym since graduation; Sarah only had because she accidentally wandered into one while drunkenly searching for a sushi buffet one Saturday.

In the years since leaving high school, the girls had only fallen further into their lifestyles of utter excess. Normally, Sarah and Shannon were in one of two states: stuffed from the previous meal, or starving for the next one. These days, they spent much more time in the latter state than the former. Their stomachs were stretched from a lifetime of overindulgence, years of seconds and thirds and fourths, meal after meal of just-one-more-bites. Right now, though, those stomachs were full.

Shannon groaned and slid her hands under her black sweater to rub her bloated belly. "Okay, that's it. I'm going to puke. I ate way too much."

"No such thing as too much - belch - excuse me. Okay, maybe there is. But we're not there yet. A week ago I saw you eat 3 pounds of clams casino."

"Yeah, and I nearly died from it. I remember laying in bed and gasping - i really thought i was going to explode." Shannon rubbed her belly slightly more quickly at the memory, a pitiable expression on her face.

"Well, you didn't. And now you're just being a whiner. Have some more bread, you'll feel better."

Sarah was, and always had been, a bad influence on Shannon's waistline. At times like this, when she was uncomfortably stuffed and feeling very fat indeed, Shannon wondered: if they had never been friends, would she have been thinner? Might she have been able to shop in normal clothing stores, or at least see past her boobs and belly and to spot her toes? These idle thoughts were usually halted by Sarah convincing her to have just a little more.

Shannon reached under her gut and undid her black leather belt. Attached to the leather was a chain of big interlocking silver rings. It was quite stylish, though hardly anyone would ever see it, given its hiding place under a cascading overhang of belly flesh and love handles.

She quickly found that it wasn't the belt alone wasn't constraining her, and reached underneath her belly again. Grunting slightly, she undid her custom-ordered designer jeans. The high end zipper slid down smoothly, releasing her enormous gut - not into the open air, since her sweater still covered it. She still had standards, she thought with pride, only to be undercut as she hiccuped loudly.

A woman seated at a nearby table nearby sniffed at them involuntarily, out of surprise. Skinny, probably in possession of the currently sought-after thigh gap, redheaded, barely on the far side of 30. Lots of jewelry but all of it tastefully understated and a quietly chic black dress. Old money, likely. Probably the sort of woman who talked at length about protein and fat content. An absolute cliche. Moments before, she had ordered the kale salad with (loudly) the dressing on the side. Her companion was a near carbon copy, except for her blonde hair and for the fact that she hadn't asked for her dressing on the side, the big porker.

While the redhead, who had now had a look Sarah and Shannon, struggled not to stare, the two fat girls didn't notice her at all. They continued their lunch, a process which, the waiters at most local restaurants could attest, usually took hours. Now only an hour in, Shannon might be full, but Sarah knew she'd be hungry again soon. Sarah grinned between bites and pushed one of her plates - flash-fried spinach, crispy and salty, one of Shannon's favourites - close to the centre of the table. Once it was within Shannon's reach, it would inevitably end up in her mouth.

The two girls might have finished their lunch without ever speaking to the skinny redhead, had she and Sarah not needed to freshen up in the washroom at the exact same moment. The thin woman had just finished her kale salad when she excused herself from the table. Sarah followed a few seconds behind, waddling away from a table strewn with plates, some already empty, others still sizzling and newly delivered.

Anyone observing the two women as they approached the washroom would have found the contrast astonishing, the two endpoints of the set of all female bodies. Total reservation versus total concession to desires. Sarah's calves, jiggling as she lumbered along, were as wide as the redhead's waist.

The redhead's dress gave no hint of any softness around her middle; occasionally, it appeared to show the outline of some of her abs. Sarah's midsection, on the other hand, was a sloshing, unruly repository of fat that slowed her and threw off her balance. Where everything on the redhead was taut and functional, designed to move lightly and quickly, Sarah seemed laid out to accomplish very little. Eating, sitting, and maybe, on a particularly ambitious day, slow sex. Her body was a testament to pure consumption.

As they washed their hands, they snuck glances at each other in the mirrors of the luxuriously appointed washroom. An attendant squirted soap into their hands. They touched up their makeup. Sarah fixed her hair. They were two sides of the same very rich coin. One: restrained, prim, and socially acceptable. The other: indolent, energetic only in her unreserved pursuit of pleasure, and apparently unconcerned with the social cost of her lifestyle.

While the washroom was very fancy, it was also narrow, designed for ladies in a much thinner era. When Sarah finished rearranging her blonde tresses, she turned to squeeze past the redhead and, misjudging the size of her own posterior, rubbed her butt and hip along the top of the counter. In the process, she knocked both their purses off the counter and onto the floor.

Sarah squeaked in surprise, then quickly began scanning the floor for the lost purses. She spotted hers, but there was far too much belly in front of her, and that belly was far too packed with lunch, to allow her to bend down to get it. The redhead, meanwhile, was just staring at Sarah, surprise and anger mixing into a sharply indignant expression. Behind her face, years of etiquette struggled to hold back whatever it was she might want to say to this bloated whale of a woman whose enormous ass had knocked her possessions onto the floor.

The attendant, seeing the two women frozen in place, and recognizing a rare opportunity for a slightly better tip, swung into action. She ducked onto the floor, grabbed both clutches, and handed them back to their respective owners. The redhead thanked her, glared once more at Sarah, and walked out, heels clicking. Sarah was left to mutter "sorry," before shrugging and heading back out. Her lunch was waiting.


New Member
Jan 30, 2010
I never comment on stories, but I really enjoyed this quite a lot! Looking forward the continuation. Thank you for sharing your writing! :)


Proud owner of Megas
Sep 30, 2005
Why don't you post the rest of the story that's been here? I know there is more of it on Curvage.


Jan 1, 2015
Thanks for the kind words everyone!

RE: Coop's question, I've actually tried posting the next two parts a couple times, and had posts that simply don't seem to appear on the forum after i try to put them up. It's a shame, since I've enjoyed this forum for years, but I'd rather spend my very limited time writing than trying to figure out the ins and outs of the posting system.

I'm working on parts 4 and 5 at this point, and I will try to get them up here. Otherwise, they'll be on curvage and deviantart.


Active Member
Sep 30, 2005
I've read the rest of the story so far on Curvage. It's a wonderful story and am excited about the direction it's headed.


Jan 1, 2015
Part 2

It wasn't until well after Alyssa's lunch companion Jane dropped her off at home that she realized something was wrong. Hoping to finalize her evening plans, she opened her bag and pulled out her phone. But it wasn't her phone; hers was a two year old model in an understated black case, while this was clearly a much newer model, far sleeker, and in a garish pink case. Jane, who always insisted on treating, had paid for lunch and driven her home, so she hadn't even opened the purse. She dumped the clutch's remaining contents out onto the breakfast nook counter.

Antacids. A baby Ruth bar. Lipstick in much too bright a shade of red.

Alyssa was a quick study, and working out the likely explanation didn't take her long. She turned the tiny purse over in her hands. It was nearly same one she owned, alright. Italian leather. Gold clasp. Tiny jeweled lanyard. But hers was a knockoff - a good knockoff, but a knockoff - while this looked like the genuine article.

Ugh. The massive woman from Lee's.

She flicked the phone on with manicured fingers. Remarkably, it wasn't locked - at least she had one piece of luck today. She dialed her own number and someone with a very full mouth picked up.

[Swallowing sound] Hello?
"Hi, is this the lady from the bathroom at Lee's? I think we got our purses switched."

"Oh no! Can you meet me back at Lee's? I haven't left yet."

Jesus, that was hours ago. Didn't that woman ever leave the restaurant? Fat as she was, maybe not... she probably had a murphy bed folded up in the wall of the kitchen.

"I'm afraid I’m back home. It'll take me about an hour to get back there. Do you want to wait, or maybe you could meet me halfway somewh-" The woman interrupted her.

"I'll wait. Call me when you get here." A chuckle. "You've got my number."

Alyssa slid into the front seat of her silver Volvo, her long, toned limbs folding folding smoothly in around her. It might not be the luxury Mercedes Jane drove, but at least it was European. Forty-five minutes on the highway brought her back to Lee's. She parked and dialed the number, half expecting the woman to belch into the receiver. Thankfully, she didn't. She just said "Table near the back. Tell the hostess to take you to Sarah if you can't find it. She knows me."

Alyssa didn't have any trouble finding it, though. The fat woman, evidently named Sarah, didn't seem to realize they'd sat at neighbouring tables earlier that day. Probably too absorbed in eating to notice anything that wouldn't fit between her teeth.

Approaching now, Alyssa had a chance to take a long look at the scene, rather than the fleeting glances she caught earlier. The two women were truly enormous, as was the booth they were packed into. Looking closely, she realized that their booth was different from the others. A casual observer might not even notice it, but the crushed velvet cushioning was thicker, the carved backrests set further from the tabletop, and the rich mahogany undergirding the bench far thicker. Yet even though the seats were clearly designed for patrons a few levels beyond mere fatness, Sarah and her friend barely fit. Both had bellies that pressed against the edge of the tabletop, spilling over slightly and competing for space with the numerous stacks of empty plates.

"Give her a seat, Shannon," Sarah said.

Shannon sighed and began to move over, a surprisingly difficult task. As soon as she moved her arms, she set her entire body in motion. Flabby biceps strained to lift her bloated torso just an inch to allow her to slide further into the booth. When that failed, the woman resorted to shimmying over a tiny bit at a time, her unenthusiastic body sloshing in lazy protest. How much of this difficulty was due to the quantity of food she had consumed and how much was due to the total lack of muscle in her body, Alyssa couldn't say. Eventually, nearly gasping, she stopped moving, and Alyssa gently set her tiny rear into the small space Shannon had cleared for her.

Alyssa set the clutch onto the table. Sarah, across from her, produced its twin, while grinning.

"Hey, I'm sorry about all this, red. Love your hair, by the way. I'm Sarah. And this is Shannon."

"I'm Alyssa," she said, slightly more coldly than she intended. But she couldn't help it; talking to the woman risked humanizing her, and Alyssa did not want that. She just wanted to see her as a very clumsy, self-indulgent bag of lard who had ruined the afternoon.

"Look, sorry I couldn't meet you somewhere. Shannon and I are in the middle of lunch, see." Sarah brightened, her moon face lighting up and blue eyes shining suddenly. "Say, let me buy you some lunch!"

"I had my lunch 4 hours ago. When i was here the first time. It's nearly 5."

Sarah looked genuinely surprised. "My God, 5? Where did the afternoon go? That's perfect, then. Let me buy you an early dinner."

"Well, I'm a bit tired and I just-"

"I insist. Come on. I made you drive all the way back here. It's the least I can do."

The least you could do, Alyssa thought, was to exercise some rudimentary control over your gigantic ass and avoid knocking people's things on the floor. She wanted to stand up and shout that in the woman's flabby face; she wanted to jab a finger into the gooey flab that buried her sternum and explain in detail what a fat clumsy bitch she was. She could almost picture the blank, stunned look she was sure to get from the fatty when she did it. If she was lucky, the woman might even apologize afterward.

Unfortunately, Alyssa's upbringing left her incapable of such a dramatic gesture. Her mother had dedicated a great deal of energy to drilling her particular brand of manners into Alyssa. One of the core rules was that one should not refuse an invitation offered genuinely unless one had a very good reason. She made exceptions occasionally, but she always felt queasy afterwards, as if if she had done something downright immoral. There was no way she could turn this down, when the fat woman with a dimpled face was clearly trying to make up for what she had done earlier. No, the solution here was to let Sarah buy her something light, have a few bites, and leave with a clean conscience.

She sighed, put on a cheery face, and said, "Sure, that would be lovely."

When the waiter arrived, however, he did not carry his notepad for taking a salad order; instead, he held, with impressively little effort, 5 full plates of food. This was clearly not the first time he'd brought out an over-large order to this particular table.

"Give her the rarest of the batch, James. I owe this lady. She brought back my purse. She could have drained me dry and headed for the border while i was still here working on lunch!"

James, apparently on a firstname basis with Sarah, nodded politely and then placed one of the plates before Alyssa. After setting the others down, he also produced a set of utensils and a soft cloth napkin from his tiny

She stared at the plate of expertly prepared fat, carbs, and salt as it steamed in front of her. Sarah and Shannon, rejuvenated, dug into theirs. Pushing the plate away and ordering a salad? Out of the question. Far too gauche. She would have to just take a few bites, then move the food around a bit.

Shannon looked up from the plate in front of her. It was white porcelain decorated in delicate gold leaf, but she was treating it like a trough. She swallowed and, for the first time since Alyssa had arrived, spoke up.

"So, uh, do you come to Lee's often?"

Alyssa did not. She couldn't afford to. Sure, Jane would treat her sometimes. But outside of those trips, Lee's simply wasn't in the budget. Three generations of decreasingly savvy businessmen had overseen the collapse of her great grandfather's shipping empire. Besides family heirlooms, relics of better times and far too precious to sell, her parents had left her nothing but debts.

All she said, though, was "Occasionally. And you two?"

But Shannon already had her mouth full again, so Sarah took over the talking. "Oh, we're here once a week. It's in the rotation for Fridays. Chef is fantastic, seats are comfortable, James is great... if they didn't close, we might not leave. Right Shan?"

Shannon nodded agreeably, her stuffed cheeks wobbling in time.

Alyssa pictured the kitchen bed she'd imagined earlier, and a pair stuffed from a half-day long lunch, waddling back to collapse into it. She glanced at her watch, mentally calculating how long she should stay to avoid insulting anyone.

She nibbled the steak. It was good - tender and juicy, very rare, with just a hint of char on the outside. She took a bit of the potato - just as delicious. Not dried out from being jammed in an oven, but fresh and fluffy, clearly cooked right, down to the second. And dripping with butter, creamy and rich and good. The textures danced on her tongue; just wonderful.

When was the last time she ate something drowning in butter? She couldn't even remember.

"S'good, isn't it?" Sarah pulled her from her reverie. "I can tell you're enjoying it."

"I usually stick to the salad here. Have to watch what I eat."

"Or what? You'll turn into a big fatty like me?"

Alyssa was instantly mortified. Why had she even mentioned watching what she ate? Her face must have shown all this, because Sarah continued.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I know I'm big. I love my life, I enjoy myself, and I don't see why I should feel guilty about that."

Not really knowing what to say, Alyssa laughed nervously. And after that, the tension evaporated, and the conversation flowed more easily. Alyssa had arrived intent on hating Sarah, but soon found her enjoying the woman in spite of herself. Both Sarah and Shannon turned out to be very charming conversationalists, when they had a moment between bites, anyway. And while they each put away two of the plates, Alyssa worked her way through the entirety of her own.

She sat back and sighed contentedly, her earlier rush to escape forgotten. There would be plenty of time to beat herself up over eating all this later.

"James!" Sarah called, waving a hand and wobbling her entire upper body, "Dessert!"


Jan 1, 2015
Part 3

Sarah woke on a rainy Saturday morning to the sound of rumbling, some from the clouds and some from her stomach. It had stormed all night and given the thunderheads she could see out the window, it didn't intend to stop. This was the sort of day when she wanted to just stay in bed. Not that there was any day when she especially relished the prospect of leaving her toasty kingsize, but when it was this unpleasant out, she felt even lazier than usual.

While her brain might have wanted to keep her head under the blankets and wait out the rain, her overindulged stomach had other ideas. The air was thick with the smell of bacon, pancakes, and eggs, and her stomach grumbled insistently. Her morning maid, who seemed to top her previous effort in the kitchen every single day, had clearly outdone herself yet again. Sarah's plump thumb mashed a little button attached to the the bedside table. Marianne arrived almost immediately, carrying a tray laden with breakfast food, still sizzling from the pan.

Aside from being a brilliant cook, Marianne was organized and efficient - a perfect maid if ever there was one. She was paid very generously, far more than she might make anywhere else, so she tolerated Sarah's excessive laziness and occasional imperiousness without complaint. Sarah didn't require her maids to wear any sort of uniform, though they invariably had aprons wrapped around their waists, since they spent so much of their time in the kitchen. Under Marianne's apron was a black shirt and skirt, and under that was the body of a plump woman with surprisingly thick muscles. While she had always been plump, the muscle was a product of working for Sarah. Taking care of someone so heavy and so inert was a surprisingly effective form of strength training.

Sarah reclined in bed languorously, the picture of inactivity, as her maid zipped around the room. When Marianne reached to prop her up with an additional pillow behind her back rolls, Sarah could barely muster the energy to lean forward. Once she had been arranged in some semblance of a sitting position, Marianne offered her the heaping tray she had brought up. The prospect of bacon energized Sarah, and she grabbed the tray with both hands.

Sarah ate her breakfast in bed while wearing her pajamas. They were silk button ups, made from what seemed like acres of pink fabric. When purchased a few months back, they had been loose. Now, Marianne could see that Sarah was starting to outgrow them, the two buttons at the apex of her belly beginning to gap slightly, revealing a little diamond of soft flesh. While Sarah munched happily, Marianne tidied the room, collecting the remaining plates and wrappers from what had been a pretty impressive midnight snack.

The room, like its inhabitant, was massive, as were the attached closet (the size of a midrange studio apartment) and the adjoining bathroom (complete with a jacuzzi that fit either three people or one Sarah). The closet in particular was impressive, overflowing with shelves upon shelves of clothing, all of it specially sized to fit the bulges and rolls of Sarah's form. Her boss' tightening pajamas suggested that it was time for Marianne to go through the closet (again) and clear out the outfits that had, as she would politely explain, "shrunk in the wash." She made a note to contact the tailor and set up a fitting.

After Marianne cleared the breakfast dishes and went to draw a bath,Sarah steeled herself for the biggest challenge of the day, getting up. Some days she liked to have Marianne help her out of bed, but she didn't want to lose the ability to do it herself should she ever need to. She had found from past experience that the longer she sat and thought about the exertion of getting up, the more daunting it became, and the more likely it was that she would give up and shout for Marianne. So without further delay, she gathered her courage (plentiful) and her strength (limited) and dropped her feet over the edge of the bed.

Since her plump legs were too short to reach the floor from the high mattress, she then scooted forward until her toes touched carpet. Then she began the arduous process of shifting her weight to her legs. Using her arms, thighs, and whatever leverage her toes could gain from the floor, she tipped her body forward, effectively pouring her fat frame off the bed. Once started, she built momentum and soon most of her weight was on her legs. A final push brought her fully to her feet, sweaty and wobbly from effort, and she waddled to the bathroom.

Feeling satisfied after her morning workout, Sarah happily accepted Marianne's help undressing and lowering her body into the tub. Marianne had been working for Sarah for nearly 5 years now, and Sarah had no qualms about being naked in front of her. It was like being naked in front of a doctor, except that Marianne never told she needed to get more exercise.

Sarah unbuttoned the tight pajama top, and Marianne pulled the shirt off from behind her, gently maneuvering Sarah's flabby arms through the sleeves. Her arms, now freed, fell limply against squishy side rolls. They never pointed straight down, but instead hung slightly diagonally, due to a combination of very fat upper arms and very fat sides.

The top was the easy part; the pants were significantly more challenging. Sarah stood with her legs as far apart as she could, and Marianne kneeled in front of her, pulling the the waistband down, carefully but firmly. The pants resisted, ensconced under Sarah's hanging belly and between her gelatinous thighs. Marianne lifted Sarah's stomach with one hand and expertly released the waistband from underneath with the other hand. Despite Sarah's best efforts at separating her thighs, though, they remained stubbornly mashed together, holding the pants in a flabby vice. After a minute of unsuccessful tugging, Marianne yanked the pants, hard, to free them from their adipose prison. Sarah squeaked slightly, but didn't complain. Underneath, she wore nothing, a bare and very bloated pubic mound peaking out from below the bottom of her belly. That belly, the cause and recipient of the vast majority of Sarah's overindulgence, had recently developed some slight pockets of cellulite, a testament to her body's inability to handle the amount of fat it was tasked with storing. Everything quivered and jiggled in time to with her breathing, which was still heavy from getting out of bed. Goosebumps developed on everything from her breasts to her legs as her skin was suddenly exposed to the cool air.

Sarah lifted one leg, then the other, to allow Marianne to pull her feet free of the pajama bottoms. This was the part of the process that always made Marianne tense. She feared that the jiggling mass of flab that paid her salary might fall, either backwards into the tub, or, worse, forwards onto her. Thankfully, despite some shakiness in the leg that was forced to hold all her weight temporarily, she managed stay upright. Perhaps when she checked about upgrading Sarah's wardrobe she should try to switch her into a nighty or a teddy, something that just slipped over her head. Getting Sarah started in the morning was hard enough without the risk of her toppling over.

The jacuzzi had a set of sturdy marble steps around it, each broad and shallow. This allowed Sarah to climb in under her own power, though she did hang onto Marianne's sturdy hand for balance. Once she plopped into the deep tub, sending the bathtub equivalent of a tidal wave over the edges, Marianne turned off the ornate faucet, set a towel on the edge, and left to finish cleaning up the bedroom.

Sarah relaxed in the bath, feeling wonderfully light as her fat floated her like a buoy. The jets made her rolls of belly and back fat jiggle and wobble underwater. She enjoyed the tickling sensation, and wondered briefly if she might eat lunch in here, before deciding that she would rather go out for lunch.

Her plans were initially spoiled when Shannon texted back to tell her that she was sick. Besides Shannon, Sarah didn't have that many friends, and even fewer who would be available for lunch on such short notice. Idly flipping through recent calls on her phone, she came upon the Alyssa's number from yesterday. On a whim, she texted her.

-Want to get lunch? My treat! ~Sarah

By the time Marianne had returned to help her out of the tub, she got a response.

-Sure! Where?

An hour later, they found themselves at Plate, a self-consciously exclusive restaurant in the business district. It was the kind of place that promised diners deconstructed dishes topped with foam. However, the manager, upon discovering the depth of Sarah's pocketbook, had made certain his chef served a few more substantial off-menu dishes off-menu, for her and a few of the town's other well-to-do gourmands.

Surf and Turf. Lasagna. Scalloped potatoes. The chef might not enjoy cooking these plattered cliches, but he was a professional. If he had to prepare a massive dish of pasta with clam sauce, he would make the best damn dish of pasta and clam sauce he could. And as Sarah had discovered on previous visits, his best was heavenly.

Plate's decoration, like its name, was minimal. All brushed steel and pine and sconces, it gave the impression of something the Scandinavians would design 20 years from now. Like Lee's, they had a special table reserved for Sarah, armless chairs with significantly chunkier metal and wood buttressing them against the weight of flabby butt they would soon encounter.

Conversation was easy. Alyssa had evidently completely forgiven Sarah for the circumstances of their initial meeting. The slim redhead proved far more talkative than Shannon, which put less pressure on Sarah to talk constantly. This, in turn, allowed her to give the fine food at Plate the attention it deserved. That alone would have made Alyssa a very pleasant companion, but Sarah was pleased to discover they shared similar taste in music, books, and TV.

Their server, who had never encountered Sarah before, seemed surprised by the sheer quantity of food she ordered for the table. When Sarah ordered her second round, the girl barely managed to mask her shock, and by the third order, she probably thought she was the victim of an elaborate prank. When Sarah flagged her down and placed her dessert order, the waitress finally spoke out.

"You sure you want a whole cherry cheesecake, m'am? They're pretty big, and the kitchen makes them really rich. I can't usually get through more than a piece myself."

"Oh, I'm sure," Sarah patted her packed belly, which jiggled only slightly and produced a much less resonant sound than it usually did. "I've had cheesecake before."

The server shook her head in disbelief, but returned a few minutes later with the entire cheesecake. She was a chubby young thing, likely working her way through University and all the junk food that entailed. Judging by her generous waistline, she probably thought she knew a thing or two about eating. But in comparison to Sarah, she was an amateur.

In the end, amateur or not, the server proved correct. Sarah didn't make it all the way through the cheesecake. She slowly wound down, pausing longer and longer between bites, occasionally groaning slightly and wishing she'd listened to Marianne when she suggested a more forgiving fabric. By the time Sarah set down her fork in surrender, her sun dress, white with tiny roses, was creaking. Stitches along the sides of her swollen gut protested as they were pulled deep into the folds of heavy flab that ringed her body.

Luckily, Alyssa hadn't ordered any dessert. Instead, she happily munched on a series of "oh, okay, but just a tiny slice for me," pieces and managed to get through the equivalent of nearly a quarter of the cake.

By the time they finished their lunch, second lunch, third lunch, and lunch-ssert, Sarah was completely gorged. She was stuffed to a point she rarely reached anymore, at least when dining out (meals at home were another matter entirely). She loved the feeling: replete, warm, satisfied, and a little sleepy. If not for discomfort from the binding of the dress around her midsection, she might have drifted off into a peaceful stupor.

Across the table, Alyssa was not faring as well. She had a plastered-on smile that seemed to say "why, no, I didn't just stuff myself nearly to the point of bursting in a public restaurant with a near stranger. Why?" Sarah could tell she was hurting. Poor thing, Sarah thought. Probably usually orders nothing but salads. Not used to proper meals.

Alyssa opened her mouth to speak, but startled both Sarah and herself with a burp. She blushed and covered her mouth as nearby patrons sent icy glares towards the disruptive fatty and her skinny friend.

"I think," Sarah said, "that is our cue to leave." Before leaving, they made plans to meet up again, this time at Sarah's place. She promised Alyssa a wonderful day of swimming and relaxing by the pool.

Then the two bloated girls, one enormous, the other tiny, but both stuffed to their limits, struggled to their feet. Little Alyssa, who had arrived looking very fit, now looked very pregnant. Once standing, she arched her back and braced herself with an arm on her hip in a rough imitation of a woman weeks away from giving birth. This seemed to help her keep balanced as she slowly walked out into the rain.

Sarah, whose full stomach was buried under inches of flabby lard, didn't look that different from before she arrived. Her belly was firmer, but on someone as big as her, it was hard to tell. Standing was difficult; she was thankful for the sturdy table, which gave her something to brace her arms against. Once she was up on her feet, she unsteadily set out for the exit.

Even on the rare occassions when her stomach was empty, she waddled. Now, utterly stuffed, her gait was even slower and more exaggerated. She tipped from side to side as she walked, like a ship in high seas. Her right hand rested atop her belly and her left clutched an extra large umbrella.

Despite being advertised as "big enough for a family!" that umbrella failed to keep Sarah dry. By the time she reached her massive SUV, parked only 30 feet from Plate's entrance, her mood had deteriorated. She was wheezing from the walk, hiccuping from fullness, and the parts of her body the umbrella hadn't been able to cover - mostly her ass and belly - were completely soaked. The wet white dress now clung even tighter, revealing her deep bellybutton and the outline of her elegant white bra. Behind her, a thong was visible, as was the top of a crack it could no longer cover.

Her sigh of relief at dropping into the front seat of the SUV was mirrored by the car's moan of resignation. This was the only car that fit her in anything approaching comfort, but no vehicle was going to be especially comfortable for a body such as hers - especially once she stuffed that body full of food and cheesecake. The leather seats stuck to her sweaty upper arms and neck. The door, yanked shut, pushed against her expansive hips, and her hips pushed back. The seatbelt was nowhere close to fitting over her breasts. Further down her torso, her wet belly rubbed the steering wheel, hopefully not enough to impair her driving. She put the car in gear and headed home.


Two months later
Alyssa woke to an unfamiliar alarm and a clanging head. She had spent the night at Sarah's again, and evidently imagined she would be waking up early to get a start on her day. What seemed like such a good idea in a brain humming with tequila sounded very stupid the morning after.

She pushed herself upright and gently shook her head, hoping to clear a few of the cobwebs. Unfortunately, the cobwebs proved to be securely anchored, and all it did was set the room spinning.

Pausing before a mirror in the guest bedroom, she assessed what two months of friendship with Sarah Turing had gotten her: about 23 pounds. It was as if someone had sprayed her entire body with a second coat of Alyssa, this one beautifully tanned but slightly wobbly. Each indulgence from the past two months showed on her nearly pudgy frame. The days spent snacking by Sarah's pool, multi-course meals at high end restaurants, evenings filled with rich drinks and richer desserts served up by Sarah's friendly maids... all of them were here, a record in flab. The situation had her very conflicted.

On the one hand, the changes to her body and lifestyle were starting to become alarming. Her self restraint, once cracked, crumbled in the course of just a few fancy meals, and was now completely gone. Her plan to deal with this, such as it was, had been to simply ignore the problem. She promised herself she would get serious and regain control soon. That "soon" proved conveniently nebulous, and was constantly shifting further into the future. As she outgrew the last of her clothes, though, the ignore and delay plan was becoming tougher to maintain. Worse, she knew once she did finally face it, the voice of her mother and her own conscience would torment her for the lack of self-discipline.

On the other hand, it felt so good to just relax. She felt as if she'd lived her entire life clenched, and had just now allowed her muscles to slacken. Everything up until she met Sarah had been dedicated to keeping up appearances. But for whom? A bunch of friends with more money than her? A series of lousy dates? The distant relatives who appeared to demand handouts, somehow unaware that she was practically penniless? Her dead mother? What had all that effort and self-denial gotten her? And now... well, life was a pleasure. If her family hadn't lost their fortune, she might have lived like this for years, without Sarah's subsidies. She happily conjured a life full of the finest food, drink, and entertainment, maids to wait on her, a pool and a high end car. Of course, she might have ended up as big as Sarah, but the blonde was so relentlessly happy, she must be doing something right.

Her imaginings were interrupted by her stomach, which had decided to break up the monotony of just being queasy with a quick somersault. She poured herself a glass of water, found Advil in the medicine cabinet, and then stepped into the hot shower. Resting her aching head against the cool jade tiles as the hot water washed over her thickening body was very soothing, and she stood there for nearly an hour.

The southern accent of Marianne, Sarah's head maid, floated into the guest room. "Alyssa," she called, "breakfast is served in the dining room!" Before she fully comprehended what she was doing, Alyssa had stepped out of the shower, called "I'll be down in a minute," and wrapped herself in a huge fluffy towel. The towel was clearly purchased for guests who shared Sarah's physique, but the fact that it wrapped around her nearly two and a half times still eased her mind. She might have put on a bit of weight, but she wasn't that big yet.


Jan 1, 2015
Part 4

Four more months of pretending there was no problem had, disappointingly, not solved it. Alyssa had gained 40 additional pounds in that time, bringing the grand total to nearly 65 since meeting Sarah. Worse, the rate seemed to be picking up; the greater part of that 40 had been acquired in the last two months. It was becoming very difficult to ignore.

Unfortunately for her waistline, worrying about it and doing something about it were different animals. Inertia, Alyssa discovered, is a powerful force. For years, she had chugged along with her ascetic diet and rigorous exercise regime. Now that she’d traded that in for a life of laziness and overeating, she found it was very hard to change back.

Her last big push to get back under control had come a week prior, in a burst of energy sparked by an incident at Sarah’s. The two women had been gorging themselves all day while watching movies in Sarah's home theatre. The theatre was lavishly appointed, like everything at Sarah’s, and came complete with a massive screen and 12 traditional movie seats. Each seat had, of course, been scaled up to fit 80 inch hips. Halfway through an enjoyably predictable romantic comedy, something pinged off the screen, and Alyssa’s shorts unzipped themselves. Popping a button was a major relief for her overfilled stomach but a shock to her morale. Bursting pants: that was something that only happened to fat girls.

That day, driving home with her growing stomach (was it a gut yet? It seemed to be well on its way) flopped out on her lap, she tried to put a positive spin on the incident. Her stomach outgrowing an almost-new outfit - that was surely the wakeup call she needed. Pop psychology aphorisms about the importance of hitting rock bottom floated through her mind. This, she was sure, would shake her out of her languorous haze and get her back on track. She would rein in her appetite and start exercising again.

Laying out out an optimistic schedule of workouts and a strict 1500 calorie per day diet was easy. Following it was infinitely harder. Her exercise plans were doomed from the moment she pulled her blue lycra shorts and sports bra from a neglected drawer. The outfit had been purchased for an Alyssa carrying 60 pounds fewer than she currently did. The bra squashed her breasts, and, with nowhere to go, they spilled out the top like well-tanned dough. Down below, her stomach pooched slightly over her shorts, love handles making their presence known along her sides. Her thighs both felt and looked like sausages stuffed into far too small casings.

Once she started exercising, things got even worse. Her treadmill rattled alarmingly with her pounding footfalls, her thighs chafed, and everything seemed to jiggle. 15 minutes later, having jogged for barely more than a mile, she was a sweaty, wobbly, gasping mess. Her workout called for 45 minutes of cardio. 15, she decided, had been more than plenty.

After a half-hearted stretching session to cool down (had her toes always been so far from her fingertips?) she showered and set about making a healthy dinner. For years, she had eaten like this. A spinach and arugula salad, with half a grilled chicken breast and a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

She enjoyed it. It was healthy. It was flavourful.

It was way too small.

A salad would have satisfied old Alyssa. It only whet the appetite of New Alyssa. New Alyssa didn’t see salads as a dinner. Salads were a prelude to a dinner, which was itself an intro to dessert, and that to a parade of evening snacks.

Sitting at the table, fruitlessly willing her stomach to feel full instead of gapingly empty, she received a text from Sarah. “Dinner?”

Was the girl reading her mind? Was she temptation incarnate? Quite possibly. Alyssa didn’t care. She was starving.

“Be there in 20,” she texted back.

2 hours later, stuffed with roast chicken and rosemary potatoes, and enjoying an after dinner nightcap with Sarah, her diet died an unmourned death. Her resolve hadn’t even lasted 24 hours. She simply lacked the will to scale back her out of control consumption. And for the moment, happiness was a full stomach; enough food quieted even the nagging voice of her mother in the back of her mind.


Now, a week after giving up on her short-lived fitness plan, she sat sprawled on a plush loveseat in her increasingly dusty living room, a half-gallon of heavenly hash ice cream resting in the crook of her arm. While the sweet creaminess played on her tongue, she assessed the room around her. She should really get up and clean the place. It was a mess that she would have been ashamed to show anyone. On the other hand, when did she last have anyone over? And she was spending so much time at Sarah’s… it hardly seemed worth it. Further, getting up sounded like a lot of effort, even without considering all the walking, stretching, and bending that cleaning the room would take. Her mind drifted to a happier topic. What would she have for supper? Sarah was going to meet her downtown, but they hadn't settled on a restaurant. Something... savoury, maybe. Japanese? French?

Her dinner planning was interrupted by her phone, which dinged a reminder. "Workout: Leg day!"

She nearly laughed. Her plump legs were propped up on the other end of the loveseat and they did not appear to be feeling the burn. They sat, static as the rest of her, toes curled up with satisfaction at her last chocolatey bite.

She shut off the reminder, which removed the schedule from her sight but not from her mind. While she was clearly unable to stop her descent into decadence, as proven in last week’s abject failure, she still worried about what was happening. When stuffed to the brim she might feel only satisfaction and warmth, but at other times, her old thought patterns crept in. What was she doing to herself? Why couldn’t she stop it? What would people say? Planning fixes, she’d seen, was easy, but implementation was so damned hard. She yawned, and sucked on another heaping spoonful of rich ice cream.

Her lack of willpower wasn’t the only problem, though. The other problem was Sarah. Realistically, she knew her diet had been doomed, but Sarah’s dinner invite certainly hastened the collapse. And it wasn’t just that. Normal points of friction that might stop a girl from gaining over 60 pounds in six months - things like outgrown clothes, rising food bills - those were all removed by Sarah. "Oh, my tailor's coming - I bet he'd love to work on something for you. He's very creative. No, I insist. My treat." “Of course dinner is on me. And I won’t have you skipping dessert. I insist!”

"I insist," spoken in Sarah's slightly breathy voice, might well have been the motto of their friendship.

Alyssa was initially worried about the massive inequality of their relationship. Especially since Sarah was nearly a decade younger. Yet she undeniably needed the support. She had never worked - the women in her family did not work, her mother had always reminded her whenever she asked about the possibility of a summer job - and she was scraping the very bottom of her beleaguered bank account. She owned this old mansion, of course, but selling it... the guilt. Being the member of the Sauvages who lost the estate? Such shame.

This imagined ignominy alone set her to nervously eating double time. Since surrendering to Sarah's onslaught of treats, Alyssa had found food was good for many things besides pure pleasure. Food helped quiet a lonely stomach or a worried one. Butterflies couldn't flap nervously around her belly when they were submerged in ice cream.

Shifting in her seat, she rubbed her stomach gently. She was by now used to feeling bloated. At first, it had left her uncomfortable as the volume of whatever too large meal she had just consumed pressed on her stomach. After a few weeks, though, she acclimated. In addition to getting used to the feeling, she’d learned treatments. Some of these, like Tums and antacids, were obvious. Others were suggested by Sarah, the big big sister she never had, and all of them seemed to pull her further and further into obesity. Naps - long, lazy ones that swallowed up entire afternoons. Belly rubs with expensive oils, performed by her own chubby fingers. And proper clothing - which meant loose pants with elastic built into the waist or, ideally, the entire garment. Flowing dresses. Nudity.

As her repertoire of fat girl tricks grew, so too did her meals. She stretched both her stomach and her idea of what constituted a reasonable portion. Where once she would have paled at a plate with two slices of pizza, she was soon plowing through half a pizza, then, eventually, a whole large pie. The first time she did that she was left immobilized in bed for nearly 12 hours, but it was easier the next time, and the time after that. Now, anything less than an entire pizza left her unsatisfied.

This was all very worrisome. But whenever she panicked, Sarah was there to put things in perspective. The fat woman proved by example that life as a hedonist could not only be worth living, but deliciously satisfying. She also changed Alyssa’s perspective in a more literal sense: a whole pizza might seem like a lot when compared to, say, a nutritionist’s recommended serving size. But when set against Sarah’s four-hour meals, usually eaten from serving platters, it looked downright sensible. And this perspective adjustment also applied to Alyssa’s growing body: when looking at Sarah's frame every day, her own spreading hips and belly inevitably seemed tiny. Had she stood next to a cardboard cutout of the Alyssa who met Sarah six months ago, she would have been shocked. But next to a lifelong glutton so fat she needed help getting up from chairs, Alyssa was barely plump.

Alyssa was growing. She knew it. She couldn’t do anything about it. And thanks mostly to Sarah, even if she didn’t love how fat she was getting, she was okay with it.


Jan 1, 2015
Part 5

Not everyone was okay with a growing Alyssa, though.

Shannon lay on her bed, her upper body propped up on pillows decorated in black and pink stripes. She was dressed in a bra and panties, though the latter was completely hidden under her enormous gut, which was resting comfortably on her thighs. Her hips spread out far to her sides, though nowhere near the edges. Those hips were the reason she’d upgraded from a queen to a California King a few years back. She was alternating between handfuls of kettle chips and spoonfuls of chocolate cake, though the treats did nothing to improve her mood.

She scowled. It wasn't fair. No, it wasn't just unfair. It was... outrageous. Cruel. For two decades, Sarah and her were inseparable, a pair of very round peas in a roomy pod. They dined together nearly every day, spent the nights out at bars or at events or at one of their cavernous homes. They jointly led lives of extreme gluttony and laziness, held together by their dream of never lifting a finger, unless it was mouthbound and carrying something tasty.

Now? Everything had changed. Shannon hadn’t seen Sarah in a week. And before that, they’d gone two weeks apart. In the past six months, she’d seen her best friend less and less.

All because Sarah bumped into some skinny bitch. Sarah’s massive, unwieldy ass probably inconvenienced hundreds of people a year! What was so special about Alyssa?

Chewing a particularly large handful of chips, she pondered. Shannon was no deep thinker, but she wasn’t stupid, and she could tell this was the key question. What was it about Alyssa that Sarah was so taken with?

Refinement? Maybe. Alyssa was certainly well-mannered. She spoke with an upper-crust accent, every syllable enunciated precisely, as if poor elocution might call down the wrath of an angry grammar god. Dining with her was a pleasure, from the basic (exquisite table etiquette, excepting the burps that were a natural consequence of their style of overconsumption) to the more complex (the way she effortlessly seemed to keep conversations running). But while Shannon admitted Alyssa might have been a slightly better interlocutor than her, she wasn’t without grace and manners herself.

Wealth? Definitely not. First of all, Sarah had enough money for, it seemed, anything she might want to do. When she'd outgrown many of the doorframes in her house, a 30 room mansion, she simply had every single door widened. She didn't even tell Shannon about it until she visited and asked what the construction crew was doing. A renovation that cost thousands and thousands of dollars, and Sarah didn’t think it merited even a passing mention. Second, Alyssa's financial status was murky. Shannon knew she was a member of some very exclusive clubs and philanthropies. On the other hand, it all appeared to be legacy. She drove a Swedish car, for God's sake. If she was rich, she was also cheap. If she wasn’t rich, she was (Shannon cringed slightly at the thought) tragically middle class. Either way, there wasn’t a chance she was subsidizing Sarah.

Was it... sexual? Shannon was certain it wasn't. The two of them had kissed once, years ago, to see what it was like. That was back when they couldn't find boys interested in them; those days were long gone, and when they wanted, they didn't sleep alone. Rich girls, especially rich girls who knew how to dress and behave in a way that played to men's hormones, never need be lonely. And Sarah slept with her share of men. As far as Alyssa knew, she'd never once touched a girl sexually.

She scratched her squishy belly in puzzlement; it kept jiggling long after she stopped. That left… what? As far as Shannon could tell, the only possibility was that Sarah simply preferred the new girl's company over her own. The bitch! Didn't their years of friendship mean anything? And Alyssa, that interloping stick figure whore. Did she think she could just waltz in and replace her? Underneath layers of adipose, a knot of burning jealousy roiled her stomach. She shoved another full spoonful of cake into her mouth to soothe it.

To think she'd been so blind when they first met. The woman now replacing her had charmed her at their first few meetings. Yet Alyssa had made her move over in the booth the first time they'd met! Shannon recalled the term for that from high school: symbolism. Since their very first encounter, Alyssa had been shoving her out of the picture, both literally and figuratively.

She had to do something. What that something was, she could not imagine. Right now, she decided, she could finish her chips and cake, brush her teeth, and go to bed. Tomorrow, she resolved, she would do… something very impressive. Confront them. Stand up for herself. Pride swelled her already impressive chest. Deciding to take action felt dramatic and powerful.

The next morning, she didn’t feel so powerful. Her hands shook on the wheel slightly as she drove over to Sarah’s. She hadn’t bothered calling ahead. They two women were probably laying by Sarah’s pool, though. That’s what she and Sarah would have done on a day like this.

What would she say when she faced them? She wasn't good at confrontation. Shyness crippled her ability to deal with conflict. Sarah had always dealt with any difficulties for the two of them. Now that she found herself with a grievance against the more capable girl… well, hopefully she would figure out what to do when she got there.

On arriving, she hauled herself out of the car and waddled up the cobblestone path to the imposing front door. Her nervousness increased, and she was soon sweating with from tension and midsummer heat. She was greeted by one of Sarah’s maids - a maid she had never even seen before. That irked her even more. In the old days, she knew all the help. Now… well, just one more sign of how excluded she was.

The woman looked her up and down and, seemingly recognizing that her girth meant she somehow belonged here, let her in. Shannon stomped through the extra-wide door angrily. It felt good and purposeful, so she continued. She stomped as she followed the new maid through the house. She stomped out through the french doors onto the back patio, and she stomped up to the lounge chairs where Sarah and Alyssa lay, sunning themselves.

With nowhere further to stomp, and sweating too heavily to do much more of it anyway, she switched to scowling. SHe scowled in a way that was, she hoped, very sour, and looked over her old friend and her usurper.

This was the first time she’d seen the pair in bathing suits in some time, and they had both clearly gained yet more weight. She would have to change the phrases she mentally used to berate Alyssa - she was hardly a stick figure or a skinny bitch anymore. Gazing on the two expanding girls, Shannon felt even more jealous. She never resented her weight, a product of the life she loved, nor did she revel in it as Sarah sometimes appeared to. She wasn’t jealous that they were getting fatter - she was jealous of what that meant - time spent together, without her. Another piece of tangible evidence that they were leaving her out of their activities. Which, from the looks of things, mostly consisted of one long unending feast. Her stomach grumbled involuntarily.

Alyssa pushed her sunglasses down over her nose, looked up at her, and said “Hi Shannon!” in a perky voice. The noontime sun reflected off the lenses.

Until that moment, seeing red had always just been an expression to Shannon. Just as "about to explode" had been before last thanksgiving, where she legitimately believed she might burst. Now, it was real, as the colour of blood crept into her peripheral vision. The chubby interloper, her hair in red ponytail, her face thoroughly tanned from days sitting by Sarah’s pool, smiling in what was clearly a smug parody of friendliness, stared up at her. The bitch was thrilled to have replaced her. Shannon hated her intensely and so she shoved her off the lounge chair.

Alyssa's tight black bikini, which was barely able to hang onto its cargo when completely stationary, suddenly found itself bedeviled by movement. It quickly surrendered to the wobbling flesh. Her, thong rolled down slightly, exposing the top of what was becoming a cavernous ass crack. Up top, triangles of stretchy fabric barely hung on to her nipples amidst a level of jiggling clearly beyond their operational parameters. The sundae she had been enjoying was thrown free and lay melting on the rust-coloured tile that surrounded the pool. Before Alyssa could process what had just happened, Shannon leaped on her.

Leaped, of course, was merely the best available term for what Shannon did. A truly accurate word doesn’t exist - staggeriggled or quivertumbled or wobbleumped might be better. A jello mold couldn't jump, but if it had, it would have given a similar performance. She waddled three steps, flung herself forward with more energy than coordination, and flopped bodily on Alyssa. More than four hundred pounds of woman knocked the wind out of the smaller girl, and she found herself buried under an avalanche of belly. Had Shannon’s body not been so soft, it probably would have crushed Alyssa’s ribcage. As it was, she screeched in shock and flailed while Shannon grabbed at her flabby arms. By the time Shannon’s puffy fingers wrapped around Alyssa’s squishy wrists, the assailant’s tank top had rolled up, revealing acres of porcelain flesh. She held Alyssa pinned, and didn't know what to do.

Alyssa stared up at her, a look of confused fear in the one eye exposed by the chic sunglasses now partially knocked off her nose. They sat there, Shannon straddling Alyssa, as their bodies shook in time to their rapidly pumping hearts. For a moment, everything was silent, except for the gasping of the two very out of shape women. This little skirmish was more cardio than either of them had had in months, and they were both feeling it. Shannon felt her blood pounding in her ears, from fury and from exertion.

Sarah spoke quietly, "Stop it now."

Both girls’ heads swiveled to face Sarah, overawed by the authority in her voice. She was normally the dominant member of the group, but rarely exercised that dominance. Sarah nearly always got what she wanted, so there was rarely a reason for her to boss anyone around. Now, she took control.

Her voice steady, Sarah continued. "Shannon, get off her."

Shannon looked down at Alyssa once more before, slightly reluctantly, flopping off her. Both girls lay on their backs now, panting, as their jiggling bellies reached for the sky. Alyssa’s midsection was covered in sticky fudge and ice cream, as her sundae had hit her on its way to the ground. Shannon’s had picked up some of the mess, too, and her shorts had ripped, leaving her massive gut to hang out in the sunshine.

Shannon called into the house. "Marianne! Susan! Please come help Shannon and Alyssa up." The two instantly appeared and pulled Alyssa to her feet, seemingly without effort. Shannon was a different story, and it took both of them, straining, to raise the spent behemoth. Sarah was momentarily distracted from the social crisis before her as she wondered whether it was time to hire additional, more muscular help.

“Alyssa, are you okay?”

She nodded, with, Shannon noted in satisfaction, the same dumb look of surprise still on her face.

“Well, thank god for that. Go inside with the maids. They'll clean you up and make sure everything is where it should be. Susan here used to be a nurse."

“And her?” Alyssa asked quietly, pointing at Shannon.

“I'm going to talk to her. I think there's been a misunderstanding here.”

Alyssa nodded and followed the two maids inside. Marianne shut the glass doors behind them.

"Taking the little bitch's side again?" The shame of what she'd just done made Shannon all the angrier. Assaulting someone! Unheard of. It wasn't her. She was a gentle, shy 23 year old; not some attention-crazed teenager.

"Shannon, I'm going to ignore that because I don't think you mean it. I don't think you're really mad at Alyssa at all, in spite of that little... unpleasantness, for which you WILL apologize, by the way.”

Shannon’s face twisted into fury, but Sarah held up her hand, as she paused to take a sip of something thick and fruity. Swallowing, she continued. “But you know what I think is really going on? You're mad at me. And you have a right to be."

Shannon deflated completely. She had never been able to tell whether Sarah manipulated her, or merely had an innate sense her feelings. Either way, Shannon's angry sneer melted, and she quickly broke down in choking tears. She’d been prepared for a fight, for a shouting match, for a dramatic end to a friendship - but not for understanding.

"There, there." The blonde reached up and patted the sobbing brunette on her voluminous thigh, making it shake even more than usual. "I'm sorry, Shannon. I really am. I've been inconsiderate of your feelings, spending all my time with Alyssa. You're my best friend - always have been, and always will be. And starting today, I'm going to show it. After you apologize to Alyssa, all three of us are going to get lunch at Lee's. I want you two to get along. For me. But after lunch, we are going out for drinks - just you and I - like old times."

Shannon wiped tears from her cheek. She was still crying, but silently, and she looked less miserable.

The entire time, Sarah hadn't stood up from her reclined position. This wasn't the time for a three minute, sweat-inducing effort to stand. So Shannon stood next to her, still red faced and crying, staring down at the obese girl who, even on her back, was in total control of everything.

“Now go inside and get yourself cleaned up. Put on some makeup and get some shorts from Susan or Marianne; looks like yours ripped.” Shannon hadn’t felt it happen in the heat of the moment. Now, she looked down and saw… only her sweaty breasts. But when she reached down with plump fingers, she felt it - her gut was hanging out below her white tank top.

It was a testament to the power Sarah held over both the other women that, after Shannon apologized to Alyssa, they all did go out to lunch. And, after some initial awkwardness, they did manage to get along. Shannon didn’t really hate Alyssa, who was far too charming to hate. And, with an apology from Sarah and a promise to make it up to her, Shannon was able to relax and enjoy the enormous meal.

After all, enjoying enormous meals was something they all had in common.

Mr. Jigglesworth

A true Meatierologist.
Oct 15, 2005
Orlando, Fla.
Great story though I would have loved to read more about they're gluttonous escapades and perhaps bfs for all of them....feeder bfs that is😀🐷

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