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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.

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