Chapter 3. Succumbing to addiction

I stripped naked and masturbated right there in front of the mirror. I kept one hand on my engorged belly, one hand exploring deep within myself. I was soaking wet. The extra sensation from my uncomfortably stretched stomach, the feeling of my hand pressing into my rock-hard belly, and the visual stimulation of viewing how inflated I looked from every angle quickly sent me over the edge.

That night, I had a dream featuring the fat woman and her partner with the kingfisher tattoo from the buffet. I was butt-naked and in front of me was an endless buffet. The two women were dressed the same as they were when I saw them. They took turns feeding me, encouraging me, and rubbing my belly as I feasted. My body was expanding unrealistically quickly in the dream, and I never felt full no matter how much I ate. The women praised me and worshipped at my feet as my belly ballooned in size and so did the rest of me. My breasts grew to the size of watermelons, my arms became puffy at my sides. I felt more sluggish, as it took more effort to move my heavier limbs. My bum became a large shelf jutting out behind me. My thighs and calves inflated as well. I was soft all over: all curves, no edges. When I touched my face with sausage fingers, I counted more than 3 chins hanging down. Eventually I became too fat to move, at which point the women continued to serve me food. I devoured everything placed in front of me, and my body was instantly reflecting every calorie I consumed.

I awoke wet and trembling. I had another mind-shattering orgasm within minutes, then flopped back against the pillows to catch my breath. I knew now that I had to get shamelessly, shockingly, unbelievably fat: there was no stopping it.

And just like that, my transformation began. I no longer felt the need to control my diet or maintain my trim shape. Instead, I was developing a new shape. The bigger the better was my new motto. I revelled in finally getting to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I gorged myself at every opportunity. Mornings, I would wake up early just to cook myself a hearty breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausages, waffles, pancakes, in other words the works. I began every day with a lavish feast.

Then I would wrestle my rotund body into my work clothes. They were quickly becoming tighter, giving the impression that they were shrinking even though I knew in reality it was me that was expanding. I would start by buttoning one of my dress shirts or blouses over my tummy, admiring how the fabric stretched to showcase my labours from my morning stuffing. My new, more pronounced cleavage was visible at the top of the shirt, making me feel more womanly and confident. Then I would shimmy into a pencil skirt. I needed to zip them up so they sat below my natural waist now, because they wouldn't go up over my tummy when my stomach was jam-packed. I was beginning to look chubby, with a distinctly round swell to my tummy that didn't go away like it used to the day after one of my stuffings. The skirt itself showcased how round and tantalizing my bum was shaping up to be with the extra pounds. You could see the outline of it, and I found it quite pleasing to look at if a bit scandalous.

At work, I got my steps in with all the walking I was doing to and from the kitchen. On my way there I strutted brazenly, looking back with a saucy smolder to catch men and sometimes women distracted from their work by my meaty backside. None of them were ever able to meet my gaze. I enjoyed seeing them squirm and turn all sorts of delightful shades of pink and red. On my way back to my office, I would carry as many snacks and treats as I could hold, balancing them up against the bottom of my breasts. I bathed in the stares of my underlings as they ogled my thicker, more substantial breasts and the tummy I was sporting. Over time, that tummy grew into a sexy muffin top. I imagined that my co-workers were undressing me with their eyes, and in my fantasies they pinched and tugged at my love handles. They taunted me, teasing me about how fat I was getting. Calling me all sorts of names: piggy, fatty, big girl, overfed cow. I got off on every stroll I made down the aisle between their cubicles. It was a shame that they didn't have the guts to speak what was on their minds to me, as I was their boss.

At lunch, I would order delivery to my office every day. This gave me the chance to try out every single restaurant I had ever been interested in, and I was loving the process of discovery. The delivery boy would haul practically duffel bags of food through the whole office to leave them in my office. I heard his sigh of relief every time he was able to place down the heavy bags. Over the course of a month I sampled Japanese, Thai, Malaysian, Chinese, Indian, Italian, French, and Vietnamese cuisine from the finest restaurants. I would order multiple different best-selling and highly rated dishes from the menu. I would always order at least three to four appetizers, and two to three desserts. I would spend at least an hour and a half completing each meal.

After lunch I continued to snack throughout the rest of the day, making my rounds between my office and the kitchen. I became antsy whenever my belly no longer felt full to the brim. I kept myself well-fed at all hours of the day, and I liked it.

For dinner, I alternated between cooking colossal portions and selecting a new buffet to try. As my belly grew so did my appetite, and yet I continued to push the limits of what my stomach could contain. I would end every evening rewarding myself after a long day with a delectable dessert. Sometimes a tub of ice cream, other times a tray full of brownies topped with whipped cream or a dozen donuts. I always treated myself to dessert in bed, and I moved my mirror so I could watch myself eat and see how mountainous my belly looked after a full day of indulging. Then I would masturbate, clinging on to my rigid belly or grasping at the soft flesh at my hips, my butt, my breasts, and my thighs. As I grew, pleasuring myself only became more enjoyable as there was more flesh that jiggled, bounced, and shuddered as I satisfied my dripping pussy. In the mirror I locked eyes with a whale of a woman. She was large and in charge, with all her flabby bits quaking as she brought herself to an exhilarating climax. All I wanted was to become her.