Chapter 1

Authors Note: A one-off story made possible by support from my P*a*t*r*e*o*n. Enjoy!


Darcie Miller. That’s my name, don’t wear it out. On the surface I must seem pretty much perfect, but things are never quite as they seem. Are they?


Some people live for riches, others for adventure, others for love. Not me. I mean, I tried to live for all those things at one time or another, but my interests always lay elsewhere as far back as I could remember. I took a gap year after high school to try and sort out my feelings, I even played my subsequent freshman year of college pretty safe all things considered, but after turning 21 this April, I wasn’t going to pretend anymore.


I live for humiliation.


There is simply no other way of saying it. It’s what’s gotten me off since I started masturbating. My terrible secret I’ve never shared with another soul on this planet. The shameful fetish I crave above all else.


What can I say? I love the idea of receiving belittling treatment and being on the receiving end of severe embarrassment. My fantasies are a joyful escape from my life’s numerous disappointments, mainly in the realm of dating but not exclusively so. Although, I suppose my fantasies are also a cause of my various dating woes. The mistake I make over and over again, stems from the fact I’m risk adverse. When push comes to shove, I pick the safe option, the boring option, but not anymore.


This summer I’m trying something new. I’m picking the risky option from now on, starting with my choice of summer employment. Rather than bumming it with my parents, I got a job working over at the boardwalk across the bay at a lovely restaurant called the ‘Boardwalk Buffet.’ I even shelled out some of my savings for an apartment a block away from my new job.


With my newfound privacy, my intent was to finally scratch that humiliation itch I’d been hiding all my life. For me, this meant finding someone I could finally tell about my preferences. As much as the idea of opening up about my fetish scared me, nothing stuck fear in me me more than continuing to meander through life never being truly satisfied.


The rush I get from humiliation is complex, yet so simple. When I’m lost in my lust, I’m free from having to make any stressful decisions. The dopamine hit is so blissful, I enjoy every d*mn second of my fantasies. The degradation my brain craves can be verbal, physical, sexual, or even very public. I’m particularly excited by the idea of the phrase ‘skinny sl*t’ being thrown at me.


You see, at 5’9 and 116lbs I’m a bit thinner than average. I guess it’s to be expected from someone who spent years of high school restricting herself to salads while running track and cross-country. Athletic but unmotivated, I was never any good at running, I only stayed on the team so I could socialize more with my friends.


With B-cup breasts, brown eyes, long blonde hair, I’ve got an hourglass figure, it’s just a very lean one. I’m still very pretty but I’d probably be more conventionally attractive if I wasn’t so skinny. Regardless, I do my best to stay thin. It’s not that I’d miss being able to show off my perfectly slender stomach or that I particularly enjoy being so trim. It’s because I’m skinny enough that I frequently receive criticism because of it. The following are a list of things friends of mine have said to me or that I’ve overheard behind my back that have successfully gotten me off when I’ve revisited the moments later on in my fantasies:


“You're so skinny you don't swim, you skinny dip.”


“I've seen more meat on a chicken than you Darcie. Eat a sandwich.”


“Darcie’s so skinny, she swallowed a meatball and thought she was pregnant.”


So yeah. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.


Anyways…


When I started my new job, I was optimistic. The scenery and clientele took some getting used to, but I was right at home waiting tables. My coworkers were super cool, so cool in fact that we all started to hangout outside of work. Most employees at the boardwalk buffet tended to be like me, 20-somethings just trying to work a cool job for the summer, but not all of them...


There was Sadie, a Junior at a local community college, she was a little shorter than I was, pear-shaped, but just as skinny. We became fast friends. Then there was Josh. He was 6’2 and came off as a bit of an arrogant overprivileged pretty boy. I took an immediate liking to him. He was a scholar-athlete who went to a private school out of state. Then there was Tammy, our manager. Tammy was 30 years old, 5’4, and a college dropout. Her parents put her to work at the buffet for god knows how long until they eventually put her spoiled butt in charge of the place. Working at a buffet for so long had done a real number in her figure. I could tell from old employee of the month photos that Tammy used to be a fit and feisty 135lbs when she’d flunked out of college, however, now the portly blonde was pushing closer to 200lbs.


We employees all worked hard and played harder. With my newfound freedom and free time, I adopted a fun new hobby, clubbing. Dancing was my jam, so was drinking, but my drunk ass also fell in love with Josh’s d*ck. As it would turn out, our attraction to one another was mutual, after our first drunken hookup we became a regular thing. Pretty sure Sadie was jealous, but what’s a girl to do?


Thin and trim throughout all of May/June, I was totally rocking bikini/less clothes season, and I felt great. Josh was a bit selfish, rude and abrasive; his personality type did tend to scratch my humiliation itch from time to time, but part of me found it difficult to open up to him about the true depths of my desires. For instance, one night he joked about me being a sl*t once or twice when he was teasing me in bed, he could probably tell from the enthusiastic blowj*b I gave him afterward that it did something for me, but he never took the next step in degrading me. Probably because he was vocal about preferring someone as stick thin as me. Where I wanted to be shamed for my diminutive weight, he seemed only interested in complementing me for it.


Being so close to having what I deemed a perfect relationship was almost worse than dating an absolute dud, but for different reasons obviously. Perhaps because of my sexual frustration, for the first time in my life, I turned to food for comfort. It didn’t happen overnight, but gradually I took to indulging in late night boardwalk pizza, and a pint of ice cream before bed.


When July rolled around I began to notice something wasn’t quite right. I first realized it when one of my favorite shirts came out of the wash and just didn’t fit right. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get it on, it was just that it suddenly looked funny on my body. Perplexed, I assumed it shrunk in the dryer. After all, I’ve never been exactly careful with my clothes. I ended up giving it to my coworker Sadie, who at 5’6 and 115lbs was just a little smaller than me. But then it happened again, with another shirt. Then it happened with a pair of pants; then, a dress.


You see where this is going.


I was able to shrug off the fact that my jeans were getting tighter and especially my workpants felt like they were shrinking. I just continued to blame the notoriously shoddy laundry room in my apartment complex. Then one night I noticed my reflection in the mirror looked a little strange. After a night of drinking, my bloated stomach appeared softer than usual, I’d added just a hint of pudge to my once flat stomach, but I quickly cast my observation aside enjoying the way my chest had graduated from a b-cup to a c-cup.


My weight continued to creep up slowly, but I was in denial so kept eating and drinking with no worries. I’d gone from beanpole to a much more desirable healthy-looking hourglass in the span of two months. For the first time in my life, I unknowingly experienced life, not as a pretty little wallflower, but as one of those trim busty beauties all the guys were after.


Well, almost all the guys. As a pleasant surprise, Josh wasn’t a fan of the way I was filling out. One night when he was doing me hard from behind, he yelled out, “Take it you fat sl*t!”


I’ve never climaxed so hard in my life. Never before had I known I’d needed something so bad until right then and there. I wasn’t fat, not by a long shot, but in Josh’s mind, because I wasn’t so rail thin anymore, I was fat and thus more deserving of his wrathful judgement. To my eternal joy, Josh wasn’t shy about voicing his discontent with my softened shape outside of the bedroom too.


He did it everywhere, especially at work.


The boardwalk buffet was obviously a buffet style restaurant and had a lot of comfort food, as a result of Josh ordering me to, “Watch my weight.” I couldn’t resist just loading up on tons of fried food, carbs and sweets whenever I was on break. Plus, since I was a waitress and had full access to the kitchen I started to do tons of snacking during my shifts. Between that and all the late night drinking my body stood no chance!


I would still rock my bikini, when out and about with my friends, but now people began to notice I had softened up a little bit, not just the bashful man I was currently being intimate with. As I keep saying, I was still in no way fat, but I didn't pack a scale with me when I moved across the bay, so I didn’t know how much damage I’d truly done to my body. Every week my waistline was expanding, along with my ass and hips. At some point I crossed the border between a normal weight woman and a slightly overweight one.


That’s when someone said something.


Sadie and I were having a girl’s night in, sharing a large pizza, and we were talking about how hard it was to eat right when you’re surrounded by a buffet of good food three times a day complete with a soda fountain, an ice cream bar, and usually a cookie platter. Yeah, Sadie had put on a few pounds over the summer too. She patted her stomach and was like:


“I definitely need to start hitting the gym!”


I kinda laughed at her but, frowning at my reaction, she poked me in the stomach, and urged, “You do too Darcie! You’re fatter than I am!”


I blushed. I had been just as skinny as Sadie when we’d started three months ago, yet now it was obviously true that I was bigger than her. Sitting down as we were, we both had a roll of pudge around our midsections, but mine stuck out a notable bit further out than hers.


My cheeks reddened. The embarrassment was hitting me. I’d put on a shameful amount of weight, and I knew it. Her disapproving finger on my gut was turning me on something fierce.


“Y-you’re right.” I stuttered trying to hide my excitement, as I used both hands to try and cover up my plump little belly, “guess I went a little overboard this summer.”


“I’ll say, that butt of yours deserves its own zip code.” Sadie scoffed much to my enjoyment.


“Mhhh-hmmm…” I hummed feeling a sudden warmth between my long legs. My blood was rushing to a familiar area. I tried to hide my arousal, but I guess I did a pretty poor job.


“You okay Darcie?” Sadie questioned looking very curious.


“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” I managed to utter, while trying to prevent my excited breathing from getting out of control.


“Are you?” Sadie wondered more intently, pressing her finger further into the soft pudge of my midsection.


“*Gulp* yeahh.” I lied my eyes darting away from Sadie’s and toward the half-eaten pizza box just a few feet to my side.


Following my glance, Sadie seemed to sense my appetite had been peaked. I’d never equated food with sex before. I guess since Josh’s d*ck wasn’t around, my mouth was craving something else to fill it with.


“You want more pizza. Don’t you fatty?” Sadie teased, as she suddenly used both her hands to firmly pinch the tubby looking roll of flab around my waist.


“Yesss…” I hummed as if in a trance.


“Great, I’ll feed it to you.” Sadie informed me.


Unable to muster a vocal response, I merely nodded in sweet surrender.


“Okay.” Sadie smiled, as she let go and grabbed one of the three slices left, “Open wide.”


Doing as she said, my mouth opened obediently. In an instant she shoved the cheesy slice of goodness into my mouth, filling it to the max. As I chewed and swallowed, Sadie waited intently to feed me more.


Then came another massive bite, and another, then another slice, and another. I was full, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was out of control. I’d never indulged like this before, to the point of physical pain, but I loved it. I loved the pain, and the knowledge that by ruining my body I was inviting more severe judgment from society, and even sweeter humiliation. But my joy ride wasn’t over yet.


After Sadie finished forcefully stuffing me like a pig she had some choice words for me that nearly sent me over the edge:


“Look at you, fat and swollen. Pathetic. Make a habit of this, and Josh won’t be keeping you around for very much longer.”


“No… I guess not.” I replied, while laying helplessly on my back, my massive food-baby anchoring me to the bed. Silently wishing Sadie would leave so I could take care of the animalistic urges I was feeling.


…


Entering the month of August, the final month before my return to college, I still didn't worry about my weight gain despite the warning Sadie gave me. Josh wasn’t as important to me as the new source of fetish fuel I had discovered, weight humiliation. As my belly got rounder and more than a few additional extra pounds found their way to my thighs, butt, and boobs I started to enjoy it. Not the weight in and of itself, but the way people’s treatment of me continued to change. It wasn’t just Josh or Sadie anymore who had negative things to say about my body, even strangers would throw a demeaning comment my way, even Tammy my Boss called me out for my sh*t when I asked her for yet another uniform in a larger size:


“What are you trying to do? Bankrupt the boardwalk buffet? Quit eating so much fat*ss!”


I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to take care of that doozy.


As the weeks of August slowly rolled by, I just kept steadily packing on the pounds. I began sporting a little muffin top no matter what I was wearing. Even my loosest sweatpants and shorts began looking far too tight on my expanding body. I actually started borrowing board shorts from Josh when I stayed over at his place. I claimed they looked better on me than they did on him, inviting Josh to retaliate and put me down, which he did much to my enjoyment.


By the final week of August, it was official, I’d gotten really pudgy. I knew I was in trouble when I could barely button my new pair of work pants Tammy had specifically purchased to be loose and comfy for me. But I didn’t stop chowing down. My belly was finally big enough to jiggle when I walked, and I couldn’t get enough of it.


Unsurprisingly Josh dumped me in favor of Sadie, but I didn’t care too much. I’d gotten what I wanted out of him. I didn’t need a man to complete me anymore. Besides, the breakup sex was out of this f*cking world. He was vocal about hating my body, calling me a “filthy fat wh*re” the final time he made me c*m. It was the perfect end to my fantasy fulfilling summer. For once in my life, on my drive home before I set off for college, I finally felt at peace.


However, fantasies can never last forever, reality always comes knocking sooner or later…


My return to home was a wakeup call of the worst kind. The second I met up with all my family again, particularly my mom, everything became crystal clear: Everyone was fit. Except me. The fat I’d gained over the summer was now a problem they felt reflected poorly upon them.


One of my favorite pictures is one I have framed of me and my dog at the beach from my senior year of high school. In it, I’m wearing my favorite red crop top and cutoff jeans. I looked so skinny and amazing, that I decided to try on the same outfit. I wanted to know how far I had fallen.


The jeans were too tight, forget buttoning them, forget zipping them, I couldn’t even get the d*mn things to cover my thighs. Then I pulled on the crop top. It barely even covered my boobs… It used to cover my belly button. In that moment, I felt ashamed at how much bigger I had gotten. My belly was so big I couldn’t even suck it in anymore!


Shame coming from Josh felt great. When it was coming from my parents, not so great. Things progressively got worse from there.


With my weight being what most would consider above average, it was still possible for me to hide my extra fat by choosing the proper clothing, but I didn’t want to. Not at first anyway.


My return to college wasn’t at all like I imagined, all my image conscious sorority friends couldn’t ignore that I’d gotten fat. To them, I looked like a meatball. A big. Fat. Meatball. So, they sentenced me to social death. Condemning me to exclusion or a serious diet.


Part of me couldn’t believe everyone was making such a big deal about just a few pounds. However, one night in front of my closet mirror, I was pressing my swollen stomach, I wasn’t bloated, my gut didn’t feel hard. Instead, my belly felt soft and spongy, I could even grasp much more than an inch of my gut due to its excess flab.


It was a beer belly to be sure, an honest to goodness beer gut, but how much weight had I really packed on? I figured I’d gained maybe 15 or 20lbs tops, but I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t wanted to know before, but now I did. Stepping on my roommate’s scale, I finally learned the truth.


173lbs


Yeah, I cried. 57 pounds in one summer!?


I took my friends advice the next day and attempted to diet. I’d been scared away from my fetish yet again. The only problem. After a month of misery, the weight wasn’t coming off, I was still packing it on. Five pounds the first month, five pounds the second month. I couldn’t escape from the fat. I couldn’t f*cking stop myself from gaining more!