Chapter 1 - I'm getting a little fat, do you mind?

My belly had gotten so heavy. I had to lift it up, in all its heavy, rotund girth, just to try to wriggle into my stretchy pants. Even in my biggest ones, my fat tummy lays inches over the elastic band, spilling over the normal girl waistband and pushes all of my chub into the fatty appearance of an encased sausage. My tiny t-shirt clings to every inch of my pudgy, wiggly, doughy body. I want you to tease me about how fucking jiggly and fat I am. 

You can't wedge your thick dick between my blubbery folds, can you? Even if you hyper-extended your jaw and lubed up your TMJ, you couldn't fit your mouth around the rolls of my chunky stomach, could you? The new cellulite covering my rubbing thighs leaves tiny ripples in my painfully-stretched skin, which I know is on full display peeking out of my designer jeans.

Around my formerly tiny waist, fat deposits spill over the restrictive prison of my jeans. I was always meant to be a chubby little fat girl, wasn't it? Now, my heaving gut is pouring over my tight denim pants, giving you the perfect view of my gluttony. 20, 30, maybe 40 extra pounds of pure pork padding my figure. My inflated body is so big, so impossibly wide, so incredibly wobbly.

You want to see how big I look with my fat legs lifted over my chubby face. How I look with my triple chins bobbing up and down between my hefty and bulging upper legs. I know you want to squeeze your hands around the portly heft of my ** belly, shaking the wide expanse of adipose tissue between your fingers, biting the dozens of extra pounds of obesity that pour through your fingers.

Remember how in high school,  you didn't like the cheerleaders until they had been knocked up at least 6 months? How until their bellies stuck out 5 inches in front of them, and their newly rotund hips squished generously over their waistbands, you couldn't get a hard on? Not until after they had gotten indisputably, irreversibly, very fat?

Remember how when we went to our first college Christmas party, you couldn't look away from the overinflated, lard-covered and porked-up bodies of our classmates.

Every girl was so enormous, so paunchy... her fatness completely tearing at the seams of her woefully inadequate clothing.


Remember how much you loved it when our freshly ample classmates would have to waddle their excessively ponderous, overfed ass cheeks down the aisle when one of our friends was inevitably an embarrassingly tubby bridesmaid?

I knew you were into chubby ladies, and obviously, I was more than happy to get fatter for you. You were so into it when my corpulent beer belly stopped being able to tuck into my super tight tanks, and you seemed to like it even more when the swaying expanse of my wide, plump butt finally split the seams of my yoga pants. 

Even the spare tire of sheer mass that hangs over most of my leggings seems to turn you on.  It's almost like the last 40 pounds of pure chub hasn't bothered you at all, despite the deep rolls of fat that begin beneath my bra and cascade all the way down what used to be my waist. 

I love it that you don't mind how my ponderous, dimpled, tree trunk thighs crash against each other's laborious momentum with every step I take. With each step, my blubbery thighs shake my expansive, bloated ass- a motion that shakes my fatty body long after I intend to stop moving. The undulation of my lower body inevitably shakes my gigantic ** belly. I try to cradle its weight in my arms, but it's just too big. 

Laying flat on the bed, you walk in to find me trying in vain to button a flannel shirt. You laugh, and I know it's funny. It had to be near 25 pounds of pure fat accumulated on my abdomen, allowing my roomiest top to cover only the top of my severely deep belly button. The rest of my generous paunch, now peaking out further than my swollen boobs, lies exposed, naked, and wobbling with each breath. Beneath its massive size, my extra large sweatpants cut off my circulation and leave deep red marks.

When you come to bed tonight, I'm going to ask you to stuff my fat body with as many calories as you can. I'm going to ask you to force the entire key lime pie that I just purchased into my mouth. I want you to pinch the inches of fat on my hips, grasp my big, heavy gut, and shake all those extra wobbly pounds adhered to my thick thighs.

I want you to tie up my chubby hands and feet and shove as much extra fat as you can onto my body. The only question is, do you want to?