# Company Retreat - by Uncle Jack (~BBW, Stuffing, Denial, ~XWG)



## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

~BBW, Stuffing, Denial, ~XWG - Office hottie becomes a real fattie

*Company Retreat
by Uncle Jack​*
At the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat, where merchandising representatives, public relations analysts, human resources personnel, inner-office management, and every other integral and dynamic member of the Insta-Net team let their hair down, had some drinkskis and enjoyed the summer sun, Claire Diloon was enjoying a hamburger.

Claire had recently received a hefty settlement in her sexual harassment lawsuit against a former member of Insta-Net management. Her cousin, with whom she had grown up and was very close, was a superlative lawyer. 

Claire’s dark complexion, naturally curly hair, curvy hourglass figure and fashionable apparel made her a sexual dynamo, and a real distraction among the high-energy, top-earning male staff of the office. 

She bit into her hamburger, the first she had eaten in over a year. She relished how good it was. With the extra money from the suit, with her new promotion, with her brand-new boyfriend, who was handsome as a fairytale prince (and handsomer than a real-life British prince), with all of the good fortune coming her way, she had decided she was going to start enjoying life more. Let her hair down. 

Her motivation was understandable, if not its possible unintended consequences. She had worked hard to get where she was now. She had the job, the looks, the man, the money. She wanted more. She wanted the happiness, the contentment, the freedom, the pleasures that her money could buy. As the men snuck glances at her, in her loose summer dress, hoping for a gust of wind to blow up the dress, Claire thought of her future, and how glorious it was going to be.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

This year’s Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat was being held indoors, due to rain. Everyone milled around, talking, drinking, watching the droplets hit the windowed sliding doors, marvelling at how it was really coming down out there. The food was laid out on tables along one side of the wall. There was karaoke, and later there would be a dj and dancing. 

Claire, with her boyfriend in tow, was munching on potato salad. Men stole glances at her, wearing jeans and a blouse. Her breasts were a little fuller than last year, her backside a little more prominent. She had that extra fifteen to twenty pounds that is so hard to define on a person, especially if you see them around the office roughly five-sevenths of a year. 

She wasn’t fat, she was just less thin, and she had the kind of body that everyone agreed could get away with extra weight. It all tended towards exaggerating her hourglass. Men whispered about how she was actually looking better than ever. 

Women whispered that there looked like there was a bun in the oven. Certainly Claire looked like she was eating for two. She never stopped snacking, carrying a plate around with her as she chatted with her co-workers.

“This is Damian, we had our one year anniversary a week ago. Went to that fancy steakhouse down on the harbourfront? I had soup, salad, appetizer, a steak the size of my head! And cheesecake! Fantastic place!” she gushed.

She helped herself to more: potato chips, corn chips, cookies, vegetable dip, spiced artichoke hearts, apple pie, chicken wings, sweet potato salad, prosciutto-wrapped scallops, everything from the healthy option of the vegan-style Sloppy Joes (called Sloppy Janes) to the heart-stopping option of the double chocolate caramel drizzled Molten Lava Brownies. Claire didn’t discriminate. She tried everything at least twice.

She sang karaoke, Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence”, and popped fried calamari into her mouth during the instrumental riff between lyrics. Later, she busted a move on the dance floor, shaking her denim-clad rump on the dance floor, making men and some women salivate, making women (and a couple men) jealous. 

Her boyfriend had his hands all over her, and they seemed very much in love. He seemed not to realize the trajectory of his girls's life - or didn't care. They danced together down an aisle of people, Soul Train style, to Prince’s “Kiss” and slow-danced to Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” On the way home, while Claire was unbuttoning her tight jeans and rubbing her bloated belly, Damian spontaneously proposed to her. Squealing, she said yes yes yes.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

The Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat was back outdoors this year, being held on a beach for the first time in five years. 

Why don’t we have this on the beach more often, this is beautiful, look at that ocean, can you feel the salt air, said everyone to each other. 

When Claire Foster, nee Diloon, showed up with her new husband, everyone started talking about something else. 

In a plaid bikini, eating a popsicle, Claire jiggled her way down the boardwalk. Her belly, bared for the world to see, bounced along, pleased with itself. Her ass cheeks were hanging out of her bottom and her boobs were bulging out of her top. The women uniformly balked at how she could have let herself go, at how marriage certainly seemed to agree with her, at how they would never be caught dead looking like that, especially in a two-piece of all things! 

The men roughly divided in half. Some shook their heads, saddened by the decline of the office hot thang. The others were still in awe at how outrageously curvy the former Miss Diloon was. 

She was, to everyone ut herself, undeniably fat, but her proportions were such that her stomach still remained relatively small. She certainly wasn’t thirty-six twenty-four thirty-six, but her middle number was definitely significantly less than the two numbers of equal value sandwiching it like a Kaiser bun sandwiching a breaded chicken breast. 

Claire immediately scooted through the sand to get to the buffet table. This year, in addition to the many goodies the excellent catering company (which Insta-Net Marketing Solutions had relied on for over 20 years) had provided, there was an honest-to-goodness suckling pig, roasting on a spit.

“Ooooh, I want some of that!” she declared.

“I’m sorry miss, but that isn’t to be served until later. Perhaps you would like to try crispy duck for now?”

She did, among other things. Plate piled high, she went to chat with co-workers.

“Hey Bob, great job with the oil company contract! That was some smooth work.” Her mouth was filled with Caesar salad as she spoke.

“Yeah, well… you know… it was nothing…” Bob, who had to force himself to periodically look at Claire’s face instead of her boobs, was made very nervous by the scantily-clad scarfing beauty.

“Not nothing Bob! Definitely not! You keep doing work like that and…” Claire paused to put a hand to her mouth, stifling a belch. “Excusez moi. Hey Cheryl, where did you get that toffee popcorn?” 

Claire bounced off in the direction Cheryl pointed. Bob stared at her meaty buttocks as they jiggled away, and wondered how many rulers it would take to measure their width.

“Hey Hannah girl, I heard you got engaged! Congrats!” the now corpulent cutie commented. 

“Thank you!” her coworker replied, inwardly wondering what had happened to turn curvaceous Claire into an eating machine. She had moved on to devouring Claire was eating a foot-long hot dog and drinking a 7 Up like a woman possessed. 

“So, what’s he like? What’s his name? (Beeelch) Is he hot?” Claire asked.

“Um, yeah, yeah, he’s great, name’s Greg.” Hannah stsmmered.

“Me and Damian had a huge wedding, with the best cake I’ve ever had! I must have eaten half that thing myself. Over time, of course. And we went to Europe for our honeymoon. Paris, London, Venice, Rome, everywhere! The food was just to die for! I must have gained five pounds.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Hannah eyed Claire up and down. Looking at the ketchup splotch on Claire’s belly, she figured the nnewlywed had gained like forty pounds in the last year. She hadn’t realized just how fat Claire had gotten, just seeing her around the office. But there was no hiding that flab when it was in a teeny bikini. 

“Damian! DAMIAN!” Claire was shouting across the beach at her hubby, who was talking about golf with his wife’s co-workers. He turned in his demanding wife’s direction, as did most of the attendees. He trudged over, head down, to her side.

“Damian dear, could you get me another plate? With a hot dog, a hamburger, a kebob, mac and cheese. And a pepsi! Unless they have the milkshake machine running yet. Actually, get me a pepsi and a shake!” She licked her lips.

“Are you sure you haven’t had enough?” he ventured.

“Uh uh, no way! The food is soooo good, no point in holding back,” she answered, apparently oblivious to her expansion.

Damian sighed and went off to do Claire’s bidding.

“Look at how cut he is. A Greek god in swim trunks.” She burped twice. “I’m so lucky.” 

She eyed Hannah’s egg salad sandwich, which had gone untouched for the last five minutes.

“Are you gonna eat that?” asked Claire, already reaching for it.

Hannah rolled her eyeballs and handed it over. It was gone before Damien returned.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

The Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat had a record attendance, with new branches opening up as the organization was entering flush times. Claire, however, was without Damian.

“Oh yeah, he (burp) scooseme, he couldn’t make it, um, (hic-burp) scooseme, he’s just super busy with the law firm, just super busy, and (hiccup) so I came without him," she rattled on to her immediate superior, whoseame was Joelle. 

Damian and Claire had actually been seeing a couple’s counsellor of late, but she was too embarrassed to admit that her marriage might not be the storybook affair she had made it out to be. 

She was wearing a new white dress that she had bought special for the retreat, to look extra glamorous to cover up the depressing fact that she had come stag. Her cleavage was monumental in this dress, and even though it was flowing and loose, her backside stuck way out. 

It had been doing a lot of sticking out lately, against her permission, and she had knocked over a pitcher of cranberry juice with her butt earlier, which was embarrassing. She would have been even more embarrassed if she could see the red flecks staining the back of her dress. 

Although she knew she looked good in this dress, she was a little concerned about the size. But sizes ran small these days, she was carrying water weight, she was getting more muscular from working out at her home gym, she was simply maturing, it was natural, she wasn’t really fat at all, no way, not her. 

“But that’s okay,” she continued, “because (beeeeELCH) whew, excuse me, it’s okay because it’s important for couples to have time apart and, oh man these puff pastries are so good, I could eat (burp) a million of them. What was I talking about again?”

Damian had been going to come, but last week, when Claire was tucking into McDonald’s for the second time in a day, Damian had started yelling at her, saying she was turning into a cow, that she wasn’t the woman he had married, that the woman he had married was being smothered in flab. 

Claire had cried, called him a bastard, and went out to a greasy pub, where she knew she would see nobody she would know. She had spent sixty dollars on food for herself, gotten wasted on cheap beer, and slept with a leering middle-aged stranger who didn’t seem to mind when she belched during sex. She could hardly admit to herself she had done this; she certainly couldn’t admit it to Damian.

“You were talking about couples spending time apart,” Joelle prompted. 

“Right, well, it’s like I was saying, one second…” She placed a hand to her chest and looked downward, her double chin making her look fatter than ever. Her boss Joelle, trapped in conversation, admired Claire’s well-manicured red-painted nails. 

Then Joelle looked at Claire’s obscenely big tits, joggling around in her dress and looked at the barbecue sauce that was surrounding the fat girl’s mouth. It was as was looking at this mouth that it opened and burst forth with an enormous belch, right in her boss’s face. Everyone noticed, some laughed, a few applauded.

“Oh jeez, excuse me! How embarrassing! I think I should lay off the pop for awhile. I’m gonna go pick up some more of those quesadillas,” Claire declared.

Claire waddled away. Joelle, worried about her employee, wondered how fat Claire was, and how fat she was going to get.

In the past year of feasting, a mix of natural inclination, gluttonous contentment, and later, incipient depression, Claire had gained fifty-five pounds. The former Miss Diloon was 265 pounds.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

The Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat would not be remembered this year for the usual things, such as the delectable food, the opulent location or some amusing bit of karaoke or dancing. It would be remembered for the spectacle Claire Diloon made of herself.

Everyone at her office knew of the divorce which had happened three months ago, and the funk that Claire had been stuck in ever since. She hadn’t been so happy before that either, but she had done a much better job of faking it. Her weight continued to balloon, but when her ex-husband finally bit the bullet and asked for the divorce, her weight skyrocketed.

She showed up at the retreat, which was being held at a beautiful hunting lodge, wearing clothes that she had clearly had to vacuum-pack herself into. A pair of black dress pants, mercilessly clinging to her giant buttocks, showing every wiggle, jiggle, and dimple. A black blouse, with the buttons straining pathetically against her girth. The people parted in her wake, to make room for her slow, deliberate march through the sea of people.

“Hello Claire, it’s nice to see you,” said Joelle.

“Uh huh.” 

Claire plodded over to the food. She grabbed a plate and piled it high with food. She not only filled her plate, but put food on top of other food, in an attempt to use the vertical space that was so often forgotten when it came to food presentation. 

Hamburgers on top of salad, crab claws on top of spaghetti, hot buttered rolls on top of carrot coleslaw. She fell down in an armless chair, which made a creaking noise that George, nearby, heard.

“Hey there, Claire. How ya doin?” he said.

“I’m eating,” she replied laconically

She was eating with no decorum at all. The food went into her mouth, with a few pieces finding their way on to her top.

“You feeling okay? I mean, ever since Damian…” he probed

“Oh man (snort belch chomp) this shrimp is so fricking good! Oh yeah.” 

She started rubbing her gut obscenely, the way she did when she pounded back junk food alone in her underwear. She was lost in her own little world, and George wandered away.

Some people pulled out their smartphones and started taking pictures of Claire. Pictures that would end up online. Pictures that she would be mortified to find herself in the next day, and would relentlessly untag herself from. 

A picture of her literally picking up the serving tray of mini quesadillas and shoving them in her mouth two at a time. 

A picture of her stealing a pulled pork sandwich from Samantha’s plate, while Samantha was looking the other way.

A picture of her attempting to do the limbo contest, followed by a picture of her fallen on her fat ass. 

A picture of her laughing, drunkenly, as she was helped up, with her fat belly hanging out, and the bottom button of her blouse popped off.

A picture of her sitting down, another plate of food on her lap, looking incredibly fat. The combination of the camera angle, the way she was sitting, and her ill-fitting clothes made her look enormous. 

A picture of her talking to Doug Leck, from accounting, her eyes closed, a cocktail in her hand.

“Dougles!” Pronounced like bubbles or cuddles. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Er, how are you?” he stammered.

“(Burrrrp). I’m just great. Could use another drink though.” She sauntered over to him and pressed her belly into his crotch. 

“How about it Dougles? Get me a drink?” she inveighed with slurred tongue. 

Doug desperately wanted to get away, but was too polite to just bolt.

“Um, I think you’ve had enough.” he replied

“No way have I had enough. Nah uh. I am just (hic) getting (hic) started (burrrrrp). Now, do a girl a favour, get me another drinky. (Pffrrrrt) Whoopsie. Excusez moi, monsieur. Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.”

“Right,” he grimaced.

Doug then left, promising to get another drink, and did no such thing.

Later, after Claire had eaten about enough to feed a sprawling, starving family, she found Doug again, this time on the dance floor, and proceeded to shake her groove thang.

“Claire, are you alright?” he inquired, relieved she'd forgotten that he'd not fulfilled his pledge.

“(Burp) Yeah, (burp) why (burp) do you (BUUUURRRRRRRP!) ask?” she asked in a stupor

Claire’s gut was sticking out ponderously, having busted four buttons off. The button on her pants was also toast, and her bare belly, filled to capacity, was visible for all to see. Claire also was swaying dizzily, and looked like she might fall over. 

“C’mon Dougles, let’s dance it up!” she said.

She proceeded to move her huge body, slamming her fat hips and butt into people near her, until her and Doug had a wide berth all to themselves. Claire stuck her ass out at Doug and looked over her shoulder like a booty girl in a music video. The seat of her pants ripped clean down the middle, revealing tight panties that had a picture of a cocktail with the word “Martini” in cursive underneath.

“Do you think I’m seshy Dougles?” slurred Claire, “Because I think you’re (buuuuuurrrRRRP) super seshy.”

Claire closed her eyes and began dancing extra hard, her tits busting another button off her shirt, her belly jiggling wildly for all to see, the tear in her pants growing wider and wider. A couple holes emerged in the thighs too, where her thighs had been slowly eroding the material away. It was getting to the point where she was going to end up barely clothed.

Doug ran off to the men’s room while Claire had her eyes closed. When he re-emerged, Claire was standing right outside, hands on her hips (well, her love handles), giving him a coy smile. 

“Thought you could get away, huh? I followed you,” she indformed him like a lioness trapping her prey.

She pinned him to the wall and proceeded to stick her tongue in his throat. Doug tried to get away, but Claire’s massive bulk had him stuck. He managed to wrench his face away from her’s.

“Claire, I’m really not interested. Seriously,” he declared.

“Yeah right. A man like you, how can you resist a girl like me?”

She belched, low and long, a couple inches from his face. It smelled like onion dip.

“You know, this could be considered sexual harassment,” he informed her.

“Yeah right. Women can’t be seshual rassers. Men love getting some action.” She spanked herself on her bubble butt for emphasis. The after-effects were seismic jiggling and further ripping of the pants.

“Yeah, well, no offense Claire, but you are way too fat for me,” he said, not wanting to be impolite but seeing no other recourse. 

“What…. what do you mean? I’m not fat. BURRRP.” she said.

“Claire, you’re getting so fat that I’m wondering where it’s going to end. Seriously, you should figure out what it is you’re doing to yourself,” Doug laid it ut plainly.

Claire, tears coming to her eyes, backed off of Doug. He ran for safety. 

“Screw you, Doug! How could you say that? Screw you!” she screamed in a drunken rage.

She finished yelling at his departing form. She bawled for a few minutes, wondering how her life had brought her here, how much was choice, and how much might have been fate. She then proceeded to shamelessly eat as much food as she could and get ripping drunk.

The last picture of her at the event that was tagged on Facebook showed her passed out on a couch in the lobby. Her pants were gone; she had taken them off when she saw the huge rip in the back and, using drunk’s logic, figured she might as well go pantsless. 

She was lying on her stomach, ass mountainously thrusting into the air, “MARTINI” blaring for all the world to see. Her face was sticking out to the side, chins and cheeks immersed in fat. She was holding a piece of fried chicken in her right hand like it was the only thing that could save her.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

People had thought that Claire Diloon might not come to this year’s Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat. She had become something of a downer these days.

She had been bummed out by what had happened to her last year, and the way that everyone in the office talked about her when they thought she couldn’t hear them. But little changed. OK, nothing did for the better. 

She continued to empty the candy bowls left out by secretaries for everyone to share. She continued to take extra long lunches, sometimes bearing the passive-aggressive retribution of managers who were too uncomfortable to flat-out punish her for making a hog of herself. She continued to rip and tear the tight skirts and pants she deliberately bought for herself, no matter how many times people around the office caught glimpses of her overtaxed panties. She continued to snack and burp and digest on company time, while still managing to do her job. 

In fact, she was doing a more effective job for her clients lately. Besides food, she had few distractions these days. Her life, up until recently, had been empty, and the one thing that emptiness had given her was a serene Zen-like focus on work. When she was working, she had been able to push everything wrong about her life from her mind.

The emptiness had recently been filled up. She had placed in a double order of KFC and Domino’s, and was waiting for the gargantuan amount of food to arrive, when she felt tears coming. 

Over the past couple years, when she felt the stinging start from behind her eyeballs, in what she thought of as the depression center of the brain, she had simply eaten a bunch of food and pushed the sadness down where she couldn’t find it. 

But this time, as she went back through Internet history to pass the time, a photo on Facebook caught her eye. Maybe it was the amount of time that had passed, or maybe it was some change in her neural circuitry, but the picture meant something different to her than it had before.

The picture was of her at the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat five years ago. She was eating a hamburger, wearing a flowing flower-print dress, and smiling. Someone had snapped it candidly and she had kept it tagged because she looked so good in it. She was thin. Usually, this was what announced itself from the frame’s confines. Oh, to be thin again. 

But this time, with her mouth watering in anticipation of fried chicken and bacon-topped pizza, she noticed the hamburger. It looked good. She remembered how good it had tasted. Claire realized that the reason she looked so good in the picture wasn’t because she was thinner. It was because she was happier. 

She looked at pictures of her with Damian, which were almost too sad to bear, but she admitted that, even with the pudge she had put on in these pictures, these pictures from before Damian had lost interest in her body, she looked happy. Much happier than she was now, alone in a tank top and pyjama pants.

That hamburger tasted so good, with the right amount of ketchup and mustard.

Claire realized, there in her grey apartment, that what she had always liked was food. And she had denied herself for years, in pursuit of career and sex. The career had panned out: mission accomplished. The sex had led to heartbreak: a waste of time. 

With one task completed and another blown up in her face, she wondered if there was something else she could pursue. Maybe just being happy, every minute of every day. Surely that was impossible. Everyone always said you needed sadness to have happiness as well. But she could try. 

She was at a loss for ideas about how to go about it when the Domino’s arrived. She waddled over to the door, paid the man (who was not even trying to be subtle about eyeing her cleavage), and took the boxes over to the couch. She tore into them. Well, food was as good a place to start as any. Food made her happy. Maybe more food would make her more happy?

The KFC arrived as she was partway through the pizza. She showed up at the door eating a slice, with her tank top pulled up over her belly. The teenage delivery boy handed her the chicken.

“Yep,” said Claire, sardonically, “more food for the fat girl.”

“Well, uh,” stammered the kid, “it looks great on you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that. I know I look like a cow.”

“No, you look great. In fact, the chicken is on me tonight.”

A brazen move from a horny pimply kid, but Claire was flabbergasted. Was this kid into her? He looked sixteen; he was probably so backed up with come that he would fuck anything you could slap tits on. Still, as she thanked him for the free chicken, she thrust her chest out a little. As she walked away with the chicken, she shook her big ass side to side with a little extra oomph.

“Just shut the door. I’ll see you again some day,” she said coyly.

She had not been able to stop herself from flirting with him. She hadn’t felt this good in years. Going back and forth between pizza and chicken, sauce dripping down her chin, she looked up vacation ideas online.

She had found within herself the old reserves of emotional strength, stockpiled and waiting to be employed. They had never left her, they had just become concealed behind the smoky fog of negativity and depression. But now, with the wisdom time brings, she felt more herself than she ever had before. It didn’t matter if she was thin or fat, svelte or immense. 

After this epiphany, she had booked herself a trip to Great Britain, a whole month with vacation time that she had accrued while working ceaselessly to avoid going home to her empty apartment. She had traipsed the green hills of Ireland, the birthplace of Shakespeare, the battle sites of legendary Welsh kings, the Gothic scenery of the Scottish highlands that reminded her of her high school dalliances with Cathy and Heathcliff. 

She had also eaten like a woman possessed. She had thought, previous to the trip, that her compulsive eating was something she engaged in out of boredom and apathy. Maybe this had been the case, in particular instances. But the general truth was this: she just loved eating. She didn’t care if she became a total lardo. She wasn’t going to deny herself any of the foods she loved, in whatever quantities she so wanted.

Claire had really put her newfound resolve to the test at a pub in the heart of London that prided itself on its old-fashioned British fare. Claire had gotten pint after pint of the bar’s microbrew, chugging and burping while ordering up new items from the menu. Bangers and mash, steak and kidney pie, Cornish pastries, fish and chips, Yorkshire pudding, three different curries, scotch eggs, and more. 

You name it, she tried it. Her waitress had gone from nonplussed upon receiving the order for a second meal, to open disgust upon receiving the final order for a custard dessert (with a pint, of course). 

Claire must have caught her server on the end of her shift, or else just grossed her out through her amazing display of gluttony, but the server who brought her the check was a skinny tall young man, with sideburns, handsome, but with teeth that were unfortunately representative of the most negative stereotypes of British dentistry. Still, quite cute, as far as Claire was concerned.

“And anything else tonight?” he enquired politely. 

Claire tried to stifle it, but she was so full of English cuisine that a volcanic belch fought its way out her mouth, right in the direction of her hot young waiter. She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Excuse me! Woof, I am full!”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t like anything else? Anything at all?” he repeated.

“No thanks, just (buuurp) the bill please,” she replied.

“If you’re sure.” He winked and walked away. Claire watched his backside as he went. She was positive this guy was into her. If she could be a big pig, and still get guys, then what was to stop her? So what if not every guy was into her? As long as a few were, then she didn’t see why she couldn’t just eat all the live long day.

Her suspicions were strengthened when the waiter brought her bill. He had knocked off twenty-five pounds from her bill. It wasn’t the whole thing, but she figured a guy working his job couldn’t simply afford to pay for the kind of meal she had just eaten. And the kind of meals she was going to be eating in the future. 

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw what was written on the back of the bill. A number, a name, and the words: “Call me sexy.” 

She read it both ways. With the implied but missing comma, she felt sexier than she had in a very long time. Read straight, she got the idea to dial that number and refer to him sraightaway as Mr. Sexy.

She trundled out of the pub, waddling back to her hotel in a misguided attempt to get some exercise. She only noticed when she went to cradle her massive flabby stomach that her shirt wasn’t covering her belly button anymore. She kept tugging down at her shirt, and up on her pants, as she slowly huffed and puffed down the sidewalk, attracting glances from the corner of pedestrian eyes. 

Just two blocks from the pub, she ran across a Wendy’s. Something took a hold of her, and she went inside. She emerged sucking the last bite of a Double Baconator into her greedy mouth. That broke the camel’s back. She flagged a cab and got ferried to her lodgings, all the while rubbing her gut, moaning and belching, surely freaking the cabbie out. 

She didn’t call Mr. Sexy that night. Instead, she passed out into a food coma, not waking up until the next morning. It was on that next day that she had called him, meeting him at the end of his shift, having pitchers of beer, ninety percent of which went down her throat, one hundred percent of which was paid for by her admirer, being treated like a queen in this glorious land that still had such a thing. 

Nice and drunk, she went back to his place and got good and screwed, having the best sex since Damian. They did it doggystyle, with Mr. Sexy fondling her hanging paunch, and they did it with her in reverse cowgirl, crushing him while he fondled her tank ass. S

he didn’t care how heavy she was. If she wanted it, she was gonna get it. She didn’t care how uncomfortable it made him. Judging by the throb and solidity of the dick inside her, it didn’t make him uncomfortable one bit.

She caught her flight at Heathrow the next day. Despite the attempts of Mr. Sexy, whose real name was Greg, to get her to stay a while longer, or at least give him her email address, she felt no compunction to get entangled romantically with him. 

He had helped her through a rough period, but she wasn’t going to move to London, or have a long-distance relationship. A long-distance lover can’t buy you dinner or hand-feed you junk food, so what would be the point? 

At the airport, waiting at the gate, she spied a deliberately medieval-looking booth, containing trinkets meant to convey a vague sense of history anywhere between 1066 and 1649. It also sported a theatrical salesperson who offered, in the style of a barker advertising a show of human oddities, to guess the ages and weights of those who entered his shop. 

“Go ahead,” said Claire, “guess my weight.”

“I take it that the good woman will not be…” he looked her up and down, “offended?”

“No, the good woman will not.”

“Very well.”

Time passed in silence as he appraised her. Claire felt a little like a piece of meat. Thinking of meat made her hungry. Her hunger, and the man gazing at her, combined to turn her on. Her loins tingled as her thoughts raced. What is happening to me?

“I will say, if I may, that you are precisely 24 stone! Am I correct?”

Claire laughed, actually feeling her fleshy chin and neck fat bunch together.

“Actually, I don’t know what I weigh right now. I’ve gotten pretty fat on this trip.”

“I… see.”

“Thanks for the guess, though!” 

She purchased two packages of chocolate-covered sponge taffy. As she left, she knocked over a display of family coats of arms with her mega-butt. She already had her chubby hands on the sweet delicious taffy.

“Sorry about that!” She thrust the dessert in her face, not bothering to stop to pick up what she had knocked over. From now on, she was only going to do what she wanted to do. The rest of the world could go to hell, or they could go to heaven, but if they wanted to stay here, they would have to put up with her.

She got on her plane. She filled out her two seats more than on the trip east. She ate tons of expensive airplane snacks. She lifted her blouse up and rubbed her bare belly, letting out a few small burps, not giving a shit about the old lady across the aisle staring at her crookedly. 

She landed, got a taxi, got in her building, got in the elevator, got in her apartment. She chucked her luggage everywhere, leaving it for later. She pulled out the bathroom scale, grunting from the exertion of bending over. Dust had accumulated. She blew it off. She shed her clothes, all of them, standing in her voluptuous naked glory. She stepped on the scale.

A stone is equal to 14 pounds.

She padded into her kitchen, pleased with herself, footfalls thundering. She got a tub of Neapolitan ice cream from her well-stocked freezer and spooned the food right out of it. 

24 X 14 = 336.

Claire Diloon, free, fat, and hungry, ate what was hers in the nude.

The number the scale had shown was 336. 

That number was completely absent from Claire’s mind when she showed up at the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat. Numbers were meaningless. Fulfillment was all that mattered. No longer a glutton for punishment. Just a glutton.

She was wearing a form fitting red dress that showed off every jiggle of her voluptuous body. Her belly bounced as she bee-lined for the food table. This wasn’t the trudge of last year; she waved at people as she passed, said hello, laughed at jokes. She even hugged tiny Tina, who seemed like she was going to be crushed to death by Claire’s might embrace. 

Claire gorged on the offerings, not even taking a plate, just standing over the table and grabbing what she wanted with her chubby hands. She was all smiles, greeting everyone with an enthusiasm that hadn’t been seen in a long time. 

Yes, some people were put off by how she ate the entire quiche lorraine by herself, without anyone else getting a chance to try it. And yes, some people were put off when her dress would ride up, showing the bottom of Claire’s bubble butt. But Claire didn’t care. If no one else got to have some of the dishes, then they were just too slow, and wouldn’t appreciate it as much as her. 

And when her dress rode up, she just tugged it back down. She was doing the fat girl clothes tug all night long as she talked to people she hadn’t talked to in years, and in a few cases, people she had never talked to.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Kurt.” He thrust out his hand for shaking.

“Hey Kurt, my name (buurrrrp) is Claire. Haven’t seen you around before.”

“I just started. Actually haven’t really started at all yet. I’ve been signed on, start up on Monday, but Debbie and Ramona said I should come to the retreat anyway. Said it would be a good way to get to know people. I couldn’t agree more. That dress is stunning,” he said with an aura of sincerity. 

“What, this old thing? This is nothing.” It wasn’t old at all. She had bought it just yesterday, since she had no other dresses that still fit. 

“No no, it’s very hot stuff. Sizzling,” he insisted.

“Watch out! I’ll burn you. Could you scooch out of the way? You’re in front of the brie,” she said.

Kurt backed up and watched Claire reach for the brie knife. She cut off a piece the size of a pie slice and began chomping on it.

“Doesn’t that usually go on crackers?” he inquired. 

“Not the way I eat it,” said Claire, her mouth monstrously full.

“So,” said Kurt, “hypothetically, if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

Claire smiled and reached for her beer. “Technically, we are out. It’s the weekend, we’re at an event. It’s catered.”

She picked up an egg salad sandwich and stuffed half of it into her mouth in one bite.

“This is true,” said Kurt, “Let’s say &#8211; oh, let me get that.”

He scooped a piece of egg salad off of Claire’s chubby cheek. He put it up to her lips, and she coquettishly ate it.

“No sense in missing any,” said Kurt, “We wouldn’t want you wasting away.”

“No danger of that.” Claire patted her belly, which made a resounding thud and shook like Jello. Her mouth was ridiculously full, and as she spoke little flecks of bread and egg sprayed out. “Now, what were you saying about hypothetical situations?”

“I’m gonna pretend I understood what you just said. Would you like to go out sometime? Sometime other than today? Sometime in the immediate future?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Absolutely. How does tonight grab you? I have this retreat thing, but I’m free after that.”

“Tonight sounds perfect.”

“Excellent.” She swallowed mightily. “Until then, how about you help me out here. BURP. BURRRRP. Can you get me some of that chocolate cake?”

“I’ll get you a big slice.”

“Make that two. To prevent wasting away.”

She watched Kurt walk over to the dessert table. She chugged her beer and let out a huge echoing belch. Everyone looked at the once thin beauty queen, who was now jumbo-sized, with the appetite of a lumberjack and the manners to match. 

She didn’t care. She was hungry. Hungry and happy. And so. apparently, was Kurt.


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 15, 2011)

*1 Year Later*

“Kurt, honey, when are we gonna get to the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat? I am staaaaarving.”

“We had to stop three times to get you food. We’d be there by now otherwise.”

“Are you blaming me for being late? Just because I was a little bit peckish?”

“You ate three different Angry Whopper meals because you wanted to see if they would taste different from different restaurants.”

“Hehe, yeah.”

“So did they?”

“Not really.”

Kurt and Claire were in their SUV, on the way to the retreat. Having eloped a month and a half after the last retreat, they couldn’t be happier. Kurt was happy to do whatever his wife asked of him; Claire was happy to have every whim catered to by her sexy husband. 

Kurt found his wife incredibly sexy, as her body continued to swell and grow. More than that, he loved her self-assurance, her confidence, and her refusal to accept anything less than everything she wanted. 

She often wore sexy outfits in public, outfits that women half her size would feel too self-conscious to be seen in. The outfit she had chosen for the retreat, this year back at the beach, was a killer. Denim short shorts, with her beach ball sized buttocks sticking out the bottom. A belly baring baby-doll T, that was really a regular T-shirt designed for a much smaller woman to wear. The shirt said ROCK STAR. Underneath these clothes was a black and white zebra bikini that showed off every roll of flab.

“Kurt, I’m really hungry. So hungry. We need to stop.”

“Nah uh. We’ve stopped too many times. We’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care! I need food! NOW!”

Kurt glanced over at his wife. She was enormous, taking the entire passenger side up, her bare belly pressing into the dashboard, her thigh jutting over onto the gear shift, so that he had to get her to move every time he wanted to move it. 

A part of their marriage was this kind of fighting, done ironically, in good fun. They fought with smiles on their faces, and when Claire had first started to display her selfish tendencies, she had worried that Kurt would not approve. But he had encouraged her, so that now, if she felt like it, she would yell at him all she wanted to. It didn’t make Kurt angry; on the contrary, it made him adore her all the more.

“Okay honey, I’ll stop at the first place we come to.”

“Stop there!”

“What, that gas station? Don’t you want to stop at a restaurant or something?”

“Nah uh. They have chips and stuff. Just stop there.”

Kurt pulled into a space. Claire opened her door and slowly heaved her bulk, grunting and panting, out the door. There was a teenaged couple in the car right next to it, and they were shocked when a tsunami of belly flab landed with a smack against their window. The SUV bounced up on its shocks as the burden of Claire was relieved from it.

“Sorry,” mouthed Claire at the teenaged driver, smiling. She turned back to Kurt, speaking through the open door.

“You better come in with me. I’m gonna be bad.”

She began her slow, purposeful waddle toward the store. Kurt got out of the car, ran over to the passenger door to shut it, and chased after his spouse. It was an easy chase. Claire hadn’t made it very far. Even if she had made it to the door, she would have needed Kurt to hold it open, so she could focus on sucking in her gut and squeezing sideways through the doors.

“Blasted tiny doors,” she muttered. “I thought people were getting fatter. Shouldn’t they start making doors wider?”

“I think more people are fat. But I don’t think more people are getting as fat as you, dear.”

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked in mock outrage.

“You kinda called yourself fat first, honey.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Heh, I’m really fricking fat.”

Sometimes Claire couldn’t believe it. She was really fricking fat, and more than that, she loved it. She was living the life of a queen. She had a husband who treated her like royalty. He made a good living and recently come into some money after the passing of a beloved aunt. 

Meanwhile, she had received a large sum from Damian after the divorce was at last finalized. On top of that, she had recently won a discrimination lawsuit, on the grounds that she had lost out a promotion to a less qualified candidate on the grounds of her obesity. She had been won the case handily, with her cousin representing her again. 

Over time, this cousin had only become a more accomplished litigator and, while she definitely did not approve of Claire’s lifestyle, she relished the chance to take on a company with pockets as deep as Insta-Net. 

Claire and Kurt had bought a bigger house, with bigger hallways, bigger doorways, a bigger pantry, bigger everything, which helped facilitate a bigger Claire. They had gotten an SUV. Kurt had objected at first, on ethical and environmental principles, but Claire had raised an excellent counter-argument.

“Do you want me wasting away? I’m too big to squish into that little car anymore, and I need something that can accommodate me while you drive me around to get food. Don’t you wanna get me fooooooood?”

She had bit her lip and grabbed her belly in both hands, shaking it. She knew exactly what she was doing; Kurt knew exactly what she was doing to him. He was putty in her hands. He got the biggest SUV he could afford. 

And so, here was Claire, on the way to the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat, trying to squeeze through a totally normal store doorway, half-naked, showing off more skin than most normal-sized people had in total. 

Kurt gave her a little extra push, enjoying the way his hand sunk into her back fat, and Claire was finally in. She pounded right for the junk food, her footfalls actually shaking the store, making key chains and lighters visibly shake in their displays. 

Kurt knew what being bad meant. It meant that Claire was going to start ripping food off the shelves, tearing it open, and eating it right there in the store, while Kurt explained to the nervous clerk that he would pay for everything that his hippo of a wife ate. He would gather up the packaging as his wife gorged, and bring it to the clerk to scan. 

Claire stood there, stuffing her face as fast as she could, noisily chewing and snorting, while people, coming in to pay for gas and buy cigarettes and lottery tickets, gawped at the once in a lifetime sight before them. After eating a few bags of chips, a couple whole boxes of Oreos, every bag of barbecued nuts on the shelf, and half of the ice cream sandwiches in the frozen food case, she stopped. 

“Ok honey, I’m done.” She let out a belch that lasted nearly ten seconds. “Whoo! I dare anybody to top that. Now let’s get to the retreat already! I’m tired of waiting.”

She proceeded to knock over a couple displays on her path to the exit, not giving a damn about the destruction caused in her wake. Kurt paid for the last of his love’s rampage, held the door open for her, helped her through, and off they went. The clerk had a story to tell for the rest of his life, to disbelieving friends and strangers. 

Claire, having gained an incredible seventy-nine pounds in just the last year, was a 420 pound goddess who was like nobody else Kurt had ever met. Her free spirit and her appetite for life, and for food, were astounding. Maybe it was her exuberance to try everything, but she had none of the mobility problems he had worried she might have as he watched her continue to balloon. 

She was definitely a little slower, and she had a hard time with tight squeezes, and she broke a lot of furniture with her careless lowering of her colossal bulk, but she still got out of bed every morning. She may have been a glutton, but she was a lot less lazy than he had worried she was going to be. 

So, they finally arrived at the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat, and Claire shocked everyone by parading around in skimpy clothing, eating food, stealing food off people’s plates and laughing it off like it was no big deal. 

She then got her dutiful husband (who many of the men naively felt sorry for) to strip her skin tight clothes off, something she was incapable of doing without his help. She lay down on three towels (two wasn’t enough), eating a hamburger, while Kurt wrestled her shorts off her tree trunk thighs and down her flabby legs. 

“Okay hon, sit up.”

“Ugh, I hate this part. BUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP! You help me.”

She shoved the last of the hamburger in her mouth, bits of bread falling out as her cheeks chipmunked outward, too much food packed in there. She held out her hands, wiggling her fingers, and Kurt grabbed hold and pulled. He had gotten in even better shape in the last year, mostly due to assisting Claire, and he had her in a sitting position in no time. 

He wrestled her t-shirt off, and then she got herself off the ground. She put her hands on the ground, and thrust her massive butt in the air, most of which was pouring out of her bikini bottoms. Half of her ass crack was on display, and as she pulled herself upright, with a might heave, everyone saw that her bikini top barely covered her nipples. She may as well have been naked. 

Claire talked to people, who couldn’t help but stare at the fattest nearly-naked person they had ever seen. She played beach volleyball, poorly, huffing and puffing, chasing after the ball, knocking people to the ground when she miscalculated her girth and rammed into her teammates. She played in the ocean, splashing around, her massive boobs falling out of her top repeatedly, so that within no time, all of her co-workers had seen her nipples.

The night ended for Claire with her seated on a long beach chair, her flab falling off the sides, having her food delivered to her by Kurt.

“Kurt, more meatballs!”

“Kurt honey, get me more Pepsi! And some steak! And pizza!”

“Kurt dear, get me some of that watermelon! And hummus! And pepperoni! And lasagne!”

She sat there for an hour, doing nothing but eating, until the unthinkable had happened.

In thirty years of holding the Annual Insta-Net Global Marketing Solutions Company-Wide Retreat, they had never run out of food.

“Claire honey, it seems that they’ve run out of food.”

“What? BURRP. But that’s (burp) impossible. They (hic) never (hic-braap) ever run out (burp-BURP) of food. That’s what makes this thing so (bbbbbbuuuuuuuuuuuuRRRRRRRRRRR) awesome!”

“The caterers and chefs are as amazed as you are dear.” He neglected to say that they were more specifically amazed at the bottomless appetite of the manatee-sized woman sunning herself across the sand. Her stomach, filled with food, rose up like a dome. She placed her hands upon it, contentedly.

“We might as well leave then. No point in staying if there’s no food,” she said with sadness in her voice. 

Kurt helped Claire up, exerting himself, breaking a serious sweat. She waddled her way back to the car, with many of her co-workers watching the jiggle of her ass as her hips went BOOM to the left and BOOM to the right, hypnotically.

Claire got into the SUV, the vehicle lowering to the ground with her weight. As her husband drove her home, she rubbed her belly and digested and burped and thought. She thought about the future, and what new fortune it might bring.


- The End -


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## imogenbakerbell (Dec 16, 2011)

Brilliant stuff! This was thoroughly enjoyable to read, and I liked the "one year later" format - very fun to see how much she changed each year. Just one small thing: "She pinned him to the wall and proceeded to stick her tongue in her throat" - shouldn't that be "his throat"?


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## Uncle Jack (Dec 16, 2011)

Yes it should. I also misspelled Company in the title of the thread. I don't think I can change those, as much as they bug me. Hopefully there aren't too many other mistakes.

Glad you liked it! I had the ending scene in mind first, then came up with the 1 year later conceit to get there.


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## Bluestreak (Dec 16, 2011)

A bit crude at times, but I'm sure you know that...The story and the descriptions go hand in hand.

I look forward to seeing "*the future, and what new fortune it might bring*"


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## mouse (Dec 16, 2011)

this is so great!


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## bournepor (Oct 12, 2013)

You're amazing.Thanks a lot for share your knowledge!


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## Mr. Jigglesworth (Apr 2, 2020)

Fattastic story, even better the second time.


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## Mintu08 (Mar 13, 2022)

Loved it! Claire was just too good!


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