# Modern Hedonism by MEL (SSBBW, ~XWG, Dining)



## WG Story Drone (Oct 22, 2005)

_*SSBBW, Dining, XWG: * From the Weight Room mailbag, here’s the tale of a sweet young foodee . . ._

*Modern Hedonism*
By MEL

Part I​
She was wearing black jeans that dragged on the ground behind her and rode below her thick hips, her belly stuck out a bit from beneath her black sleeveless shirt, wife-beater style, with symbols across the front, which stretched over her 38C cup breasts. She was blond and beautiful, albeit quite fat. She had thick arms and wrists, and thicker legs, a bit of excess flesh on her hands that created shallow dimples when her hands were flat; she had a cute and small double chin, perfectly round cheeks. She had her ears pierced up and down on both ears, and wore a necklace that disappeared between the cleavage of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra at this moment, and her nipples protruded a bit obviously through her shirt. The flesh around her waist that was visible stuck out over her slightly too tight jeans. She had some bracelets, which often ended up getting stuck towards her upper forearm. She had her hand on her soft stomach as she pushed through the doors of the bakery on the corner of her street in her small town.

Her ass shifted heavily as she stepped towards the counter. Her shirt had gotten tucked up under her breasts from walking down the street and her belly helped to keep it from falling down. She had her navel pierced, but only the tip was quite visible peeking out under the flesh. She wasn’t more than 250 pounds, and she wore all of it beautifully. She was very separated from others’ opinions of her; in fact, most boys in her school were secretly extremely attracted to her. She was quiet and had a bit of an unfriendly expression and she kept to herself. She did excellently in all her classes, and was friendly with a few of the teachers. She was up-to-date in current affairs and wise for her age.

The woman behind the counter gave her a warm smile and put her hands palm-down on the counter. She was quite heavy, but who wasn’t these days? Heather opened her dark eyelids and looked up at the woman. She was looking for a job. 

She got the job and began working right then. The work was easy, she’d taste one sample from each batch, give the good ones to the other woman who put them on display, and she got to eat the bad ones, undercooked, overcooked, etc. Her philosophy was indulge in what makes you feel good. Sleeping made her feel good, sitting made her feel good, writing, reading, and listening to music made her feel good, and eating made her feel good. This was the perfect job for her, as she had the chance to sit and eat and rest all day. She couldn’t care less about the effects of all the food that she ate had on her. Her basic diet consisted of the most delicious and satisfying foods, everything she wanted she’d eat; she saw no reason to refrain. These foods were often very high caloried and a bit fattening in general, but her body also made her feel good. Her large, heavy breasts that jiggled severely when she walked. Her thick and soft appendages, her smooth soft hands. She often ate until she was full, then stuffed herself beyond that point, she loved foods with wonderful flavor and would indulge, even binge, in them. 

After the store hours were over, the woman who hired her told her she could finish what was left if she wanted because they were only going to throw them out. So she stayed for another hour and ate happily until her pants became far too tight and the seams were ripping. She unbuttoned them and exposed the edge of her frilly black panties. Her fat belly curved outwards and felt much better and well relieved after she released the pressure from the button. She reached into her pants and rubbed the soft flesh. She got up and held her pants up, left, and locked the door.

The next morning she woke up in the black wife-beater and pajama bottoms she slept in. She crawled out of bed, removed the wife-beater with trouble from her large, soft breasts which were heavy and hard to get the wife beater to come over without using two hands. She pulled off the pajama pants and examined herself for a moment in the full-length in the bathroom while the shower was warming up. She was almost wider than the mirror, and her hips just touched the edge. The back of her arms bulged over her elbow a bit, and the rest of her arm was thick with fat and jiggled side to side when she moved it. She admired her, admittedly, humongous boobs, lifting one up then letting it plop back against the skin of her belly with a satisfying smack, and squeezed them. She climbed into the shower and washed herself, rubbing the soap in every fold she found. 

She got out and did her hair, brushed her teeth, then put on black lingerie and a pushup bra that held her breasts out so far she wasn’t able to see what was under them, particularly the rest of her body. Her cleavage even made her a bit horny. She struggled a shirt on over her breasts and didn’t bother fixing it in any way. She sucked in her stomach and buttoned another pair of black jeans. The shirt she was wearing exposed all of her curious belly the plopped out after she exhaled. She squeezed the love handles around her hips and felt good. 

Who knew the expressionless girl from school could have so much passion?

She went downstairs and prepared her daily buffet. She turned on the oven to prepare the eggs and sausages, the stove for the pancakes and Belgium waffles with cream and strawberries. She pulled a Nesquik from the fridge and swallowed it, then a second. A half hour later it was all ready and she indulged happily. When she was done her pants could not contain her belly, and when she tried she couldn’t pick herself up to stand, as usual. She didn’t know why she wore jeans anymore. She took them off and waddled upstairs clutching the flesh of her belly and pulled on some black elastic-waist Adidas pants, which were a bit tight as well. 

She drove to school and got out of the car. She was on her third donut of a half a dozen she picked up on the way and it tasted marvelous. She shoved half of it into her mouth and then popped a munchkin in there with it. She felt bloated but happy. She liked to maintain that feeling. So she scarfed down everything else and felt very bloated. She removed a frap in a plastic bottle like the Nesquik from her bag and began drinking it. It was thick and tasted heavily of chocolate and cream. 

Her now quite big belly wobbled a bit as she approached the school’s entrance, the bottom exposed, but she had no way of knowing. By first break she was less bloated, and so she ate one of the subs she had made. It was steak and extra cheese, her favorite, and she ate it quickly. Her elastic-waists were beginning to felt very tight and a little uncomfortable. She went to rub her leg and felt the thick mass of soft flesh between her legs. It had been about a month since she had started working at the bakery and she had not held back her desire she ever-felt to chew on something. She knew this large, soft, second belly didn’t exist on her body before she started working there. She could feel it jiggling as she walked, felt her backside, which seemed to have absorbed quite a bit fat content, now almost 3 times as wide as most girls, shifting, lifting, and dropping with each step of her now 4-foot circumference leg, thick with fat and covered in cellulite. She actually ripped holes in her pants where her thighs met. People treated her differently now, often gave her their food in a mockingly sacrificial manner, as she leaned back, legs spread, and belly between them with her hands resting on her large, gigantic, body. She liked massaging all her fat; it felt so good, and she gladly accepted what food was offered to her.

Her backside waddled side to side as she opened the glass double doors of the bakery without the use of her hands, simply pushing forward with her legendary stomach. She usually had to squeeze her body into any place she wanted to go. She had put on over a hundred pounds between her job and her lifestyle, her metabolism overwhelmed and decelerated. She moved past the counter and into the cook’s quarters where she did her job. She was wearing a shirt that doubled as a bra, as it only covered her breasts in these hot summer months, tucked under them. It would have fit another girl, but her breasts had become so large the shirt had been reduced to its present state of attire. It was black with Atticus on the front, and exposed a great deal of an even greater deal of cleavage. 

She moved her entwined locks of black hair back behind her ears and ran a hand over her stomach, below her breasts, ready to be filled. Her belly was one fluid mass of flesh, it had no separation between stomach and fat. She went the whole day testing, on this particular Saturday. She was excellent at her job, a strict critique of the cook’s work, often eating entire “bad” plates. 

She went home that day and decided she would go on vacation. It was true she was in high school, senior year, but she lived with her grandmother, which meant that Heather herself was able to take the home and her life for herself. She did her research, and decided to visit Australia. She took leave from her work and left on a vacation week at school.


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## WG Story Drone (Oct 22, 2005)

She was dedicated to do what she liked, what she was inclined to do. She came back from Australia, a week after leaving, and returned to her job and school-life. There was a concert on the night of her return that she had to prepare for. She took off her heavy black jeans, her huge short-sleeve tucked all the way under her belly, her black-lace, her bracelets and necklace. She ran a hand through her hair, washed her face, her hair, her body the best she could now, and got out within half an hour. She had found when she was washing her body certain folds and areas of skin she had long forgotten, under her breasts, under her belly, under the folds her arms created on her soft sides. While she was naked she stood before the mirror and stared first into her eyes, grey-blue, standing out from her dark hair, and he enormous apple-shaped body, her breasts resting on her protruding belly. She had become wider at the belly than her mirror, and she moved a lock of hair from over her eye and examined the wideness of her chest, the flesh of her arm and breasts. She sat down on the ground and rubbed her belly enclosed within her legs, and decided to search for the scale. She opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled it out, rested it first on her belly, stood up holding her belly and balancing the scale, then dropped it down beside her from one hand, as she could not have dropped it down before her. 

She looked at herself once again in the mirror from the corner of her now greenish-blue eyes, then stepped on the scale with her dark aura she may had lost for a few weeks. She yelled. She couldnt see the scale anyways, so she didnt know why she bothered. It took her a moment to realize the scale she had was a strange one: first to turn it on weight had to be applied, then a certain amount of pressure would change the measurement between kilograms and pounds, and after standing there on the scale for a moment or two, the weight would blink and then the scale would turn off. 

So she moved her body off from the scale and looked down beside her; her weight was 492.5 pounds. It had been about seven months since she had started her job, she remembered. Her excessive laziness and gorging had blown her body up to great proportions. That was pointless, she thought to herself and put the scale away awkwardly. She drummed on her belly then remembering the concert she moved naked through the house to her room. She decided before she would dress shed get something to eat, so she squeezed her hips past her doorway-frame again and down the stairs. She moved her head to move a strand of hair back to its place. 

She drummed a note from Nine Inch Nails on her stomach and walked past the living room where her grandmother sat sleeping and made herself a great portion of food. Her tastes had significantly changed since starting her job at the bakery, in terms of what she picked to snack on. She held her belly with both hands and examined what was on the counters, cleaning out the jar of cookies her dear grandmother had positioned. Heather opened the door to the refrigerator and removed a large ice-cream cake and cut herself a slice two thirds of the entire thing. She was greedy, she knew, but who would eat all this food if not her? It was better for her young body than to let her grandmother eat her own birthday cakes. Heather then turned and poured herself a large glass of milk and cream, a Nesquik and a Pepsi-Cola. 

Beside the cake she finished off seven pieces of a leftover pizza and two from another leftover pizza. Unsatisfied but full, she trudged her weight back across the living room and up her stairs to the room. Winded, she sat on her bed and laid back. On her ceiling was a picture of Trent Reznor with long hair, a Trapt poster, and the Tool t-shirt she had signed the last time they were on tour. She pushed herself back upright, her belly spilling out over her thighs and her breasts resting on top, deep cleavage between them. Keeping her hands where they were to lift herself up, she felt her huge rear under her back, as wide as women she had seen who took up two folded-chair-seats. She laughed cynically to herself, as her face had been relatively unaffected by the growth and from her head to shoulders she appeared the same as always in her mirror across from where she was sitting, above her dresser. 

She applied dark eye-liner and her choker-necklace, her nails painted black with white cross-bones and skulls, bracelets applied to her thick wrists, a ball-spiked one at her wrist and another on her upper arm, thick and almost painfully tight. She dismissed putting on a bra and pulled on a wife-beater, stretched it down under her large, substantial gut and pulled on a pair of thick dark jeans with metal in various areas. 

She rose up from her bed and moved to her mirror to examine her appearance: beautifully tragic. She was inclined to gothic attire because she admired those who put fear into the ignorant. She had a flawless, beautiful face, her black almost dreadlock-like hair screamed out with her light eyes and dark liner. Her navel piercing ripped through her wide-beater from the tight pressure her belly applied against it. She pulled on a dark jacket with studded shoulders and left for the concert. 

She was seeing Nine Inch Nails performing their new CD. She drank bear and abused a few guys and girls alike while she was there. After the concert she went home and slept for over fourteen hours, exhausted from the concert and tired from the jetlag. 

She woke up the next night and went clubbing. She woke up the next night and went to an all-you-can-eat. The next night she stayed at home and wrote new poetry and stories. She knew she had a great life, unattached, doing what pleased her and nothing else. 

She had returned back to work and with the expansion of the store, she did the job of three samplers now. It was the last week of her high-school career (she hated school, however intelligent she was). Boys were bouncing off of each other to get her phone number, she sitting calmly and regal in a seat, her arms folded on her belly, her condescending eyes searching the faces of the morons before her. Some were even as ignorant (though they thought they were being sweet) as to bring her food and gift certificates to restaurants. Of course she took them, but not a smile met her lips. She took one by the collar, tugged him in very close, kissed his cheek with her black lips, then punched him in the stomach. She rubbed her bloated belly, still full from breakfast but her mind knew she was actually hungry. The gothic boys turn. She told them to run to the caf for her and load up a plate. Every time she finished one plate, she had another sent for. She smiled inwardly, and gave her number to about 4 boys.


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## WG Story Drone (Oct 22, 2005)

Part II​
Sitting on the couch at home, she watched network television with disgust, turning to Comedy Central, one of her favorite channels. While she was watching Friday Night Stand Up, her phone rang. She spat and picked it up without a friendly tone on her lips. 

Mneh? H-hi, Heather? Its Frank-- She gave her number to this boy because she liked his name. Would you like to have dinner -- sometime? She laughed in her usual coughing manner and agreed on tomorrow night with Frank at the all-you-can-eat she had gone to the other night. 

A little while later another boy called, requesting the same privilege. She didnt answer him right away, commending herself on her new method of feeding. Absolutely, was the most energetic thing the boy had ever heard her say. 

The same thing happened with the other boys she had given her number to. At dinner she told them not to hog her number, she liked free dinners. Her blunt humor got a frightened laugh out of each of them. Clones, she thought. 

She had something different each night because she liked variety, one night pounds and pounds of pasta passed through her mouth and filled her belly, to the astonishment of the boys who invariably sat across from her, making comments feebly on her eating habits followed by a hopeful smile. She pitied them and their hormones, so she accommodated them with a smile and some actual speech. Shut up while I eat, --she was graceful, alright.

She woke up the following morning alone in her bed, her red sheets and black comforter covering her enormous body, which had become as wide as her bed itself. She had no thoughts of refraining from eating so much, or anything along those lines. She laid there on her side and ran her hand over the expanse of herself before her. She called a boy up and he took her to breakfast at IHOP. She was wearing her pajamas under a black trench-coat. She ate for over an hour, apparently with a stomach as big as her belly itself. Multiple times she would groan and massage the great thing, but to the woe of wallet of the boy, shed continue, ordering another plate with a groan. She had consumed what had to be twenty pounds of pancakes, meat, butter, and syrup when she smiled through her greenish eyes and had the boy pay. She took him home and thanked him however he liked. 

She wasnt a food whore, just grateful and not very good with verbal thank-yous.

She lived by the beach, and shed often walk along the beach at night, along the coast and the crashing waves. But she couldnt walk too far anymore before she got winded, so she tried bringing Frank with her one night to walk and talk, and perhaps forget about fatigue and make it a bit farther than a few feet and sitting down. She picked up her phone and called him, Come over. Is everything o-- Just be here -- pick up doughnuts. 

So Frank came over sooner than Heather had expected him to, but she supposed the dear one was worried about her. He found the door open and came upstairs to her room (he had been there before after dinner) and saw her on her bed watching TV and eating pastries from her work. He brought the doughnuts over to her and she told him she wanted to walk the beach, which was why she was naked. He understood and climbed onto her bed with the great wide girl and rested his head on her belly, but not awkwardly. She looked at the back of his head and slowly raised a hand to hold his shoulder, then rested it on his head. Well have sex afterwards, she coughed. 

Finishing the doughnuts, he removed himself from her body and she put on a bikini top that fit her well. Black with a sigil of Baphomet on the left cup. He helped her pull on the bottoms over her enormous butt, and she looked at him coolly and they moved downstairs. She went and got something to fill her more than a dozen doughnuts, a third of another cake, as she had finished the other beforehand. It was warm at night, and Frank removed his shirt and they walked half-naked on the beach. Heather disliked sunlight and tans, so she was very white, almost glowing in the night. Frank did most of the talking, she just looked at him then and now when he said certain things. He talked about his plans, with hints of me and you in his discourse. They made it down the beach to Kellys Roast Beef, where the girl got a few plates and finished an entire bag of fries. She was never satisfied, but she loved to eat. She heavily salted the fries, the chicken fingers, the roast beef, everything. She liked the taste of salt, and she went through three large cups of soda to keep her mouth wetted. She was too tired and too full to move now. 

She fell asleep with her head in his lap and her belly pouring out to the cement ground over the bench they slept on that night. 

The next morning they woke up early and startled at their location. With difficulty, Heather moved her large body back to her house and Frank bathed her and took her to breakfast. He often stared at her, is arms holding her gigantic stomach pouring out of anything she wore, into her olive-eyes, light blue edges and dark eyelids. She let some hair fall over her face and she kissed him. She about two inches shorter than he, she wrapped her heavy arms around his neck and tried to raise herself up on tip-toes, but found she was too heavy for that. She smiled close to his face and simply kissed him. 

She adjusted her large breasts and fixed her shirt to cover her entire belly. They moved into the restaurant and found a seat; she ate and ate. They went home and she laid down on her bed, her stomach sloshing around inside her belly, full of food and soda and thicker substances. She rested her head on her hands and let her body pour out over her bed, and smiled over at Frank. They rested together on her bed, disregarding the hour and watched a movie or two. She ate ice cream while he rested his head on her. Your bellys getting cold! She laughed and brought him closer to her warmer breasts. 

The days went on and they molded their two worlds into one of great hedonism. She kept going to work and kept eating plates upon plates of heavy pastries, she kept gorging at every meal, kept sleeping for the majority of the days, maintained her lazy lifestyle. She waddled into work one day, wearing enormous clothes to cover her skin from the sunlight, and settled into her position and began testing the foods. She had become gigantic, almost seven-hundred pounds. God, Im in heaven, she said to no one in particular one day at work.


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## BTB (Oct 26, 2005)

It's even a form of hedonism just reading this story


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## Belly Lover (Mar 21, 2006)

This story was very good loved the description and the attention to detail.


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## Eager Eater (Mar 22, 2006)

Nice story, with a main character who really LOVES eating. There should be more girls like her in real life.


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## Still a Skye fan (Mar 29, 2006)

Nice descriptions but what is a "wife beater"?

I've never heard that term applied to an article of clothing before.

Just curious and I enjoyed the tale.


Dennis


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## jediknight36 (Mar 31, 2006)

its refering to the no-sleve undergarment that rednecks usually wear on Cops or what not. It was nickednamed wife beater because the sterotypical man that beats his wife drinks and wears one under his uniform, which he takes off after work.


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