# Fat Hack - by Forgotten_Futures(~~WG, ~BBWs, Eating)



## Forgotten_Futures (Jul 21, 2010)

_~~WG, ~BBW, Multiple, Eating_ - Phantom data - or a digital deviant - causes an IT employee to experience some interesting job hazards.



*Author's Note:* I know. It's been a while. As such, I decided to try a shorter, less developed story approach. Put erotica first and story depth second. All that fun stuff. That said... I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did during writing. *evil grin* You will notice a large difference in writing styles with this as well. I wrote half of it about a year ago.

*Fat Hack 
By: Forgotten_Futures​*

Lara tore open the package of chips, shoving in a diminutive, milk-white hand and pulling out a fistful of greasy, starchy goodness. The short young woman stuffed this handful in her mouth, chewed quickly, swallowed, and followed suit thrice more. Speed-walking to the communal bathroom shared by the octet of offices hers was in, she let a stream of hot water run over her hands to get them somewhat clean. She sighed and clicked her tongue, as a mother would tsk at her actions - as though it would do any good.

Lara worked for a small company which hosted databases for other companies too small to justify having a Database Administrator on staff, but with informational needs which would be crippling to manage through a paper file system. The pay was excellent, the hours flexible - so long as shifts were covered adequately - but if there was one job perk she missed it was a consistent lunch break.

On the one good side, the company realized lunches were sometimes difficult if not impossible to take, and so there was no such thing as an unpaid lunch break. If you had the time, you relaxed for half an hour over a dish prepared by the on-site cafeteria staff. A little busier and you might be able to hope for an unhindered coworker bringing you something to wolf down in the silent moments. Days like today...

Sitting back down, pulling the uniform headset back on and running the automatic equalizing diagnostic (every employee's voice was modified to project at the same volume over communications lines), Lara gulped down half a liter of coke in the 15 seconds it took to log back in to her station. She'd regret the soda later, when she had to piss like a racehorse in the middle of a client's call, but that was how they sold 'em in the vending machines in the octet's inner lounge.

Attempting to stifle a roiling belch - and failing - Lara checked the call queue, and picked the fourth on the list. Technically, staff were supposed to handle calls in FIFO order (First In First Out), but she'd just finished up a 'Strangler', and recognized the fourth name as one of their most polite clients.

“Hive Mind Information Systems, Lara speaking.”

“Ahh, Lara, good to hear from you!” It was Mr. Spangler, a clueless, bumbling fool if there ever was one, but lacking the obnoxious quality of his many peers. “Lara, dear, I'm looking for a record in one of our customer tables and the search thingy isn't coming up with anything. I know they should be in there, I see their name in the orders table but...” he trailed off, letting her finish his sentence in technically accurate detail he might never attain.

“Ahh yes, I know which table you're referring to.” One of the most annoying things - but also a ploy her company used to get a little bit more money out of some clients - was that they did not prevent customers from giving idiots in their respective work forces' privileges they did not have the neural capacity to use properly. Input on Usergroup creation/allocation cost a little extra. Some companies failed to realize that racking up more calls for unintentional or unwanted deletions was more expensive than preventing them in the first place. “Fortunately, backups in your company's package have an extended duration period. What data are you looking for?”

“A customer by the last name of Whelm. Christopher Whelm. W-h-e-l-m.”

Lara's pulse jumped for a second, then went back down. Her last name was a rarer one, and it was always interesting when she found or heard of someone else who shared it. She pulled up a complex search algorithm, set it to search all archived versions of the table in question, and filter out duplicates. The search returned two hits. “I have your customer right here. And...” Lara's breath caught in her throat. That couldn't be right. She looked at the rest of the information listed. _Address, Phone #..._ “How am I...?”

“Lara? Lara, is everything okay?”

Mr. Spangler's voice on the phone snapped her out of her stupor. “Yes sir, sorry. Long day I suppose.”

“Yes, that would do it. You found the record?”

“Yes. The standard re-insert?”

“Yes, and please file a notification with the company heads. If it's that Jeffries guy again I'm going to wring his neck.”

“Careful sir, our calls are sometimes monitored.”

“Oh, did I say that out loud? Nevermind. The search worked again. Thank you Lara. Good day.”

The call cut out and Lara disconnected on her end as well. But she wasn't finished. Digging into the tables of the company Mr. Spangler worked for, well aware she was breaking a major company rule, she searched for that last name again. Once again, her name came up alongside the other one. A tag in the final column indicated she had made purchases.

Extremely curious, Lara pulled up the orders database for Chocol-art Inc. and ran an exact search on her first and last name. The search returned no records. She found this extremely odd, as she'd searched archived databases... but then realized she hadn't accounted for the currently active table version. Re-running the search on that table returned a slew of hits. Tens. Hundreds. It seemed she'd been a very busy customer, starting since...

She blinked at the purchase_date field, sure she was reading wrong. She ran the search a second time, just to be sure the data was being pulled up correctly. The records still floated there in front of her eyes.

The first hit's purchase date was listed as being several days in the near future. The price field was null - which shouldn't have been possible. Double checking the trans_price field, she verified that it was set to disallow null values. She was just about to dig deeper, into the individual purchases, when the call queue beeped at her, the programming irritated that she'd gone so long without seeing to the thick stack of waiting customers. Her boss would probably have something to say to her for it. She'd live, but, still... she logged off the Chocol-art database and went back to the deluge of calls. She never quite got her focus back all day, though she quickly forgot why she'd been distracted. Almost as if those records never really existed.

Lara woke up seven days later feeling bloated but hungry. She was an energized go-getter - from bed to bath in under a minute, usually before her alarm even got to go off. This morning was no different, but something seemed to be wrong nonetheless. Passing her alarm on the way to the bathroom, she flicked it to the 'off' position, and headed into the adjoining room. Pulling the oversized T-shirt she frequently used as a nightshirt up over her head, she caught a glimpse of herself as she tossed it to the floor. Yes, something was definitely amiss, but she could not put her finger on it. Shrugging, she pulled down her panties - she was small enough to get away with not wearing a bra to bed - and started the shower on a nice hot spray.

It was while lathering up that Lara first became aware of what had caught her attention. Her hands, so unconsciously used to the body they played over day after day, had found an oddity - a triad of soft spots on her middle and sides. Not big ones, by any definition, but definitely noticeable on her otherwise slender frame. “Junk food lunches are finally catching up to me, eh?” Lara quietly thought out loud, sighing. “Knew it would happen sooner or later. Oh well. It'll be gone again during the next lull. Wouldn't be surprised if it gets worse before it goes away, though.” With that, she continued bathing, the idea that she had gained a bit weight being enough of a non-event that it gave her such minimal pause as to simply merit a curious mulling.

Lara was, by no means, a health nut or fitness freak. She never attended the gym, her only real exercise - that which was not integral to her daily functionality - being a morning walk around the neighborhood, and only on days when the weather was decent. She had managed to maintain an even, 'healthy' weight all her 27 years through little more than a well-tuned metabolism, her body adjusting almost automatically to her eating patterns. If she splurged a little one day, she would be a little less hungry the next. Go a day or two without the time for normal, full meals, and she found herself wolfing down a plate of well-buttered pasta at the end of the day, packing away more than it looked like she should be able to hold.

Lara finished her shower after giving her luxurious mane of dark brown hair a thorough cleaning. She stepped out from the shower, her long tresses plastered to her back down to her tailbone, almost mirroring them in the front, save the moderate swell of her full A-cups creating slightly more ground to cover in their quest to reach the floor. It had been some time since she'd let it grow that long - having to deal with it pooling on the car seat when she got her license ruined the splendor of that display of excess. Wrapping a towel about her petite body, she wiped away a dry spot on the fogged-over window, peaking at the weather outside. The sky today was clear, sun streaming down at this late morning hour. Lara had been covering afternoon and evening shifts almost exclusively for the past couple years, and had grown accustomed to it. She was one of the most senior members of Hive Mind, having been recruited by one of the co-founders, a good guy friend, shortly after the company had stabilized and found its niche.

Opening the window, she pressed her hand up against the screen and felt the air temperature. It was nice and cool compared to the steamy bathroom, the thermometer just outside the window reading a pleasant 62 degrees. She would walk today, maybe help do something about that abnormal squish. She finished drying and threw on a 'yoga outfit' - sports bra, thong, tank top, socks, and velour pants and hoodie-style top. Slipping on a pair of comfortable cross trainers, she set off on her standard three-mile walk.

The walk was uneventful, and did little more than stimulate the background hunger she'd been feeling since she woke up, converting it to full-blown hunger pangs. Convenience was the name of the game, and two heaping bowls of cereal with milk gave their lives to silence the beast that had taken up residence in her tummy. The peddler's feast left her feeling full - not quite Thanksgiving full, but not that far off, either. She checked the time, realizing she was dangerously close to making herself late for work, and quickly changed and finished getting ready, leaving in a hurry.

The day was pretty much the usual - never exactly entertaining, but too full of work to be dull or even boring. Her boss surprised her and the others on duty at the time with a free lunch from the local burger joint. It being a database company, everyone had a record in a company table of default fast food/takeout orders, for just such an occasion as this. If someone went and got lunch, they could always look up a given coworker's order preferences for wherever they were headed, and be certain the recipient would appreciate what they got for lunch. Lunch, of course, was a relative term. Almost everyone built their day around their work shift, eating breakfast - the first meal of their 'day -' before work, making their second meal, at work, 'lunch'. However, that was arguing semantics. The food break was simply called lunch because it was the easiest term to use, and implied a median for the work shift.

Lara smiled and thanked her boss, thinking nothing of lumping a well-augmented double cheeseburger on top of the morning's breakfast. _“So I'm stress eating, or something. Big deal, it's temporary, it's not like I'm gonna become some fat cow over a little fast food. Besides, I'm one of the skinniest girls here, one of the skinniest people in general here. No one's going to notice or care. So why should I?_ A quick series of chats with the other workers on clock decided a break order, as the call volume was a little low at the moment and would probably stay that way for the next hour or so. It did, and Lara was able to gulp down her burger, fries, and soda in the space of fifteen minutes before returning to the endless pit of the call queue.

When the day finished and Lara returned home, she lit the stove and set a pot of water on to boil. About fifteen minutes later, she was enjoying a mound of pasta, coated heavily with butter and grated Parmesan. The incongruity of a large, heavy dinner after a large breakfast and a heavy lunch did not properly register in her brain. True, this kind of eating was usually a response to under eating in her recent past, but the fat she'd noticed just that morning would seem to undermine that reasoning. However, at the core of things, Lara was a simple person. A lifetime of internal metabolic regulation led to a fundamental trust in the signals her body gave her. And right now, it told her she was hungry. So she ate without question, until she was full again. Never mind that it took half a pound of dressed pasta to satiate her body's call for food. Her stomach asked, and she provided, details be damned.

Since Lara had been a woman of routine for much of her young adult and adult life, one would think she'd notice and react when her eating habits did not revert to her lifelong idea of 'normal' when, a few weeks later, the level of business evened out and things at work got a little slower paced all around. She might have questioned her continued progress away from a 'healthy' weight, or the rate at which such change mounted. Regardless of how much she had been eating of late, she had completely forgotten the mysterious chocolate orders stretching into the future in her name. Even had she remembered them, it was not likely she would have drawn any conclusion linking the obviously fake orders and her rapidly-progressing climb up the scale. Neither did her coworkers or her small but tight web of friends comment on her growth, or the increasingly large amount of food it took to quell the stomach monster which seemed to bore easily, and amuse itself by triggering her appetite.

The door opened, footsteps approaching her desk. She was in the middle of a call, doing her best to snack on a mid-sized bowl of Twizzlers Bites in the periods where she was just listening to the caller. She was dimly aware of an arm swinging into view to her right, a familiar hand holding a large take-out bag.

An instant messenger window popped up on her screen. 'Got you lunch.' it read.

She smiled, and typed, 'Thanks, Steve.' into the text box below the message. Shortly after, 'Welcome.' flashed up below the first message.

Call volume was virtually non-existent today, so Lara was able to log herself out of the system and retreat to her secondary desk, a small but empty spot she could eat in private or perform other work that did not involve her computer (admittedly a rarity in her workplace). She opened the bag and pulled out what to some would be a small smorgasbord, but to her had the feeling of being perfectly normal.

Two double quarter-pounders with the works, two fry baskets half the size of her head, a liter of soda, a dozen chicken tenders, dipping sauces for the immediate former, and a pair of personal sized apple pies found themselves spread about the desk surface. She wasted no time digging in.


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## Forgotten_Futures (Jul 21, 2010)

Steven sat in his office, smiling at the bank of video monitors along one wall. Today was his favorite day of the week. He wondered, as he often did, if anyone else noticed that there was one day every week where the business' eight female workers all happened to share one hour of time on shift. If anyone did, they never said anything, not even the small company's co-CEO. But there he sat, happily gazing at the women, his women, women who had come to him fulfilling one of his two desires and, after a time spent with the company, all invariably fulfilled both of them. 

He didn't see himself as a bad boss for taking such advantage of his employees. It wasn't as though they knew, were even aware that anything had been done. As far as Susanne over in room three knew, she'd always been a 246-pound, big-bellied woman. His eyes lingered on the monitor showing feed from the hidden camera just below keyboard level on room three's desk, gazed lustily at the stacked belly rolls Susanne's tight yellow blouse conformed to and highlighted perfectly. He could see, on another camera, how she snacked away while on the phone with a client, imagined himself feeding her those pretzels she was popping in her mouth one after the other, visualized his hands on that deliciously plump tummy. If there was one downside to the power he wielded over these women, it was the remote nature inherent in the fact that he was the boss, and they were the employees. There was little, if any, practical chance that he would ever get to lay hands on the squishy, gelatinous forms of any of his wondrous creations. But that didn't stop him from admiring them from his equally plush office chair.

His eyes flicked to camera two, where Samantha walked a client's newest employee through one of the more complex functions that client had requested be written up for them. Samantha was the antithesis of the stereotypical blond - a woman whose full, buoyant DD breasts had actually been on par with her brain power, rather than indirectly proportional to it, when she had first signed on to his company. Two years and 70 glorious pounds later, and he was gazing down into the cavernous, rhythmically swelling FF bosom of a woman whose penchant for technical blabber was dwarfed only by her love of Gummy Bears.

Room one's camera showed the pudgy form of Stacy, a woman who managed to retain an overall athletic appearance even with love handles the size of well-packed saddlebags. Nothing she wore had ever succeeded in disguising the fact that her middle stuck out farther to the sides than her breasts did in front of her, and so she had been the first to embrace a less professional appearance and simply left the golden brown hunks of flab plainly visible since he'd let up on her just over four years ago.

Room five held one of his favorite subordinates, Mary, who he had initially beefed up slowly, until he realized she showed a tendency to gain in her hind quarters. She was, at present, the heaviest woman on staff, weighing in somewhere around 350 pounds - he'd lost track and her eating habits had taken on a life of their own since the original gaining period, so for all he knew she was a stone or two above that - and he guessed that at least half of that was in her lower body. He'd had to order in a special chair just for her, such that she and only she ever worked in room five. She was a pleasant person, who wore her weight well, and favored long skirts. Just as well, since her two massive butt cheeks took up half the chair, leaving about half a foot of thickly padded thigh to be supported not by the reinforced steel furniture, but by her thick, wobbly calves and feet. He was surprised to see she wasn't eating anything at the moment, then realized she was instead drinking from a rather large paper cup full of what he guessed was a milkshake of some sort. He watched as she took a long gulp, patted her paunch, which itself was none too small, then picked up the next call waiting. He was amused to note Samantha and Rachel, on their respective monitors, sigh in frustration as the call disappeared from the queue before they could claim it for themselves.

Rachel was holed up in room six, an all-around plump woman who didn't really have an exact form, but looked more like someone had made a mold of a normal looking human female with some kind of rubber, and then poured concrete in just to see what bulged and what didn't. The effect was interesting, to say the least. Rachel didn't have multiple rolls anywhere, just individual bulges, but the defining factor was that, despite being over 200 pounds, she was the only one, not counting little Lara, who had not a speck of cellulite visible in any of the standard places such substance formed. Steven had toyed with the idea of pushing her envelope, seeing how big he could get her before some cottage cheese showed up, but knew he'd be too likely to get frustrated if her body refused to deny him that small victory too long and go too far for Rachel's well being. He was committed, beyond any rationale, not to actually hurt any of his girls with his power abuse. Even Mary was in perfect health, due to careful planning over the time he had spent shaping her into the woman she was today.

Melanie occupied room seven, a cute brunette with chunky arms, a decently large bust, and a definite potbelly lurking beneath her clingy-yet-tasteful blue blouse. She was his most recent hire, and he wasn't finished reshaping her yet, but she seemed to be enjoying her growth thus far, regardless of the fact she never 'knew' any different.

Finally, his eyes tracked over to the monitors of room eight. There sat Lara at her second desk, the only worker with a second desk at that. She, too, operated only out of room eight, which went unused when she was not at work. One of a few unofficial perks of being friends with the boss outside of work, combined with her tenure with the company. Today she was enjoying - quite heartily, at that - the lunch that he had just recently dropped off to her.

He had left Lara alone for a long time for several reasons, not least of which being their friendship. However, the greatest force that had kept him from augmenting her figure was the fact that he honestly, truly liked her. The other women, he lusted for them, they were each eye candy in their own way, but Lara was... Lara. He had felt, for years, that it would be violating her to change her, physically, to suit his tastes, a consideration he had never felt for the others because he never felt anything for them as people. But something had changed. Something had changed, and now he was enjoying himself to the fullest as he piled the pounds on his short, sexy, raven-haired friend.

He had taken her out just the other night, dinner together as friends, and he had reveled so in the relaxed way she held herself as they sat, and talked, and he watched her pack away a meal nearly three times the size of his. Lara's appetite was growing quickly. He simultaneously suspected, hoped, and worried that he hadn't unlocked some repressed urge in her, that her expansion would soon cease to be controlled by carefully planted orders in the database of a long time client, and become an honest-to-goodness case of indulgent eating and resultant growth.

Lara stooped to pull up her work jeans, acknowledging-but-ignoring the ring of blubber around her middle. As the action of leaning forwards and down squeezed and compacted the soft, squishy mass there, it temporarily took on the appearance of a stack of flapjacks instead of its normal, uniform inner tube bulge. Carefully guiding the denim up her thick, meaty thighs, she couldn't help but remember that this very pair had been loose not long ago. It was enough to make her pause for a moment, to try and follow that train of thought to its conclusion.

At the back of her mind was a sort of tickle, a little whisper in her ear that said she had not always been this way. Brief snapshots in her mind of wrongness - her tummy wobbling a little more than normal in the morning shower; more frequent trips to the store for basics like pasta, butter, and milk; the day she realized she had a second garbage can to put the most recent bulging black plastic bag into, as the first was already overflowing - were punctuated by large gaps in her memory where the idea of being fatter than she used to be - and getting fatter still - simply did not seem to register.

Her stomach rumbled, and she brushed the thought off. Experience had taught her to get dressed before eating breakfast, and this stopping to think was negatively effecting her hunger. Up went the jeans around hips padded enough to sway from side to side as she walked, up and around a butt that was looking more and more like a pair of half moons welded to her backside. She looked down at her bulging gut, and the flaps of the jeans poised on either side of it like water caught bursting the flood gates. This could be difficult.

Several seconds of intense struggling later, Lara both felt that she had successfully crammed her belly into the too-tight jeans. Sheepishly, she admitted to herself that the thick leather belt with its large steel buckle was the only thing actually holding the doughy blob back - she'd have to watch her eating today or the button was liable to pop off. The thought triggered a thrill deep within her, as though rupturing her pants was a medal-worthy goal she should be striving for, rather than fearing. She didn't think this was the first time she was going to work stuffed into her clothes like a sausage, and she couldn't recall anyone commenting on it before now.

Sitting down gently at the kitchen table, she poured butter and syrup over the dozen-stack of pancakes waiting patiently for her to get her pants on and come devour them, then proceeded to do just that. She'd never really paid attention to how she ate - it was all just another necessity of life - but she took her time eating breakfast, savoring the texture of the pancakes, the mix of sweet and rich flavors in the butter and syrup. It was blissful. She supposed that explained how fat she was - she clearly enjoyed her food, and was not about to restrict herself on how much she ate over something so minor as her weight. In truth, though she did not know it, the obsession with food was a result of the weight her boss had been illicitly forcing onto her every night. As she grew, hidden personality quirks she had simply never grown large enough to trigger emerged, converting her from a generally ambivalent woman, fitness wise, to a shameless glutton who cared more for satisfying her pallet and ample appetite than keeping her portions, decently normal sized.

Still, it bothered her that no one around her said anything. Her best friend Becky, who had a small frame much like herself, had not even batted an eyelash when Lara received her fourth platter of nachos for the night, just a few days back. Becky had simply sat and watched, her spry, toned figure contrasting sharply with the lardy pig Lara now was - always had been, as far as Becky was concerned. Lara's friendship meant more to Becky than any social stigmas that might have imposed themselves with her friend's eating habits, or how much there was of her filling and bulging out of her clothes. If nothing else, it had always made Becky feel a little less self conscious, when, on rare occasions, she had made a bit of a pig of herself as well.

At work later, Lara happened to get lucky and be between calls when Steve brought her lunch. Steve, I think we need to talk. Outside of work. Something strange has been happening and I... need your input.

Uhh, sure, Lara. Tonight, my place?

Can it by mine? I really don't think I'm gonna feel like going out tonight after work.

Sure thing. Just give me a call when you're ready.

Steve arrived at Lara's later that night, a little anxious and worried, but certainly not about to stand up a friend because of it, especially when that friend was the same one causing those feelings. He rang the bell, then spent the time waiting for her to open the door and let him in trying to clear his mind in hopes he wouldn't lose control of himself sometime in the next however many hours.

It turned out he didn't have to wait long, though he certainly hadn't been expecting what greeted him. Lara, her hair pulled back into a pony tail which he could just see the tip of between her knees, turned and set down the mostly-empty bowl of ice cream she'd had in one soft hand as she'd opened the door. Hey, she stepped back and waved him in, sorry, got a bit of a craving. Do you want some?

Huh? Uhh, no, thanks. And don't worry about it. You invited me into your home, it's hardly my place to tell you what to do in it.

Lara smiled and picked the bowl up again after closing and locking the door. Thanks, Steve. He wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he simply followed her to the small living room of her one-story ranch house. As she took a seat on one end of the couch, he couldn't help but notice the way her belly pressed against the tank top she was wearing. The very bottom of Lara's belly blubber was beyond the undersized garment's ability to cover, giving him no trouble in seeing how it rolled over the waistband of her athletic shorts - probably the only comfortable thing she had in the house - and puddled on her thighs, which had expanded from what he remembered to something resembling small tree trunks.

Steve, I'm fat.

He blinked a few times at the directness of the statement, then recovered. Don't be so hard on yourself, Lara. You're not fat, you're just... I mean, look at Mary and Susanne-

Steven, can you honestly look at this, she grabbed and jiggled her modestly fat belly - still much smaller than Susanne's - and tell me that I'm not fat?

A meek, sheepish, No, escaped quietly from Steve's lips.

Then why doesn't anyone say anything? Today at work I came in wearing pants that were literally held closed by a belt, and had to make do with a skin tight T-shirt because none of my blouses fit. No one said a word. It's like this is normal, she stressed that word, and there isn't any reason to question the fact my clothes don't fit me. Oh, and would you guess what I had for breakfast, given that?

Umm... bagel with cream cheese?

The look she gave him was absolutely incredulous, and the tone of her next sentence implied she had taken that suggestion as something of an insult. No. I had a dozen pancakes, slathered with butter and syrup. And I savored them. I came to work with my fat gut held back by only a belt, after packing it with rich, fatty food this morning. When you brought me lunch, did I let rationale have any say? No. I loved every bite of all three burgers, licked the grease off my fingers after scarfing down the fries, gobbled down all the chicken tenders and all three pies, and didn't stop until I'd finished the soda, even as the pressure against my middle mounted with every swallow. She paused a moment to take a spoonful of melting ice cream into her mouth, then went on. When I got home I cooked a pound of pasta. I melted a whole stick of butter over it and added a quarter-pound of grated Parmesan cheese. I undid my belt, sat down, and ate it all with the same tireless, greedy hunger. After that, I scooped myself some ice cream. The button on my jeans popped off in the middle of the second bowl. After that long, shameless monologue, her cheeks finally flushed red and her voice got significantly quieter. This is my fifth...

Steven was stunned, speechless, far beyond complex thought, let alone the formation of words or complete sentences. It was as though he had just asked her to say the most erotic thing she could possibly think of, into a microphone wired directly to his eardrums. Reality halted around him and he swore he saw fireworks.

Several seconds of catatonic non-responsiveness worried Lara enough to make her put the ice cream bowl down. Steve? She stood, walked over to him - the way her body wobbled and bounced with every move titillating him all the more - and leaned over, which caused the edge of her belly fat to perch upon his knee. Steve? Are you okay?

A proximity alarm in his head went off, and he flinched back, surprising her and causing her to jump back, eliciting another spectacular wave of bouncing flesh. I- yeah. Sorry, I- I must have dazed out there. S-sit back down and k-keep going.

Lara looked unconvinced, but returned to her seat and re-appropriated her ice cream, taking another spoonful before she continued. I... don't know quite how to say this, but... I love it.

Hmm?

I love... this bowl in my hands. I love taking the spoon and slicing off a chunk of sweet, cold ice cream. I love the feeling as I lift my arm and bring the spoon to my lips. I open my mouth and put the spoon in, slide the ice cream off with the force of my lips. I love feeling it slide down my throat, love knowing it's joining a mound of pasta and ice cream already residing in my tummy... she paused to pull the current lump off the spoon and let it do just that. He could feel the emotion rippling off her as she enjoyed the food, enjoyed the eating. It scares me, Steve. I love it so much I happily stuffed myself with three delicious, heavy, fattening meals despite the fact my jeans barely fit. I ate until my jeans burst open. I relished that, knowing I fed myself enough that my belly could not be contained any more. It was... a victory. It was fun. And I'm still eating. She put one hand on her belly, pressed on it to show how tight it was, then shook it to jiggle the fat already there. It scares me that I love it. But it feels so good, so delightfully satisfying. I don't want to stop. I can't stop. Not even for you.

Her last four words hit him like a bullet train to the forehead. What?

You must think I'm disgusting, sitting here in front of you, so fat, going on and on about eating and actually being happy about bursting my pants and-

I'm- I'm confused. What does this have to do with me?

She buried her head in her hands, tears beginning to stream from her eyes and a quaver becoming obvious in her voice. Oh, I just knew it, you don't like fat girls. Curse you, food, why must you be so ta- The tip of her tongue encountered something cold and sweet. Wordlessly and hopelessly confused, she closed her lips and the spoon slid out, leaving the ice cream inside. Her trembling subsided, the sweet treat sluicing across her tongue. She swallowed, and a cool spring worked its way down into her belly. She pulled her hands away from her eyes and looked up into Steve's smiling face. Y-you... w-why?

In answer to her question, Steve put down the spoon, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her.

You can look past it? You can l-love me even though I'm a fat, eating machine?

Lara... I kept this hidden for so long, because I was afraid of what you'd think. Your story of what you experienced today was a glorious symphony played just for me. Here, now, I loved watching you eat, from the way you took a piece of ice cream on to your spoon, to the way you brought it to your mouth. The way your lips closed down upon it with such finality, the look on your face as you savored and swallowed your sinful treat.

Lara took some seconds to process this revelation, but when she next spoke, it was once again her turn to surprise him. Well, then, what are you waiting for? The words themselves sounded harsh, but her tone was coy, playful.

Waiting for... what?

She grinned mischievously, gesturing at the bowl. He looked down, and recalled suddenly that he'd scraped together the last bits of still solid ice cream to feed to her.

Smiling, Lara leaned back and patted her tummy. There's more in the freezer.


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## Craiger16 (Jul 25, 2010)

Awesome Story!


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## ladyface (Aug 3, 2010)

I loveloveLOVE this story!!!! It was soooo good and very yummy :eat2:


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