~BHM, Extreme Eating, Flatulence, Explicit ~Sex - Fattened boy meets old acquaintance
[Author's Note: I am very bored, and very turned-on, and there's no one to talk to about it. So what did I do? I imagined my life if I weighed 500 pounds. This is what it might look like. The name's have been changed to protect the innocent. Everything else is essentially based heavily (pun intended) on reality. Enjoy.]
I feel the wind pass between the cheeks of my butt, vibrating my rear and causing a trumpeting sound. When it finishes, I take a deep breath and fan my nose from the bad smell. Now awake, I give a moan. I was still very, tired. I push my elbows into my bed to prop up my large upper half. I turn my head, feeling the fat bunch up at my neck and shoulders.
My alarm clock reads 2:27 PM.
I rip my elbows away, letting my fattened form fall back to my bed. The mattress compresses and bounces, causing the springs to squawk mockingly at me. With a reluctant grunt, my bed gives way, the four posts falling and pointing in opposite directions. The room trembles, and the lamp rattles on the nightstand. Dust is propelled out from beneath my mattress, giving the room and murky, gray haze. I cough a few times and brush the dust from my face with chubby fingers. I swing my legs around and place them on the carpet.
I press my feet into the floor, tightening my muscles and pushing with all my strength. My hands push against my back, simultaneously, and after some exertion, I am on my feet. I sway slightly, trying to gain my bearings. Once I get still, I grab my pajama pants and pull them up my legs. I stretch the elastic band and pull it up, over my belly button.
I waddle over to my closet and pull out an old, cotton, Spider-Man t-shirt. I pull it over my fat boobs and flabby arms. The sleeves are a little tight, but then, it’s a little snug all over. I turn to leave the room, trying to get out of the snug corner, trapped between the closet and a chair. My enormous ass brushes the chair, causing it to swivel on its stand. My stomach brushes against the folded, aluminum, closet door, knocking off the clothes hanging on the handle.
I don’t bother to pick them up, as bending over has become quite the chore, and I’ve just become too lazy to bother. I waddle around the mess of my room, and sidle out my bedroom door. I stop at the intersection of the hall and peer into the computer room. The Matrix Code screen saver cascades over my monitor. I turn my head and look down the hall to my parent’s room. The door is lightly pulled to the lock, so I waddle over and lightly push it open. I peak my head in and see the beds empty. I give a satisfied nod, and turn to leave, my fat belly brushing against the frame.
I don’t even notice anymore.
I turn left at the hallway conjunction towards my favorite room in the house: the kitchen.
The first thing I notice is a bag of Bojangle’s chicken biscuits. The white paper is stained with grease splotches, making the bag a little transparent in certain spots. I uncrumple the bag’s opening and look down at its contents with a smile.
Five chicken biscuits.
I smile, excitedly and crumple the bag’s opening, again and take it further into the kitchen. I pass the note sitting on the counter, next to where the bag was. It reads:
-Hey, buddy. Enjoy
-Dad
Stepping heavily towards the microwave, I have to maneuver around the kitchen table and its chairs. My ass slides against some papers, knocking them to the floor. They spread like a peacock’s feathers upon landing on the linoleum. I ignore these, too. I’m far too lazy.
I push into the largest button of the microwave and drop my bag of food into it. I close the door shut and hit 4-5 and press start. The light shines, and the appliance hums, as the contents inside turn on the glass plate.
I twiddle my fingers in excitement and slide back over the chairs, and to the pantry. I pull open the aluminum door and survey the treats.
Little Debbie’s are everywhere. Brownies, Swiss Cake Rolls, Oatmeal Pies, and Cupcakes! I grab a packet of Swiss Cake Rolls and hold it to my stomach, as my sausage-like fingers struggle with the plastic wrap. It rips open, and I greedily pull out one of the rolls and put the first half into my mouth and bite. With the treat still to my mouth, I open up and welcome the 2nd half of the first Swiss Cake Roll. I chew, my flabby cheeks puffing out more than they already do. I chew and reach for the next one as the microwave bell dings.
My eyes light up and I shove the second Swiss Cake Roll into my mouth, chewing hungrily. I drop the wrapper, and it drifts into the garbage can as I reach around and pop open the microwave again. I pull out the bag and slam the microwave door shut by bumping my belly into it. I waddle over to the couch in the living room, and sit on it. With my gargantuan physique, I turn the sofa into a chair, and plop the greasy bag onto the table.
My hands tremble with excitement as I unravel the opening of the bag and pull out my first biscuit. I tear off its wrapper and sink my teeth into it. The surface of the biscuit crumbles as my teeth crash into it. My incisors meet a juicy, hot chicken breast, and slide through it before catching up to my bottom jaw just past the under half of biscuit. It’s orgasmic. I slowly rub my hands over my stomach and moan in ecstasy. I shove whatever’s left of the biscuit and chew, moaning through my overstuffed mouth.
One down, four to go.
I awaken from my pleasured state of bliss, and quickly struggle for the next biscuit. I bite into it, and am immediately biting into it again, chewing one bite with each successive bite.
It is quickly gone into my belly.
I lay on hand on it, using the other to gather my food. I can’t get enough! And I can’t get it quick enough! I feel a building pressure in my stomach. I can feel my muscles contracting, pushing the gas to the rear. I feel it travel to the bottom of my spine, and I give a slight push.
I pause chewing, and with a mouthful of food hanging slightly ajar, I fart sensuously. It pours from me, sliding into the living room to join me. The stench wraps itself around me, graciously, and I can’t escape it. I don’t even try. I’m too engorged in my food to worry about the smell. My primitive, hungry mind sees it as opportuniy.
It’ll keep the scavengers away, I reason with myself.
Soon, the bag is empty, and I’m leaning back into the couch, rubbing my stomach. My shirt is pulled up to just below my man-breasts, which have folded over the top of my stomach. I rub my flabby, flabby gut, thinking about how glad I am that no one is here to see me in this state.
I am pure gluttony personified, and any spectators would be quite embarrassing. Especially since I’m still hungry. I don’t want to get up, and I suddenly find myself wishing my girlfriend was here to bring me food.
I exert myself and lean to the right. I blast another epic fart from between my cheeks, and fall back into place.
I give a sheepish smile and fan my nose of the smell. The entire house is mine for the afternoon. I have marked it as my territory. Each room has been exposed to my gasses, and it saturates the walls. Anyone here would know: this is the house of a fat man.
Suddenly, the phone rings. I give a disappointed grunt and rock my body forward. I fall back, and try again. Eventually, I get the momentum needed to get my gigantic, fat ass to my feet. I waddle back into the kitchen, my sides brushing the door’s frame.
I reach for the mounted phone with a chubby hand and pull the receiver from its base. I put the equipment to my ear and ask: “Hello?”
“Hey, fatso,” my girlfriend replies.
“What’s up, baby?” I ask, delighted to hear her voice.
“We still hanging out tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think so. Do you want me to come get you?”
“No, it’s cool. Isabel’s going to bring me. Is that cool if she hangs with us tonight?”
Tonight?! Of course, not. I haven’t seen Isabel since high school! Back then, I was thin. I was tiny. That was before you fattened me up into the junk-food addicted fat boy I am. I don’t want her to see me this way!
I sniffed the air. Yep, it smelled bad. It smelled like me. I farted again, and reached back, fanning my huge rear.
“Uh, sure,” I say, stupidly.
Oh, this will be interesting.
Story continued in post 4 of this thread
[Author's Note: I am very bored, and very turned-on, and there's no one to talk to about it. So what did I do? I imagined my life if I weighed 500 pounds. This is what it might look like. The name's have been changed to protect the innocent. Everything else is essentially based heavily (pun intended) on reality. Enjoy.]
A Day in the Life of Aaron Johns
By Iam Unknown
By Iam Unknown
I feel the wind pass between the cheeks of my butt, vibrating my rear and causing a trumpeting sound. When it finishes, I take a deep breath and fan my nose from the bad smell. Now awake, I give a moan. I was still very, tired. I push my elbows into my bed to prop up my large upper half. I turn my head, feeling the fat bunch up at my neck and shoulders.
My alarm clock reads 2:27 PM.
I rip my elbows away, letting my fattened form fall back to my bed. The mattress compresses and bounces, causing the springs to squawk mockingly at me. With a reluctant grunt, my bed gives way, the four posts falling and pointing in opposite directions. The room trembles, and the lamp rattles on the nightstand. Dust is propelled out from beneath my mattress, giving the room and murky, gray haze. I cough a few times and brush the dust from my face with chubby fingers. I swing my legs around and place them on the carpet.
I press my feet into the floor, tightening my muscles and pushing with all my strength. My hands push against my back, simultaneously, and after some exertion, I am on my feet. I sway slightly, trying to gain my bearings. Once I get still, I grab my pajama pants and pull them up my legs. I stretch the elastic band and pull it up, over my belly button.
I waddle over to my closet and pull out an old, cotton, Spider-Man t-shirt. I pull it over my fat boobs and flabby arms. The sleeves are a little tight, but then, it’s a little snug all over. I turn to leave the room, trying to get out of the snug corner, trapped between the closet and a chair. My enormous ass brushes the chair, causing it to swivel on its stand. My stomach brushes against the folded, aluminum, closet door, knocking off the clothes hanging on the handle.
I don’t bother to pick them up, as bending over has become quite the chore, and I’ve just become too lazy to bother. I waddle around the mess of my room, and sidle out my bedroom door. I stop at the intersection of the hall and peer into the computer room. The Matrix Code screen saver cascades over my monitor. I turn my head and look down the hall to my parent’s room. The door is lightly pulled to the lock, so I waddle over and lightly push it open. I peak my head in and see the beds empty. I give a satisfied nod, and turn to leave, my fat belly brushing against the frame.
I don’t even notice anymore.
I turn left at the hallway conjunction towards my favorite room in the house: the kitchen.
The first thing I notice is a bag of Bojangle’s chicken biscuits. The white paper is stained with grease splotches, making the bag a little transparent in certain spots. I uncrumple the bag’s opening and look down at its contents with a smile.
Five chicken biscuits.
I smile, excitedly and crumple the bag’s opening, again and take it further into the kitchen. I pass the note sitting on the counter, next to where the bag was. It reads:
-Hey, buddy. Enjoy
-Dad
Stepping heavily towards the microwave, I have to maneuver around the kitchen table and its chairs. My ass slides against some papers, knocking them to the floor. They spread like a peacock’s feathers upon landing on the linoleum. I ignore these, too. I’m far too lazy.
I push into the largest button of the microwave and drop my bag of food into it. I close the door shut and hit 4-5 and press start. The light shines, and the appliance hums, as the contents inside turn on the glass plate.
I twiddle my fingers in excitement and slide back over the chairs, and to the pantry. I pull open the aluminum door and survey the treats.
Little Debbie’s are everywhere. Brownies, Swiss Cake Rolls, Oatmeal Pies, and Cupcakes! I grab a packet of Swiss Cake Rolls and hold it to my stomach, as my sausage-like fingers struggle with the plastic wrap. It rips open, and I greedily pull out one of the rolls and put the first half into my mouth and bite. With the treat still to my mouth, I open up and welcome the 2nd half of the first Swiss Cake Roll. I chew, my flabby cheeks puffing out more than they already do. I chew and reach for the next one as the microwave bell dings.
My eyes light up and I shove the second Swiss Cake Roll into my mouth, chewing hungrily. I drop the wrapper, and it drifts into the garbage can as I reach around and pop open the microwave again. I pull out the bag and slam the microwave door shut by bumping my belly into it. I waddle over to the couch in the living room, and sit on it. With my gargantuan physique, I turn the sofa into a chair, and plop the greasy bag onto the table.
My hands tremble with excitement as I unravel the opening of the bag and pull out my first biscuit. I tear off its wrapper and sink my teeth into it. The surface of the biscuit crumbles as my teeth crash into it. My incisors meet a juicy, hot chicken breast, and slide through it before catching up to my bottom jaw just past the under half of biscuit. It’s orgasmic. I slowly rub my hands over my stomach and moan in ecstasy. I shove whatever’s left of the biscuit and chew, moaning through my overstuffed mouth.
One down, four to go.
I awaken from my pleasured state of bliss, and quickly struggle for the next biscuit. I bite into it, and am immediately biting into it again, chewing one bite with each successive bite.
It is quickly gone into my belly.
I lay on hand on it, using the other to gather my food. I can’t get enough! And I can’t get it quick enough! I feel a building pressure in my stomach. I can feel my muscles contracting, pushing the gas to the rear. I feel it travel to the bottom of my spine, and I give a slight push.
I pause chewing, and with a mouthful of food hanging slightly ajar, I fart sensuously. It pours from me, sliding into the living room to join me. The stench wraps itself around me, graciously, and I can’t escape it. I don’t even try. I’m too engorged in my food to worry about the smell. My primitive, hungry mind sees it as opportuniy.
It’ll keep the scavengers away, I reason with myself.
Soon, the bag is empty, and I’m leaning back into the couch, rubbing my stomach. My shirt is pulled up to just below my man-breasts, which have folded over the top of my stomach. I rub my flabby, flabby gut, thinking about how glad I am that no one is here to see me in this state.
I am pure gluttony personified, and any spectators would be quite embarrassing. Especially since I’m still hungry. I don’t want to get up, and I suddenly find myself wishing my girlfriend was here to bring me food.
I exert myself and lean to the right. I blast another epic fart from between my cheeks, and fall back into place.
I give a sheepish smile and fan my nose of the smell. The entire house is mine for the afternoon. I have marked it as my territory. Each room has been exposed to my gasses, and it saturates the walls. Anyone here would know: this is the house of a fat man.
Suddenly, the phone rings. I give a disappointed grunt and rock my body forward. I fall back, and try again. Eventually, I get the momentum needed to get my gigantic, fat ass to my feet. I waddle back into the kitchen, my sides brushing the door’s frame.
I reach for the mounted phone with a chubby hand and pull the receiver from its base. I put the equipment to my ear and ask: “Hello?”
“Hey, fatso,” my girlfriend replies.
“What’s up, baby?” I ask, delighted to hear her voice.
“We still hanging out tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think so. Do you want me to come get you?”
“No, it’s cool. Isabel’s going to bring me. Is that cool if she hangs with us tonight?”
Tonight?! Of course, not. I haven’t seen Isabel since high school! Back then, I was thin. I was tiny. That was before you fattened me up into the junk-food addicted fat boy I am. I don’t want her to see me this way!
I sniffed the air. Yep, it smelled bad. It smelled like me. I farted again, and reached back, fanning my huge rear.
“Uh, sure,” I say, stupidly.
Oh, this will be interesting.
Story continued in post 4 of this thread
