survivalisfutile
Robot in Disguise
~BHM, BBW, Magic, Domination, Weight Transfer - Fat sandwich shop employee encounters a voracious woman with a strange appetite
I remember her so well. I never knew her name, but what's in a name anyways? I'd venture to say that most people put too much value in a name. We don't live for names, although everything and everyone has a name. Would I feel any different about her if I knew her name? Maybe, maybe not. Supposedly it's not the answers that a person recieves that keep them searching, but the questions we ask that forces us to search in the first place. As far as a name goes, I wasn't searching for a name - I was searching for diet orange pop.
To start at a more appropriate place, I'd like to introduce myself, as regardless of the mystery it could create the truth is much more mysterious when taken in small doses. My name is Sam, and I feel like for the most part I'm a good person. I'm exactly six foot tall, 342 pounds, and cute as a button. I carry the weight well, mostly in my legs, which for a guy is more discrete than a female - and keeps my face rather thin and unobscured from extra chins (for the most part).
I had left work in a huff that day. I don't have the best Job, and the overwhelming reality of that is almost too much for my chubby arms to bare when a day like that day comes crashing down onto my shoulders. I'm a line worker at your run-of-the-mill sandwhich shop. The owners have been married for 27 years, and they love each other very much.
Old man Nyguen is a good man; he has one son, two daughters and the kind of smile that can change a day for the better faster than a three year old can change his mind. He's the kind of person that makes working at such a hole-in-the-wall bearable inbetween the shouts and screams of Lady Nyguen. Lady, as is her legal name, is just as shrill as Old Man Nyguen is kind. They are unequivocal proof that opposites attract.
I took the job because, well to be blunt - I make a mean sandwhich. It's hard to compete when there are so many Quiznos and Subways around these days, but if you can make deli-meats into an artform, then people will come from miles around. Sure, it's boastful, but other than that my skill-set is spread thin like so much mayo from the bottom of the jar.
Well, to get more to the point, I met her driving home from work one day. It was an odd sort of meeting, but aren't all meetings that are worth while odd in one sense or the other? The way I see it, it's either untraditionally beautiful, or picture-esk. All other meetings aren't worth recounting, and if they are they have to be oddly striking enough to be remembered.
Lady was working that night, so obviously that meant no free pop, and no sandwich to take home. If you hadn't guessed, I'm not exactly a Rockefeller, and most nights I depended on this for dinner. Lady didn't care though, it was all a matter of cornbeef shortage and cutting down on the munster usage. That, and a string of last minute customers delayed my getting home by almost an hour. Considering I was working until ten post-midday that night anyways, I wouldn't be getting home until close to midnight.
Normally, that would have been enough, but in my experience when it rains it pours. One of the last customers to come in was a girl around my age - 21, 22 at best. I watched her closely - as a lonely sandwich maker would. She was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Perhaps it was the graceful slope of her cleavage, or maybe the elegant way her pants constricted her waist in such a way to accentuate her love handles. Either way I managed to mess up her turkey ranch and swiss on rye. Apparently not wanting mustard nor pickles warranted me being chewed out and sentenced to bathroom duty every morning for the next month.
I never mess up an order, and it's not because I'm trained - it's because I'm passionate. One of the last things my mother ever told me was, "If your going to do something, Sam, then always do it right."
Call me naive, but that applies to putting your pants on, making sandwiches, or performing complex brain surgery. The problem wasn't my ability, but my priority of passion. As passionately as I feel about work and commitment, I am much more passionate about a plump female.
I would never stare, but i'd be liar to say that I don't appreciate a beautiful young woman - especially when there is more woman to appreciate! Oh well, that's what you get for being overly concerned with a person rather than their needs... I suppose. I cleaned the kitchens and prepped for the morning shift, and called it a night without further incident.
The road leading back to my tiny economy apartment complex was pitch black at night. The city hadn't installed streetlamps, and the neighborhood was dank enough for even the brightest stars to turn their backs on. I was guided by the incandescent lamps on the front of my compact and the occasional glow of porch lights from the string of low-cost housing that lined the street.
The only other signifigant light source was the glowing green and orange sign of "7-11" on the corner right next to my complex. I know the names of all the mid-eastern and Indian people who worked there, as they were all my neighbors. There was an older woman who was always working, Rose, bless her heart she must have been near 70. More than one night had been spent eating taquitos and talking about her son who left her here in this small town to search out his riches in sunny Hollywood, California.
I decided to pull into the 7-11 and grab a bite to eat and a diet orange pop before crawling up in my tiny bed and dreaming about all time to be spent cleaning toilets in the next month. I slapped a big smile on my face as I pushed the door open heavily; Rose was working by herself as per usual. I scanned the store quickly - nothing out of the ordinary really.
I walked to the drink coolers in the back, searching out my thirst quencher. While looking, a large pick-up truck pulled in. I wouldn't have normally noticed, but the lights were much higher up than normal and shined brightly through the glass on the front of the store. They quickly flashed off and a hooded figure jumped down from the driver's seat. I looked at Rose, and she was staring nervously at blank space in the back of the store. She knew that it most likely wasn't good news breezing in through the door.
The person walked in the door casually and quickly - walking straight towards me. I stared in the frosty reflection of the cooler door at the person, trying to make heads or tails of their intentions. It was perhaps premature to say that the person walked toward me, but rather the cooler I was stupidly standing in front of.
The person stood behind me for a second, and I finally caught a good look at their face. It was a she, and an attractive she at that. Not normally my tastes though, as she was so thin that I would have mistaken her for a man with her lack of curves. I stepped to the side, still staring at her in the reflection. She reached in for the last diet orange pop, and I finally looked directly at her.
She must have felt my stare, as she looked over at me almost immediately. I always make it a rule to not stare at an attractive female directly. It is incredibly impolite, as it makes a person uncomfortable and is borderline disrespect for a man to oggle a woman like that. She stood straight up and looked at my with almost a disgust and said, "what are you looking at?"
I just stared directly into her eyes and disheartingly said, "I was going to grab the last diet orange pop, I've had a really bad night, and I was kinda looking forward to it."
She laughed right in my face. I didn't need to take this, I've been laughed at by enough beautiful women to know what she meant. She was superior to fat guys, why even dignify them, right?
I would have given it too her had she asked, so I don't even know what possesed me to ask her for it back like that. Maybe it was my crappy night, or maybe it was the odd exchange - either way I could hear her laughing as I walked away.
"Wait, wait," she yelled, "here, you take it... I'm more of a mountain dew girl anyways."
I turned around quickly to tell her I didn't really mind and she was standing nose to nose with me. There was a strained, yet obvious chemistry between us.
"Here, take it, you look like you could use it."
I took it from her, neither of us breaking eye contacting or moving.
"So do you live around here?"
I just blinked for a second or two.
"Yea..yeah, I live just down the street." She grabbed my shirt and led me towards the door and towards her truck.
I just looked helplessly at Rose, diet pop in hand, and she smiled a "wise old woman" type smile and nodded as I was practically drug out.
Once we were out of earshot of Rose, she pushed me up against the grill of her truck and said quietly, "how much do you weigh?"
I stuttered a bit, "wha... why... why does it matter?"
"It matters alot to me fat boy, do you have some type of stuttering problem?"
Man, her face was in full light now, the exterior flood lights raining 150 watts of brilliance on her. She was staring with a strange intensity through her bright green eyes. Her long, dark brown hair was still held back by the hood she was wearing, and her lips we're thin, yet full at the same time - oddly alluring.
"342..."
"Do you wanna go back to your place?"
"uh, uhm... sure?"
She told me to get in and hopped in the driver's seat without saying another word. I felt oddly led by this woman, and nothing seemed overly threatening about her so I neverminded my better judgement for once.
Without asking, I told her the name of my complex, and my apartment number. She looked at me, and for the first time smiled a kindly smile - a trusting smile.
I led her to my room, and opened the door - luckily the apartment was clean. There was only one main room, and only two windows - one next to the front door and one in the kitchenette. She quickly went over to shut the blinds then moved back to the door and latched both locks.
I was begining to get nervous at this point, the unopened orange pop in my hand was sweating profusely - as I suppose my brow was. I walked over to the fridge and shoved it in the door.
"Theres nothing to worry about, nothing at all - I'm not gonna hurt you fat boy."
"Please, don't call me fat boy." I said with a slight twing of annoyance.
"Why, you are aren't you? I mean, you couldn't have not noticed the huge belly of yours? What about those man tits, eh?"
I just stood in silence. Why did I let her in my home?
"Oh, calm down, if I was going to rob you, I would have hog-tied you already. I need you, I need you to take off all of your clothes"
I just looked at her and chuckled. "NOW FAT BOY!"
However rude that may have been, it was effective, as I started stripping. She smiled that kind smile at me.
"How much do you think you should weigh, huh fat boy?"
I said nothing, just kept taking off clothes. I got to my underwear and undershirt and said, "Maybe 190?"
"Ok, fat boy, if that's what you want, I can help you with that."
I laughed slightly at this, "are you some type of personal trainer? Gonna make me work-out 6 times a week?"
"Oh no Fat Boy, this is a one time workout - satisfaction gurenteed. All you need to do is say the magic word."
By this time, I was sure I picked up a crazy, and I was starting to edge my way closer to the wall phone. "and what word would that be?"
"'please' fat boy, 'please' is the magic word."
"Alright, 'please'"
She walked over with a sexy walk, slipping the hoody over her head. She was wearing nothing but a black bra underneath that looked several sizes too large for her almost non-existant breasts - even the band was loose. She undid the snap on her pants and let those fall to the ground. She kept hold of the black panties so they wouldn't fall down - no hips to hold them up. I could have gagged - skin and bones.
She got nose to nose with me again and smiled, "take it ALL off, fat boy."
I slipped off my shirt, pants, shoes, socks and stood in my underwear and wife-beater.
"ALL OF IT!" she snapped.
I pulled off the wife-beater, exposing my pale, sagging stomach and rather large man tits. I'd guessed they were maybe a B-cup maybe even a C.
Her green eyes lit up and the smile on her face deepened intrisically - to the point that her cheeks burned bright red with what I could only describe as happiness.
She strolled up close to me, with a seudctive swagger. I jumped in surprise as she suddenly grasped her hands onto my fleshy sides, and pulled me closer to her. I wrapped my arms around her lightly at first, and slowly tightened my grip... or did I? I didn't know what it was, but it was like my hands were slowly wrapping around her, or maybe she was wrapping around my hands?
She forced me onto the bed with surprising strength and never let go of my sides for one second. That's when I noticed it - she was at least 15 pounds heavier. I immediately recoiled and scooted away to get a better look at her.
She smiled, her hair now free of the hoodie and frayed all around her face, her more womanly face - the same womanly face that was looking hungrily at me.
"What!? Wha... how!?!?"
"Shhh.... come here," she said softly, "I need you..."
She crawled back on top of me, and she slid her hands around my heavy pale paunch and love handles. She closed her eyes and her cheeks flushed a bright, plump, intense red which highlighted her chestshire smile. Then, all at once it began again.
I smiled as I watched her grow into the plump girl of my dreams. I watched as her cute little belly began to rise, like dough in the oven. spilling out over the pan and folding over her black victoria secret panties - just slightly, but elegantly. It looked like she actually needed a bra now, her tit-flesh expanded quickly, more quickly than anything else. She must have been barely an A-cup when she started... now she was holstering a small set of C-cups, but my attention was elsewhere for the moment.
I moved my hands from the grasping bed sheets to touching the sides of her thighs, open palmed. I could feel the fat stretch her soft, pale, skin.... slowly.
She looked into my eyes, still grinning from ear to ear, and pulled away. I just stared at her, as she stood up and took a few steps back, she must have gained 75 pound in about two minutes! She did a seductive turn, knowing I loved every second of it (obviously), and emphasized her little waddle as she walked towards my closet.
She opened the door, laughed, and threw me a shirt.
"Put it on, fat boy," she said.
I obeyed, slipping on the dark green 3xT t-shirt. It was loose on me. For the first time in 6 years, it was loose on me!
"I don't get it, who are you?"
"Shh, fat boy.... don't ruin the moment..." she said with a smile and moved towards me.
"Man," I thought, "she has magnificent hips, sloping so softly, swaying so sweetly."
"... we have much more work to do," She pushed me back onto the twin bed then pounced onto my still chubby form, "I'm STARVING." ---------------------------
to be expanded upon.... and continued!
Diet Orange Pop
by Survivalisfutile
by Survivalisfutile
I remember her so well. I never knew her name, but what's in a name anyways? I'd venture to say that most people put too much value in a name. We don't live for names, although everything and everyone has a name. Would I feel any different about her if I knew her name? Maybe, maybe not. Supposedly it's not the answers that a person recieves that keep them searching, but the questions we ask that forces us to search in the first place. As far as a name goes, I wasn't searching for a name - I was searching for diet orange pop.
To start at a more appropriate place, I'd like to introduce myself, as regardless of the mystery it could create the truth is much more mysterious when taken in small doses. My name is Sam, and I feel like for the most part I'm a good person. I'm exactly six foot tall, 342 pounds, and cute as a button. I carry the weight well, mostly in my legs, which for a guy is more discrete than a female - and keeps my face rather thin and unobscured from extra chins (for the most part).
I had left work in a huff that day. I don't have the best Job, and the overwhelming reality of that is almost too much for my chubby arms to bare when a day like that day comes crashing down onto my shoulders. I'm a line worker at your run-of-the-mill sandwhich shop. The owners have been married for 27 years, and they love each other very much.
Old man Nyguen is a good man; he has one son, two daughters and the kind of smile that can change a day for the better faster than a three year old can change his mind. He's the kind of person that makes working at such a hole-in-the-wall bearable inbetween the shouts and screams of Lady Nyguen. Lady, as is her legal name, is just as shrill as Old Man Nyguen is kind. They are unequivocal proof that opposites attract.
I took the job because, well to be blunt - I make a mean sandwhich. It's hard to compete when there are so many Quiznos and Subways around these days, but if you can make deli-meats into an artform, then people will come from miles around. Sure, it's boastful, but other than that my skill-set is spread thin like so much mayo from the bottom of the jar.
Well, to get more to the point, I met her driving home from work one day. It was an odd sort of meeting, but aren't all meetings that are worth while odd in one sense or the other? The way I see it, it's either untraditionally beautiful, or picture-esk. All other meetings aren't worth recounting, and if they are they have to be oddly striking enough to be remembered.
Lady was working that night, so obviously that meant no free pop, and no sandwich to take home. If you hadn't guessed, I'm not exactly a Rockefeller, and most nights I depended on this for dinner. Lady didn't care though, it was all a matter of cornbeef shortage and cutting down on the munster usage. That, and a string of last minute customers delayed my getting home by almost an hour. Considering I was working until ten post-midday that night anyways, I wouldn't be getting home until close to midnight.
Normally, that would have been enough, but in my experience when it rains it pours. One of the last customers to come in was a girl around my age - 21, 22 at best. I watched her closely - as a lonely sandwich maker would. She was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Perhaps it was the graceful slope of her cleavage, or maybe the elegant way her pants constricted her waist in such a way to accentuate her love handles. Either way I managed to mess up her turkey ranch and swiss on rye. Apparently not wanting mustard nor pickles warranted me being chewed out and sentenced to bathroom duty every morning for the next month.
I never mess up an order, and it's not because I'm trained - it's because I'm passionate. One of the last things my mother ever told me was, "If your going to do something, Sam, then always do it right."
Call me naive, but that applies to putting your pants on, making sandwiches, or performing complex brain surgery. The problem wasn't my ability, but my priority of passion. As passionately as I feel about work and commitment, I am much more passionate about a plump female.
I would never stare, but i'd be liar to say that I don't appreciate a beautiful young woman - especially when there is more woman to appreciate! Oh well, that's what you get for being overly concerned with a person rather than their needs... I suppose. I cleaned the kitchens and prepped for the morning shift, and called it a night without further incident.
The road leading back to my tiny economy apartment complex was pitch black at night. The city hadn't installed streetlamps, and the neighborhood was dank enough for even the brightest stars to turn their backs on. I was guided by the incandescent lamps on the front of my compact and the occasional glow of porch lights from the string of low-cost housing that lined the street.
The only other signifigant light source was the glowing green and orange sign of "7-11" on the corner right next to my complex. I know the names of all the mid-eastern and Indian people who worked there, as they were all my neighbors. There was an older woman who was always working, Rose, bless her heart she must have been near 70. More than one night had been spent eating taquitos and talking about her son who left her here in this small town to search out his riches in sunny Hollywood, California.
I decided to pull into the 7-11 and grab a bite to eat and a diet orange pop before crawling up in my tiny bed and dreaming about all time to be spent cleaning toilets in the next month. I slapped a big smile on my face as I pushed the door open heavily; Rose was working by herself as per usual. I scanned the store quickly - nothing out of the ordinary really.
I walked to the drink coolers in the back, searching out my thirst quencher. While looking, a large pick-up truck pulled in. I wouldn't have normally noticed, but the lights were much higher up than normal and shined brightly through the glass on the front of the store. They quickly flashed off and a hooded figure jumped down from the driver's seat. I looked at Rose, and she was staring nervously at blank space in the back of the store. She knew that it most likely wasn't good news breezing in through the door.
The person walked in the door casually and quickly - walking straight towards me. I stared in the frosty reflection of the cooler door at the person, trying to make heads or tails of their intentions. It was perhaps premature to say that the person walked toward me, but rather the cooler I was stupidly standing in front of.
The person stood behind me for a second, and I finally caught a good look at their face. It was a she, and an attractive she at that. Not normally my tastes though, as she was so thin that I would have mistaken her for a man with her lack of curves. I stepped to the side, still staring at her in the reflection. She reached in for the last diet orange pop, and I finally looked directly at her.
She must have felt my stare, as she looked over at me almost immediately. I always make it a rule to not stare at an attractive female directly. It is incredibly impolite, as it makes a person uncomfortable and is borderline disrespect for a man to oggle a woman like that. She stood straight up and looked at my with almost a disgust and said, "what are you looking at?"
I just stared directly into her eyes and disheartingly said, "I was going to grab the last diet orange pop, I've had a really bad night, and I was kinda looking forward to it."
She laughed right in my face. I didn't need to take this, I've been laughed at by enough beautiful women to know what she meant. She was superior to fat guys, why even dignify them, right?
I would have given it too her had she asked, so I don't even know what possesed me to ask her for it back like that. Maybe it was my crappy night, or maybe it was the odd exchange - either way I could hear her laughing as I walked away.
"Wait, wait," she yelled, "here, you take it... I'm more of a mountain dew girl anyways."
I turned around quickly to tell her I didn't really mind and she was standing nose to nose with me. There was a strained, yet obvious chemistry between us.
"Here, take it, you look like you could use it."
I took it from her, neither of us breaking eye contacting or moving.
"So do you live around here?"
I just blinked for a second or two.
"Yea..yeah, I live just down the street." She grabbed my shirt and led me towards the door and towards her truck.
I just looked helplessly at Rose, diet pop in hand, and she smiled a "wise old woman" type smile and nodded as I was practically drug out.
Once we were out of earshot of Rose, she pushed me up against the grill of her truck and said quietly, "how much do you weigh?"
I stuttered a bit, "wha... why... why does it matter?"
"It matters alot to me fat boy, do you have some type of stuttering problem?"
Man, her face was in full light now, the exterior flood lights raining 150 watts of brilliance on her. She was staring with a strange intensity through her bright green eyes. Her long, dark brown hair was still held back by the hood she was wearing, and her lips we're thin, yet full at the same time - oddly alluring.
"342..."
"Do you wanna go back to your place?"
"uh, uhm... sure?"
She told me to get in and hopped in the driver's seat without saying another word. I felt oddly led by this woman, and nothing seemed overly threatening about her so I neverminded my better judgement for once.
Without asking, I told her the name of my complex, and my apartment number. She looked at me, and for the first time smiled a kindly smile - a trusting smile.
I led her to my room, and opened the door - luckily the apartment was clean. There was only one main room, and only two windows - one next to the front door and one in the kitchenette. She quickly went over to shut the blinds then moved back to the door and latched both locks.
I was begining to get nervous at this point, the unopened orange pop in my hand was sweating profusely - as I suppose my brow was. I walked over to the fridge and shoved it in the door.
"Theres nothing to worry about, nothing at all - I'm not gonna hurt you fat boy."
"Please, don't call me fat boy." I said with a slight twing of annoyance.
"Why, you are aren't you? I mean, you couldn't have not noticed the huge belly of yours? What about those man tits, eh?"
I just stood in silence. Why did I let her in my home?
"Oh, calm down, if I was going to rob you, I would have hog-tied you already. I need you, I need you to take off all of your clothes"
I just looked at her and chuckled. "NOW FAT BOY!"
However rude that may have been, it was effective, as I started stripping. She smiled that kind smile at me.
"How much do you think you should weigh, huh fat boy?"
I said nothing, just kept taking off clothes. I got to my underwear and undershirt and said, "Maybe 190?"
"Ok, fat boy, if that's what you want, I can help you with that."
I laughed slightly at this, "are you some type of personal trainer? Gonna make me work-out 6 times a week?"
"Oh no Fat Boy, this is a one time workout - satisfaction gurenteed. All you need to do is say the magic word."
By this time, I was sure I picked up a crazy, and I was starting to edge my way closer to the wall phone. "and what word would that be?"
"'please' fat boy, 'please' is the magic word."
"Alright, 'please'"
She walked over with a sexy walk, slipping the hoody over her head. She was wearing nothing but a black bra underneath that looked several sizes too large for her almost non-existant breasts - even the band was loose. She undid the snap on her pants and let those fall to the ground. She kept hold of the black panties so they wouldn't fall down - no hips to hold them up. I could have gagged - skin and bones.
She got nose to nose with me again and smiled, "take it ALL off, fat boy."
I slipped off my shirt, pants, shoes, socks and stood in my underwear and wife-beater.
"ALL OF IT!" she snapped.
I pulled off the wife-beater, exposing my pale, sagging stomach and rather large man tits. I'd guessed they were maybe a B-cup maybe even a C.
Her green eyes lit up and the smile on her face deepened intrisically - to the point that her cheeks burned bright red with what I could only describe as happiness.
She strolled up close to me, with a seudctive swagger. I jumped in surprise as she suddenly grasped her hands onto my fleshy sides, and pulled me closer to her. I wrapped my arms around her lightly at first, and slowly tightened my grip... or did I? I didn't know what it was, but it was like my hands were slowly wrapping around her, or maybe she was wrapping around my hands?
She forced me onto the bed with surprising strength and never let go of my sides for one second. That's when I noticed it - she was at least 15 pounds heavier. I immediately recoiled and scooted away to get a better look at her.
She smiled, her hair now free of the hoodie and frayed all around her face, her more womanly face - the same womanly face that was looking hungrily at me.
"What!? Wha... how!?!?"
"Shhh.... come here," she said softly, "I need you..."
She crawled back on top of me, and she slid her hands around my heavy pale paunch and love handles. She closed her eyes and her cheeks flushed a bright, plump, intense red which highlighted her chestshire smile. Then, all at once it began again.
I smiled as I watched her grow into the plump girl of my dreams. I watched as her cute little belly began to rise, like dough in the oven. spilling out over the pan and folding over her black victoria secret panties - just slightly, but elegantly. It looked like she actually needed a bra now, her tit-flesh expanded quickly, more quickly than anything else. She must have been barely an A-cup when she started... now she was holstering a small set of C-cups, but my attention was elsewhere for the moment.
I moved my hands from the grasping bed sheets to touching the sides of her thighs, open palmed. I could feel the fat stretch her soft, pale, skin.... slowly.
She looked into my eyes, still grinning from ear to ear, and pulled away. I just stared at her, as she stood up and took a few steps back, she must have gained 75 pound in about two minutes! She did a seductive turn, knowing I loved every second of it (obviously), and emphasized her little waddle as she walked towards my closet.
She opened the door, laughed, and threw me a shirt.
"Put it on, fat boy," she said.
I obeyed, slipping on the dark green 3xT t-shirt. It was loose on me. For the first time in 6 years, it was loose on me!
"I don't get it, who are you?"
"Shh, fat boy.... don't ruin the moment..." she said with a smile and moved towards me.
"Man," I thought, "she has magnificent hips, sloping so softly, swaying so sweetly."
"... we have much more work to do," She pushed me back onto the twin bed then pounced onto my still chubby form, "I'm STARVING." ---------------------------
to be expanded upon.... and continued!
