Forgotten_Futures
Well-Known Member
~BBW, Intrigue, ~SWG
(Author's Notes: Well. The inspiration for this literally came out of nowhere, and seeing as it's basically complete (albeit short) as is, I feel like posting it. There is a chance I'll go further with this, but we'll see. My writing interest(s) tend to shift with my moods. Also, Profanity Alert - there is some use of a certain 6-letter bit of sexual vernacular slang.)
Katie hadn't always been fat. In fact, she'd been skinny most of her life, 'till one day the pounds just started piling on from out of nowhere. She fought them, of course. Sweat herself half to death running everyday, subsisting on baked chicken and fish, salads, and fruit cups for a week. All that managed to do was slow it down. So she rationalized, like any normal person does when faced with a situation they seemingly can't change.
So she was gaining weight. Okay, well, she'd been getting tired of being so skinny, anyway. Might as well just accept it. And if eating healthy and exercising weren't going to stop the gain, then why bother, right?
This nonchalant acceptance of her circumstances was the gravitas behind the large bowl of ice cream she cradled in one sticky hand, the other clasped around a spoon which, as spoons will, was making repeated trips between the bowl and her mouth, as she fed her face with the sinful, fattening treat. But why should she care about all those calories? She was getting fat one way or the other, right? Might as well enjoy herself.
The stained blue button-down shirt she wore, once loose but now tight to her softened figure, bore frank testament as to how much she'd been, “enjoying herself,” since giving in to the apparent inevitability of her weight gain. Plump, heavy breasts, once firm and perky but now more akin to overstuffed bean bags, strained within the cotton enclosure, exposing a few tantalizing inches of cleavage where the shirt pulled wide between buttons. Her belly, improbably rounded with a combination of squishy flab and near-constant stuffing, was largely visible in the inverted V, created by the forced removal of the lower three buttons, where the sweat-covered orb had simply grown too large to get around anymore whilst staying closed. In point of fact, had it not been for that sweat - and a variety of grease and sugar spots - plastering the shirt to her middle, there would likely have been more of that middle showing.
Her soft cotton pants, or what was left of them, were open at the fly, the zipper pushed all the way down to her crotch, tummy flesh filling the gap, pushing the flaps back against thick, otherwise-bare thighs, which had broken free from their prison sometime earlier in this mindless binge, the shredded leg portions somewhere else in the apartment.
In brief moments of lucidity, Katie found herself wondering how long she'd been going like this. She was pretty sure she hadn't bathed since this binge started, but this wasn't her first eating rampage, and her slow descent into willful, mindless gluttony had long since turned the place into a pig sty; as such, she could not easily differentiate body odor from the stench of her living quarters, so for all she knew it had been days since she'd started. Peripherally, she hoped it had been longer, if only because the alternative suggested a frighteningly rapid rate of weight gain.
She had determined weight loss efforts to be pointless; while consuming only 1200 calories a day and burning a third of that in cardio, she'd still somehow managed to gain two pounds. Thus her willful abandonment of that effort. But was the direct, radical opposite really the answer? True, eating felt good - it and the frequent bouts of manual stimulation she performed in the periods between stuffing her face with this or that fatty foodstuff. That constant pleasure high was probably the only thing allowing her to cope with the situation. She was getting fat. Not simply gaining a little weight, not, “filling out,” as she had initially rationalized. She had passed that point the first time she outgrew her clothing - and this time, pigging out on ice cream while her belly hung out in the air and her thighs bulged from the jagged tear-offs her pants had become - was the third. And she didn't care. She ate, and fucked herself, and ate, and fucked herself. Somewhere in the midst of that, she supposed she slept as well. The only real indication she had most days of a rest from the cycle of feeding and solo-fornication was the intense hunger that could only have built up from a period of slumber.
If, indeed, she was sleeping sometime within the otherwise-constant gluttony - the thought of eating constantly brought a smile to her face - then she wasn't sleeping well. Surely, her thoughts would not be so easily muddled by fat and sugar on her tongue if she were sleeping well. Wouldn't they? It was, perhaps, a good indicator of her state of mind that she never wondered why it was that the apartment never seemed to run out of food, or that everything she found when she made yet another trip to the cabinets, freezer, or fridge was the sort of high-calorie goodie she would never have kept on hand prior to this point.
She found the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl, then. Opening her hand with some difficulty - her fingers were sticky with some kind of syrup or glaze - she dropped the spoon without ceremony, feeling it bounce off one side of the ample, rubbery love handles she'd grown above saddlebag hips packed with lard. Almost of its own accord, her other hand raised the bowl - she licked it greedily, smearing her chin, forehead, nose, and ever-fatter cheeks with melted ice cream, before tossing the bowl aside nonchalantly and reaching about her person for something else to munch on.
Her sticky hands found something; bringing it up into view, she found herself looking at a bag of Triple-Double Oreos. Struggling some with the packaging, she finally managed to wrest it open, pulling out the tray full of cookies and popping them into her mouth three at a time. Katie completely failed to notice the lithe, winged creature stroking full, improbably-buoyant FF breasts and a clit buried between thick, shapely legs as it watched her gorge. Nor did she realize that the creature, a Succubus whose web she was thoroughly entangled in, had been the source of her latest treat. She happily stuffed herself, ignorant of the outside world. What did the outside world matter, anyway? She was getting fat, after all.
(Author's Notes: Well. The inspiration for this literally came out of nowhere, and seeing as it's basically complete (albeit short) as is, I feel like posting it. There is a chance I'll go further with this, but we'll see. My writing interest(s) tend to shift with my moods. Also, Profanity Alert - there is some use of a certain 6-letter bit of sexual vernacular slang.)
Katie's Curse
by Forgotten_Futures
by Forgotten_Futures
Katie hadn't always been fat. In fact, she'd been skinny most of her life, 'till one day the pounds just started piling on from out of nowhere. She fought them, of course. Sweat herself half to death running everyday, subsisting on baked chicken and fish, salads, and fruit cups for a week. All that managed to do was slow it down. So she rationalized, like any normal person does when faced with a situation they seemingly can't change.
So she was gaining weight. Okay, well, she'd been getting tired of being so skinny, anyway. Might as well just accept it. And if eating healthy and exercising weren't going to stop the gain, then why bother, right?
This nonchalant acceptance of her circumstances was the gravitas behind the large bowl of ice cream she cradled in one sticky hand, the other clasped around a spoon which, as spoons will, was making repeated trips between the bowl and her mouth, as she fed her face with the sinful, fattening treat. But why should she care about all those calories? She was getting fat one way or the other, right? Might as well enjoy herself.
The stained blue button-down shirt she wore, once loose but now tight to her softened figure, bore frank testament as to how much she'd been, “enjoying herself,” since giving in to the apparent inevitability of her weight gain. Plump, heavy breasts, once firm and perky but now more akin to overstuffed bean bags, strained within the cotton enclosure, exposing a few tantalizing inches of cleavage where the shirt pulled wide between buttons. Her belly, improbably rounded with a combination of squishy flab and near-constant stuffing, was largely visible in the inverted V, created by the forced removal of the lower three buttons, where the sweat-covered orb had simply grown too large to get around anymore whilst staying closed. In point of fact, had it not been for that sweat - and a variety of grease and sugar spots - plastering the shirt to her middle, there would likely have been more of that middle showing.
Her soft cotton pants, or what was left of them, were open at the fly, the zipper pushed all the way down to her crotch, tummy flesh filling the gap, pushing the flaps back against thick, otherwise-bare thighs, which had broken free from their prison sometime earlier in this mindless binge, the shredded leg portions somewhere else in the apartment.
In brief moments of lucidity, Katie found herself wondering how long she'd been going like this. She was pretty sure she hadn't bathed since this binge started, but this wasn't her first eating rampage, and her slow descent into willful, mindless gluttony had long since turned the place into a pig sty; as such, she could not easily differentiate body odor from the stench of her living quarters, so for all she knew it had been days since she'd started. Peripherally, she hoped it had been longer, if only because the alternative suggested a frighteningly rapid rate of weight gain.
She had determined weight loss efforts to be pointless; while consuming only 1200 calories a day and burning a third of that in cardio, she'd still somehow managed to gain two pounds. Thus her willful abandonment of that effort. But was the direct, radical opposite really the answer? True, eating felt good - it and the frequent bouts of manual stimulation she performed in the periods between stuffing her face with this or that fatty foodstuff. That constant pleasure high was probably the only thing allowing her to cope with the situation. She was getting fat. Not simply gaining a little weight, not, “filling out,” as she had initially rationalized. She had passed that point the first time she outgrew her clothing - and this time, pigging out on ice cream while her belly hung out in the air and her thighs bulged from the jagged tear-offs her pants had become - was the third. And she didn't care. She ate, and fucked herself, and ate, and fucked herself. Somewhere in the midst of that, she supposed she slept as well. The only real indication she had most days of a rest from the cycle of feeding and solo-fornication was the intense hunger that could only have built up from a period of slumber.
If, indeed, she was sleeping sometime within the otherwise-constant gluttony - the thought of eating constantly brought a smile to her face - then she wasn't sleeping well. Surely, her thoughts would not be so easily muddled by fat and sugar on her tongue if she were sleeping well. Wouldn't they? It was, perhaps, a good indicator of her state of mind that she never wondered why it was that the apartment never seemed to run out of food, or that everything she found when she made yet another trip to the cabinets, freezer, or fridge was the sort of high-calorie goodie she would never have kept on hand prior to this point.
She found the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl, then. Opening her hand with some difficulty - her fingers were sticky with some kind of syrup or glaze - she dropped the spoon without ceremony, feeling it bounce off one side of the ample, rubbery love handles she'd grown above saddlebag hips packed with lard. Almost of its own accord, her other hand raised the bowl - she licked it greedily, smearing her chin, forehead, nose, and ever-fatter cheeks with melted ice cream, before tossing the bowl aside nonchalantly and reaching about her person for something else to munch on.
Her sticky hands found something; bringing it up into view, she found herself looking at a bag of Triple-Double Oreos. Struggling some with the packaging, she finally managed to wrest it open, pulling out the tray full of cookies and popping them into her mouth three at a time. Katie completely failed to notice the lithe, winged creature stroking full, improbably-buoyant FF breasts and a clit buried between thick, shapely legs as it watched her gorge. Nor did she realize that the creature, a Succubus whose web she was thoroughly entangled in, had been the source of her latest treat. She happily stuffed herself, ignorant of the outside world. What did the outside world matter, anyway? She was getting fat, after all.
