Lardibutts
Aged Member
Fantasy weight gain; SSBW pear; explicit sex
Hi Im Lino and I live on the tiny island of Pannecottera, the southernmost part of the EU way down in the central Mediterranean.
OK, one more thing: Im an eighteen year-old (just) who fantasizes about SSBBWs - which is the reason why Im posting this.
Ill admit Im also passably good at art, though Im no Renaissance Leonardo. Some years ago, around puberty Id guess, I began teaching myself how to visualise my fantasies.
While my parents supposed me to be up in my room swotting for all the maths biology chemistry and physics examinations that I needed to pass to get into the medical school to become a doctor, I would be engrossed in my favourite way of passing time.
I would sit with a pad of thin white translucent paper and coloured pencils - of which the flesh coloured ones were always quickly reduced to mere stubs. First I might draw, or trace from a scrap torn from a magazine. It would be of a pathetically anorexic figure.
Then I would enjoy investing the originally skeletal soul with fleshier overlays successively rendering the recipient visibly happier as well as much fatter. Eventually, maybe twenty or so drawings later, they would be so swathed around and buried in fat, they would be far wider than they were high and totally unable to move.
By then of course, I too would be unable to move.
I would have worked up such a raging hard on that Id have to apply relief to myself with a lot of heavy breathing.
Not surprisingly I ploughed my exams that summer and my parents were hugely disappointed.
I was expected to re-sit next year though until then, thanks to my political activist mum, I got offered work experience in our local culture centre. This is the nearest we young people can get to finding a real job these days in southern Europe.
The culture centre had been built with EU funds as a way of supposedly improving the islands brand to pull in more tourists. My placement was in a sort of shop cum café opening off the sea front boulevard. Deeper into the building were the serious theatre workshop and gallery areas that only the cognoscenti dressed in all-over-black ventured into,
But even the Front of House as we termed it, had pretensions.
It was managed by a difficult Russian lady who took no prisoners. She was around fifty, large limbed (big-boned rather than fat) and a bottle blonde. Shed probably arrived long ago as an (illegal) import into our island at the behest of a local politician to be his latest mistress.
The café aped mainland Italian. There was a raised bar down one side where so called barristas served drinks and snacks and the tables between it and the shop aspired to be a trattoria; around the walls trashy mass produced tourist art was for sale.
I was to be a mere fetcher carrier in the cramped kitchen. The very first morning the old cook (chef?) Gianni, my boss, nudged me in the ribs and pointed out the one truly unique feature of the whole establishment.
With a chuckle, he explained how the Meeter-Greeter Agnella stationed behind her desk in the dark alcove by the entrance was the daughter of a big wheeler-dealer sponsor of the place.
Because of this the f****** Russian (he chuckled again) had no option but to find a role for her.
All Agnella was expected to do was enquire what customers wanted then summon a waiter to show them to their seat. She started work each day a couple of hours or so after us and, in theory, had responsibility also for guarding any cloaks behind her in the alcove.
By gesturing with his hands around his waist and hips, Gianni endeavoured to communicate to me what our Meeter-Greeter was like down below describing the unfeasibly large parts of Agnella concealed behind the desk.
I found myself getting particularly aroused by this, which of course prompted a great deal more hilarity from the chef.
He made it abundantly clear that, in working for him, the most important part of my job would be ferrying a constant supply of snacks and treats across from the kitchen, to ensure his little Agnella would continue expanding, spreading back into her alcove.
By now well aware of the extent of my excitement, to emphasise his point he lunged out to grasp hold of my ridiculously hard dick. Gripping it tight, he guffawed explosively as I yelled out in pain.
A quarter of an hour later I arrived at Agnellas desk with a tray carrying a very large cup of frothy cappuccino and four warm brioche. I placed it up on the desk at chest height; only her face was visible across the other side.
Hi! Im LLLerLino, Im working for Gianni; he sent me over with your briochi.
Agnella had a petite pointed face impeccably made up. She also had strikingly large and dark eyes, though instead of the generally black hair of these southern Mediterranean latitudes, hers was a pale auburn.
Flashing me her Meeting&Greeting smile, she proffered a tiny hand for me to shake. It was a slender arm; her wrist wrapped around in heavy jewellery.
She replied:
Hi Lino, Grazzi. Pleased to meet you, Im Agnella.
[pause, while she stuffed in a brioche]
Allore Now could you please go back and tell Gianni his little Agnella[she switched into a squeaky babylike voice] is very hungry this morning and would really appreciate a stack of pancakes with maple syrup Canadian style .. just so she can keep going until elevensis.
Fifteen minutes later I delivered a first stack of pancakes, plus a big milk shake, then ten minutes later a second stack of pancakes and duplicate milk shake. I returned to Gianni bearing the empty first plate and milk shake glass.
Aha! She likes you! He teased me, roaring with laughter.
I turned away hastily, still anxious to safeguard my manhood.
You and me, we will have our work cut out! You mark my words.
And so we did.
In truth we had not very many bums on seats that first morning.
The barristas mostly sat outside and smoked; the f******* Russian went off in a taxi.
But all Giannis time (and mine) was taken up in ferrying a never ending stream of griddle snacks and drinks across to the Meeting&Greeting desk.
Id been overcome with stagefright approaching her with the first few deliveries, but as lunchtime approached I was getting rather more assured.
But I wasnt ready for the next duty.
Ah Lino! Would you mind . I need to go and freshen myself up ready for the lunchtime rush. Can you come round and help me up ..?
I went round the back of the desk and stopped dead at the sight. Where would I start?
Silly boy! Dont worry, just push right on into me and pull me up - thats all.
I waded in amidst billows of fattiness, caught hold of both delicate hands and pulled. I leant backwards and continued pulling.
She was right. Up she came, engulfing my legs in warm soft fat.
She giggled
Ooooh! I can see you are not used to this!
Then she whispered You see a girl can always tell these things!
Now Lino you really do have to stand aside to give me room to get out. As you can see I am rather a big girl.
Even so her hip brushed me as she passed. I watched her crossing to the ladies loo door. She was truly enormous down below and wore a black calf length skirt that seemed to be tossed over her mounds of fat like a tarpaulin.
I could see her extraordinarily vast buttocks - two great soft globular balls of blubber - rolling, bouncing, and wobbling behind her as she moved.
Good Grief! They were dancing around uncontrollably all on their own, with a looseness totally independent of their owners rhythms.
Above this maelstrom of fat, her delicate arms and elbows were working away to help maintain her momentum.
She swung her elegant petite torso around
I know, I know - everyone is fascinated by the way I walk she said and winked at me.
I was rock hard once more - with the realisation that Agnella was utterly unlike anything I had ever drawn from my imagination.
Gianni appeared at my side Bellisimo! he exclaimed. Once again I quickly shielded my rampant stiffey.
Should I wait for her - to help her back? I asked.
No, she can manage by herself. But shes always good to watch is my little Agnella.
So I lurked to one side and waited all of 20 minutes or more for her to re-appear.
Viewed from the front I could see how Agnella carried a low slung belly. It was so large that it pushed her skirt right out, stretching the bulge out so far that it drooped right down - almost tipping over to create a double belly.
But her wide pear shaped saddle bag hips far eclipsed her big paunch and of course all was dwarfed by that colossally fat arse.
Ah youre still here, you sweet boy, waiting to help little me!
But I can manage perfectly by myself, thank you Maybe instead .[ I noticed she was panting slightly as she swung round to check I was still watching] .you can go and tell Gianni Im good and ready for my pasta.
I didnt sleep that night for thinking of her. I kept trying to visualise what was going on under that big full black skirt. How did all Agnellas extraordinary big bottom fatness relate to that svelte top half.
Best of all was her attitude she really seemed to get pleasure from her body shape, she positively revelled in her sexuality. She knew shed completely captivated me.
The rest of the week I worked away assiduously, running to and fro, growing into my role as The Go Between.
I became less of the stuttering fool as I engaged in conversation about her food preferences: the flavours she liked best, the textures, food temperatures. Might she have any dislikes? Apparently not .just so long as it all kept coming!
Up in my room at night I had started to draw her from memory.
I spent my Sunday day-off locked away in my room drawing. I was tracing layer after layer in my sketch pad, trying each time to refine.
I had versions of her naked, versions of her clad in her black full skirt and skinny black top work clothes and I went on experimenting with many other outlandish styles of dress on her.
I even had a very naughty one of her growing so vastly fat that she was completely stranded. I jacked off about the way Agnellas shapely upper torso was rendered utterly helpless by the colossal explosion of blubber down below.
The next Monday I took one of my more demure clothed drawings of Agnella in to show Gianni. He was so captivated that he stuck it up on the kitchen wall blowing noisy kisses at it all day long.
He asked me if I had others and I confessed that of course I did, because it was not easy to draw from memory. I explained my technique of working up overlays. He wanted to see how I did this so I brought a pad in to show him. Inevitably this contained some studies of Agnella as I visualised her unclothed.
He kept returning to stare at these; eventually he asked me if he could keep a couple.
But he took one particular (dressed) study out to show Agnella. She was reported to be delighted and wished to thank me.
She called me around her desk to give me a hug; actually she pulled me down into her and gave me my first kiss.
I immediately relapsed back into being the incoherent fool of that very first day.
--------
The following day while I was delivering her third dish of pasta, Agnella asked
Lino, I been meaning to ask: have you ever tried drawing from life?..
I said no, and remarked how drawing a real live figure must be a very different thing to sitting alone in a room.
She smiled as if this confirmed what shed already guessed and agreed that it surely must be very different.
In mid afternoon she came straight out with her proposition. Shed decided she would model for me!
She also told me the drawings Id done of her were stilted. Not at all like she really was when standing in front of the mirror.
Once more I acted the stammering fool.
She was adamant that we should try our first life drawing class the following Sunday. She gave me her address: it was in our rich folks country - a large villa just below the citadel at the centre of the island. Gianni had been right about her rich kid background.
/to be continued
PaperWeight Gain
by Lardibutts
by Lardibutts
Hi Im Lino and I live on the tiny island of Pannecottera, the southernmost part of the EU way down in the central Mediterranean.
OK, one more thing: Im an eighteen year-old (just) who fantasizes about SSBBWs - which is the reason why Im posting this.
Ill admit Im also passably good at art, though Im no Renaissance Leonardo. Some years ago, around puberty Id guess, I began teaching myself how to visualise my fantasies.
While my parents supposed me to be up in my room swotting for all the maths biology chemistry and physics examinations that I needed to pass to get into the medical school to become a doctor, I would be engrossed in my favourite way of passing time.
I would sit with a pad of thin white translucent paper and coloured pencils - of which the flesh coloured ones were always quickly reduced to mere stubs. First I might draw, or trace from a scrap torn from a magazine. It would be of a pathetically anorexic figure.
Then I would enjoy investing the originally skeletal soul with fleshier overlays successively rendering the recipient visibly happier as well as much fatter. Eventually, maybe twenty or so drawings later, they would be so swathed around and buried in fat, they would be far wider than they were high and totally unable to move.
By then of course, I too would be unable to move.
I would have worked up such a raging hard on that Id have to apply relief to myself with a lot of heavy breathing.
Not surprisingly I ploughed my exams that summer and my parents were hugely disappointed.
I was expected to re-sit next year though until then, thanks to my political activist mum, I got offered work experience in our local culture centre. This is the nearest we young people can get to finding a real job these days in southern Europe.
The culture centre had been built with EU funds as a way of supposedly improving the islands brand to pull in more tourists. My placement was in a sort of shop cum café opening off the sea front boulevard. Deeper into the building were the serious theatre workshop and gallery areas that only the cognoscenti dressed in all-over-black ventured into,
But even the Front of House as we termed it, had pretensions.
It was managed by a difficult Russian lady who took no prisoners. She was around fifty, large limbed (big-boned rather than fat) and a bottle blonde. Shed probably arrived long ago as an (illegal) import into our island at the behest of a local politician to be his latest mistress.
The café aped mainland Italian. There was a raised bar down one side where so called barristas served drinks and snacks and the tables between it and the shop aspired to be a trattoria; around the walls trashy mass produced tourist art was for sale.
I was to be a mere fetcher carrier in the cramped kitchen. The very first morning the old cook (chef?) Gianni, my boss, nudged me in the ribs and pointed out the one truly unique feature of the whole establishment.
With a chuckle, he explained how the Meeter-Greeter Agnella stationed behind her desk in the dark alcove by the entrance was the daughter of a big wheeler-dealer sponsor of the place.
Because of this the f****** Russian (he chuckled again) had no option but to find a role for her.
All Agnella was expected to do was enquire what customers wanted then summon a waiter to show them to their seat. She started work each day a couple of hours or so after us and, in theory, had responsibility also for guarding any cloaks behind her in the alcove.
By gesturing with his hands around his waist and hips, Gianni endeavoured to communicate to me what our Meeter-Greeter was like down below describing the unfeasibly large parts of Agnella concealed behind the desk.
I found myself getting particularly aroused by this, which of course prompted a great deal more hilarity from the chef.
He made it abundantly clear that, in working for him, the most important part of my job would be ferrying a constant supply of snacks and treats across from the kitchen, to ensure his little Agnella would continue expanding, spreading back into her alcove.
By now well aware of the extent of my excitement, to emphasise his point he lunged out to grasp hold of my ridiculously hard dick. Gripping it tight, he guffawed explosively as I yelled out in pain.
A quarter of an hour later I arrived at Agnellas desk with a tray carrying a very large cup of frothy cappuccino and four warm brioche. I placed it up on the desk at chest height; only her face was visible across the other side.
Hi! Im LLLerLino, Im working for Gianni; he sent me over with your briochi.
Agnella had a petite pointed face impeccably made up. She also had strikingly large and dark eyes, though instead of the generally black hair of these southern Mediterranean latitudes, hers was a pale auburn.
Flashing me her Meeting&Greeting smile, she proffered a tiny hand for me to shake. It was a slender arm; her wrist wrapped around in heavy jewellery.
She replied:
Hi Lino, Grazzi. Pleased to meet you, Im Agnella.
[pause, while she stuffed in a brioche]
Allore Now could you please go back and tell Gianni his little Agnella[she switched into a squeaky babylike voice] is very hungry this morning and would really appreciate a stack of pancakes with maple syrup Canadian style .. just so she can keep going until elevensis.
Fifteen minutes later I delivered a first stack of pancakes, plus a big milk shake, then ten minutes later a second stack of pancakes and duplicate milk shake. I returned to Gianni bearing the empty first plate and milk shake glass.
Aha! She likes you! He teased me, roaring with laughter.
I turned away hastily, still anxious to safeguard my manhood.
You and me, we will have our work cut out! You mark my words.
And so we did.
In truth we had not very many bums on seats that first morning.
The barristas mostly sat outside and smoked; the f******* Russian went off in a taxi.
But all Giannis time (and mine) was taken up in ferrying a never ending stream of griddle snacks and drinks across to the Meeting&Greeting desk.
Id been overcome with stagefright approaching her with the first few deliveries, but as lunchtime approached I was getting rather more assured.
But I wasnt ready for the next duty.
Ah Lino! Would you mind . I need to go and freshen myself up ready for the lunchtime rush. Can you come round and help me up ..?
I went round the back of the desk and stopped dead at the sight. Where would I start?
Silly boy! Dont worry, just push right on into me and pull me up - thats all.
I waded in amidst billows of fattiness, caught hold of both delicate hands and pulled. I leant backwards and continued pulling.
She was right. Up she came, engulfing my legs in warm soft fat.
She giggled
Ooooh! I can see you are not used to this!
Then she whispered You see a girl can always tell these things!
Now Lino you really do have to stand aside to give me room to get out. As you can see I am rather a big girl.
Even so her hip brushed me as she passed. I watched her crossing to the ladies loo door. She was truly enormous down below and wore a black calf length skirt that seemed to be tossed over her mounds of fat like a tarpaulin.
I could see her extraordinarily vast buttocks - two great soft globular balls of blubber - rolling, bouncing, and wobbling behind her as she moved.
Good Grief! They were dancing around uncontrollably all on their own, with a looseness totally independent of their owners rhythms.
Above this maelstrom of fat, her delicate arms and elbows were working away to help maintain her momentum.
She swung her elegant petite torso around
I know, I know - everyone is fascinated by the way I walk she said and winked at me.
I was rock hard once more - with the realisation that Agnella was utterly unlike anything I had ever drawn from my imagination.
Gianni appeared at my side Bellisimo! he exclaimed. Once again I quickly shielded my rampant stiffey.
Should I wait for her - to help her back? I asked.
No, she can manage by herself. But shes always good to watch is my little Agnella.
So I lurked to one side and waited all of 20 minutes or more for her to re-appear.
Viewed from the front I could see how Agnella carried a low slung belly. It was so large that it pushed her skirt right out, stretching the bulge out so far that it drooped right down - almost tipping over to create a double belly.
But her wide pear shaped saddle bag hips far eclipsed her big paunch and of course all was dwarfed by that colossally fat arse.
Ah youre still here, you sweet boy, waiting to help little me!
But I can manage perfectly by myself, thank you Maybe instead .[ I noticed she was panting slightly as she swung round to check I was still watching] .you can go and tell Gianni Im good and ready for my pasta.
I didnt sleep that night for thinking of her. I kept trying to visualise what was going on under that big full black skirt. How did all Agnellas extraordinary big bottom fatness relate to that svelte top half.
Best of all was her attitude she really seemed to get pleasure from her body shape, she positively revelled in her sexuality. She knew shed completely captivated me.
The rest of the week I worked away assiduously, running to and fro, growing into my role as The Go Between.
I became less of the stuttering fool as I engaged in conversation about her food preferences: the flavours she liked best, the textures, food temperatures. Might she have any dislikes? Apparently not .just so long as it all kept coming!
Up in my room at night I had started to draw her from memory.
I spent my Sunday day-off locked away in my room drawing. I was tracing layer after layer in my sketch pad, trying each time to refine.
I had versions of her naked, versions of her clad in her black full skirt and skinny black top work clothes and I went on experimenting with many other outlandish styles of dress on her.
I even had a very naughty one of her growing so vastly fat that she was completely stranded. I jacked off about the way Agnellas shapely upper torso was rendered utterly helpless by the colossal explosion of blubber down below.
The next Monday I took one of my more demure clothed drawings of Agnella in to show Gianni. He was so captivated that he stuck it up on the kitchen wall blowing noisy kisses at it all day long.
He asked me if I had others and I confessed that of course I did, because it was not easy to draw from memory. I explained my technique of working up overlays. He wanted to see how I did this so I brought a pad in to show him. Inevitably this contained some studies of Agnella as I visualised her unclothed.
He kept returning to stare at these; eventually he asked me if he could keep a couple.
But he took one particular (dressed) study out to show Agnella. She was reported to be delighted and wished to thank me.
She called me around her desk to give me a hug; actually she pulled me down into her and gave me my first kiss.
I immediately relapsed back into being the incoherent fool of that very first day.
--------
The following day while I was delivering her third dish of pasta, Agnella asked
Lino, I been meaning to ask: have you ever tried drawing from life?..
I said no, and remarked how drawing a real live figure must be a very different thing to sitting alone in a room.
She smiled as if this confirmed what shed already guessed and agreed that it surely must be very different.
In mid afternoon she came straight out with her proposition. Shed decided she would model for me!
She also told me the drawings Id done of her were stilted. Not at all like she really was when standing in front of the mirror.
Once more I acted the stammering fool.
She was adamant that we should try our first life drawing class the following Sunday. She gave me her address: it was in our rich folks country - a large villa just below the citadel at the centre of the island. Gianni had been right about her rich kid background.
/to be continued
