~BBW, Stuffing, Erotica, ~SWG - a pop star ends her career going out big
[Author's Note: With apologies to the babe. Nothing in here is based on fact.]
As she drew her breath in for the last lines, halfway through a jump, the world seemed to freeze for an instant that lasted an age... she took in every detail, her screaming fans packed onto a massive park, so many people she couldn't even make out where they ended in the distance. A football stadium had been booked for the event - the final concert of her wildly successful Spring tour - the massive Saint Denis stadium in Paris.
The demand for tickets was so overwhelming however that the organisers decided at the last minute (well weeks before actually, as catering for hundreds of thousands of over-excited teenagers is not done overnight) to move the concert to a huge park. She noted everything, the frenetic lights now built up to the slickest show of the evening, her band behind her, near exhaustion, sweat dripping off their bodies yet still giving it their all.
The moment ended and life resumed at the normal pace and she ended the song, the fifth encore, to an applause that was still going strong fifteen minutes later. After a party there, Shakira jetted off to Monaco for well-earned week or two of fun and games.
For 10 days she playfully let the paparazzi follow her every move, giving them the slip then letting them catch her on their lenses. On the eleventh day her agent Birdy woke her rudely (and far too early) by drawing the curtains and pulling off her sheet with a loud "when do you plan to work out, huh?"
She threw a newspaper onto the dazed Shakira who saw herself on the front page - taken yesterday judging by her bikini, the beach, and the man she was with. The headline kindly blared Shakira fills up in Monaco. The picture showed her sitting up, her belly forming a slight roll, then inserts showing her later in the evening with tiny love handles forming over her tight fitting hipsters, and later, drunker, her belly bloated from a night's partying. She shook her head and looked again, thinking, sure she was not the uber toned babe of 2 weeks ago, but can't a girl have fun on a holiday?
And anyway, her concert body was the result of daily workouts with a personal trainer, eating virtually nothing for days on end with barely the energy to stand.
She said as much to Birdy, asking her whether she thought she really was fat. Looking down at her own body she could see the effects of the partying, a slightly bulging belly, and less toned thighs and hips but she was still gorgeous. With a laugh she told Birdy "Anyway I'm Colombian, it's my destiny to get fat sometime."
To her surprise Birdy launched into a half hour lecture-cum-support session and trying to persuade Shakira to hire her personal trainer again.
As Birdy left the suite, Shakira sat up and wrapped the sheet around her. It was certainly fun to be the hottest thing on MTV, but it was a tough road to get there, and even tougher to stay on top. She had been "discovered" in her native Columbia at 16 years of age, a 130 pound smiling beauty singing with a band her dad played bass for. An American agent had spotted her purely by chance and fell over himself to get introductions going between her, her dad and his agency. The Columbian family made it clear that she would have to stay at home until she was eighteen, then she could leave for America, in the meantime taking music and singing lessons. And she might want to watch her diet, suggested the agent.
A popular girl even off the stage, Shakira had a large circle of friends and was always at someone's party, tucking in to very fattening nibbles and discovering bacardi, then vodka and tequila as her singing career took off. Her seventeenth birthday saw her at 145 lbs and by the time she turned eighteen she was a chubby 160 pound bundle of chuckles. Her added weight had not detracted from her beauty or natural charm and her local fan base was larger than ever.
Her farewell lasted well over 3 hours when she left for America, the airport heaving with fans and well wishers.
When she launched her first album eight months later her friends back home did not recognise the slender girl on the cover and she seemed to have lost her trademark warm smile. Gossip rags claimed she weighed in at 120 and called her fat, but no mention was made of her earlier weight. Her second album 6 months later saw her at 110 pounds which she maintained, more or less throughout the next 6 years of her career.
On her fleeting trips back home she reassured her family and friends that she was happy and laughingly promised to return to Columbia and gain weight with them once her career was over.
And now 6 years and a good few bestselling albums later the weight was creeping back on and she didn't think she could be troubled with fighting it. That day Shakira ran about Monte Carlo as usual but she appeared pensive and was seen making a couple of long phone calls.
The paparazzi waited in vain outside her hotel the following day and when they went in they found she had checked out during the night and left hidden in a panel van from the services garage. The receptionist and those footmen who had assisted in her getaway could only report that she looked well enough, but had a serious, determined set to her face.
A few hours earlier a panel van had pulled over to the side of the road, a couple of kilometres outside the city. The rear doors opened and the driver helped a leather clad figure to carry a small motorbike out onto the road. After handing him a generous tip Shakira raced along La Corniche Haute, the highest of three narrow roads that snake along the cliff face to the Nice waterfront. She enjoyed the feel of the wind in her face and cruised along happily, her only discomfort being the tightness of her leather outfit. Still she thought cheerfully, I'll deal with that problem very soon.
She passed Nice at around 2 am, then continued along the coast for another hour. She pulled up at a quayside in a quiet village, looked along the row of yachts lined up and walked towards the largest one. A man greeted her at the gangplank and they walked up to the deck. She signed a contract to lease the boat for a month under a false name, paying more for his discretion than for the actual lease. The deal done, he walked to the motorbike, hopped on and disappeared back towards Monaco.
A smartly dressed tanned man appeared at her side and with a smile said "Welcome aboard. While you will discover the many luxuries of this yacht over the next month, may I serve you anything now?"
She smiled, and said "yes, dinner please."
Then she looked at him and continued "and I'm very hungry".
While she waited for dinner, she wandered round the yacht. She had purposely not got the hugest available as that would raise eyebrows. Still, this 80 footer was very luxuriously appointed: taking in the plump velvet sofas, indoor and outdoor spas, the enormous mattresses on deck for sunbathing she thought to herself yes, she would indeed be very comfortable on board.
Dinner was served in the main dining room and what a dinner to start off a Mediterranean cruise! With a French cook, the portions were on the small side but there were several courses and she was served a different wine with each.
First up was a seafood cocktail on a bed of fried rice with many sauces to choose from. She emptied her plate then finished off the thick creamy sauces with slices of fresh baguette. Next was pasta: fettucine with a heavenly sauce of veal and cream that she gobbled down quickly.
This was followed by a thick steak cooked in some divine cheese and accompanied by a mountain of fried potatoes and a fantastic Chateau dYquiem which she took slowly to savour. Soon enough everything had gone down her eagar mouth. and the waiter kept popping in to top up her glass so she had no idea how much she'd had. And she didn't care when it was so good.
Licking her lips clean, she sat back in her chair and looked down at her belly. Her stuffing had puffed out her belly to a round ball, her skin taut, the gap between her leather pants and her white corset was now a couple of inches wider than before and the cute laces tying up the front of the corset were under strain from her swelling gut. She patted her little bulge that made her belch and she smiled happily.
As the waiter cleared the plates, he mentioned dessert and she hoped it was small as she wanted something sweet but couldn't face much more food. This was not the case as the waiter rolled in a trolley laden with different cheeses. He cut a few slices and presented them to her on a plate, together with yet another bottle of wine of course.
The waiter prepared to wheel out the trolley again, but she motioned him to leave it near her. Starting with the familiar Emmenthal and goats cheese, she moved on to the creamy Brie and Camembert then got more adventurous and tried the ones shed never had before. Chunk after chunk she demolished the entire platter along with another baguette, her corset not so sparkly white anymore as by now it was covered in wine stains and food spills.
Stuffed as a turkey she sat back in her chair and gulped for air. Her bloated belly pushed her stretched top up even further, and when she sat up again the bottom lace on her corset tore apart, letting her belly round out over the leather pants and she belched happily in relief. She tried to undo her pants button but in her drunk, stuffed haze her fumbling fingers didnt manage.
Much to her surprise the trolley was again wheeled in, this time bearing a chocolate cake and for a change a bottle of champagne. The waiter again cut a slice for Elvira and again she told him to leave the whole thing there. She noted his good training that he didn't stare for too long at her stuffing exhibition.
She took the first bite and it was so delicious she cut herself another slice while still eating the first one. The sponge was soft and light and drenched in alcohol, the thick and creamy chocolate sauce tingled her tongue. She lost herself in the chocolate ecstasy and by the time she came up for breath there were only three slices left. Her corset had given up another two laces and her leather pants finally gave up- both button and zip blew apart, allowing her swollen gut to roll over her lap.
If any more laces tore on her corset her tits would fall out. Feeling too bloated to take breath she downed a couple of glasses of champagne, then sat back for the belch. Which came rumbling up from inside her stuffed stomach and lasted a good few seconds. She rubbed her belly and lifted another slice of cake, moving very slowly.
It took some time, but she finished the cake too and looked down at her belly, resembling a beach ball but covered in chocolatey cake crumbs. She staggered unsteadily to the sofa and when she flopped back the seams of her designer leather pants burst apart over her arse. She patted her belly, enjoying the feeling of fullness, her skin stretched tight over all the food she'd eaten. She rubbed her stuffed tummy till she belched a couple of times, enjoying the relief, then she farted too. She laughed drunkenly and felt herself getting turned on by her utter gluttony and her sated state. Her hands slipped down into her pants and she rubbed herself till she came, gasping for breath on the sofa, her thighs warm and wet.
Story continued in post 5 of this thread
[Author's Note: With apologies to the babe. Nothing in here is based on fact.]
Shakira Enjoys
Parts 1-2
by Ssaylleb
Parts 1-2
by Ssaylleb
As she drew her breath in for the last lines, halfway through a jump, the world seemed to freeze for an instant that lasted an age... she took in every detail, her screaming fans packed onto a massive park, so many people she couldn't even make out where they ended in the distance. A football stadium had been booked for the event - the final concert of her wildly successful Spring tour - the massive Saint Denis stadium in Paris.
The demand for tickets was so overwhelming however that the organisers decided at the last minute (well weeks before actually, as catering for hundreds of thousands of over-excited teenagers is not done overnight) to move the concert to a huge park. She noted everything, the frenetic lights now built up to the slickest show of the evening, her band behind her, near exhaustion, sweat dripping off their bodies yet still giving it their all.
The moment ended and life resumed at the normal pace and she ended the song, the fifth encore, to an applause that was still going strong fifteen minutes later. After a party there, Shakira jetted off to Monaco for well-earned week or two of fun and games.
For 10 days she playfully let the paparazzi follow her every move, giving them the slip then letting them catch her on their lenses. On the eleventh day her agent Birdy woke her rudely (and far too early) by drawing the curtains and pulling off her sheet with a loud "when do you plan to work out, huh?"
She threw a newspaper onto the dazed Shakira who saw herself on the front page - taken yesterday judging by her bikini, the beach, and the man she was with. The headline kindly blared Shakira fills up in Monaco. The picture showed her sitting up, her belly forming a slight roll, then inserts showing her later in the evening with tiny love handles forming over her tight fitting hipsters, and later, drunker, her belly bloated from a night's partying. She shook her head and looked again, thinking, sure she was not the uber toned babe of 2 weeks ago, but can't a girl have fun on a holiday?
And anyway, her concert body was the result of daily workouts with a personal trainer, eating virtually nothing for days on end with barely the energy to stand.
She said as much to Birdy, asking her whether she thought she really was fat. Looking down at her own body she could see the effects of the partying, a slightly bulging belly, and less toned thighs and hips but she was still gorgeous. With a laugh she told Birdy "Anyway I'm Colombian, it's my destiny to get fat sometime."
To her surprise Birdy launched into a half hour lecture-cum-support session and trying to persuade Shakira to hire her personal trainer again.
As Birdy left the suite, Shakira sat up and wrapped the sheet around her. It was certainly fun to be the hottest thing on MTV, but it was a tough road to get there, and even tougher to stay on top. She had been "discovered" in her native Columbia at 16 years of age, a 130 pound smiling beauty singing with a band her dad played bass for. An American agent had spotted her purely by chance and fell over himself to get introductions going between her, her dad and his agency. The Columbian family made it clear that she would have to stay at home until she was eighteen, then she could leave for America, in the meantime taking music and singing lessons. And she might want to watch her diet, suggested the agent.
A popular girl even off the stage, Shakira had a large circle of friends and was always at someone's party, tucking in to very fattening nibbles and discovering bacardi, then vodka and tequila as her singing career took off. Her seventeenth birthday saw her at 145 lbs and by the time she turned eighteen she was a chubby 160 pound bundle of chuckles. Her added weight had not detracted from her beauty or natural charm and her local fan base was larger than ever.
Her farewell lasted well over 3 hours when she left for America, the airport heaving with fans and well wishers.
When she launched her first album eight months later her friends back home did not recognise the slender girl on the cover and she seemed to have lost her trademark warm smile. Gossip rags claimed she weighed in at 120 and called her fat, but no mention was made of her earlier weight. Her second album 6 months later saw her at 110 pounds which she maintained, more or less throughout the next 6 years of her career.
On her fleeting trips back home she reassured her family and friends that she was happy and laughingly promised to return to Columbia and gain weight with them once her career was over.
And now 6 years and a good few bestselling albums later the weight was creeping back on and she didn't think she could be troubled with fighting it. That day Shakira ran about Monte Carlo as usual but she appeared pensive and was seen making a couple of long phone calls.
The paparazzi waited in vain outside her hotel the following day and when they went in they found she had checked out during the night and left hidden in a panel van from the services garage. The receptionist and those footmen who had assisted in her getaway could only report that she looked well enough, but had a serious, determined set to her face.
A few hours earlier a panel van had pulled over to the side of the road, a couple of kilometres outside the city. The rear doors opened and the driver helped a leather clad figure to carry a small motorbike out onto the road. After handing him a generous tip Shakira raced along La Corniche Haute, the highest of three narrow roads that snake along the cliff face to the Nice waterfront. She enjoyed the feel of the wind in her face and cruised along happily, her only discomfort being the tightness of her leather outfit. Still she thought cheerfully, I'll deal with that problem very soon.
She passed Nice at around 2 am, then continued along the coast for another hour. She pulled up at a quayside in a quiet village, looked along the row of yachts lined up and walked towards the largest one. A man greeted her at the gangplank and they walked up to the deck. She signed a contract to lease the boat for a month under a false name, paying more for his discretion than for the actual lease. The deal done, he walked to the motorbike, hopped on and disappeared back towards Monaco.
A smartly dressed tanned man appeared at her side and with a smile said "Welcome aboard. While you will discover the many luxuries of this yacht over the next month, may I serve you anything now?"
She smiled, and said "yes, dinner please."
Then she looked at him and continued "and I'm very hungry".
While she waited for dinner, she wandered round the yacht. She had purposely not got the hugest available as that would raise eyebrows. Still, this 80 footer was very luxuriously appointed: taking in the plump velvet sofas, indoor and outdoor spas, the enormous mattresses on deck for sunbathing she thought to herself yes, she would indeed be very comfortable on board.
Dinner was served in the main dining room and what a dinner to start off a Mediterranean cruise! With a French cook, the portions were on the small side but there were several courses and she was served a different wine with each.
First up was a seafood cocktail on a bed of fried rice with many sauces to choose from. She emptied her plate then finished off the thick creamy sauces with slices of fresh baguette. Next was pasta: fettucine with a heavenly sauce of veal and cream that she gobbled down quickly.
This was followed by a thick steak cooked in some divine cheese and accompanied by a mountain of fried potatoes and a fantastic Chateau dYquiem which she took slowly to savour. Soon enough everything had gone down her eagar mouth. and the waiter kept popping in to top up her glass so she had no idea how much she'd had. And she didn't care when it was so good.
Licking her lips clean, she sat back in her chair and looked down at her belly. Her stuffing had puffed out her belly to a round ball, her skin taut, the gap between her leather pants and her white corset was now a couple of inches wider than before and the cute laces tying up the front of the corset were under strain from her swelling gut. She patted her little bulge that made her belch and she smiled happily.
As the waiter cleared the plates, he mentioned dessert and she hoped it was small as she wanted something sweet but couldn't face much more food. This was not the case as the waiter rolled in a trolley laden with different cheeses. He cut a few slices and presented them to her on a plate, together with yet another bottle of wine of course.
The waiter prepared to wheel out the trolley again, but she motioned him to leave it near her. Starting with the familiar Emmenthal and goats cheese, she moved on to the creamy Brie and Camembert then got more adventurous and tried the ones shed never had before. Chunk after chunk she demolished the entire platter along with another baguette, her corset not so sparkly white anymore as by now it was covered in wine stains and food spills.
Stuffed as a turkey she sat back in her chair and gulped for air. Her bloated belly pushed her stretched top up even further, and when she sat up again the bottom lace on her corset tore apart, letting her belly round out over the leather pants and she belched happily in relief. She tried to undo her pants button but in her drunk, stuffed haze her fumbling fingers didnt manage.
Much to her surprise the trolley was again wheeled in, this time bearing a chocolate cake and for a change a bottle of champagne. The waiter again cut a slice for Elvira and again she told him to leave the whole thing there. She noted his good training that he didn't stare for too long at her stuffing exhibition.
She took the first bite and it was so delicious she cut herself another slice while still eating the first one. The sponge was soft and light and drenched in alcohol, the thick and creamy chocolate sauce tingled her tongue. She lost herself in the chocolate ecstasy and by the time she came up for breath there were only three slices left. Her corset had given up another two laces and her leather pants finally gave up- both button and zip blew apart, allowing her swollen gut to roll over her lap.
If any more laces tore on her corset her tits would fall out. Feeling too bloated to take breath she downed a couple of glasses of champagne, then sat back for the belch. Which came rumbling up from inside her stuffed stomach and lasted a good few seconds. She rubbed her belly and lifted another slice of cake, moving very slowly.
It took some time, but she finished the cake too and looked down at her belly, resembling a beach ball but covered in chocolatey cake crumbs. She staggered unsteadily to the sofa and when she flopped back the seams of her designer leather pants burst apart over her arse. She patted her belly, enjoying the feeling of fullness, her skin stretched tight over all the food she'd eaten. She rubbed her stuffed tummy till she belched a couple of times, enjoying the relief, then she farted too. She laughed drunkenly and felt herself getting turned on by her utter gluttony and her sated state. Her hands slipped down into her pants and she rubbed herself till she came, gasping for breath on the sofa, her thighs warm and wet.
Story continued in post 5 of this thread
