"Fat Trimmings" Volume 8 (Patreon)

“You Know You Want It”

Come on, big mama. Let me see you reach for it. Reach for that slice of cake. You can do it, can’t you?

I know you want it. I can see the droll mixing with the chocolate sauce around your mouth. Fatty NEEDS more cake. What’s wrong? It’s right here. Can’t you get it? Or is your big ol’ belly in the way?

Yes it is. Look at the big soft double belly. It’s just folding over and then pushing back. You’ve got a big sack of fat weighing you down and holding you in that chair. Come on. Rock. Rock for it. Get that jello moving forward and back. Make that blubber work for you. Spread you fat wobbly thighs and let that stomach hang forward. Get your momentum going and swing yourself up.

You might just tip right over as soon as you get up. We both know how incredibly heavy your belly and breasts are, and gravity can be cruel. But hey, at least if you fall over, once you’re out of the chair, you can just roll yourself the rest of the way here. Roll yourself right on up to this cake and shove your fat face right into it. You know you want to. Forget forks. You don’t even want to bother with your hands. You’ve got a mouth, so get over here and fill it.

That's a girl. Waddle on over here. Swing those thunder thighs. One foot in front of the other and soon you’ll have this delicious cake all to yourself. You can finally sate that hunger of yours. God your belly is big, isn’t it. Look a that quivering sack of jello. There isn’t a shirt made that can keep it contained. It practically moves like it has a mind of its own, and it’s damn near hypnotic.

Swing it for me. I want to see you grab that belly and give it a shake. Lift it up and down, that’s the best workout you’ll get all day. It’s heavy isn’t it? Must be tiring lugging your own fat around all day. That’s why all you want to do is lay down here and eat this cake. You’re so close.

Get on your knees. That’s right. Crawl the rest of the way like the pig you are. Your belly i s practically dragging on the ground. Go ahead now and shove your face into that cake. It’s good isn’t it? Nice and sweet and moist. You’re barely pausing to breathe as you eat it. You’d choke on it if you weren’t so well practiced.

I love watching you from behind as that giant ass of yours shakes back and forth in the air as you eat. You just need the springy little piggy tail, and the picture would be complete. Get you some fatass.

There’s plenty more cake where that comes from. You know there’s always more because you always need more. It’s never good enough for you, is it? Good. You’re my helpless piggy, and that’s just the way I like it.

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“From Eating Like a Bird to Eating Like a Pig”

She used to eat like a bird, you know. She peck at something here and there, here a little fruit, there a little salad. People felt like they barely saw her eat at all. It was no wonder then that she always stayed so thin. She was a skinny one indeed.

Was.

You know where this is going. You know what comes next. It’s the same thing that happens in all of these stories, and that’s what you’re here for. She gets fat. She gets really fat. But the outcome, in this case isn’t as important as the journey, quick though that journey may be.

It started with a few comments, talk about how little she actually ate. Then, talk about how she ate like a bird became talk about how she looked like a bird- but not a particularly pretty one. She was narrow, angular, unpleasant. And all that talk of her lack of eating began to eat away at her.

So she started eating more. She was purposeful at first, methodical. She made a show of ordering large meals, and eating those greater portions in front of people. Of course, the reason she was so thin wasn’t because of a magically gifted metabolism like some people. So as the portions increased, so did the inches on her waistline.

It was barely noticeable at first. She was used to wearing clothes that hung off her skinny frame. So the first couple pounds settled almost invisibly on her body. But slowly the gap between her thighs began to disappear. The waistbands of her pants began to bow outward. When she bent over, the back of her pants began to stretch more and more.

She still liked to peck at foods. More often than not it just happened to be off of other people’s plates. She traded grapes for french fries and bits of salad for forkfuls of mac and cheese. It’s an annoying habit to be sure, but her friends don’t mind it. The more she eats off of their plates, the less they do, built in portion control.

She’s a greedy girl now. A single ice cream scoop is now two. Taking seconds has become shoveling down thirds. And she doesn’t just sample people’s plates. She samples everything at a buffet now that she’s gone from eating like a bird to eating like a pig. And she’s got the body to show for it. She’s a true fat food, a globular gourmand.

Her ass is fat and loose like two huge scoops of ice cream starting to melt. She’s got thighs like ham hocks and a belly like a busted sack of flour. She’s gone from flat chest to bra busting, and her face has gone from angular to cherubic. When her double chin bounces as she chews, she looks downright piggish.

And that’s how it’ll always be from now on. Her appetite shows no signs of ceasing. Dieting is certainly an impossibility. She’ll just be fat and happy forever.

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“The Eating Machine”

They should just get her a trough already. Why even bother with plates?

It’s not like she actually cares about the flavor of what she’s eating anymore. She switches between mashed potatoes to make and cheese to chicken casserole so damn fast, there’s no way for her to keep track of which is which. I once gave her a bowl of mayonnaise and told her it was vanilla ice cream. She didn’t bat an eye.

It’s something to watch those jowls quiver as she moves from treat to treat shoveling down slop, filling her greedy maw like there’s no tomorrow. I used to think of her as a woman, a couple hundred pounds ago.. It was easy then to think of how hot she was and how much even the smallest pounds meant something. That was always the sweetest part of her transformation.

She’s more like an animal now, a pig with nothing more than simple base desires of eating and being pleasured. I watch her quivering cellulite covered ass cheeks smack themselves together as she leans forward on her fat covered elbows (It’s hard to tell she even has elbows because of the way the fat from her ham hock arms drips over them) and slams her face into another bowl of unidentifiable easy to swallow slop that will soon find its way down to filling her gelatinous thunder thighs with even more blubber. The last place the fat will find is her bloated tits, but even then, after all these pounds, they dangle down to the floor with her nipples dragging against plates of scraps and getting covered in gravy or ice cream, or tomato sauce, all in the same sitting. Every part of her will continue to balloon. That’s all she is now, a big fat producing machine.

And it takes so much longer to see the gains now, not because she isn’t gaining constantly, but because the sheer amount of poundage that she’s already packed on makes it nearly impossible to keep track of from day to day.

I’ve taken to a form of measuring with a simple band that sits nicely in the crease of her double belly. It’s a little band of elastic that’s easy to hide there because these days she doesn’t really wear much of anything else. And, on the day it snaps, that’s when I know she’s hit a significant milestone. So we celebrate with an extra special feast. It features an extra expensive chocolate cake that I get flaked with gold foil. She can’t tell the difference and it’s all wasted on her because the flavor of the food is no longer of importance to her. She’s fueled merely by the sensation of filling her mouth and her stomach and knowing that she’s never truly full.

The cake is for me, a little bit of extravagance to watch her eat something just a little fancier, just to break the monotony of it all. Otherwise the game just isn’t much fun anymore. I guess the old adage is true:

Sometimes you really can have too much of a good thing.

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What If? (Part 8)

What if she can’t stop eating?

Forget about exercise. There’s no way she can shed all of this blubber if she can’t stop cramming cake in her mouth.

But this cake is just so delicious, rich and chocolaty and filled with cream that melts on her tongue when it doesn’t end up on her chubby cheeks as she shoves it into her greedy mouth. She wipes that cream off with her hand and admires it for a moment on her sausage fingers before licking them clean and moaning as the cream slides down her throat.

She’s become such a greedy little piggy. She used to be so prim and proper and put together. But the slim and sexy head cheerleader is officially gone, and in her place is a proper porker, a full fledged oinker.

As she uses her chubby hand to scoop up and shovel more cake into her mouth, her double chin jiggles with delight.

The words that she hears from her former friends are cruel: “Piggy.” “Fatso.” “Lardo.”

And the girls whom she used to make fun of now enjoy calling her “Fat ass”, “Porky”, and Jumbo.”

But the food makes it all better. The food makes her forget the pain. So what if she never stops eating? Maybe she’ll just get fatter and fatter.

Her belly is going to start to double over and split into multiple folds of flab. Her thighs are growing thicker and and going to quiver with cellulite covered fat as they press themselves together and outward forcing her to waddle everywhere she goes. Her ass cheeks are going to wobble and rip through her pants, tearing through tight fabric and leaving her with sweatpants as her only options. She is truly on the verge now of ballooning.

She was thin. Then she got chubby, chunky, then fat, and now she if she keeps eating she’s going to reach obesity.

Obese.

An obese pig.

An obese slob.

An obese hog.

That’s what she pictures herself as, not just a pig anymore, a hog- a huge and hungry, hungry, hog. She can’t help herself.

The thought of being obese, of people calling her a hog, of knowing that she has fully succumbed to her urges and her piggish appetite leaves her moaning in between bouts of oinking and shoving more cake into her mouth faster and faster.

People will be so cruel. They’re mean now, but they will be absolutely merciless once they realize she has eaten herself from a skinny cheerleader and could have been supermodel into an obese hog of a woman, a flabby mess of rolls and jowls desperate for her next meal and constantly cramming her chubby cheeks full of food like a fat and lazy chipmunk ready to burst.

They’ll want to squeeze her blubbery fat rolls, poke and pinch and shake her fat gut up and down and every which way. They’ll make a game out of making her drop things and watching her try to band down and pick them up with her fat thighs and blubber belly getting in the way. They’ll tease her mercilessly and spank her fat flabby ass. The lard will quiver as they laugh.

And the thought of it all makes her moan and oink some more. With one hand she feeds herself more cake, and with the other hand she rubs between her legs as she considers the delight question…

What if she doesn’t stop eating?