Club Butterfat

chapter 1

 

Stephen woke up that morning as he had began every morning, seemingly, for years now- dreading the task of hauling his increasingly, enormously obese body from the comfort of his bed, yet reflexively excited, to the point of euphoria, by the prospect of a day filled with food. His addiction to food- and not just any food, but near exclusively the "worst" sorts of fried, fatty, sugary and processed food for a young man with a weight problem- had over the last two years begun to fundamentally change his brain chemistry. Gone were thoughts of the future, or any real enjoyment of culture or anything remotely challenging or intellectual- his every thought revolved around when next he might be able to cram his soft, ballooning cheeks full of calories.

 

... And it showed. At the mere age of 19 he was tipping the scales at an alarming 445 pounds of pink, undulating blubber, almost entirely unsupported by any muscle to speak of. The past two and a half years had seen an explosion of weight gain. These were not genes, nor a frame that had been designed to support 200 pounds, let alone 400. His narrow shoulders and delicate features made the weight appear all the more startling- which it was. A greedy appetite had always kept him well above the "normal" weight range for his age and height (he couldn't remember a time when he didn't have soft, round breasts), but puberty had affected Stephen in a curious way. It was as though the tall order of testosterone promised to chunky young boys to aid in transforming them from creampuffs to linemen had been mixed up and replaced with estrogen. Where other boys developed broad shoulders and chest hair, Stephen suddenly found himself with wide flaring hips and a complete inability to resist sweets. 

 

Stephen had gone from a porky 5'3 and 230 pounds on his 15th birthday, to a porcine 5'6, 325 pounds midway on his 17th, to an increasingly hopeless 445 pounds of quivering pork on his recent 19th. The boy's jelly-filled thighs rubbed together at the knee, resulting in a slow, gelatinous waddle which left his overtaxed lungs constantly out of breath. His hips jutted out into a decidedly feminine shape, rounded into a sweet, fat-filled heart, supporting a lazily swaying cellulite-riddled ass so large and heavy- and which had grown so large so quickly- that it had destroyed every pair of pants he acquired in only a few days or weeks. Rolls of soft backfat piled on top of his undulating rear like layers of pastry dough. Stephen's other side was nearly as shocking- his belly split into two hanging rolls, partly as a result of the aforementioned series of doomed pants, and hung down to increasingly obscure his pubic region. His breasts were large and perfectly rounded- more so than even might be thought reasonable at his weight- and bounced softly whenever he walked. His arms, too, were like gelatin-filled sausages- jiggling balloons whose fat hung down like wings when he lifted them (the act of which now left him breathless.) His skin was pale and soft and almost without blemish, discounting the ever-present cellulite. There were all the makings for an attractive, fair haired, sweet-faced young man, albeit a little effeminate. They were just obscured by about 300 extra pounds of quivering adipose.

 

chapter 2

 

Still a hormonal teenager, Stephen had some latent idea of the effect his fat body had on certain types of people- almost exclusively men. He had gotten used to the catcalls from black and hispanic men who thought they were looking at a pretty, obese girl jiggling down the street. Nobody could blame them. Stephen's face was feminine and demure, with a small, upturned nose, big searching green eyes and full lips on a puffy, heartshaped face framed by shoulderlength blonde hair. The curviness of his overfed figure completed the picture. The attention made him blush and giggle, in spite of himself. Food was his true sex- the thing that caused his heart to race (though that was becoming a relatively easy task these days) and what he looked forward to every day from the moment he woke to the moment he crawled into bed. But he had stirrings of other thoughts in his increasingly ditzy, food-obsessed mind, of what it might be like to submit himself to the will of a man. Though greedy and dumb as Stephen now was, the ideas of love or lust were now irrevocably tied to his desire for food and comfort. His mind would occasionally wander toward the shadowy idea of an older man- handsome, well off, assertive- who would not only provide the food and cock that he knew he craved like a muttering addict, but who would eliminate the burden of decision-making and life obligations that so vexed Stephen's weak, singleminded brain. 

 

College was never an option, as the boy's sugaraddled brain could only barely muster grades to graduate high school. He lived with his busy, oft-traveling attorney parents, resentful of having to support the ballooning dilettante and having long ago given up on the prospect of any pride and satisfaction that might be gained from Stephen- in contrast to his thin, gorgeous, successful, lawschool-bound sister, Elyse, who ironically looked strikingly like her younger brother, simply without all the fat (and taller in heels). In addition to the unflattering contrast in fortunes, her face itself served as a reminder of Stephen's hopeless gluttony and incurable laziness.

 

chapter 3

 

That morning the butterball had had a particularly difficult time with the navy-colored uniform he was required to wear at his job at the Bulge Burger in the nearby mall. Had it shrunk? He whined and gasped air like a fish as he struggled to fasten another pair of brand new pants (could he have outgrown these already?) The shirt was no easier, as his breasts and belly bulged out underneath the thin fabric, straining buttonholes and threatening to burst through in an avalanche of creamy lard. The armholes dug painfully into the boy's gelatinous arms. Once everything was on, the exhausted boy looked in the mirror, panting. The entire outfit looked sprayed-on, showing every pound and every pock of cellulite on the boy's hopelessly obese body.

 

Already in a bad mood, Stephen took his time at home, absentmindedly inhaling a sleeve of oreos as he applied his daily lotion to his face and arms. The 15 minute commute via bus would have seemed tame to any normal working person, but felt like a death march to the enormous boy. Procrastination had become an ancillary vice (though it was usually food that he managed to get caught up in.)

 

Arriving at Bulge Burger with flushed pink cheeks and a 64 Oz Big Gulp Sprite he had grabbed on his way, he heard a familiar, mocking tone greet him:

 

"Well if it isn't princess buttertits! You know, if I had your chest, I'd probably have a husband by now."

 

Cindy, the long suffering manager, was particularly enraged.

 

"So nice of you to show up, slim."

 

"Oh, Hi Cindy!" Stephen lilted with cheerful trepidation "The buses were all messed up today.... has anyone made fries yet? I'm-"

 

"-Listen Stephen," she cut him off "I've warned you more times than I can count. You're 40 minutes late. You eat more food than you sell. That uniform looks like it's gonna pop like a water balloon- just like the last four we've gotten for you. Don't you have any respect for yourself? I mean, I feel like I can actually SEE you getting even fatter right now."

 

"...I... I just..." .. tears welled up in Stephen's eyes as his soft double chin jiggled. He was a sensitive boy who didn't know much about confrontation. He wanted to disappear.

"You what?" Cindy cut him off again "I'm sorry, but you're done here, fatboy. I've taken the liberty of putting together a severance package"

Cindy handed him a grease-stained, oversized sack bearing the blue and red Bulge Burger logo. It was filled with bacon cheeseburgers and topped off with about five servings worth of fries.

"I think we both know this is for the best. THIS is the only thing you've ever wanted from this job anyway, isn't it?" She pushed the sack into his chest. "You can keep the uniform. Though it doesn't look like it's gonna last more than a few days at the rate you're going. Try not to have a heart attack while you're wearing it. Bad for business."

Shocked and in tears, Stephen waddled his way into the food court, clutching his mock severance package for comfort. As the blubber of his massive hips and ass sloshed back and forth, and the lard of his upper arms softly undulated with each footfall, the anxious boy wheezed and whimpered. The shame of his firing, and the degrading words hurled at him by his manager, meant nothing. How was he going to afford the junky fast food he had become so addicted to now? His parents only supplied him with healthy, square meals- about 2,000 of the 5,000+ calories Stephen consumed every day. Like a junkie suddenly cut off from his supply, the teenaged blimp sat down at his usual food court table, his bloated ass now covering two normal chairs, for the one last indulgent fix contained in his greasy sack.

 

He gorged with abandon, using two hands to cram morsels of fries and bacon cheeseburgers into his desperate mouth. His eyes beginning to glaze over, he wordlessly sucked down untold amounts of calories, unable to even swallow fast enough to keep up with his frantic self-filling. His uniform grew even more precariously taught, but Stephen's fatty jowls continued to chew and swallow, gulp and slurp, all while wheezing air pathetically through his nose.

Stephen had lost all self awareness, and had no idea he was being watched.

 

chapter 4

 

Dressed in an expensive-looking grey suit with an open collar, a man in his mid-40's had been tracking the young plumper since he walked into the mall. He had simply been there to observe and assess talent. In the course of his "scouting" he spotted something that caught his eye. A very, very wide backside. Other features slowly come into focus as he nimbly approach from behind. An ass jutting far out from it's host, riddled with dimples and wobbling slightly to and fro, almost happily. A bulging tire of a fat roll forming just above the delicate small of the back- an esoteric detail, but trained as he was to notice such things, it did not escape him. Fabric pulled tightly into the deep creases of love handles, wrapping themselves around an almost comically curvy frame, leaving little to the imagination as each footfall set off a cascading ripple effect of jiggling.

After the fat young thing left Bulge Burger and headed for the food court, the man observed the subject's arms in motion, swaying and wobbling independently from one another, thick slabs of fat dangling from each one. A beautiful specimen. He almost chuckled aloud at the spectacle of this sweet hog struggling to waddle. You could almost hear his heart race. Most fatties develop significant muscle to carry their weight- this one appeared to be filled head to toe with jello. How old could he be? 18? The man hoped so. This was a find. 

 

Wings of cellulite ridden flab stretched the navy colored uniform near its brink, yet unable to provide much of any shape to the soft pink flesh that lie underneath. Observing the porker maneuver his swaying hips into a seated position, he noted not only the shortness of breath but the speed at which the subject began to eat, not even pausing to catch breath. Puffy forearms dug into a mound of french fries as the man advanced on the glutton. There was no hesitation as another fistful of fried, artery-clogging starch was buried into his mouth, fingers removed greasy and flecked with salt. Voracious sounds of self-feeding, cut with desperate squeaks and whimpers are all he hears, tuning out the rest of the crowd as he rounds this mesmerizing person to watch from it's side. Another handful of fries make their way to the mouth, followed immediately by a desperate bite of a greasy double cheeseburger. This person wasn't just eating, they were cramming themself full. Grease dribbled down a sunken, wobbling 

double chin, as heavy nose breathing began to keep this fatty conscious.

 

Life was taking a backseat to this display of gluttony. Suddenly, confidently, he sat himself down opposite this young person, his features so soft and feminine it had nearly fooled the man for more than a few minutes. The man thought.... this is a boy who didn't look like he had a genetic history with fat, his appetite was far too immense. This display in front of me, all this jiggling fat piled onto this weak frame was the result of this desperate appetite I was witnessing. It was almost too perfect…

 

chapter 5

 

When the man sat down smoothly across from him, Stephen nearly gagged in surprise on a mouthful of bacon and cheese. The man was handsome. Older. He smiled a warm smile which betrayed a hint of malice. Perhaps it was the week's supply of sodium he'd just ingested, but Stephen began to feel a little lightheaded and fuzzy all over. He smiled a sweet, wide-eyed smile back at the man, who simply glared back at him with smoldering intent and a handsome smirk. 

 

"Hello there, beautiful." The man said in a smooth baritone. "I hope you don't mind my joining you. I just saw you walking through the mall earlier before you sat down to eat, and you looked to be in some sort of distress. Is everything alright?" 

The way the man spoke had a hypnotic charm- what might have sounded creepy ("hello there beautiful") from somebody else came across with honey-dripped ease. 

 

"Oh!" the boy smiled brightly in spite of himself, self-conscious. "I, um... I just..." Stephen looked over at the man, who was looking him square in the eye, unblinking, with something that looked like compassion. A dam of emotion seemed to break within the boy. "I... I just lost my job! I... I don't know what I'm going to do! I'm afraid my parents are going to make me move out, and, and... Oh I keep gaining weight and nothing fits and Cindy yelled at me and..and..oh why is everything so hard?" his lip quivered as he rubbed his misty eyes... only to be met with the man's warm stare. 

 

"Wow, sweetheart, that's a shame." The man smiled compassionately. "I don't want to alarm you, but this might be a bit of fate. I might be able to help you, you know. First of all, can I ask your name and how old you are, gorgeous?" 

 

Stephen, who had gone back to absentmindedly stuffing himself as he listened with wide eyes, blushed and swallowed. "I'm Stephen.. and, um... I'm 19... so do you mean, like, a job?"

 

The man chuckled. "I do, Steffi- I do- sort of! Down the line, maybe. More immediately, I want to be your friend. I think you're a special young boy, and I'm well paid for my sense about such things. If you'll trust me, I think I can make life a lot easier for you."

Stephen shyly played with his hands and looked down- he hadn't noticed the card that the man had placed just in front of his meal."Phillip Redmond, Director of Scouting". To the right of his name, in playful, puffed-up red lettering, read "Club Butterfat". Below in smaller more formal print, read "A division of 21st Century Blimps". Beneath the card lay two crisp, folded $100 bills. Stephen looked up with a mixture of shock, gratitude and confusion. 

 

"I... I... this is amazing, Mr. Redmond... are you some sort of, like, agent? Do you really think you could get me a job? And what's Club Butterfat? I've never heard of it... is it, um, some sort of dessert place?"

 

Phillip laughed "Haha- well, it is and it isn't. But don't worry about the Club. Maybe I'll take you there one day. But in the mean time, let's worry about how I can help you."

"That's my direct number- you call me tonight and we can talk about making sure you don't have to worry about anything anymore. The money is just because you should have something in your pocket now that you've gotten rid of that awful job- can't have you wasting away with no cash for snacks, right? But trust me, you don't need to worry about money anymore." He winks and stands up, buttoning his jacket. 

Phillip took Stephen's hanging double chin between his thumb and forefinger, and leaned in. "And don't forget to snack. Never stop. Do you understand? I think you know what makes you special, Steffi." Phillip's other hand firmly grips the soft, hanging flesh of Stephen's blubbery left arm.

 

Stephen shudders and nods. Phillip plants a kiss on Stephen's soft smooth, puffy cheek and pulls away. "Good. I'll expect to hear from you, kitten."

 

As Phillip cooly walked away, smiling, Stephen sat for a moment, wide-eyed and dazed, unsure of what had just happened. He looked down at the business card and cash. Suddenly, without even thinking, he began frantically stuffing his cheeks full of food, unaware that the inside seams of his pants had begun to rip, exposing a bulge of creamy thigh fat. He would not notice until he had finished the entire bag.

 

chapter 6

 

After spending the rest of that fateful day force-filling his bloated cheeks with fast food in an epic emotional eating binge borne of a mixture of anxiety and half-understood lust, Stephen called the direct number on the Club Butterfat business card as directed by Phillip. 

 

As Stephen picked up the phone to call, his overtaxed heart raced, practically made his tits jiggle. Each exhalation carried with it a tiny, unintentional whimper. He felt woozy. After a terse "Phillip Redmond", the older man, hearing the panic in his fat prey's voice during reintroduction, adopted a warm and playful tone that put Stephen at ease, particularly after the rumbling and aggressive tone of his parting words at the food court. Stephen's free hand nervously pawed at the pale, soft skin of his belly, which drooped lazily into the crease between his bulging thighs.

 

Toying with the boy's dizzy mind, Phillip feigned to not recognize the caller- then snapped his fingers and mock-caught himself- "Oh, the blonde with the huge ass, right? Stuffed into an outfit two sizes too small?" ... he chuckled to himself as the boy stuttered to respond. "What can I do for you, beautiful?"

 

They chatted for about twenty minutes. At Phillip's urging (he needed to continue working while the boy gabbed) Stephen weaved the sad story of his life to this newfound sympathetic ear. About two minutes into the call, a steady munching sound began to muffle the boy's voice as he talked- though it didn't slow him down. Redmond smiled. "My God- poor thing doesn't even know he's started eating...." He thought to himself, quickly scribbling down three quick notes on his pad: "Compulsive glutton" "Emotional eater" "Oral fixation?"

 

Indeed, on the other line, Stephen's puffy fingers had begun dipping repeatedly into an oversized tub of caramel popcorn he had by his bedside. As Philip had suspected, the boy had begun eating reflexively, having made no conscious decision to do so. The comfort of food, when within reach, was too much for Stephen's long eroded willpower, particularly in an anxious moment. The utterly empty sugar calories presented by caramel popcorn calmed the doughy boy's mind like a pacifier. 

 

"Listen, I don't want to cut you off, porkchop, but let me just say that I'm glad you called me. And furthermore..." He chuckled and sighed, demonstrably.. "I'm glad you apparently listened to what I told you about not forgetting to snack. I hope you've got those cheeks packed with something yummy to pad that juicy figure, Steffi." Stephen, realizing his unconscious self-stuffing, blushed and muffled a meek but bright "mmhmm!" through the phone.

 

"Now don't try to Google Club Butterfat, or me. You won't find anything. What I do want you to do is to start showing up at 355 Broadhurst Street during the time you'd otherwise have been working, 21st floor, beginning tomorrow. I won't be there, but you'll be coming in for an interview of sorts. Dress in something form fitting, but I can't imagine that shape won't dazzle my associates. Don't be alarmed, but there will be a medical review, as well as a fitting. Those will become regular for you."

 

Entranced by the rich, deep tones of the man's voice and soothed by yet another fistful of sugary junk food, nothing about Phillip's instructions alarmed the bovine creampuff. He did, however, feel a sudden twinge of anxiety, at the word "interview", that this might not be as sure a thing as he had been presuming. He stuttered "Um.. but what about.."

Phillip cut him off, laughing- "Don't worry, kitten- you don't have to perform. As soon as I saw those flabby arms jiggling yesterday I knew this was a done deal. You're never going to worry about money again. And you're certainly never going to be asked to think a complicated thought ever again. A beauty like you, Steffi, built for comfort, has a place in the world. You don't know anything about my company or my colleagues yet, but suffice it to say that you're going to be a very popular acquisition. I would ask you to trust me, but I can tell that you already do. Things are about to get much more fun. So two things: keep stuffing that pretty face of yours, and waddle out to the curb tomorrow at 1:25 sharp. My driver, Darius will take you to your appointment. Just be careful- young, blonde, bottomheavy are his type." 

 

He laughed freely, then turned stern- "Do you understand, Stef? I notice you've stopped eating."

 

Stephen quickly coughed and squeaked "Oh! Yes... yes I'll be ready tomorrow and I... I'll.... I'll try to look cute." He smiled, happy for a moment.

 

Phillip grinned. "I'm glad. Something that shows off those blubbery hips. Darius will like that. Be good, kitten.”

 

chapter 7

 

Stephen put his phone down beside him on his groaning bed, breathing quickly. He didn't know what to expect tomorrow- he was suddenly gripped both with dread and with profound excitement. It was as if his deepest and most secret desires had been suddenly made manifest in this mysterious person and even more mysterious organization. He felt overwhelmed. His eyes welled up slightly as Stephen fanned his flushed face with both chubby hands, sending his bloated arm-flab wobbling and slapping against his sides. Tiring quickly, the boy piggishly eyed his still three-quarters-full tub of caramel corn. Both puffy hands dug greedily in and began shoveling sugar calories into his open mouth. 

 

Back in the 21st Century Blimp offices- the main ones in the massive converted factory east of downtown, not the satellite on Broadhurst Street- Phillip Redmond leaned back in his plush leather chair, feet up on a stately oaken desk, chuckling to himself (Phillip was a chuckler.) 

 

I simply have to call Richard. He'll love this. He picked up the phone and scrolled through his contacts. 

 

"Richard- Phil. All's well, I trust? ... Good. Listen I know I ought to wait at least another day or so on this, but we're old friends and - what? .... Come on. Just from the sound of my voice? ...Well pal, I guess you really know me. ...Yes, a new one. .... Well, we've missed the deadline for this month, obviously, but next. .... Well, in the foodcourt at that newish westside mall, but does it matter? Haha, well alright. ... Yes, I'm telling you Richard, an absolute hog. But the prettiest hog I've seen in a long while. Get this: 19. Nineteen years old. I checked. I know, America, right?.... Maybe 5'6. Oh, I don't know, I'd bet my house on 450 pounds, but possibly as fat as 475. And this is a FAT 450. All jelly. Poor thing could barely walk.... Well that's the best part, Richard. Ass. Hips and ass, bigger and rounder than any fat girl you've seen online. No, not big boned at all. 

 

Slight shoulders, actually. Just looks like a regulation cutie who was forcefed lard and hormones for years. Ha- I'm half worried that Darius will just run off with my new toy when he makes the pickup. Every man has his limits.... Yeah, between the cute, piggy face and the body and the little-lost-blimp routine I wanted to check between the legs to be sure. .... Oh absolutely. I was thinking the same thing. Great minds, Richard.... Don't worry about that- she's as dumb as she is obese. And the kicker- I'm already seeing the total trifecta: compulsion, addiction, and emotionally scrambled. Has barely any idea of what's going on and just loooves the sound of my voice. ...Yes, a lot like Yvette. This is going to be a home run. .... Well calm the *** down, Richard, I should get data by tomorrow evening. Come over for a scotch and review it with me.”

 

chapter 8

 

Now is where I must reveal the true nature of 21st Century Blimps, and the role of the popular subdivision Club Butterfat, as to attempt to weave it all organically through expository narrative would be clunky and tiresome. To those uninterested in backstory, please jump to chapter 9.

 

21st Century Blimps is less a functioning corporation than a faceless corporate veil for a unique social club happening to have various common interests and holdings. Founded over twenty years ago by a self-made imports billionaire (though his name appears nowhere on the corporate masthead or on documents filed with the government), it began as a means of binding a like-minded group of contemporaries, all of whom shared an intense sexual obsession with fat and the desire to create more of it. The other factor that bound these men together was their considerable individual and collective wealth. This gave them reach and resources not afforded your average feeder, but also gave them plenty to lose. Caution and infrastructure were called for.

How they all initially met is unknown, but the members all had their own specific proclivities. Some were primarily into fat women, others primarily into men, though the aim and objective of fat for fat's own sake was paramount. Nobody inducted to the group was squeamish about the realities of extreme obesity, or would ever entertain the words "too fat" in their vocabulary, except in the context of a joke. Weight gain of the sort they were interested was meant to go in one direction and one direction only. Specific kinks ran the gamut, from bondage to crossdressing to the scatological and far beyond. Preferred methods of fattening ranged from funnel feeding to hypnosis to hormone treatments (all to be inflicted upon their fat prey, of course. The members themselves were all impeccably fit and proudly inhabited the role of sexual aggressor). 

What they all shared was an attraction to the morbidity of extreme obesity, and they agreed that fat was a thing to be dominated and objectified mercilessly. Fat, in their narrow view, was the biological embodiment of weakness, of laziness, and of greed and indulgence. They relished in holding dominion over it; in seeing it turn on itself. To say that the membership was uniformly sadistic, or even vampiric, would not be exactly true, but neither would it be entirely false. The humiliation of the hopelessly and helplessly obese was central to their activities, but it was acknowledged that a certain type of poor soul enjoyed and craved nothing more than to be the subject of such doings. Willingness and complicity on the part of the subject, however much their weaknesses were being played upon, was key. 

 

When they endeavored to begin their "Plus One" gatherings, initially lavish "dinners" in a member's secluded home, ground rules needed to be established to ensure mutual satisfaction among the membership. 

 

-There would be a minimum weight of 400 pounds for any member's date for the gathering. This was agreed upon unanimously. Proof of weight or of any measurement could be called for by any single member, even if only for their sole enjoyment or curiosity. Weights and measurements were to be kept according to the Imperial system.

 

-Guests, or "hogs" as they were informally known, would be adults between the ages of 18 and 30, and of the male sex only. Amongst the group, fat was seen to have a feminizing, or at least emasculating effect anyway. Those feeders who prized feminine physical traits would have no trouble finding them amongst the offerings. In any case, the feeling amongst the group was that the fatter a hog became, the more masculinity diminished. The same was not true of feminine traits, which were usually accentuated by weight gain. It was also generally felt that keeping things gender uniform helped to keep their activities under the radar for a number of reasons. 

 

-Legal documents indemnifying and holding harmless the individuals present for anything occurring in the course of the hog's stay were proffered for signature, though not always under forthright circumstances. 

 

-Decisions regarding treatment of the hog, sharing amongst membership, etc. were reserved for the member who provided him, but could be overruled on anything by a two thirds majority vote by those assembled. 

 

As the membership circle slowly grew by word of mouth, it crossed borders and languages, owing to the worldly pedigree of the founding members. Investments were made to confer legitimacy on the corporation, and employees were hired. The company was kept entirely private, but taxes and governmental compliance were adhered to the penny and letter. Most of the employees, of course, were "junior members" who were, in fact, acting as scouts, brokers, and, effectively, hunters in support of the company's core mission: the acquisition of the choicest prospects for fattening and exploitation. Many junior members who had ascended to fully vested membership (and the money and comfort it came with) still scouted and hunted out of habit and desire. Phillip Redmond was among these members.

 

The days of the "dinners" long ago gave way to massive monthly parties. Worldwide membership was in excess of 700, and at any given monthly party at least 400 would gather in a chosen city for a closed-door weekend of sex, drugs, and display, stuffing, and enjoyment of a dazzling array of the fattest and most submissive feedees in the world. This became "Club Butterfat". Each attending member was required to furnish at least one hog in excess of 400 pounds, but could arrive with an entire harem if they chose- and many did. Nearly 100% of these young hogs became addicted to the attention, the money, the pampering, and, if we're honest, the drugs and food that were lavished upon them. The voluntary nature of the hogs' role quickly eroded into a cycle of involuntary dependency, and thus the membership took great enjoyment in seeing a young fatboy balloon from near the minimum weight, dancing and jiggling and soaking up attention, to immobile wrecks of quivering lard, sucking oxygen and begging to be fed and ***ed as medical staff stood by (sometimes to no avail.) 

 

Of course, there's an even darker side to 21st Century Blimps and Club Butterfat, but little has been confirmed. The under 30 rule for hogs is strictly observed, but there has never been a going-away party (at least not the type you'd think.) Many of the corporation's investments deal in exports that would not be quite so suspicious if it were not for the superabundance of lard they have access to.

 

But rumors aside, each month saw the new opening of a makeshift club in a new glittering global location. Impossibly fat boys waddled in, poured into outfits specifically designed to highlight and accentuate their unthinkable obesity. Initial weigh-ins and group observation had become compulsory, overseen by a master of ceremonies operating on a stage and catered to a riotous crowd of sex-crazed feeders, with nervous hogs lined up to his right. For the devoted heterosexual feeder, he would easily find any number of creamy skinned, unfathomably curvy "fatgurls" who had been made and trained, either by nature or by synthetic hormones, into the shy, feminine, barely-waddling blimp of their dreams. 

 

Though the club runs all day and night for three days each month, with private rooms on site right off the dance floor, there is always a separate facility nearby, where other activities occur. Some say it's where the fattest go when their presence in the club becomes counterproductive. But now we're back to rumor….

 

chapter 9

Stephen barely slept that night. An anxious wreck, in an attempt to relax, he stuffed himself into a stupor by gorging on his stash of sweets and junk food he'd earlier thought would have to last him through the week. Sacks of chocolate, caramels, fudge and gummy candy. Chips, popcorn, pork rinds and cheese puffs, all washed down with three sugar-packed liters of Sprite. The boy's heart thumped unrelentingly as he feverishly soothed himself with nearly 6,000 calories between the hours of 10pm and 3am. All the while, Phillips's stern voice echoed in his empty head. His sinister yet soothing laugh, the strength with which he had gripped the boy's flaccid, blubbery armfat, the casual, semi-mocking way he referred to him as "kitten", "porkchop", "the blonde with the huge ass" all swirled around him as he crammed his cheeks full, as he had been told to do.

 

Stephen eventually woke up at 11AM, on his face and belly, with his enormous hips and ass partially elevated into the air by a pillow. The light blue underwear he was wearing, which he had bought online from a clothier specializing in supersized women in the hopes that he might find something comfortable, dug precariously into the soft fat of his hips. The bedspread was covered in crumbs and detritus from the night's emergency feed. After a few moments fretting and struggling to get his unwieldy body standing, he brushed off his bed and began his routine. 

 

The benefit of having mostly absentee parents was that he could generally operate on his own lazy schedule. This in large part meant that he watched tv, napped, and stuffed his face when he wasn't slaving for junk food money at Bulge Burger (never again, he thought.) But one thing he took seriously was hygiene. Stephen hated to smell or appear fetid, which was a challenge for somebody as huge, weak, and otherwise lazy as he. He showered every day, often twice, which took every ounce of energy he had. He spent hours applying lotions to every inch of soft skin he could reach, which, incredibly, was most of it. Stephen remained very flexible for unknowable reasons. He took his beauty routine seriously and took great pride in his buttery soft pale skin. For as anxious and unassertive boy as he was, Stephen was vain in his own way. He loved to feel pretty, and even as his body had ballooned uncontrollably into massive obesity, all that quivering adipose was sheathed in a milky velvet that felt divine to touch and which he knew drew attention. 

Anxious as he was this day, he applied two coats of moisturizing vanilla crme lotion after a long shower, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. He pawed through his wardrobe, terrified to choose the wrong thing to wear. Form fitting had been the request, which was not hard considering that nearly everything he owned could now be considered "form fitting" at the very least. He settled, daringly, on a faded pink tee that he had bought when he was around 375 pounds. It was half polyester, and still one of the most comfortable shirts he owned despite it being now skin-tight. On the faded front was a rendering of a cartoon ice cream cone with a bright smiling face. He struggled to squeeze his bloated soft arms through the holes, though they had been stretched enough to accommodate the hammy things. Grunting as he pulled the shirt down, he heard the fabric stretch and pop, straining across his fat breasts and down over the top two thirds of his soft belly, the shirt bottom clinging in the fold between his upper and lower belly roll. 

 

Desperate to look both cute and comfortable, Stephen was forced into stuffing his immense lower body into a pair of sturdy, supersized leggings designed to look like women's track/lounge suit bottoms. They were white and he had never actually tried them on since ordering them after a few glasses of wine from the same online store. Luckily, after a monumental struggle that left him panting, he had negotiated his oozing thigh fat, his round, jutting ass, and his sloshing, squishy hip fat into the leggings. He turned to his double-wide mirror, red-faced and out of breath. He looked like an obese trophy wife. His gelatinous lower belly would have to hang free, slapping against his pubic area unless he held it in place with both hands. But there was no way he was going to try changing, so he put it out of his mind with a king sized snickers bar and a liter of soda and proceeded to comb his blonde hair as he caught his breath. 

A text came to Stephen's phone at 1:20, startling him. He pressed his hand to his heart and took a deep breath. Unfamiliar number, one word: "Outside." He sighed, slipped on his shoes, grabbed his bag and waddled slowly, breathlessly, to the curb.

 

chapter 10

 

Darius was parked right in front of the house in a black, customized SUV. He had been given the heads up from Mr. Redmond that he'd find this pickup particularly amusing, which had sparked his curiosity. As a junior member from humble beginnings, Darius had caught Phillip's eye as a kindred spirit in their particular tastes, and he had taken him under his wing. Darius had an eye for the same sort of "talent" preferred by Redmond, and had even been partially responsible for the acquisition of a 400 pound 22 year old known as "Yvette" who had been enormously popular at the club a few years ago. He knew he would rise fast in the company if given the chance. 

Darius eyed the front door with a steely gaze. As it opened, he pulled off his sunglasses to take in the sight. Impossibly wide hips stuffed into what looked like sprayed on track pants, sloshing and wobbling like a waterbed, turned sideways to fit through the front door. 

 

Hello fluffy bunny... Short. A shock of yellow hair. Teasingly tight pink shirt molding around globular fat breasts and.... My God, creamy white belly fat hanging out from below. A slow, ponderous, shuffling waddle quickly revealed the consistency of all this blubber. It was pure butter. Hips, thighs, belly, breasts, lard-balloon arms, all shook helplessly with each plodding footfall. A natural fatgurl. 

 

As the hog waddled closer, features came into view. A sweet, cherubic fat face with shy green eyes, framed by corn-yellow hair. Darius was astounded. The adorable blimp waddled closer, breathing heavily. No wonder, thought Darius, looking at the hog's bulging, atrophied thighs undulate. This tubby bitch was not meant for walking.

The voice that emerged was exactly what suited the sight in front of him. Pitched high, halting, muffled by panting, but still lilting and sweet. 

 

"You.... Um.. You must be Darius!" Stephen panted with a cheerful smile. 

Darius smiled broadly, unblinking, placing his sunglasses back on. "And you must be Steffi. Go ahead, give me a twirl." Stephen, confused, gave a halting, shuffling turn. 

"Damn. Red told me you were special. You been in that house eating sugar and lard for twenty years? Look like they hooked a sorority girl up to a butter hose." Stephen blushed and then furrowed his brow, trying to muster incredulity. 

 

"I know, I know, I'm just the driver" Darius continued. "But I know a fat bitch with potential when I see one." He leaned in, not unlike how his boss had done the prior day, gripping a handful of drooping belly blubber... "Hope you like to eat, baby. They're gonna love you in the club." He squeezed and shook the boy's doughy bellyfat vigorously, then laughed.

 

He pressed a button which triggered a lowered step for Stephen to use as leverage to climb into the SUV. "Now see if you can fit all that ass into the back of my car and I'll deliver you. I've been instructed to tell you to feel free to snack during the drive, but I don't think I need to tell you that." 

 

Blushing beet red, Stephen squeaked a series of unintelligible words at his smiling new companion. Overcome with involuntary lust at Darius's words, just as he had felt with Phillip's, he had no choice but to obey the command and strained to lift his 450-ish pounds into back of the SUV, where he began munching compulsively. Darius's eyes peered into the rearview mirror to see pink cheeks crammed full, anxious, sparkling green eyes, wheezing breath interrupted by satisfied whimpers. He shook his head, "Damn, Red", and drove away.

 

chapter 11

 

Darius drove slowly, a carnal grin pasted on his stubbled face, so he would be afforded the opportunity to monitor the display of helpless, anxious gluttony taking place in the backseat of his luxury SUV. Even when forced to watch the road, the sounds of unbridled mastication of the provided junk food, interpolated with euphoric squeaks and sharp intakes of air, was enough to make Darius's thick erection throb down the leg of his tailored pants. He deliberately took side streets, down the least well-maintained roads he knew, to watch Steffi's soft blubber bounce and shake and clap together with each divot and pothole. The obese boy's flaring hips, stretching the white faux-tracksuit tights to their limit, had spread even more dramatically wide in the seated position, taking up much of the seat bench and quaking rhythmically. All jello, thought Darius. Not a shred of muscle on this fat bitch's body. 

 

He drove up to the large, nondescript glass building, putting the car in park, and turned around to address the frightened blonde, whose creamy exposed lower belly drooped between fat thighs. Steffi breathed heavily, little heart racing as he tried to gather his bearings. Where were they? 

 

Darius stared wolfishly at Steffi's soft, gelatinous curves. "I just want to say", he began, "that if you were my fatgirl, I'd keep you stuffed with lard and cock every hour of every day. Get you off those fat thighs right quick. I bet you hate walking anyway, don't you, baby?" A halting response was muffled by a mouthful of Snickers bar. Darius smiled. "Or waddling, I suppose I should say."

 

He hopped out of the driver's side and opened Steffi's door, startling him. He held out his hand. Steffi took it, inching his hips across the seat, grunting and straining. Darius, deceptively and powerfully strong, heaved Steffi to his feet, enjoying the several seconds of residual jiggling and the sound of deep, labored breathing that followed.

Steffi anxiously fixed his hair, pulled down his too-short top and readjusted the bulging tights that clung precariously to his hips and butt. 

 

Steffi looked at Darius sheepishly.... This man, like Phillip, had been so alternatingly sweet and cruel in a way that made him dizzy with confusing pleasure. ".... Thank you, Darius... I'm sorry.. I think I.... I think I ate all your snacks..."

Darius smiled and took Steffi's puffy hand, giving it a kiss. He looked into the passenger door to confirm that the entire trove of junk food that had been provided lay devoured, wrappers and bags strewn across the bench.

 

"My pleasure, baby. And don't apologize. That's your job. Your only job. You want all the boys to like you, don't you? Then keep that pretty mouth of yours full."

Steffi, still not fully understanding the nature of this arrangement, nodded and smiled. Suddenly, Darius placed both his large hands firmly on Steffi's wide hips and squeezed. Leaning in, he kissed Steffi firmly on the cheek. 

 

"Next time I see you, I'm pretty sure you won't fit in my car. Good luck, blondie." 

Darius ungripped the squishy handfuls of hip fat and returned to his car. "Right through those doors, beautiful." He sat down in the driver's seat, still peering out at the bloated beauty. "Nineteen. Jesus Christ." 

 

Steffi, stunned, shuffled to steady himself and regain equilibrium. Falling down and ruining his cute outfit would be a catastrophe. Regaining something like composure, he waddled forward toward the double glass doors, which two young doormen hustled to open.

 

chapter 12

 

The walk toward the check-in desk felt longer than it was, but the high powered air conditioning cooled Steffi's overheating skin on which clear beads of sweat had begun to form.

 

Before he could say a word, the deskman looked up and grinned. "Steffi, yes?" He nodded. "Please sign in right here." Taking a few moments to let her heartrate settle, Steffi hastily signed her name where the man had indicated. "You can take the elevator right to the 21st floor." The deskman noticed the heaving chest and slightly glassy eyes on the obese boy. ".... Uh, my colleague will assist you. Jonathan, please escort Miss Steffi to the 21st floor"

 

Jonathan, a slight young man around Steffi's age, offered his arm and slowly assisted him to the elevators, whose doors seemed exceptionally wide. 

 

Being with the first person in days he wasn't overwhelmingly intimidated by on sight, Steffi, having mostly caught his breath, took the opportunity to have a conversation. 

 

"So, um... have you worked here long?" 

 

"About six months" Jonathan replied with a smile.

 

"Oh! Oh well I'm new too then... I'm not sure what sort of job I'll be doing but Mr. Redmond seems to think I'll be good at it..."

 

Jonathan barely suppressed a laugh at the word "Job", but straightened himself out upon hearing Mr. Redmond referenced. 

 

"Yes, Mr. Redmond has an eye for talent. I'm sure you'll... excel." 

 

"I'm.... well, I'm thinking it might be some sort of food tasting or reviewing job... though I can't write very well... though it could have something to do with modeling, I guess? Phillip seems to like the way I look..."

 

A loud laugh escapes Jonathan as they near the 21st floor. "Oh, I'm certain he does." 

"Can you tell me though why everyone keeps talking to me like a girl? I mean... It's happened all my life because of how I talk and, well.... But never this much..." Steffi nervously pawed at his belly.

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes and took a step back, eying Steffi up and down.

 

"Well, Miss Steffi, it could have something to do with the fact that you look like a quarter ton of girlfat dressed like a slutty college co-ed. You're lucky all the doors in this building are double-wide. Looks like we're at your floor, miss."

 

Steffi blushed and stuttered. He had seemed so nice.... What sort of place was this? Steffi's eyes became moist... 

 

"Getting off? Pretty sure they have food on this floor." Jonathan grinned, guiding Steffi out of the elevator by the small of his back, pinching a fat roll in the process.

 

Steffi waddled into a lovely, wood paneled, corporate-looking reception area. On the wide reception desk was the same corporate logo as had appeared on Phillips' business card: 21st Century Blimps. 

 

A pretty, bespectacled blonde in her thirties sat behind the desk, standing as soon as Steffi emerged from the elevator. She spoke with a warm, honeyed, maternal southern accent that immediately conveyed bubbly kindness. 

 

"Well you must be Steffi! Oh come in, come in, we've been expecting you. My, but you are the prettiest thing! Oh you poor dear you look upset.... Those boys can be awfully mean, especially to a sweet young thing like you. Well, sugar, let's get you a little bite to eat." She pressed a green button on her desk and scribbled something down on a pad. 

"You can go ahead and sit down on one of those little old couches. Very plush, just like you, honey. I'm Melody, sweetheart. It's so nice to meet you."

 

"Yes... oh thank you... you're... very kind." Steffi, brightened by sudden warmth visited upon him, smiled and waddled toward the deep, high-set couch and sat down, hips spreading out as the furniture easily took his weight... it was not a typical feeling. 

As Steffi's eyes fluttered into relaxation, Melody dialed an extension on her phone.

 

".... Yes sir. Yes the new fatgirl. Haha, yes, sir. Very much. Oh, sir that's terrible. Yes sir. .... Yes. Okay."

 

Suddenly, a trey on a rolling cart appeared, pushed by a short man with a mustache..... rolling the cart right up beside Steffi, he folded out an extension which rest right on top of his belly... lifting the cover of the trey revealed a huge platter of what initially looked like large hamburgers.... But upon closer inspection were two sets of three beef patties, dripping in grease, interspersed with melted cheese and caramelized bacon, and placed between what appeared to be large grilled glazed donuts, glistening with sugar and themselves soaked in grease. The salty-sweet smell hit Steffi like a wave nearly knocking him unconscious. Around the rest of the plate were thick cut, heavily salted, deep fat fried potato wedges. An old fashioned milkshake glass topped with the traditional whipped cream and cherry was placed beside the platter, almost comically. Almost mockingly. His mouth watered profusely.

 

"Just a little snack...." Melody said with a wink.

 

"Now sweetheart... just a few things.... You're the only appointment we have on the books today, so we're all here to take care of you. You need anything at all, you just let me know..."

 

Steffi smiled and muffled "thank you", gratefully, around a huge mouthful of meat, cheese and fried dough, happier than he had been in days.

 

"Oh, that's quite alright honey. You eat up. Poor sweet thing. Now if I know these boys you must not have been told much! All I can tell you is that you're the newest fatgirl around here... so when these boys or anybody talks to you or about you it'll be with female pronouns, ok?"

 

Steffi swallowed.... "Um.... Fatgirl? I..."

 

"Oh sugar, they told me you were a little bit of a ditz but you can figure it out, can't you? I mean.... Look at you." Melody laughed sweetly and placed her hand on Steffi's bulging thigh, squeezing lovingly. "My goodnesss you're just gobbling that up, aren't you? Anyway, you'll be seeing a few men today. But keep eating, sweetheart. You always have time for food here.”

 

chapter 13

Melody continued to provide a rough outline of the afternoon's itinerary, but Steffi could barely process the words. Her pleasure centers were flooded by the decadent combination of flavors- fat, sugar, salt, and a bewildering array of textures caused her entire body to tingle. Her eyes closed as she continued frantically self-stuffing... unconsciously whimpering in frustration at the limitations caused by the size of her mouth- she wanted these delicious flavors inside of her NOW. 

A man emerged from the hallway. Average height, bald, in his 50's, wearing a long white coat and holding a clipboard. 

 

"Careful, Steffi. That's about 8,000 calories it looks like you've eaten thus far. Mostly from fat. A girl could lose her figure that way." He smiled, amused at his own joke. 

"Oh Doctor Hamilton, you mean old fox. Can't you see this poor sweet thing is starving? Let her finish." Melody gave Steffi an encouraging squeeze and a sweet smile.

"You're such a softie, Melody. Well, not like Steffi, here." Hamilton ran the back of his hand across Steffi's bloated cheek. "Steffi here is the real softie, aren't you Steffi? Open your eyes, sweetheart" 

 

He pulled out a small LED pen light and shone into Steffi's eyes, one after the other. "Almost fully dilated. We don't normally see this with brand new hogs. Steffi here has a fully blown physical, psychological, multi-sensory addiction to junk food. We suspected this going in from the initial report, hence this little snack to confirm. Basically it means that she's high right now. Feels good, eh fatty?" Steffi heard perhaps every fourth word of this, as wave after wave of greasy, sugary pleasure crashed over her. It was a dissociative state not totally unfamiliar from her usual junkfood binges, but never like this. 

 

"My, my, you are a soft one. And dressed so.... Charmingly. Let's get you back to the examination room and get some vital information, shall we?" 

 

Doctor Hamilton nodded to the mustachioed steward, who began packing up the cart, Steffi's chubby fingers grasping for handfuls of fat-fried potatoes. She looked at the doctor, wounded. 

 

"Come now, Steffi, if it were up to me you'd never stop stuffing that pretty face. But we don't want to disappoint Mr. Redmond, do we?" 

 

Steffi swallowed a greasy mouthful and nodded obediently. Older male authority figures had never had to ask twice with her. 

 

The steward rolled away the cart, revealing to Dr. Hamilton for the first time the width, shape, and sheer size of Steffi's figure. He did a double take. 

 

".... My God. Melody, why didn't you tell me the SIZE of this hog? She got up here under her own power?"

 

"Well, Jonathan helped her in." Melody replied. "I'm afraid he was a bit fresh." 

 

"Well, I'm not surprised. Look at this butterball. That somewhat narrow upper body build had me tricked... bloated arms and tits notwithstanding"

 

Hamilton took the heft of Steffi's hanging belly with both hands and sloshed it back and forth, squeezing. Pulling one hand back, he clinically but forcefully slapped the side of her billowing hips and ass. 

 

"Look at that. Pure butterfat. My god, she's still jiggling. Let's get you on the scale, piggy." 

 

"Come on, honey, the man IS a doctor." Melody quickly pulled out a handkerchief, wiping Steffi's face and hands clean of grease. "Got to stay pretty, right sugar?"

The doctor and Melody each took a hand and helped Steffi to her feet. She let out a small yelp, followed by several seconds of heavy panting once standing. 

 

"Yeah, being super-morbidly obese is tough on your knees, princess." Then, more quietly... "... your heart too." He began to walk toward the hallway he had emerged from. "Come on, porkchop. Quick as you can." 

 

"Come on honey, don't be scared..." Melody whispered, encouragingly. 

After a few moments to regain her composure, Steffi waddled after the doctor, looking back at her new friend mournfully. 

 

Entering through a wide door, Steffi entered an examination room unlike any she had seen before. It was easily three times the normal size, for starters. But most curiously, there were cameras conspicuously located around the room, each with a solid red light above the lens implying some sort of live feed. On one wall were three large monitors. In the middle of the room was a padded black platform. A younger man in a short white coat sat in the corner, writing on a chart. He was dashing, tall, late twenties, with jet black hair and an athletic build.

 

"Jim, this is Steffi. Steffi just crammed almost 10,000 calories into her face, which should not surprise you from the look of her. One of Redmond's, though I probably don't even need to say that. Look at that tank ass." He gave her ass a firm slap, sending waves through Steffi's loose adipose. 

 

"Wait... no hormones, no feeding regimen? He just... I mean, she just CAME to us like this?" Jim circled Steffi, who eyed him lustfully, in spite of herself.... The degradation had her swimming in a fog of desire. 

 

"Redmond. I don't know how he does it. First Yvette, now this ball of lard."

"Check out these hammy arms... and why is she dressed like a porn star? Just tell me I get to measure this huge ass..." 

 

Doctor Hamilton shrugged "Easy young fella. Patience is a virtue in this job. There'll be time enough. First things first, lets get this hog on the scale."

 

Jim walked right up to Steffi, towering over her. He smiled warmly and confidently. Steffi sheepishly smiled back, fidgeting and shifting her weight back and forth.

 

"What do you say, blubbergirl? Aren't you curious to see what all those sweets have done to your figure?" Jim took both Steffi's soft, fat hands in his, tracing her palms with his thumbs, suggestively. Doctor Hamilton rolled his eyes. 

 

Steffi giggled at the handsome young man flirting with her. She was hypnotized by his piercing blue eyes and smooth voice. Of course she wanted to do what he asked.

"Right this way, cutie." Jim gestured toward the black square in the center of the room. Steffi, smiling dumbly, waddled toward it. 

Stepping on the scale, the center monitor on the wall flashed to life, three digits with two decimal points spun wildly, first in black, then quickly into red letters. Finally, the numbers settled onto a figure: "WEIGHT: 482.7 lbs BMI: 77.8"

 

Steffi's heart throbbed looking at the numbers. Her face reddened as her eyes welled up with tears. When and how had she gained over thirty pounds since her last harrowing doctor's appointment just a few months ago? 

 

"Hmm. I'd have thought more by the look of her." Hamilton said, wryly. "You know what it is? This hog has almost no muscle on her. Pure lard. Muscle weighs more than fat, so this one is still under 500 even though she looks like a parade float for a porn company. Look, she hasn't stopped jiggling." 

 

Steffi sniffled and squeaked... "H.... how? I... I didn't... How did I? I..."

Jim squeezed a thick roll of soft backfat and smiled. "Think of it this way, butterball. You'll never be this thin again."

 

The day was only beginning.

 

chapter 14

The examination continued for another 30 minutes in relative silence. Doctor Hamilton and Jim knew they only had a few minutes before the blimp's knees began to throb in earnest, so broke out the seemingly endlessly long measuring tapes immediately. As requested, Jim eagerly wrapped the tape around the thickest part of each part of Steffi's body and silently recorded the figures on his chart. Her hips and ass, at the widest point, required both men to record accurately. Upon arriving at the measurement, Jim let out a self-satisfied laugh, while Doctor Hamilton only whistled. 

 

"It's a start", the doctor said, sarcastically, slapping a button against the wall. Suddenly, a cushioned stool with a rounded back rose up from the floor, perfectly cupping Steffi's wide ass and relieving the pressure from her aching knees and ankles.

 

"I love my work", replied Jim from behind Steffi, sinking his fingers into her doughy, pale flesh. "Got any sisters, Miss Piggy?" 

 

Steffi, still whimpering and murmuring self-recrimination at the surprise reveal of her near-40 pound gain, said nothing, but thought of skinny, clever Elyse, her sister who resembled her so closely, but who flaunted a taut size-4 figure while Steffi herself was careening helplessly toward 500 pounds.

 

"Well it's a shame we can't get this sow pregnant, then."

 

"If there were ever a fatgirl who could, it's this one" replied the doctor, noting the chart. "If that's not a figure built for childbirth I don't know what is." He suddenly, with all his might, forced apart his subject's enormous, billowing thighs. "Flexible" he noted. 

"Did someone want to be a ballerina?" Jim mocked.

 

Hamilton probed his hand between Steffi's thighs. She let out a soft coo, in spite of herself, biting her lip. The desire had been building for so long. 

 

After a few seconds of probing, the Doctor shook his head in bemusement, withdrawing his hand to the disappointment of a frustrated Steffi. "Y'know, we may actually need a second opinion here. Whatever's down there is tiny and surrounded by a hell of a lot of fat."

 

"Oh god, is that it?" Jim feigned shock. "Are you pregnant with triplets, sweetie?" He ran his hands over Steffi's round hips and stuffed, protruding belly with mock-tenderness before seizing violently on the sides of the hanging, lowermost fold of floppy, pale, cellulite-pocked fat. "Aww. Nope. Just lard."

 

"I don't want to spoil your fun, Jim, but this porker is on a schedule. We still need to take down the information for the...." Hamilton stalled "... the calculation. Steffi here hasn't been down to legal yet." Jim nodded. 

 

Jim read aloud as he prepared an extra large blood pressure cuff around Steffi's bloated left upper arm. "Okay funbags here is 19 years, 8 months old, 482 pounds and change with a BMI just under 78 and a body fat percentage of.... Wow. Just under 70 percent. Guess you were right."

 

"They say there's a skinny girl in every fatty waiting to get out. Pretty sure this one will be waiting a long time" Hamilton said as he prepared to draw blood. "We won't get these bloods back for a few hours, but I think we both know what to expect..."

Jim inflated the BP cuff, which squeezed the soft tissue of Steffi's gelatinous armfat until it throbbed. Jim's eyes widened as he took the reading. Shaking his head in amusement, he scribbled on his chart. "Jesus. Where were the young blimps like this when I was in college?"

 

"Probably at Redmond's place like this one'll be. And besides, do you really think this fat ditz goes to college?"

 

They poked and prodded for a while longer, exchanging words occasionally and recording data. Steffi received three shots directly into her fat arms. No explanation was given. Looking at the clock, Hamilton pressed the intercom on the wall. Melody's voice crackled on the other end. "Yes sir?" 

 

"Melody, young Steffi here is ready for her next stop. We're through with her for now." 

"Of course! I'll be right there."

 

Hamilton turned to Steffi, slightly woozy from the injections, but mostly from the earlier glutting of grease and fat. He took the fat of her hanging double chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, my dear, it's been fun. I declare you to be in 'perfect' health for a girl with your... prospects. I'm putting you on a strict diet of butter, sugar, grease, and... well, anything else we've got around. I expect you to flourish, is that understood?"

Steffi nodded reflexively, hoping for another probing reach between her throbbing thighs. None was forthcoming. 

 

Suddenly, Melody appeared in the doorway. "Knock knock!" she chimed, sunnily. "How did our girl do?"

 

Doctor Hamilton polished his glasses... "Goldilocks here is grade-A pork. Gave her the usual- some happy juice for those poor knees, and a time release of the girly juice per Mr. Redmond, but I tell ya, I can't imagine she needs it. You could feed her to the fatgirl-chasers tonight and they'd destroy her."

 

Steffi was glassy-eyed, smiling dopily... a droplet of drool began to escape the corner of her pink lips. Jim caught it with a napkin and leaned in, smirking. 

 

"I know it's hard to believe, but pretty soon you're going to think back on today at how nice and polite Dr. H and I have been, and how skinny and in-shape you were. See you for your next check-up, jellygirl."

 

Melody furrowed her brow and waggled her finger at the men before breaking into an 'I can't stay mad at you' smile. "Come on now pretty lady, you've got a fitting!" she boisterously exclaimed. The curved stool that cupped Steffi's ballooning rear-end automatically maneuvered her, gingerly, to her feet. Even still, both men each took a flabby arm to steady the already weak and increasingly woozy fatgirl. 

 

As Steffi faltered, the Doctor strained to keep his side of his obese patient steady. "Will she be able to make it on her own the rest of the day? We've all seen much, much fatter, but this hog does not seem to have a talent for mobility." 

 

"I think it'll be good for her to waddle around a bit!" Melody replied. "She'll have to eventually do it in heels, after all, bless her heart!”

 

chapter 15

 

The next step, a short but fatiguing walk for the bulging, panting, and increasingly unquestioning and docile Steffi, was to another pair of double-doors which opened with a flourish upon Melody pressing a small green button. 

 

The room was paneled with wood. Like the examination room, cameras were everywhere, but more subtly positioned this time. A tall, thin, severe looking woman in her 40's with short, straight black hair approached from an unseen corridor wearing a form fitting black dress. Melody greeted her cheerfully.

 

"Well hey hon! This cute little creampuff is Steffi and she's just as sweet as can be. Be nice to her, she's awfully young and not very bright, and, well..."

 

The woman silently snatched the chart that Melody had ferried from Doctor Hamilton's office and, with bony fingers, raised her glasses, which hung on a necklace of green beads, to her eyes to peruse. 

 

After digesting the chart's data, the woman stood in silence, chewing on the stem of her glasses, glaring at Steffi up and down. 

 

Melody, noticing Steffi's fidgeting fingers, whispered to her "Don't worry, honey. This is Katrina... she's our fashion supervisor..." 

 

Katrina wordlessly circled Steffi like a shark, squinting and nodding as she observed each bulging angle of view. Upon reaching Steffi's front once again, she swiftly handed the chart back to Melody and cupped Steffi's full, remarkably round breasts in her hands, jiggling them softly and judging for weight and symmetry. "Hmmm..." she mused to herself. 

 

She closely inspected Steffi's face and hair, running her thin, dry digits over the smooth, soft cheeks and golden yellow hair of her newest project. Katrina then turned her attention to Steffi's hanging curtain of milky white belly fat, kneading it like dough to test consistency. There was none of the sinister carnality of when men felt Steffi's fat, but Katrina seemed to take pleasure in it all the same. 

 

After a thorough accounting, Katrina let her glasses drop and let out a heavy sigh. 

"Much as I hate to compliment Redmond, she is exquisite. The figure alone is as natural as I've seen. She will make an enticing display. There is much to work with."

 

Katrina clapped her hands twice, and no fewer than six assistants, all female, hustled into the room, carrying large racks of outfits, some of which simply looked like enormous swaths of fabric. 

 

"Classic blonde club slut. The men with love it. The hair color is perfect, but not long enough. We will have to find a matching wig until it grows out. Makeup heavy on the eyes and lips but light on the face. She has the skin of... well, of a nineteen year old, but one that doesn't subsist on a diet of sugar and fat." The girls flew into motion, engulfing Steffi in a flurry of activity

 

She whispered into an assistant's ear, who scurried off and returned with a piece of candy apple red fabric that did not look nearly big enough to fit on somebody Steffi's size. Katrina put her hands up, palms out- causing a total cessation of movement. 

"First, I want to see this sow naked. Lucy, please cut off that gaudy outfit she managed to stuff herself into. It would simply take far too long to remove normally and I haven't the time."

A slim Asian girl produced a large pair of scissors and, before Steffi could mention that these were her only clothes she had brought, had cut the shirt clear off her chest. Then, in a fluid motion, made the incision on the skin-tight bottoms she had worked so hard to cram her ass into that morning.

The garments needed barely a snip and Steffi's fat did the rest. The shirt and pants nearly exploded off of her, leaving her pale, jiggling form completely naked. Without the compression of the two pieces of clothing, Steffi's girth appeared to expand a few inches in every direction. 

 

"Good lord she's even fatter than I thought. And such utterly gooey, buttery flab, too. Oh my dear they're going to do such things to you."

 

With a snap, the assistants popped the red dress over Steffi's head, maneuvering her bulging arms under the straps and stretching the bright red fabric over her overfed curves. Even though Steffi had not lifted a finger in effort, she panted in exhausted. 

"Hmm" Katrina circled Steffi again, intensely. "Oh, mirrors please." 

 

Suddenly, full length mirrors from every angle facing where Steffi was standing descended from the ceiling. Steffi was faced with the full enormity of her form... she looked even more like a prostitute than she had thought this morning. Like she should be handcuffed to some rich man's bed. 

 

"Hmmm.... No. No it's not nearly slutty enough. Look at this gelatinous ass." Katrina violently smacked Steffi's ass and hips, sending jiggling waves through every inch of her fat body. "Do you see how this fat bitch jiggles? Do you see the size of these hips? Ladies, this hog is already nearly 70 percent pure lard. Now, from the doctor's chart, she may not be on her feet for long, so we must maximize the appeal while we can! I want to present this butterball as the barely mobile, cock-hungry, morbidly obese bimbo she obviously is. I want these men to approach this obese whore with their zippers open. Now what do we have?"

 

The assistants conferred for a moment before presenting Katrina with a black mesh catsuit that looked sized for a fatgirl half Steffi's size. Katrina nodded and watched as her team went to work. 

 

The results were stunning. The ladies had managed to cram all 482 pounds of jellied fat into a delicate mesh. On top, the outfit was tailored to press Steffi's breasts together to form bubbling cleavage, with pink nipples exposed to the air between the netting. Below, milky soft blubber bulged slightly out from between the triangles of black mesh, which managed to remain tight everywhere , most especially on Steffi's waterbed-like lower body. At Katrina's executive behest, the assistants cut off the sleeves to better showcase the utterly formless balloons of lard which constituted Steffi's arms. 

"Do you see how the fat of her upper arms is beginning to truly envelop her elbow? That will be exciting to watch as she grows."

 

The ladies endeavored to follow Katrina's instructions re: makeup and wig. Candy red lips beneath heavily mascara'd eyes, all beneath a golden yellow wig of long hair that matched Steffi's natural color. Steffi caught herself in the mirror. The sight both startled, scared, and excited her deeply. She had never wanted so badly to be penetrated. She fought the impulse, but felt her fingers explore her own mesh-encased fat curves without her permission. She closed her eyes and cooed to herself. She felt her belly gurgle with hunger.

 

"Isn't that sweet. What a popular girl she'll be." Then, to her lead assistant: "You know.... I think instead of black.... White. No. Pink. And start scouting similarly slutty outfits in larger sizes. This fat powderpuff is going to get absolutely huge before it's all over."

As quickly as they had appeared, the assistants stripped Steffi to her fat-filled birthday suit and disappeared. 

 

Katrina placed a hand on Steffi's spongy waist. "Goodbye, my dear. I know what a hopeless eater you obviously are, but please don't gain TOO much weight in the next two weeks. Alterations are a nightmare."

 

Melody whispered to Steffi as she waddled her back to the hallway "Well that doesn't quite seem fair of her to say considering everything else, does it?" She gave Steffi's flaccid arm fat a friendly squeeze.

 

chapter 16

 

As they approached the door, Steffi suddenly became lucid.... She was naked. She can't just.... Waddle around naked, can she?

 

"Oh honey, it's nothing these boys haven't seen or won't see again. Treat it like you're giving them a fun show! Don't worry, I won't make you waddle too fast."

Immediately upon entering the hall, Melody was pulled aside by a bearded man in a suit, who whispered something unintelligible to her. Suddenly, Steffi was pushed back into an enormous, cushioned self-driving electric wheelchair, which lurched ahead down the hall, past the reception area, and to a large set of tall, oak doors beside which was affixed a brass plate reading "LEGAL".

 

Steffi's eyes bulged, shocked at the swift turn of events. The doors opened and the chair carried the naked, confused Steffi through. Inside was a large, wooden table at which sat three men in dark suits. 

 

One man began to speak "Good afternoon. This will be brief. My colleagues and I are here to advise you that, per the signed agreement of earlier today," he held up the piece of paper Steffi had casually signed downstairs at the front desk.... "you are now contracted exclusively and wholly to 21st Century Blimps. Any assets and holdings, such as they are, have been deeded to the company. Your physical presence and maintenance of certain contractual expectations, such as they are determined at the pleasure of the company and it's board of directors, are retained in perpetuity." 

The second began "Also, as agreed upon in the document signed today, you hold harmless and indemnify 21st Century Blimps against any claim of bodily injury or adverse effect to your health or your physical or psychological well being. Furthermore, you have stipulated to a non-disclosure agreement which covers the terms of this contract and any other events, happenings, statements or information made or revealed from this point forward, violation of which will result in automatic judgment against you, leading to incarceration without the opportunity for appeal."

 

The third stood and picked up a white box, moving slowly over to where Steffi was parked, chest heaving with anxiety and confusion. He sat on the edge of the table next to Steffi and lifted the top of the white box. It was filled with glistening glazed donuts. Anxious Steffi dove at them like the hopeless addict she was. The man spoke: "I'm sure none of that made any sense to you. You barely graduated high school, am I right? Obviously, you had a greater interest in stuffing your face than hitting the books. But we don't value intellect here. Not among hogs, at least. No, on the contrary, we're thrilled at how utterly dumb you obviously are. If we were to open up this sweet head, I wouldn't be surprised if we found it was filled mostly with fat, too. But no, what all of that legalese meant is, without getting too specific, that you're ours now. You will do as we say, when we say it. Luckily for you, much of that will mean eating. You will never need money, you will be provided quarters, and you will not lack for anything you want, within reason. Again, I'm mostly referring to food. But isn't that what you've always wanted, deep down?"

 

Steffi had eyes full of tears... a few of which had mixed with her newly applied mascara and were leaving greasy tracks down her fat cheeks. A whine of grateful acquiescence was barely audible through a mouth packed desperately with donuts. 

"I thought so" replied the man. "Now, the other part of what was said should probably have been clear. If you speak of any of this to any person outside the company, in the unlikely event that you encounter one, you will go to jail. And we will see to it that you will go among male general population at an institution of unpleasant reputation. I don't think I need to explain to you what would happen to a young person of your.... Charms.... At a place like that."

 

Steffi chewed and swallowed feverishly. The men had terrified her, and when this girl was terrified, she ate. Another whole donut disappeared into her gaping mouth as she envisioned being dropped into a prison full of muscular, sex-starved inmates. She shuddered.

 

"Your parents have received a large settlement which comes with a similar gag order, though they have not been told enough for it to really be necessary. They are quite happy."

 

For a moment, it felt as if they wished Steffi to say something. The mention of her parents had her weeping profusely while helplessly filling her mouth with both hands now, air wheezing from piggish nostrils.

 

The first man abruptly stood. "And I'm afraid that's all we require from you at this time. Do keep the donuts. We don't touch the stuff." The men all smiled knowingly.

Suddenly, with a lurch, the chair wheeled into reverse with Steffi in mid gulp. Meeting her outside the room in the hallway was Melody, smile and sunny disposition unchanged. "Ooh I see somebody's got a treat!”

 

chapter 17

 

It was 11pm. Phillip Redmond sat in his expansive office. A fire roared on the far wall, but Philip remained at his desk, awash in the white glow of his 34 inch high definition computer monitor, nursing a half-full tumbler of scotch, poured neat. On the screen, Redmond flipped through chronologically ordered photos and videos in a folder marked "Yvette". Philip liked to do this from time to time. The earliest photos of the fatgurl were from 2012- barely 400 pounds but built like an perilously overstuffed brunette Jayne Mansfield from the start. The "natural fatgurl" was a coveted and rare acquisition for a certain subsection of the membership, and Redmond had a reputation for finding them. Yvette, until now, had been his crowning achievement.

 

Philip smiled as he flipped through the files. "Skinny" Yves- Yvette's given name prior to waddling her 400 gelatinous pounds into the intake facility- all wide eyes and adorable French accent (her English never improved much). Incredibly proportioned distribution of fat that never changed much, even with the hormones. She stood 5'8, chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes. A quarter Lebanese, her beauty was unmistakably French but her skin had the perpetual glow of just having gotten off of a beach. Like all natural candidates, Yvette arrived a wig and an outfit away from full fledged fatgurlhood. She was an impossibly symmetrical obese hourglass, all lazily swaying hips and buoyant breasts, with a protruding, lazily hanging belly announcing her arrival. 

 

She was "built to be big" (to a point), meaning she arrived in good health and as able to waddle a reasonable distance. This was a strike against her for the sickminded Philip, but it had its advantages. His boss at the time said that she reminded him of a 60's stewardess (albeit one who couldn't fit down the center aisle.) Not the cleverest, but a confident and eager flirt with a need to please. 

 

Philip watched the video of her initial medical examination, weighing, squeezing and prodding the smiling but quietly nervous porker- quite a job those doctors had- and the missing ten minutes of footage in the room appeared more suspicious upon review. The physicians' usual mocking banter took on an additionally amusing dimension considering Yvette obviously understood none of it, poor lamb. Like most "natural fatgurls" (not that there were many), for whatever reason, Yvette's sugaraddled mind didn't quite understand the nature of what was happening to her until it was spelt out in the legal meeting. And, also like most natural fatgurls, her response was to cry and anxiously binge on thousands of calories of junk food- though curiously not offer a peep of verbal protest or resistance. 

 

Philip kept flipping, sipping his smoky brown scotch. Yvette's first party - held in Buenos Aires- came just days after intake. She barely made the weight requirement, and any "fatgurl" would normally not be cleared before months of hormone treatments had been applied. But anybody who laid eyes on her presumed that she had been receiving shots and beauty treatments for months. There was not a trace of masculine edge anywhere on her obese French body. A stylish updo wig was fetched, and Yvette was cinched into a skin-tight teal colored bandage dress that molded to her jiggling curves. They nonetheless managed to pile about 10 pounds of new fat on her in less than a week, just to give the dress that extra ready-to-pop look, before a very smitten Darius was tasked with delivering her to the company plane for the flight to Argentina. 

 

The subfolders of ensuing quarterly events around the world- and private events in between-showed a girl immediately addicted to attention. Beaming, flirting, smiling and showing off the assets she now knew made her valuable as if she had been born to this life. Philip remembered how desperate for approval and praise she became- and how the feeders quickly figured out that by withholding their adoration even momentarily, they could get her to do anything- which usually meant eat. As Philip continued to scroll through the months, he smirked and recalled quickly and severely Yvette had ballooned. He came across one photo of a much larger Yvette, happy as can be, suggestively arching her back, pressing her increasingly massive rump into the crotch of one feeder while another forced what looked like the last slice of an enormous, rich looking cheesecake deep down her throat - the dress Katrina had designed for the event had been intentionally designed to let the bottom of her drooping, wobbling belly hang out, so it could smack against her thighs. The caption read "Yvette; August 2013; 580 pounds". Her euphoric expression displayed the dizzying high she got from the wave of adoring approval she received whenever she made a pig of herself- and even more so when her gain from the last gathering was revealed- always to much horny applause and celebration. It was a familiar cycle of addition- to food, attention, approval- that deepened from month to month. 

One thing that made Yvette so unique was her face. She was a slightly puffier dead ringer for Brigitte Bardot. Her delicate, elegant features made her the center of attention from the moment of her debut- and even as she ballooned over the coming two years, her face barely swelled up at all, retaining the conventional, feminine supermodel beauty that, in part, made her so uniquely popular. Philip would never have mentioned this in mixed company, but he wasn't wild about Yvette's slim face. The sadist in him loved nothing more than a beautiful face drowning in fat. Sweet, pretty features puffed or obscured by encroaching face fat that jiggles and blushes as the hog eats. He also was disappointed that Yvette did not balloon into more of a pear. Her ass was huge, but she became known as a belly girl as she gained, which the belly-lovers in the club adored. 

 

The final public event subfolder was titled "Montreal; January 2015". Philip smiled and clicked. The first photo was a close-up on Yvette's still semi-slim face. Beautifully made up, wide brown eyes framed with mascara and wide, party-girl mouth adorned with crimson. Her natural hair had grown out by now and was piled sumptuously on top of her head. The untrained eye wouldn't notice, but there was a terror and exhaustion in her dewy eyes, and her mouth hung slightly slack. 

 

The following picture was a wide framed shot of Yvette being weighed. Gone was the playful, euphoric expressions of past events. Her eyes were wet with anxious tears as she stared at the large monitor overhead. She was enormous. Standing in three-quarter profile, the degree to which she's widened was on display. Her belly swelled out in front of her and hung well past her knees. Breasts had filled up hugely with adipose and would have hung far to either side of her massive, stretchmark-covered belly if they had not been hoisted up by the spangled push up bra constructed by Katrina for Yvette's farewell party (her only article of clothing). Her curving hips and broad ass had maintained their shape as they'd filled up with lard and would have looked enormous if not for the gargantuan wobbling belly that hung nearly to the floor. Her bloated thighs had grown rolls all the way to her ankles, which themselves threatened to swallow up her loaf-like feet. Yvette's arms, like her face, had never swelled to the extent that Philip would have liked, but they were nonetheless devoid of any filling but fat as they perched out to either side to maintain balance. The formerly exhibitionist showhog was surrounded by laughing, cheering feeders, a marked difference to the strained terror on her face. They were raising glasses to the digital display behind her (the hogs were never aloud to read the new weight- they had to hear it read.) The display showed the same number embedded in the filename- "Yvette; January 2015; 703 pounds". 

The rest of the photos from the event included a barely conscious Yvette seated on a reinforced couch, belly drooping between her legs and pooling on the floor, being presented with a cake whose buttercream frosting (the cake was mostly butter too, Philip remembered) read "Farewell Yvette" with an adorable winking pink cartoon pig. Several more of her passively but greedily having thick slices of the cake shoved into her mouth by a line of feeders. In each photo, she was surrounded by jubilant feeders who pawed at and squeezed handfuls of the blubber they'd helped to (or helped pay to) pile onto her over the years. The next to last photo was of Yvette, in a private room later in the evening, in profile on all fours- her belly would have lifted her off the ground if it weren't so soft- having a thick orange tube inserted into her mouth. Behind her, a 6'4 feeder with rippling muscles and an erect cock the size of a tall can of beer approached with a devilish grin. The final photo was another close up of Yvette's face, mascara running down her cheeks, ballooned with the substance being pumped into her through the orange tube, which her lips wrapped around as desperately as if it had been oxygen.

 

chapter 18

 

"Strolling down memory lane?" a voice from the doorway chimed. 

"Ah, Richard- I was wondering when you were going to get here. Yes, do you remember that night in Montreal? We thought it would be pleasant for her to finally hear some of the chatter about her in her mother tongue."

 

"Yvette was quite a good little hog" Richard mused, "and such a spritely flirt in that first year while she could still waddle more than a few feet at a time. Tom Rucker and I once had her to ourselves in an off-floor suite at the bash in Cairo. Tom hand fed her a pound and a half of butter while I was balls deep in her. The sow got off on fat taunting." 

"The good ones always do..." Philip replied, barely listening. 

 

"Too bad she got too big for the circuit. I suppose it's better not to know where she is now" Richard mused.

 

"Well you happen to be in the office of a Department head- fancy a peek behind the curtain, Richard?"

 

"Lay on, Macduff. By all means."

 

Philip opened a series of password protected folders until he came to one marked "CURRENT", then scrolled down to the bottom of a group of alphabetized subfolders until he reached "YVETTE". 

 

As he clicked and scrolled, Philip lectured his friend. "First, she didn't get 'too big for the circuit'. She was in bad shape but you know as well as anyone we keep hogs on the floor well past 700 pounds, though it could be argued that we shouldn't..."

 

"So why in god's na-" 

 

Philip interrupted- "We received an offer. Here. This is from last week" he said with a knowing smirk as the file opened. Richard's eyes widened.

 

Philip's monitor bloomed into a video file that enlarged to fill the massive screen. Before him he saw Yvette, naked but properly made up to the nines, propped up with dozens of pillows on an enormous circular bed. She was massive. Clearly long past immobile, oiled up from the neck down and glistening. A faint, steady beep could be heard in the background. A clear, thin tube snaked down from the ceiling and was affixed just under her nose- oxygen. Useless flipper arms hung limply at a 35 degree angle as her chest,

to which plastic EKG electrodes were adhered, rose and fell laboriously. Yvette's still pretty eyes no longer sparkled. She was defeated. The sound of a door creaking open came from off camera- the boisterous sounds of a group of men speaking what sounded like Farsi grew louder. Yvette's eyes widened as a thick tube descended from the ceiling. Philip stopped the video. 

 

"My God." Richard exclaimed. 

 

"Prince Sandor came to an agreement with us two weeks before Montreal. The amount would make you blush. This was taken on his yacht just a few days ago. I'm in breach of all sorts of shit showing this to you, but we're old pals."

 

"She's a whale, Philip. What have they been doing with that fat bitch? She's got to be, what, 950 pounds?"

 

"982 pounds. Hard to believe, I know. But total immobility coupled with industrial feeding techniques- you know how Sandor's type can be. Artless but effective." 

 

"She won't make it to 26, poor thing. "

 

"No, but did you care about that when you were filling her with butter and cock with Tom Rucker"? 

 

Richard let out a hearty laugh. 

"The question is how far over a thousand they push her. Once all is said and done we may take her back for re-sale. Our industrial wing has gotten very good at- Oh, don't be so squeamish, Richard. I shouldn't have told you anything" Philip teased.

 

"Well, delightful Yvette aside", Richard languidly blew a kiss at the frozen image of the terrified, elephantine fatgurl, "I believe I came here on other business."

 

Philip smiled broadly "Ah! Little Steffi. Yes, of course..." He picked up a folder of documents and photos and confidently handed them to his friend. "I think our newest anxious little eater is going to be a big star."

 

As Richard devoured the file, Philip picked up a remote and turned on a massive television in the near corner. A high definition live feed of Steffi in her lushly appointed quarters filled the screen. It was a large, modern apartment, tastefully lit, tailored to the difficulties of maneuvering a supersized body. The double-wide king bed was low slung and the chairs plush, also double wide, and reinforced. Refrigerators and buffet warming pans hugged the wall and dominated flat surfaces. Crystal dishes of candy and confections interpolated throughout. 

 

"Jesus Christ, Phil." Richard shook his head.

 

Steffi was splayed out on the bed with a worried pout. The blonde blimp was clad in pink sheer booty shorts and a crop top that looked more like a sports bra- Katrina's idea of a prank on Philip, who she knew would be monitoring. Steffi's wide hips and blubbery, cellulite-filled ass filled up more of the enormous bed than the smiling Redmond had anticipated. The flexible fatgurl had her huge, milky thighs spread wide. Just beyond her fat belly which hung down and pooled in front of her, Steffi had platters of the worst junk food the room had to offer. The glazed donut cheeseburger stacks she had been introduced to that afternoon- she had four of them. Another plate piled high with fudge, and two more with assorted fried cheeses and greasy finger food. Steffi stared at the parade of calories in front of her, chin wobbling, as she breathed heavily in anxious distress. 

 

"Crying, eh? Well, it's the first night- and she got her girly shots, so-" Richard began. Philip smiled and interjected- "Just watch."

Steffi had indeed started to cry. As tears begin to stream down her soft round cheeks, Steffi's sodium-puffed hands impulsively grabbed the largest, greasiest looking doughnut burger and she began taking desperate, whimpering, wide-mouthed bites, cramming herself full. 

Both men laughed appreciatively as the young hog's jellied arm blubber jiggled and flopped as she frantically filled herself, sobbing. 

 

Philip drank deeply of his scotch. He laughed and shouted at the screen: "Slow down, Steffi, you don't want to end up like Yvette!"

 

Richard raised his eyebrows and smirked. He had an idea of exactly how she'd end up.

 

chapter 19

 

Steffi was panicked and confused, but characteristically unable to resist the embarrassingly lavish spread of sweets and junk food- and not just any junk food, but almost a parody of her own piggish, seemingly heart-attack seeking taste of junk food, which surrounded her in her room suite in a way clearly deliberately and intelligently designed. 

 

On every flat surface stood at least one huge double-handed pitcher filled with a thick, cold milkshake- the lip of which was specially designed in such a way that it was obviously intended to be gulped from directly. There was no spout for pouring and no smaller glasses adjacent. Immaculate pyramids of glistening fudge and crystal bowls that appeared to be simply filled purely with brightly colored buttercream frosting, each with a spoon coyly sticking out of the center, straight up, demonstrating its fatty thickness. There were platters of fresh cookies everywhere that filled the air with mouthwatering scent... even in the bathroom. Since she had with her no possessions, every drawer and cabinet she opened proved to be lined with her favorite brands of candy bars, laid out like gold bricks in perfect symmetry. 

 

More graceful touches, like the two elaborate mock-floral bouquets made entirely of thick fatty bacon, which flanked the six-by-eight food bedroom mirror on mid-rise tables, added an almost perversely joking hint of elegance. Fresh pastries in warming treys, filled with cream or chocolate always, arrangements of cheeseburgers under steamed glass, gooey fried cheese platters, some variations wrapped in bacon or encrusted with sugar, or both. There was nowhere Steffi could look where her eyes did not meet the gaze of hazardous treats meant to tantalize and tempt her. 

Moreover, there was almost no place in the suite she could stand where food was not within a blubbery arm's short reach. She stuffed herself that night to the point where her tears became the result of being filled painfully to the brink of her capacity rather than because of her dawning, if incomplete, realization that her life would never be the same. 

Unaware that Philip and Richard watched via close circuit television, rock hard and amused, Steffi's hopelessly soft hips spread out on her bed as she tilted her third pitcher of buttery-thick milkshake back past her plump lips, gulping desperately in the way of all irredeemable addicts: in search of freeing oblivion. 

 

Head swimming in pain, anxiety, and a hunger that outpaced her capacity, clutching the soft fat overlaying her dangerously overfilled belly, Steffi laid back and fell into a deep, worried sleep.

 

chapter 20

 

The following morning- she presumed it was morning as the suite had no windows or natural light source, though the dim evening lighting of the night before was replaced by a bright simulacrum of morning- Steffi groggily awoke with a gnawing hunger that usually did not follow her more intense bouts of anxious self-stuffing. Presuming she'd awake to a mess, Steffi was shocked to find not only an immaculately clean suite, but that all the food from the night prior- both eaten and uneaten - had been whisked away and replaced with fresh hot (or cold) supplies, including some new items of a breakfast variety, though everything still revolved around a bent toward sugar, animal fat, carbohydrates, and butter. 

 

Cleaning had always been the bain of Steffi's existence. A night of recklessly cramming herself full with abandon was followed by a night of picking up after herself. That was the way of the world, she thought- the price she paid for her addiction. Evidently not so here. 

 

Unsure of how to proceed, Steffi slowly shifted her hips toward the edge of the large, whiter-than-white bed (how had they changed her bedding? She was sure she'd spilled something) and found reaching a standing position to be remarkably easy. The bed was the perfect height off the ground, the edge of the mattress the perfect state of firmness. It was as if it had been designed for her to the millimeter. To the pound. 

Steffi was in a state of wonderment... not thinking of the events of the day prior. Not thinking of what her family or acquaintances might or might not be imagining. This was a state of grace. A night of fevered gluttony followed by no penance of mess. Waking surrounded by her every aromatic weakness, knowing her needs would be attended to. 

 

It was a sort of blissful trance she found herself in*. 

 

(If you were fortunate enough to find yourself a close friend of one Phillip Redmond, he'd tell you that all fatgurls have a very light mixture of oxygen and nitrous oxide piped into their rooms to create a nice euphoric kick to the mornings and keep the occupants happy. 21st Century Blimps employs best practices and knows that the little things matter.)

 

Steffi yawned sweetly and clutched her empty belly as she aimlessly waddled toward the mirror... curious to inspect her reflection and drawn toward the smell of the bacon bouquets. She plucked a bacon rose and quickly gobbled it down. 

Steffi waddled up to her reflection. Her skin somehow looked softer. Paler? The pink booty shorts cut into the gelatinous roundness of her hips, and the crop top cupped her breasts in a way that actually looked flattering. Steffi gave herself a bright smile and a fatgirl's version of a twirl as she ran her greasy fingers over her soft ass and belly. She looked cute. She- 

 

At that moment the mirror she was standing in front of turned momentarily opaque, with a loud corresponding beep. Steffi yelped and startled, clutching her chest with shaking, puffy hands. The mirror turned reflective again, but with a red backlit LCD display. A calm, anodyne female voice read out the displayed message: WEIGHT: FOUR HUNDRED EIGHTY SIX. POINT ONE. POUNDS. BODY MASS INDEX: SEVENTY EIGHT. POINT FOUR.

 

Steffi's state of grace was shattered. She immediately burst into tears and impulsively jiggled her way over to a trey of warm glazed donuts to muffle her sobs. 

 

Steffi's (or Stephen's) last doctor's appointment (yesterday excluded) had ended with the reveal of a weight of 445 pounds. Steffi had denied to herself the idea that she could ever crest much beyond 450. She simply wasn't built for it. But yesterday's reveal of a weight of 482 hadn't fully sunk in. It was a busy day after all. So many men. So much talking. To have her mirror, of all things, tell her not only that she was careening toward 500 pounds but that she'd gained 4 pounds of pure fat in a day sent her over the emotional edge. Donuts, bacon, sausages, sweet cream, heaping spoonfuls of pure buttercream, Steffi stuffed it all down her fat-swaddled throat as if she were putting out a fire. She wheezed between sobs as her heart raced and her belly filled. Jellified arms swung and slapped thickly against her sides as she groped for the next fried or cream filled treat.

 

chapter 21

After the carnage, Steffi sat in a low slung easy chair, once again clutching her newly filled, bloated belly, breathing heavily and absentmindedly munching on clusters of salted cookie dough neatly and strategically placed exactly at hand level. Her storm of anxiety had passed. There was no way that scale could be right. It's impossible for a person to gain weight that quickly. She laughed at her panic of a few moments ago and brushed the crumbs from the tops of her thick, milky thighs. A shower would make her feel better.

 

Steffi rose with a grunting effort and waddled her way to the bathroom, picking up sweet treats from various treys and dishes along the way, humming to herself and breathing deeply. That had been a scary moment. She should know better than to trust a silly scale she's never even seen before. 

 

She peeled the sheer pink bootyshorts from off her hips with a wince, whimpering as she rubbed the red marks where they'd cut into the fat of her ass. She popped a caramel into her mouth to reward herself for the effort. The top was more of a struggle. The futile fat-girl move of rocking her hips back and forth in order to get a too-tight top over her head left Steffi breathless.... Once naked, she panted and stared at her quivering body in the bathroom mirror. Messy blonde hair framed the same pretty round face, somehow prettier and more puffy, with more vacant than usual eyes. Breasts rose and fell with her heavy breaths, flanked by the utterly weak, hammy, fat-filled arms that Redmond had been drawn to like a shark to blood. As her eyes traced downward, her anxiety clicked back on. Steffi's body widened the further down she peered. Her belly drooped like melting cheese in a low arc, covering the tiny, buried organ she hadn't even thought about seemingly in days. Hips flared alarmingly to fill the bathroom mirror. Steffi gulped as she nervously brushed and lightly slapped the sides with her palms. Suddenly her hunger returned, banishing her anxiety. She grabbed a handful of nearby fudge, greedily filled her mouth, and stepped into the largest and most opulent shower she'd ever seen.

 

The spacious, hot, soapy shower was a delight unlike any prior shower in the young blimp's life had been. Perfectly positioned jets of perfectly warmed water from all sides pounded and saturated her pale, slippery skin, even from a comfortable seated position- a sturdy, built-in bench had been able to accommodate her girth easily. Steffi lathered and melted into the easy luxury of the lynchpin of her beauty ritual, unburdened of the strain and annoyance of standing or exhaustively turning and contorting to evenly wet and lather her immense body and deepening folds. Bliss returned to her face as she closed her eyes and purred happily. She was beginning, at least as she thought it, to put the pieces together. This arrangement was about heightening of the pleasures she lived for. Mostly food, but beauty, being admired, and pursuing as lazy a lifestyle as could be allowed. These men wanted to make all of the above easier and more abundant, while removing every pesky counterpoise of effort or maintenance. She didn't know how she got so randomly lucky, and she certainly didn't know what they got out of the arrangement. Was she really just that cute? She giggled to herself and opened her eyes. 

 

In an instant, a shock of anxiety returned to her chest. It was embarrassing. She realized that, in the shower, she was, for the first time since she entered the suite, out of grasping reach of food. It wasn't even about hunger. She knew she had but to exit the shower, but the obstacle of that minor effort standing between her and a mouthful of comfort was enough to make her hands tremor slightly. It was time to get out of the shower. 

 

Steffi turned off the water and jets and forced herself back to her feet with a whimper. Sitting had been so nice. As she stepped out of the shower, wet fat slapping together with each footfall, she was greeted by a stack of warm, fluffy, impossibly white towels and a bowl of white cream next to which a printed note read "NOT FOR EATING!" with a winking smiley face. Lotion. French vanilla scented. Steffi slathered it everywhere she could reach as her soft skin soaked up the viscous moisture. The aroma made her hope there was a fresh vanilla milkshake waiting for her on the other side of the door. 

Her skin pampering ritual was one of Steffi's actual favorite things to do in life that didn't involve food, and she was glad that particular bit of effort hadn't been engineered away by Mr. Redmond. Nonetheless exhausted from the all-over lotioning, Steffi stepped out into the living room to find two things: 

 

An extra large milkshake in the aforementioned gulpable pitcher with three bright red cherries merrily placed on top, just as she'd secretly pined for. 

An outfit laid out on the bed. A pair of candy striped pink and white stretchy cotton boyshort cut.... Underwear? Or shorts? Steffi couldn't tell. Arcing across the back in the playfully cartoonish puffed up lettering she remembered from Phillip's business card, "CLUB BUTTERFAT". And a worryingly small looking white shirt of the same stretchy, comfortable looking cotton material... it was both small and obviously short. There's no way it would cover her belly. She bit her lip and worried who she might need to meet wearing this. 

 

Steffi noticed the shirt was actually laid down on its front. She turned it over to reveal a word printed, in large, pink, puffed lettering:

 

"100% LARD"

 

and then, below, in more smaller, streamlined, masculine, italicized lettering: 

 

"Property of Club Butterfat"

 

Adjacent was a short handwritten note:

 

"Hope you've been eating, blubber girl. I'll see you soon."

-P

 

Steffi's eyes welled up slightly. She gulped her shake.

 

chapter 22

 

3.5 Weeks Later:

 

Philip Redmond drummed his fingers on the hard oak of his desk as he read emails, reviewing invoices and approving logistics. The days leading up to the monthly convening of Club Butterfat were always incredibly stressful, as the membership had come to expect increasingly high standards of lavishness and polish to the affairs. They had become something of an amalgam of a plush society gala crossed with the rowdyness and carnality of the loudest and most debauched spring break party- which is actually putting it lightly. All with the added degree of difficulty of the necessary discretion everything hinged on. 

 

Philip had long lobbied the Board to come together and agree on a permanent, stable location that could fortified and secured, rather than the floating model of a new far-flung city each month, which was both stressfully expensive and logistically challenging. The international makeup of the membership had led to the floating model, so each region felt they had a turn at hosting. The Board, especially the founding members, also felt the impermanent approach allowed them to cover their tracks, importing thousands of pounds of sexualized fat one week, and leaving without a trace thereafter, with no remnant behind. 

 

The last event had taken place in Mexico City, and had gotten out of control, even by Philip's standards. The on-site medical staff, always well-prepared, had been overwhelmed. Several enormously obese hogs in the mid-to-high 700 pound range, who, in retrospect, should probably have been "retired" from the circuit at least a few months prior, had met with dramatic complications at the hands of an especially zealous and unmercifully forceful membership. Problematically, they each happened late into the night when the men of membership were lost to drink and sexual mania, a throbbing crowd of pure libido and scant humanity. The dawning of each dramatic event's unfolding caused the ardent feeders to jubilantly swarm the poor, helpless hogs. Many of them lived to witness just such an occurrence, and scrambled to mercilessly stuff and fuck the terrified pile of fat in distress. Doctor Hamilton, Jim, and their staff never got close in any case. 

 

Ah well. It was all part of the business- priced in, in fact. The real drawback was the traumatization of the other, newer, smaller hogs witnessing the unvarnished truth of the likely conclusion to such a lifestyle. The psy-ops division's best practices showed that it was actually best to casually tease about such an outcome- which had the paradoxical effect of making it seem like an exaggeration; an unlikely, far-off unfeasibility in the light of such a delightful, pleasure-filled style of living. Witnessing such brutal dispatch usually set their psychological programming back a bit, which was a pain. 

 

However, the frenzied, feral atmosphere of the Mexico City party had created unprecedented excitement for the upcoming gathering in Geneva, with an excess of 85% total global membership participation- a degree usually only reserved for major company anniversaries and milestones. Philip had needed to move the event from the more convenient city center location to a massive private chateau on Lac de Genève. 

Membership RSVP's naturally needed to include a manifest of hogs, and that too appeared to be approaching record numbers, especially in the higher weight classes. Philip had boosted the medical staff presence and budget in anticipation of what looked to be a perfect storm of redlining blubber. A memo had been sent to regional directors to discourage what appeared to be a deliberate attempt to recreate on a larger scale the events of the previous month.

 

Still, whatever would be, would be, and there were advantages to such robust enthusiasm, frothingly morbid and evil though it may have seemed. The organization's budget had never been so healthy, which may in turn help Philip's cause to implement a secure permanent compound for Club Butterfat, and perhaps even provide complimentary private travel to global membership in good standing as an incentive. 

Philip noted with great grinning satisfaction the categorical breakdown of the hog manifest for next weekend. The "Fatgurl" category, which had been gaining prominence ever since Philip emerged as a tastemaker, was dominant, accounting for over 60% of total hogs. The company's strategic acquisition of a pharmaceutical conglomerate had helped. The legendary saga of Yvette's tenure as party princess-turned-helpless, lard crippled sow sent the membership scouring their regions for their own soft blubbery beauty queens. Philip's legacy of influence was taking root, and for that he was proud.

 

chapter 23

 

In the tonnage of his work, he had barely had time to think about the tonnage of jelly-soft girlfat growing in his crosstown facility, whose mind was being reprogrammed into a scramble of anxiety, pleasure, terror, hunger, emotional neediness, blissful satisfaction and carnal desperation. He had left detailed instructions for the young man, Patrick Stackhouse, 29, a promising new member, he had placed in charge of preparing young Steffi for her first outing these last several weeks. 

 

Oftentimes a new hog, especially a pedigreed fatgurl, would require months of expensive, painstaking preparation. But Philip knew Steffi was so far along on her own- the coveted "natural fatgurl"- that he bet she would be ready- more than ready- for the coming weekend in Switzerland. Philip's receptionist buzzed- 

 

"Mr. Stackhouse to see you, sir."

 

"Send him in."

 

Patrick, 5'11, olive-skinned and broad shouldered, entered in a tailored blue suit and an assertive gait that conveyed the seriousness with which he took the tasks assigned to him by his mentor and idol. Philip had met the dark-haired Patrick quite accidentally, walking in on him unwittingly in a Philadelphia bathhouse being orally serviced by a soft, young, 350 pound fatty on his knees as Patrick muttered devastatingly vicious fat-degradation at him. Philip had left the room so that the contrasting couple could finish, and recruited Patrick as soon as he emerged. It had been the easiest recruit of Philip's experience, with almost no explanation necessary of a proposal that usually required quite a bit. There was an implicit simpatico between the two men, and Patrick's ivy league background and independent wealth allowed him to leap directly to fully vested membership- this in contrast to Darius, who, despite being a year older, still hoped to be minted as a member after years of duespaying at the junior level. Darius resented Patrick. 

 

"Ah, Patrick my boy. Update me. Is Blubberella ready for the ball? I imagine the poor thing has been eating her feelings something terrible."

 

Patrick smirked, cunningly. 

 

"Yes, sir. Allow me to recap the execution of your instructions. Ms. Steffi has been kept in narcotic-controlled, sealed isolation the past 24 days with comprehensive monitoring of calorie intake, weight gain, and behavior. We've been able to provide all services without detection. She moves slowly and is easy to knock out. She's very predictable, sir."

 

"As expected. And I believe I ordered the food outlay at near maximum levels with rapid turnover. What percentile of calorie consumption is she reaching relative to that outlay?"

"90th percentile, sir. Over 13,000 calories a day at minimum, and, as you ordered, skewed toward refined sugar, butter, and processed carbohydrates."

 

"Excellent. Any dropoff as the enthusiasm as time has wore on?" 

 

"No sir. She's stuffing herself more than ever. I've never seen anything like it."

 

"I have. But I'm glad you're enjoying what you're seeing. You'll have to tell me about your own contribution to Geneva and how that's going. But please continue."

 

"Yes sir. As ordered, she's received regular appetite stimulants and light atmospheric euphorics, as well as her hormone cocktail and mild opiates in the milkshakes to promote wellbeing. We've been playing subliminal messaging while she sleeps- very abusive, aggressive stuff I recorded myself, contrapoised with ASMR for the pleasure centers. After the first week we began playing the 'obesity porn' channel on the monitors- the usual gooey food and comforting gentle talk. And then about a week later began interpolating club footage, including some hardcore snippets of Yvette in her early days. Poor fat thing watches, mesmerized, as these fatgirls get fucked. There's a long supercut of fatgurls reaching penetrative orgasm. She plays with herself when we play it. Or tries to. All in all, sir, she appears to be adhering perfectly to the reward structure we're building for her. The moments of hesitancy or pushback are pathetically weak and at this point almost non-existent. Your regular gifts of outfits and baubles have increasingly been met with squeals of glee. I've taken the liberty of including encouraging notes on your behalf."

 

Philip smiled. "Well done. And I know we can't know this without a direct evaluation, but in your opinion how are the hormones manifesting?"

 

"I haven't noticed much of a change, sir. To be honest, it usually takes years to get even a natural fatgurl to the state she arrived to us in. I suppose she's softened, if that's even possible. Her face is possibly more demure, her blonde hair shinier... and her arms look like velvet bags overstuffed with butter."

 

"You have a way with words."

 

"Thank you, sir."

 

"Vitals stable?"

 

"Stable enough. No signs of redlining yet. Her youth theoretically makes your aggressive approach feasible, though I don't think she should invest in any long-term bonds, if you catch my drift."

 

"Goodness. Yours is truly a polished brand of fucked-up, Patrick. But I have a feeling we'll all make a bundle shorting the market on young Steffi.... You still haven't told me what my ballooning young debutante is weighing in at."

 

"Yes, sir. Per your strict instructions we're keeping that information confidential. Steffi herself stopped receiving updates after the first day. I believe she thinks she's still around 480 pounds. We'll all find out together this weekend."

 

"Good man. I thought I had you. You'll make a fine Board member one day."

 

"Sir, you're too generous."

 

"But you do see progress, even if the evidence is confidential."

 

"Uh.... Yes, sir."

 

"Good progress?"

 

Patrick smiled. Philip grinned.

 

"Good. We all know the minimums but I've never debuted a fatgirl under 500 pounds. 

Don't fucking embarrass me."

 

"I would never, sir."

 

They both shared a laugh.

 

"I'm glad you're learning on Steffi. I look forward to your being able to actually meet her. Your restraint and discretion in not to be overlooked- not many members- even seasoned ones- could exercise the self-control you have. Darius would be well advised to learn from your example."

 

"You're still upset at the time you found him throat-fucking Yvette in the van before delivering her to her farewell party?"

 

"I'm a generous man, but I don't like my property touched without my permission. He could have simply waited a few more hours. But Darius is a good man and will make a fine member one day."

 

"If you say so, sir. " Patrick's disdain was not well disguised. But being the intelligent sociopath that he was, he always chose his words carefully, only letting the true ferocity of his personality out when it was safe to do so.

 

"Sir, I understand what a.... tempting ball of lard Ms. Steffi is, but can you tell me why you've extended such care and resources on her especially? After all, she's still just a fatgirl."

 

"Because she's barely 19, hugely obese for her age, utterly weak and almost comically defenseless. She is going to drive these feeders into a dangerous frenzy with that soft shape. All hogs are weak, but some are survivors. Yvette needed to be broken. Steffi is a perfect storm of innocence, maliability, greed, insecurity, and the bad luck of being found by me. You couldn't invent a gainer more calibrated to inflame the destructive impulses of our membership. She won't last long, especially if my presumptions are correct about her propensity to gain. This star will burn bright but briefly."

Patrick's eyes burned with malevolent ravenousness at the vision painted by his visionary mentor.

 

"I look forward to seeing your strategy play out, sir."

 

......

 

Back in her room, not having seen a living soul for close to a month and feeling the last shreds of her identity slip away, Steffi lay spread out on her fluffy, comfortable bed, heavy-lidded, languidly cramming butter-filled brownies into her mouth from an adjacent trey, staring at the large monitor in front of her, which featured a video clip, dated 2008, of a 26 year old, 600 pound fatgurl screaming in pleasure as her fat clapped together wildly with the violently thrusting feeder behind her, until her mouth was muffled by a tube. Steffi wondered where that lucky, pretty girl was now? Somewhere happy, she bet. 

Steffi's non-stuffing hand helplessly pawed at her sex, frustrated by the sea of pale, wobbling bellyfat that cascaded between her thighs. Steffi feebly groaned in annoyance.

She was probably just bloated, she thought, as her eyes glazed over and she fell into a sugary sleep in a fog of recorded moans.

 

chapter 24

 

It was 9:30 on Wednesday morning before the weekend in Geneva. Steffi was in her second consecutive 5 hour shift of sleep, having been awoken at 4AM, seemingly deliberately by the lighting system, to find the room filled with the tantalizing scent of fresh sugared bacon. Having stuffed herself full for roughly an hour, she fell back into a sleep full of strange dreams, filled with dark, unfamiliar desires, obscene images, and Philip's rough voice. She was not aware that this was, of course, a metabolism-disrupting fattening technique pioneered by Mr. Redmond himself. 

Steffi snorted and snored in a semi-seated position, with pillows propping her up- she had fallen asleep eating bacon and staring at her monitor. A more safety-concerned supervisor would have considered a CPAP device, but Patrick, more heartless than most, enjoyed the Russian roulette of sleep apnea. Fat saturated arms hanging helplessly to her sides as her white lace lingerie set, one of many gifts she'd received, dug into the gelatinous cellulite of her expanding hips. Her head tilted slightly forward, primary chin disappearing into the thick secondary chin of her face fat. She was a tranquil picture of cherubic obesity.

 

Melody hovered over Steffi's low bed, rapping softly on the headboard.

"...wake up, angel!" she cooed, softly. "I've missed you, sugar! And.... My GOODness, you are looking positively plush! The boys will be so happy. Don't be afraid to give a big pretty smile when you see them- I know it can be intimidating for a first time fatgirl..."

Steffi was wiping the sleep from her eyes as Melody prattled on, as if she weren't the first actual person she'd seen in nearly four weeks. Had Steffi imagined that whole thing? Had it only been one night? She wasn't sure of anything anymore. 

 

"...now I suspect you'll want to EAT, honey, so eat eat eat!" Melody playfully wobbled Steffi's exposed belly and smacked her thigh. "I'm here to get you all clean and pretty and take you to Katrina for your final fitting before the party!"

 

Melody was right. Steffi did want to eat. Her daily eating habits had locked in to a level that had previously been relegated only to her most gluttonous, self-pitying, self-indulgent moments. She now felt a primal need for grease, sugar, pastry and fat as if she were being denied oxygen. But as she pawed at the treats freshly stocked by her bedside, she asked, quizzically... "Party?"

 

"Why yes, you silly goose!" Melody sung. "Club Butterfat! Mr. Redmond expects you to be the belle of the ball, and with that figure you're sure to impress. Just... be careful. The parties have been so rowdy recently. Those boys love their fun! But they work hard so they deserve it."

 

"Like.... The videos?" Steffi asked trepidatiously between swallows. 

 

"Oh." Melody smirked, understanding completely. "Yes, dear. Like the videos."

Steffi smiled nervously. 

 

"Well c'mon cutie let's get you all ready! I'm gonna get you all blowdried and pretty! You keep eating sweetheart and I'll get your shower ready."

Melody spoiled Steffi in a style she was not used to. Aside from waddling to the shower, she didn't do a thing by herself. The fit, shapely, sprightly Melody stripped, donning a shower cap and maintaining cheery professionalism, and joined Steffi in the shower to give extra special care to scrubbing between her fat rolls and hard to reach places, as well as washing her hair, giving the fat girl a scalp massage that felt like heaven. The simple reality of tender human touch after all these weeks was like a warm blanket. Afterward, Melody gabbed and gossiped while giving Steffi a thorough lotioning, a professional mani-pedi, blowing out her now slightly longer blonde hair, and applying tasteful makeup, remarking sincerely how little she needed owing to her astonishing natural prettiness and the smallness of her pores. 

Melody helped Steffi stuff herself into one of "Philip's" many casual outfit presents. A pair of white, 5XL yoga shorts (who those are manufactured for is anybody's guess) and a spangly white crop top with the words "PIGGY PRINCESS" in fun loopy letters. Steffi looked at herself in the mirror that had made her cry weeks ago before falling silent. She looked..... REALLY pretty. Had the shape of her face changed, slightly? Then assessing the rest of her... her hanging belly obscuring her crotch... her alarmingly flaring hips still jiggling from her last steps... the beginnings of new creases forming in her fat arms and dimpled thighs... a voice inside her screamed in panic "Oh my god I'm HUGE." ... but just as soon as the voice registered, Melody cheerfully offered a bacon-grease infused glazed donut, which Steffi gratefully accepted and consumed, forgetting her anxiety. 

Steffi was unsure of how to exit the room. There were no windows and no doors. She had no clue how Melody had gotten in. Suddenly, Melody placed her palm on an unremarkable section of the wall, and the enormous mirror into which Steffi had been admiring herself once again went opaque. Steffi braced for the voice, but none came. The mirror slid into the wall creating a six-by-eight doorframe into a familiar corridor. She was in the same building Darius had dropped her off at all those weeks (Days? Hours?) ago. 

 

"So shall we get a move on, sweetie? Katrina will get so angry if we're late and I don't want you to have to waddle too fast, k?"

 

Steffi nodded and swallowed her last bite of donut, grabbing a few more treats from treys around her before following Melody out the wide passageway. 

The walk from Steffi's quarters to Katrina's workshop was short, but it nonetheless took she and Melody 15 minutes. Steffi hadn't moved more than a few feet at a time in (actually) nearly a month and her fitness level had deteriorated from its already sorry state. Her thighs and calves burned. Her lungs heaved. Her arms swung pathetically and her small puffy feet slapped the ground with each labored step. Melody was actually alarmed and said so to Steffi as she leaned against the wall, gasping for air. 

 

"Sweetheart! You're not THAT fat! I've seen bigger girls than you move way faster than this! Now this is your last rest and then we have to just get there. We're nearly late!"

They finally came to the double doors of the fashion department and Katrina's workshop. Melody kindly touched up Steffi's makeup and gave her a chance to catch her breath (which had devolved to wheezing) before going through the door herself. 

 

"Good, Melody, I was wondering where you were." Katrina snipped, looking up from a ream of fabric. "Where's that fat blonde?"

 

"Well... she's right here Katrina... now she... she... well, be nice, ok?"

 

Melody exited, took Steffi's hand, and reentered with the nervous hog waddling in tow. 

 

"My..... GOD." Katrina barked, furiously, rushing over. "Christ, she's gotten even FATTER!" she whipped out her measuring tape and swung it around Steffi's wobbling hips, thighs, chest, arms, and neck, writing down her findings. 

 

"I thought I told you not to gain too much weight before I saw you again. Didn't I say that? Didn't I??" Steffi welled up, her chin quivering. 

 

"Now Katrina that's not fair." Melody interjected. "You should see the suite they have her in. They obviously wanted her to eat!"

 

"Yes, and now all this bulging LARD has made my couture dress unwearable. Katrina grabbed Steffi by the thick bottom roll of bellyfat and shook. "I'm going to have to work all night to make alterations!"

 

Katrina huffed. "These fatgirls. No self control."

 

"Well, they wouldn't be here if they had any." Melody shot back, coldly, squeezing Steffi's hand affectionately. 

 

"Maybe you could have built in some room to grow when you saw the look on Redmond's face when he described her. You knew what he'd do with a hog like this. Look at her!" Melody, losing her temper, aggressively slapped Steffi's wide shelf-ass and shot daggers at Katrina as it wobbled helplessly. Steffi's eyes darted back and forth, unsure of what was happening.

 

Katrina exhaled. "That's not how couture works, dear. But... I suppose you have a point." She watched Steffi's fat in motion. "Tell Redmond the dress will be ready and on the plane tomorrow morning."

 

"Thank you!" Melody's sweetness returned. 

 

Out in the hallway, Steffi attempted to regain her poise, anxiously running her hands over her hips. She hadn't really gained weight, had she? Suddenly pangs of hunger hit. It has been over a half hour since her last snack. 

 

"Can... can I go back to my room now?" Steffi stammered. She craved the simplicity and comfort of her recent arrangement, now more than ever. All this yelling had her vibrating with anxiety and coveting the escape of food.

 

"Almost, sugar. Just one trip across the hall”.

 

chapter 25

 

Melody led Steffi through the clinic door into the room where she remembered her appointment with Dr. Hamilton. Melody, with uncharacteristic curtness, excused herself, telling Steffi that someone would be right along. 

 

Jim, the young doctor, and Dr. Hamilton's assistant, came into the room from the lab in the back, handsome in his flowing white coat, carrying a trey with a syringe. Steffi smiled and blushed. She had not forgotten her crush on the handsome young physician. 

Jim smiled, his eyes popping comically. "Well. Someone's looking after their figure. How are you, Ms. Fat Booty?" He approached slowly, eyes drinking the helpless blimp in. 

 

"I'm.... okay..." Steffi smiled and fidgeted, trying not to betray her racing heart "...can I... sit down?" 

 

Jim was all too aware of her racing heart. He was a doctor. "Of course, of course, how rude of me." 

 

Jim took Steffi gently by her small, fat-puffed hand and led her to the center pad where she'd been examined before. As before, a chair rose to meet her wide hips, cupping her ass comfortably. Steffi waited, once again, for her weight to be announced as it had before. Nothing came. 

 

"Is... is Dr. Hamilton going to give me a checkup?" Steffi asked, hoping not, gazing into Jim's dreamy blue eyes. 

 

"Ha. No, princess. I'm just here to draw a little blood for the records department and to give you a shot that'll help you relex, and then another, later, to give you more energy to party this weekend. Below Hamilton's paygrade. But I'm very, very glad it means I get to see you..."

 

Steffi blushed and rolled her eyes flirtily, only to find Jim's staring intently back, trained with focused lust, making her woozy and a little dizzy.

 

"Well babygirl, I see you've got just about as much willpower as your file suggests" Jim said as he circled Steffi like a wolf, two long fingers extended, tracing the widest circumference of her hips with just enough pressure to sink in to her creamy softness about a quarter inch. "I bet you're hungry, huh baby?"

 

Steffi's eyes fluttered at Jim's carnal touch and the danger it suggested. Far different from the sweet, platonic affection of Melody or the disdainful roughness of Katrina. The tenderness and dominant lethality of a man's strong hands made Steffi squirm, the weeks of indoctrination having done their work. She nodded "Uh... uh huh.... I'm hungry..."

 

"Well maybe I should just let you feel hungry. Can't be a feeling you've been all that familiar with lately from the look of it, and I can't say it'll be one you'll know very well going forward." Jim wheeled in front of the comfortably seated Steffi and closed distance. Her bellybutton was just about at the level of Jim's crotch.

 

"...What?" Steffi bleated, eyes misting slightly. Her whine was higher pitched than before, somehow. "... No.. I'm always hungry... I just feel so... so-" 

 

"Empty?" Jim seized Steffi's wide, marshmallowy hips, squeezed, and softly wobbled her, setting off waves of lard in motion as Steffi bit her lip, trying to be brave as her heart raced. 

 

"I certainly wish I could fix that for you. I wish I could fill you up right now, fatgirl. I know how badly you want it. That poor heart is going thump... thump.... thump..."

With that, Jim kissed Steffi on the mouth, hard, his tongue gently probing the inside of her mouth. It was sweet, naturally. She felt as though she might melt, pass out, die, or cum.

 

Steffi felt Jim's hard cock, sheathed in the fabric of his slacks, press into the soft exposed fat of her belly. It felt enormous. Like a wild animal completely independent from the man kissing her. Like pulsing steel. She wanted it.

Jim pulled away, looked at Steffi's face, looked down, then up, and laughed. 

 

"We members here have minimums imposed on us, too." He winked. 

 

"I bet you'd like to know how much you weigh, buttergirl."

Steffi looked away. She did not. 

 

"Ha. Well, the rest of us all do. Unfortunately only the computer knows. Information's been quarantined until this weekend."

 

Steffi felt Jim's hips rock slightly. The wild animal was overtaking Jim's willpower. Steffi was helpless.

 

"Well. I can tell you what your file says. Would you like to know what your file says?"

Steffi was in a haze. She was hearing every third word. "F... file?"

 

Jim laughed. "It says you're expected to be on a 24 month plan." Jim ran his nose up and down Steffi's trembling, fat encased neck, the afternoon stubble of his cheek lightly scraping her soft, ivory skin. He whispered into her ear "...That's incredibly aggressive, some might even say cruel, for a 19 year old. But from the look of you, I can't say it's off the mark. You were born for this, Jiggles."

 

Steffi furrowed her brow and pulled back a mere two inches, worried. She didn't like having to think critically or question her sudden, seemingly good fortune. "... plan? What happens in 24 months? Will I get all this food until then? Do I have to go home then?"

Jim sighed, delighted. 'My god what a perfect, stupid pig' he thought to himself.

 

"It just means you... graduate. Bet you never thought you'd be graduating anything, huh blondie? And no. You won't go home."

 

".... Good... I....I don't want to go home." Steffi cooed... leaning back toward Jim's hot breath "...People are so much nicer here... I think..." Steffi widened her eyes and bit her lip. Momentarily undistracted by food, blood pumping laboriously in excitement, she had the presence of mind to actually flirt, however guilelessly and obviously. 

Jim's eyes narrowed. His professional restraint was crumbling. "...I can assure you... we're not." His large, high school wide receiver hands surged with ferocious strength as his strong fingers squeezed and sunk into the creamy dough of his helpless prey's impossibly fat hips. He connected with her eyes with deathly seriousness. 

 

"No. We just love watching a pretty little fatgirl like you eat." He kissed her. "...and eat" Again. "...and eat... until the party stops.... But... until then..." Jim checked the room for glowing red lights. There were none. Well done, Melody. He began to unbuckle his belt. 

 

"...you're not such a fat ditz that you can't see exactly what makes the men around here give a damn about you. Or is your head filled with lard too?" 

 

Jim's left hand relinquished the handful of doughy ass fat, giving Steffi's hips a violent slap with his broad palm. As she yelped in fright, Jim pressed a green button on the side of the elevated loveseat on which Steffi was perched, which began it's slow descent to the floor. Jim placed his right hand firmly around Steffi's plump throat, her eyes bulging now out of fear, guiding her to a kneeling position…

 

chapter 26

 

"Aw. Is the blubberslut hungry?" The seemingly sincere Jim had turned monstrous. 

Seeing Steffi kneeling in front of him, wide, ballooning, cellulite-filled ass protruding behind her, resting on small bloated feet, hanging, milk-white bellyflesh grazing the cold floor of the lab, terrified green eyes gazing up at him, helplessly, causing Jim's eyes to fairly go black with lust. 

 

With one fluid gesture of his hands he freed his throbbing, veined, pre-cum dripping cock and pressed it to Steffi's puffed, pink lips. 

 

Steffi's heart raced. She was unable to think straight- she had never wanted anything more badly than to wrap her lips around the pulsing 10-inch nightstick dripping in front of her. She looked up for permission. She wanted to be good. 

 

Jim smiled, devilishly. "Give it a taste, princess. You're going to have a lot of these inside you. But I have to warn you... they tend to be very... very fattening." 

 

Steffi parted her small mouth and protruded her fat pink tongue toward the length of hot pipe that commanded her gaze. She licked the angry red bulb probingly. Her pupils went wide- sweet. Pure vanilla. With some sort of narcotic kick that blossomed into a thick coat of mouthfeel. She looked up, astonished, bewildered, with begging eyes. 

 

"Quite an easy trick, porkchop. We create a variety of yummy options for members to take in pill form prior to the monthly club weekend. Turns our natural juices into an intensely flavored, short-acting narcotic topical analgesic, without any effect whatsoever on the host. I had a hunch you'd enjoy vanilla cream based on your tastes... Creates an extra craveable incentive for hogs like you- though I doubt you need much extra motivation to swallow cum, do you hungry girl?"

 

Steffi was now licking, lapping, and kissing Jim's thrumming nozzle, afraid to even try to take its intimidating girth inside her small mouth. She drew short, sharp breaths through her nose, blubberous arms outstretched, clinging to Jim's muscled hips to stay balanced as her heart raced. 

 

Jim shook his head, looking down at the desperate, rooting, whimpering hog, expanse of white assfat gently wobbling behind her. 

 

"Fuck, baby. You shouldn't have gotten so fat. Things might have turned out different for you."

 

Jim seized Steffi's head, wrapping a length of blonde hair firmly around his fist. Her eyes widened as she instinctively opened her little mouth as wide as she could, covering her rounded teeth with her lips and opening her throat as if she were chugging a milkshake. 

 

"Now we're just going to have to see how fucking fat we can make you."

 

With that, with a downward-angled thrust, Jim forced himself past Steffi's plump lips, filling her mouth completely, then continued past her epiglottis and into the warm, fat-swaddled tissue of her upper throat. Staying there for a moment, he gazed down into Steffi's half-closed eyes, beatifically blissful in her filled state, as if a long-desired need had at long last been met. Heavily muffled moans emanated from the sealed, drooling circumference of her mouth.

 

"I'm just gonna take a mental picture of this right now so I can remember the time skinny Steffi sucked my cock. Back when she could still waddle. Back when she could still fit through doors."

 

He began to thrust up and down like a piston, noting the thick cylinder shape of his member moving up and down the helpless blonde's throat. 

Jim began to develop an aggressive rhythm, plumbing the hungry fatty's throat deeply... her knees must be screaming- not that he cared. He looked down at the mascara tears streaming down the teenaged hog's adorable, trusting face and felt the swell of climax... he pictured Steffi months from now... years... being served her anniversary cake... surrounded by evil, glistening smiles... 

 

Jim grabbed Steffi's fat face and pulled halfway out so the head of his cock was in the back of her mouth. His entire body tensed as he shot cannonloads of hot, creamy, sweet vanilla cum into the interior of her mouth. Steffi, tasting an ambrosia that set a new bar for edible pleasure, slurped and sucked hungrily, rolling her thick tongue around the life-giving head of Jim's pulsing rod, frantically trying to make sure no precious drop was wasted. 

 

Jim released Steffi's corn-yellow hair, looked down, and smiled. 

 

"I thought you deserved a treat. You've been a very good girl, after all. Too bad I can't find out just how good, but that information will be available soon enough." 

 

Steffi panted, rolling her tongue around in her mouth, which was alive with a sensation 

of tingling pleasure. Jim helped her up and, unceremoniously, drew a vial of blood, gave her the relaxation shot, and led her, pressing at the fat roll at the small of her back, back toward the hallway. Behind them, a single hidden red light, trained on the exact spot they had just been, went dim. 

 

As he hurried her toward the door, he frankly whispered in her ear "I don't need to say this, but this needs to stay between you and me. I'm only a junior member here- but I don't think I need to tell you I'm somebody you want on your side, especially when it's 4AM, you're close to redlining, and some feeder walks up with a box of eclairs and your 25th hard cock of the night."

 

All Steffi could think about now was eclairs. 

 

Steffi found herself back in the hallway, dizzy, panting at the confusing whirlwind of pleasure that had just occurred. Melody appeared, angelic or demonic, as if from nowhere. She noticed Steffi's reddened knees and swirling, probing tongue. 

"Hmm... Who says doctor's visits aren't fun, right sweetie?" 

 

Steffi blushed and smiled. 

 

"Between us girls, I'm happy for you, hunnie... he's caaaa-yute! But if I know my Steffi, you've gotta be starving!" Melody sloshed Steffi's belly cheerfully. 

 

Steffi blushed and nodded. 

 

"Well let's get you back to your room and filled up before that shot starts to take effect... we want you topped off before your big debut tomorrow, sugar..."

 

As she spoke, the self-driving electronic wheelchair wheeled around the corner and 

scooped Steffi up to escort her, in comfort, to her suite, where a brand new cornucopia of heartstopping edible delights awaited her.

 

chapter 27

 

Upon being whisked back to her suite, with a briskly strutting Melody following close behind, Steffi began to feel the euphoric, mildly disorienting sedative effects of the shot Jim had given her, even through the breathless adrenaline of her quick but passionate encounter with the young doctor. She smiled dumbly even as the injection site on her fluffy, lard-filled arm pulsed uncomfortably. 

 

Melody silently followed the automated wheelchair carrying the doped-up fatgurl through the temporary doorway. She mechanically and expertly guided and maneuvered Steffi from the wheelchair to a plush, comfortable, double-wide recliner in the corner of the bedroom. Steffi's eyes darted around, as she smelled the aromatic sugar and lard she'd come to crave. Her mouth watered involuntarily, and, as she had become used to, her genitals thumped with inchoate longing. The food arrangement had been reconfigured somehow- more streamlined. The wheelchair showed itself out while the mirror returned to it's original place. The doorway was no more.

 

Something about Melody had changed. She grabbed a huge ceramic serving platter and began systematically piling up mountains of the fat-dripping junk Steffi whimpered for. 

 

"You'll sleep like a baby later, honey. But for the next few hours you'll feel deliriously happy and ravenously hungry. You're lucky- you know junkies kill each other for a few milligrams of that stuff."

 

Melody's tone was still pleasant and kind, but seemed much more curt and mission-driven than her usual sing-song, esteem-affirming self. But of course, she was right. Steffi felt incredible, buzzing all over in pleasure, and was desperate to fill her fat belly, which spilled out across her lap like a soft, milky white duffel bag waiting to be stuffed full of unhealthy goodies. Drool oozed out of the corner of her slack mouth. 

Melody easily carried the enormous and heavy-looking trey (Melody was deceptively strong) piled high with everything from oozing truffle mac and cheese and sugar-glazed slabs of porkbelly to Steffi's childhood fair favorites like deep fried oreos and glistening fried butter on a stick, and set it down on the adjacent table. Steffi, who had been used to feeding herself via constant gluttonous grazing these last several weeks, reached gleefully for the trey's bounty. Melody firmly slapped her hand away. Steffi's greedy hand recoiled. She was hurt and confused.

 

"Now sweetheart" Melody began sternly. "You've got to be on a plane in 12 hours to make your big debut. Most new fatgurls take months of preparation, but Mr. Redmond wants you in Geneva. I'm under strict instructions to keep you absolutely stuffed full until you leave, except while you're sleeping, but I've also got to keep your nails and hair looking perfect so they only have to do a touchup on the other end. Understand, pretty girl?"

 

Steffi nodded. She wasn't listening but felt an affirmative response might hasten the food to her lips. 

 

"That means I'm going to have to hand-stuff you. You know I'm your friend, but my orders are to make sure that much of the food in this room as possible ends up in your tummy. If not, I could lose my job. You don't want that, do you, sugar?"

Steffi crinkled her brow in empathy and shook her head, sweet drooping jowls and face fat wobbling gently. Odd as it may have seemed out of context and in such short order, she considered Melody her best and truest friend. Besides, at the moment she felt as if she could eat any quantity of food. Her belly, which she clutched with anxious chubby fingers, was screaming to be filled. 

 

Melody's eyes narrowed. She really had gotten quite good at this routine. She was sure she'd be the company's first female member one day once they saw her value and skill. 

"Good. Now open wide, piggy. Let's see if we can't add another quarter-inch to those 

wifey hips of yours. Make Katrina's life more difficult this weekend." 

 

Too much, Melody wondered? She leaned in and giggled conspiratorially to demonstrate her cozy good nature. Steffi giggled in kind and opened wide like a good sow. It wasn't anywhere even close to too much. 

 

With the steady hands and confident, consistent vigor of a professional, Melody began to stuff the fried, sweet, heavy, fat-laden foods into Steffi's eager, open mouth. Steffi was delighted and ravenous for the first ten minutes, but found that her reduced swallowing speed thereafter was not met with an equal decline in Melody's set stuffing speed. With a blank face and eyes that did not project sympathy, Melody continued to push the lethally greasy junk up to and past Steffi's plump pink lips. 

 

"Come on now porkchop, now I thought you liked to eat!" Melody scolded. "I've got at least six more treys' worth of this yummy slop to get inside you." Her sharp nails gripped and sunk into plush, doughy flesh of Steffi's creamy thigh.

 

Steffi's eyes widened... she was still hungry, but... 

 

"You need some inspiration honey? This is where you'll be tomorrow..."

 

Melody briefly stopped forcefeeding the helpless blimp in front of her to flip on the large mounted monitor, keying in a request for a something specific. 

 

A video popped up on the screen... Steffi's eyes went wide and her mouth went slack- into which Melody began forcing more food. Melody didn't need to turn around. She'd seen this one many times. The audio was unmistakable to her. Sounds of cheering and laughter, with Philip's unmistakable baritone cutting through. Desperate, messy chewing, sucking and swallowing. The sound of muscle colliding with fat, and of rolls of lard clapping against one another. Choking whimpers emanating from a full mouth. It was Yvette's fairwell party. Steffi's eyes welled as she watched, but her chewing and swallowing sped up. 

 

......................................

 

Melody spent the evening employing a dizzying array of physical, pharmaceutical, and emotional manipulations to mercilessly cram as much glistening, artery-clogging junk as possible into Steffi's bloated belly. Some of the food- thick, sweet puddings, whipped sugared butter, and even several forms of pure jellied animal fat, looked like (and in some cases may have been) actual human body fat going into Steffi's ravenous, gaping mouth. This brought a smile to Melody's face, imagining the consumed lard transferring immediately to Steffi's overloaded frame in the form of new rolls, folds, and hanging fat. Steffi, who whimpered in pain and frustration but never complained, was stuffed until she passed out.

 

Several hours later, after once again cramming Steffi full and back into her second round of food-induced unconsciousness, Melody donned her reading glasses, pulled a laptop out of her purse and began dutifully writing her final reports. She wanted membership badly, and had been working on her descriptive writing technique. Steffi's innocence, pliability, her natural gender fluidity now erring decidedly and in every way on the side of the feminine, and, of course, her bottomlessly self-destructive and easily manipulable gluttony, made for a stirring narrative she was sure her supervisors would want to read alone.

 

Upon Steffi's rousing several hours later, Melody once again used her deceptive strength to coax the extremely groggy butterball to the bathroom for a quick shower, hair, nail, and beauty routine, followed by a third top-off of fatty treats, skewing on the less gooey side, this time, and then back to her final round of sleep. 

Melody made her way toward the room's exit. Before placing her hand on the hidden pad, Melody turned back to view her handiwork. Steffi lay snoring daintily in her massive bed, which had been set to a semi-seated position. For the first time, Melody noticed, the comically hippy, pear shaped fatty's lower half was not the first thing to stand out- Steffi's round, milky belly had been filled to a new record capacity and bulged disquietingly. A firm, compacted heap of unimaginably fattening food, which would soon dissipate into her usual distribution of body fat, quietly digesting under layers of soft blubber. Steffi's stubby hands instinctively cradled her painfully stuffed tummy, even as occasional snorts and starts threatened to wake the sleeping porker. Melody didn't know why she found sleep apnea to be so cute. The phrase "le petit mort" came to mind- it seemed like a perfectly reasonable alternative definition.

"Oh, sweetheart," Melody cooed, as she prepared to exit the room, "it's gonna be so fun watching what they do to you. Hope you make it back safe, sugar."

 

chapter 28

 

The purpose of this hyperextreme pre-event bout of stuffing was in part to stretch stomach capacity in anticipation of the harrowing weekend ahead. The almost comically fatty and unhealthy makeup of Steffi's pre-event banquet would normally have caused concern of a dangerous spike in blood lipids, cholesterol, and organ activity ahead of what would sure to be a second, even more intense round of the same over the weekend. It could be a recipe for an in-event disaster for an older hog, say, in their late 20's, but Steffi's youth dispensed with such concerns. She was practically brand new, ready to be rapidly used up, and Redmond knew this. 

 

Cruelly, all hogs were recommended to have 6-8 hours of fasting prior to arriving at Night 1 in order to assure maximal ravenousness and suggestibility upon arrival. As most hogs were conditioned and accustomed to eating every few hours at minimum, even at night (drugs and inactivity countermanded any metabolic benefit of such regular eating), this fasting period was a harrowing ordeal akin to an addict experiencing withdrawl, and to make matters worse, appetite stimulants were usually administered in the last few hours of the fast, turning the hogs into begging, sobbing supplicants in the last phase of their journey. 

 

Steffi had awoken groggily to a flurry of activity. She still felt very much stuffed and had a headache almost akin to a hangover. It was the worst she'd felt physically in some time. Worst of all, upon instinctively extending her flabby arm for a wake-up treat, Steffi looked around to find her suite emptied of the ever-present cornucopia of food she had come to take for granted these last few weeks. 

 

"Wh... wh... where's...?" Steffi squeaked. 

 

"Gone, I'm afraid" - a well dressed man entered the room with two well-built orderlies. 

 

Patrick Stackhouse. His voice sounded familiar to Steffi, somehow. 

 

Patrick approached Steffi, "Goodness, didn't anybody ever tell you not to snack before bedtime?" He smiled broadly and laid a hand on her still packed but soft stomach. "You hogs really do look darling after your pre-event fillings. Nothing like a little preview of immobility, right? You look like the moral of some fable or fairy tale..."

 

Steffi crinkled her plucked, perfectly made up brow as she swiveled her round face about the room, despondently. "But... what am I going to eat?" The taunting had gone completely over the calorie-fixated hog's head. 

 

"Oh dear, I forgot it was your first weekend", Patrick lied. He knew perfectly well. "You won't be given food for another eight hours or so. These nice men are going to escort you to the helipad upstairs to get you to the airport. Wheels up in an hour and you can't be late."

 

She had stopped listening after no food for eight hours. Steffi's hands tremored visibly and her chins quivered as she tried not to burst out into sobs in front of the obviously very important and imposing young man. 

 

"My, my... you really are far gone. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Don't worry, lardgirl, you'll get more food than you ever could possibly ever want when you see Mr. Redmond this evening. He can't wait to see you."

 

Steffi perked up and beamed spontaneously. "Oh, I can't wait to see Philip! He's sent me the sweetest gifts and I just want to thank him for everything. You know, all the food and... and..."

 

Patrick smirked. "Well, Mr. R does love a grateful girl. Be sure to show him just how thankful you are, ok?" 

 

Patrick's thick, manicured fingers probed the soft flesh of Steffi's utterly formless, cellulite-pocked upper arms as he spoke. He grabbed a handful. All squeezable, gelatinous lard, through which he felt a nervously quick pulse. 

 

Steffi noticed, as she had with Jim, a thick length of fleshy pipe creep down Patrick's slim cut, navy blue trouser leg. Drool began to escape both corners of her mouth, recalling the ambrosial sweetness of Jim's cum, to which she'd become instantaneously addicted.

 

Patrick smiled. "All in due time, porkchop. You really were born for this, weren't you? I can't wait until they waddle you to the scale..." He sauntered toward the door.

 

"...I have to leave. I've got my own business to attend to, but you'll be in capable hands with Dan and Gordon here." He continued speaking but addressed the two men. 

 

"They're both junior members, so they know the rules: squeeze, tease, but don't fuck. Everybody needs to wait their turn. That's how this works. Oh, and boys, remember, no food for this porky blonde no matter how much she begs or offers to do. Need her arriving hungry and eager to please..."

 

With a flourish, he was out the door. Dan and Gordon, muscled bodies coiled, grinned and advanced on the frightened blimp.

 

chapter 29

 

The stages of Steffi's transatlantic shipment happened in a blur. She never needed to exert anything more than utterly minimal effort at any point, yet the entire ordeal had the impact of exhaustion, which nevertheless did not seem to surprise or catch offguard any of the dozen and a half well-briefed personal she encountered along the way. They understood implicitly the symptoms of "slop withdrawl" in a hog, though there were whispers Steffi caught scraps of about her pronounced wheezing even just after a few steps, and about the utterly flaccid whole-body jiggle she presented with even the slightest movement. There were fat and out of shape teenagers, and then there was this. 

 

Room to helipad, helipad to helicopter, helicopter to airport, airport to private 757 jet, which several staff, independent of one another, snickeringly went out of their way to refer to as a "jumbo" jet, all without having to take more than three steps at any given time. Yet once aboard the "Jumbo Jet", Steffi was whimpering in hunger, her usually soft, wide eyes fiend-like, searching for anything, anywhere, she might consume. 

 

Worse still, once ensconced in her comfortable, plush private compartment, wide hips perched comfortably on an overstuffed, reinforced sofa, her television was set to the same "food porn" channel she had watched for weeks in her room. Gooey cheese, steaming, marbled cuts of meat, glistening desserts and piles of baked and fried treats... 

 

Steffi clutched the soft, uppermost roll of her belly and moaned in frustration, licking her lips. In the distance, she heard the sound of compartment doors sliding open and closing, and in between, heard disparate plaintive moans coming from up and down the aisle. 

Faintly, Steffi overheard a flight attendant say to another, right outside her compartment door: "Oh dear, they seem so upset! Are you sure we can't get them just a little something to eat, poor things? I worry they won't make it the seven hours!"

 

"NO, Margaret, you mustn't, unless you want to be fired. These blobs are fasting for an important reason. And this is nothing- just you wait until they all get given their appetite stimulants when we're over France. It'll sound like a slaughterhouse. We're authorized to sedate them, but only in the event of an emergency."

 

"I just feel awful... one was begging me for a candy bar claiming he'd die if he didn't eat!" 

 

"Oh, nonsense. They won't die. At least not on this plane. Look, these are addicts on their way to a fix. A little hunger never killed anyone. These sacks of lard deserve it, greedy hogs. Did you know that the one in this compartment here is only 19? Did you get a look?"

 

Steffi gulped and tried to drift off to a low blood sugar induced sleep where she could wait out the ordeal dreaming of Philip, Jim, and milkshakes. The plane began to taxi to the runway, bumpy asphault sending ripples through Steffi's soft, jellied flesh, rocking her into a famished slumber...

 

chapter 30

 

Darius piloted the heavy black Mercedes sedan along the route de Suisse at high speed with expert control, hugging the curves of Lake Geneva like a formula one driver as the twilight twinkled off of the deep blue glass of the lake. Mr. Redmond knew that the vans and trucks containing the evening's "talent" would be arriving at the venue promptly, and he wanted to be there to go over the manifest and survey the starving, whimpering hogs as they waddled and jiggled their way into the makeshift club. 

 

Thus far, the preparations for the evening had gone smoothly. Flights had all landed without any serious onboard complications, and the complex work of unloading, preparing, and mobilizing hundreds of dangerously obese, marginally panicked beauties from the airport to the venue had proceeded like clockwork. Redmond put aside his laptop, confident and satisfied, adjusted his cufflinks, and turned to the ageless looking man beside him on the leather bench. 

"I remember my first event, Peter. It was a much smaller organization then. More charming in some ways, less cutthroat and corporate, more like a social club. But I can certainly say that the quality of the entertainment has improved, or 'grown', if you like."

Peter was tall and wiry with slicked silver hair, effortlessly handsome in a patrician, WASPy way. Darius peered into the rear view mirror. Another rich, privileged white asshole "investor" leapfrogging him for membership while he still ran errands for Redmond. He seethed. 

 

"Now Peter, I know you've expressed hesitancy at the prospect of fattening and fucking hogs that are technically male. Believe me, I completely understand. But I think tonight will disabuse you of any concern to that regard. You might have been squeamish at the offerings 10 or 15 years ago, but you will not need to work to suspend your disbelief when you see the 'fatgirls' we've got waddling around the floor. All hungry, helpless, desperate and eager to please, jiggling around in heels and dripping in jelly soft blubber you could spread onto toast."

 

"You paint a vivid picture, Phil." 

 

'Phil'? The entitled familiarity of this prick. Darius fumed. 

 

"I'll hold you to it. But to be honest, I'm just looking forward to watching one of these oblivious blimps take their gluttony too far and suffer the consequences. Look them in their piggy eyes and tell them they should have thought of this before they ate their way to super morbid obesity."

 

Peter's face didn't move as he said this. Calmly, coldly, he took a sip of mineral water.

Philip rolled his eyes and smirked "Well, your tastes are increasingly widespread. My influence was to move the organization toward fatgirls- perhaps yours will be to move into a less coy and patient embrace of a hog's ultimate fate. I'll introduce you to some of your natural allies tonight. We fight and quarrel but we're ultimately all on the same team. Trust me, you're going to be very happy with your decision to invest with us."

Peter's lips curled into something that might have passed for a smile as he gazed out the window onto the placid shoreline whipping by. 

 

"Oh and I'll also of course introduce you to my latest project- she may actually be a bridge between our two predispositions. 19 year old blonde butterball named Steffi. Dumb as a tub of crisco, which it looks like she's been spoonfed since she was a kid. Hips like a parade float, poor thing, and we own her outright- scared the piglet so badly she's been stuffing her face for a month. She-"

"-And just how fat is this Steffi?" Peter interrupted

 

"Oh, high 400's, I'd say." Philip responded, not wanting to get anybody's hopes up. 

 

Peter looked away, unimpressed. 

 

"Well she's a teenager, Peter. And, you'll like this- we've got her on a 24 month plan."

Hearing this, Darius's eyes widened... he had always been wary of the growing psychopathic "Deathfat" caucus within the membership, but kept it hidden. And his objection was purely emotional and moral- he understood the carnal appeal... 

 

"Really! Well that IS interesting..." Peter perked up, nostrils flaring subtly, if involuntarily.

 

"Ha- I thought you'd enjoy that. Well Darius, you've met her, haven't you? What did you 

think of little Steffi?

 

Darius kept his eyes straight ahead, but smiled. 

 

"Well sir, I don't think she'll be little for long. That pretty hog is going places."

 

"Well, one place." Peter chortled. Darius managed a polite smile. 

 

"Back in my neighborhood, a sweet, white, fat assed bitch like that'd get scooped up off the street within minutes. Get her set up in a hotel room with a line around the block", Darius mused folksily as he squeezed the wheel, trying not to let his imagination carry him away, pulling the car off the main road. 

 

Philip roared. "I don't doubt it! And that's why there needs to be more diversity among the American membership, Peter. People like Darius know how to really handle a soft tub of lard like young Steffi. It's part of their culture."

 

Darius gritted his teeth at both Philip's irony and his condescension. His boss had had a few scotches in the car and he was feeling loose and gregarious. It was part of the job. 

The black car approached the massive private chateau perched on a remote part of the lake, hidden by a small patch of forest, which was teeming with private security. The sedan silently glided through the antique stone arc onto a well-lit gravel circular driveway. A few of the vans and trucks had already arrived and had been unloaded. 

Philip rolled down his window.

 

"Ah. Can you smell all that fresh pork?"

 

"Can't believe it's been a month, sir." Darius retorted as he pulled up to the long carpeted entrance, where valets opened the passenger doors, allowing Philip and Peter to exit and proceed toward the torch-lit French medieval gate, behind which lay what had become the obsession and ambition of Darius's life. 

 

Philip turned back and waived Darius off. "We'll see you inside on the third night, my friend. Don't get too frustrated- I promise you're nearly there."

 

The third night. Junior members were only permitted to attend the third evening of the club unless, like Jim the doctor, they had official business for being inside earlier. Of course, by the third night, all the fattest, most salacious or most provocative hogs had been co-opted or absconded by members. Of course, you could always get balls-deep in some basic wheezing fat hog, or get your cock sucked by a second-rate, tarted-up fatgurl, but the energy had dissipated, and there was always a sense that you'd missed the main event, even if third nights did sometimes see their share of action, or at least spectacle from the exhausted, used-up porkers still waddling around the floor in a daze. 

Darius had waited long enough to get in on the part of the action he wanted. He had no interest of blowing his accrued goodwill with Mr. Redmond, but he had a plan to sneak a peak of what he'd been missing. He pulled around back to the parking lot, 

inconspicuously exited the vehicle, and stealthily ducked between two of the trucks on the massive back loading dock.

 

chapter 31

 

Steffi had been handled with the utmost care in her fragile, whimpering, starving state. It had been now OVER eight hours since she'd last eaten, a period of time she'd have gotten through just fine, albeit perhaps a little crankily, a few months ago. Now she felt as though she might die. That she was undergoing the worst cruelty ever endured by anyone in history. It had gotten much worse when a latex-gloved stewardess entered her cabin on the plane and woke her up with the jab of a small hypodermic needle into the squishy flesh of her am. Her hunger switched from a painful gnaw to an urgent, panicked need. She whimpered, sobbed, and clutched at her stomach, and as the orderlies, Dan and Gordon, dutifully waddled her off the plane and into the luxury van with blacked out windows which she occupied alone with her minders, she begged them for food, voice trembling as her pink, bejeweled nails raked over the flesh of her empty, hanging belly. 

"P...please...please!" she cried. "I'm so hungry... I just can't go on if I don't eat something soon... I-"

 

"You'll get filled up soon enough, fatty. Keep quiet." Gordon snapped in a brusque West Country accent. 

 

"... but... but when? Please... please I'll do.... Anything... anything." 

 

Steffi's plump hand migrated to Dan's muscled thigh, her eyes lowered, remembering the unforgettable deliciousness of Jim, and his explanation that all company employees are similarly endowed and enhanced.

 

She bit her plump lip and tried, badly, to disguise her tremoring desperation and affect a seductive tone.

 

"I just.... Need a little sweetness... in my mouth...."

 

Dan slapped her hand away as Gordon and he both laughed.

 

"Listen, you fat slut, I know you've been used to stuffing that greedy belly full of porkfat and processed sugar until your organs force you to pass out, but you won't die from a few hours of fasting." Dan bellowed, looking Steffi dead in the eye. 

 

"Might actually prolong your life a tiny bit" Gordon added.

 

"And I'm not about to cross Phil Redmond, much as I'd love to give you what you want and mount that pretty fat face and throatfuck you until you choke out." Dan seethed, frustrated.

 

"Not me." Gordon breezily offered. "Fatgirls don't do it for me. I'm more of an LTO and teardown kind of guy- though this bitch is all blubber. She might end up in my wheelhouse someday."

 

"No doubt, no doubt.." Dan muttered, weighing and bouncing one of Steffi's round breasts with his near hand. "Fuck, this one really is pure lard."

 

"Besides," offered Gordon, with a smile, "You wouldn't thank Dan here if he shot down your throat like you're hoping. There's an appetite stimulant in that stuff that'd make you even hungrier, and like we said, we ain't gonna feed you a thing until you get to the club."

 

Both men laughed as Steffi's eyes darted about in panic. 

 

Soon, she felt the van turn and slow down, and the texture of the road underneath turned from asphault to something grainier- pebbles or gravel. 

 

The double doors of the van opened loudly and assertively. The fresh, cool Swiss air filled the cabin as Dan and Gordon heaved the pathetic fatgirl to her sore, unwilling feet, and marched her onto the loading dock. 

 

A man in formalwear appeared- mustache, slicked chestnut hair, black tie and dinner jacket. 

 

"Oy, Roger. This one's Redmond's." Dan said with a wink, handing over a thin file to the man. 

 

"New Fatgirl. American. Tried to suck my cock in the van."

 

"Oui, any fool can see this is a Fatgirl" the man said as he read the chart and looked up, momentarily taken aback, by Steffi's enormous, flaring, white spandex-clad hips. "Why is there no intake weight listed? Redmond is a stickler for details."

 

Dan and Gordon shrugged and walked back toward the van.

 

"Dunno. But the bitch is hungry."

 

The man looked Steffi up and down, then took her plump hand in his and laid a kiss on the fleshy back. 

 

"Enchanted, Steffi. Je m'appelle Roger Fleury, Master of Ceremonies and sometimes Auctioneer. I am so very pleased indeed you have arrived. Did you have a pleasant journey?" 

 

Steffi was taken aback by the stark reversal of tone from what she'd just experienced in the van. Roger seemed like such a gentleman. His accent, though he spoke English with perfect confidence, was lush and his tone dripping with elegance and kindness. 

The blonde barely had the energy to register her desperation in her weak state... the hunger was subsuming her. 

 

"Oh....Oh Roger I feel like I might not be able to take another step... please tell me 

there's food here."

 

Roger smiled kindly, looping Steffi's fattened hamhock of a forearm through his bowed arm, noting its soft, spongy consistency approvingly. "Oh, mademoiselle, more than you could possibly dream of. And it will be yours within the hour. I beg your patience just a little bit longer.

 

Knowing her ordeal would soon be over was a comfort, but Steffi hoped against hope that 'within the hour' meant closer to five minutes than 60. Suddenly she realized that she was waddling, very slowly, being guided by Roger into the interior of the building. 

"I do not usually greet all new arrivals personally, but Monsieur Redmond is very important and much beloved. Nothing here happens without him. Imagine my delight to have the honor of welcoming his newest offering!"

"Offering?" Steffi questioned, confused. 

 

"Oh, forgive my English my dear. His newest beauty. His newest fatgirl. You are quite a beautiful piece of fat, Mademoiselle Steffi. "

 

'Piece of fat'? Steffi wondered. His English must not be as good as she had thought. 

Roger's free hand subtly applied pressure to Steffi's fat-collared wrist, which rested on his stiff forearm. 150 over 90. That would explain the wheezing and panting, which would also be explained by the lack of evident muscle tissue anywhere on the young blimp. Each ponderous step sent disruptive waves of jiggling motion through the enormous girl's soft body, causing Roger to adjust to a stance usually reserved for escorting a much heavier hog. 

 

"You must be very excited for this evening, Miss. I imagine you've been preparing for many months. Such exquisite beauty, and such a, how do you say, a perfect tribute to feminine obesity, takes such time and sacrifice..."

 

"Oh... oh no I only met Philip a few weeks ago... he's been so nice and taken care of everything... the food... I've never tasted anything like it. It's all I can think about..."

Roger furrowed his brow. "A few weeks? But how is this possible with this tiny nose and milky skin and Mademoiselle's hips like a forcefed Venus?" 

 

Steffi blushed "...I really just want to do a good job for Philip... he's been so generous and I just couldn't bear to disappoint him..."

Roger stopped and let the stuttering Steffi's words hang in the air, listening to her heavy breathing and feeling her racing pulse through his fingers like a classical symphony of feeble obesity. He took her shivering fat hands in his and shook them playfully, noting the unbroken ripples that cascaded up her porky forearms to the hanging, cellulite-dripping wings of her upper arms, which slapped softly against her sides. 

 

"My dear. There is no chance of that. You are a natural beauty. Valuable beyond words. There is, honestly, looking at you, a better chance of your somehow getting pregnant than your disappointing." He laughed at his joke.

 

"No, my dear. You say you desire to eat?"

 

Steffi nodded desperately, eyes coming to life. 

 

"Then tonight, eat. Let yourself be filled. Eat as you never have before, and then next month, you shall eat in a way that makes you ashamed you ate so little tonight, eh?"

Roger gestured to a very large yellow door they had arrived at with the letters K.K. on a plaque. 

 

"I shall part ways with you now, briefly, but see you in but a few minutes."

Roger leaned in confidentially

 

"And when I call you out on stage, Madamoiselle, if you are afraid, show the men you are afraid. Show them that you know, somewhere deep down, how dangerously fat you are getting... how out of control and desperate a hog you have become in such a very short time and at such a young age. ...They will love it."

 

The mortal fear Steffi had been suppressing unconsciously began to bubble to the surface... but then, remembering her hunger, subsided...

With that the yellow door opened, and two young ladies hurried Steffi inside. Waiting impatiently, with a look of annoyance, was Katrina.

 

chapter 32

 

"If it isn't Butterfat Barbie." Katrina smirked. 

 

Not having Melody to protect her, and too depleted and frayed to do anything but focus on her desperate hunger, Steffi began to well up slightly.

 

"Oh come come Steffi, don't be so emotional. We are at a party! This is what we work for, yes?" 

 

Katrina circled Steffi, swirling a champagne flute languorously. She extended a skeletal finger and gently tickled the drooping softness of Steffi's hanging double chin. 

 

"My lord, girl. If I hadn't seen you just yesterday I'd say you've somehow managed to get even fatter. Melody must have stuffed you like a foie gras goose." 

She snapped her fingers. Three assistants marched out carrying a variety of boxes. 

 

"But I took her advice and added an extra fraction of an inch to allow for your predictable lack of self control. Your hips and backside seem intent on ballooning at a rather inconvenient rate."

 

Katrina opened the largest box and presentationally draped a delicate swath of pink fabric over her bony arm. She smiled and turned to her nearest assistant.

 

"See if you can't squeeze that bloated tart into this. If we manage to get it over her hips, she may cause a riot." Katrina drained her champagne flute, which was immediately refilled. 

 

Two assistants unfurled the dress, revealed to be an armless, backless, pink, diamond net mesh minidress comprised of stretchy polyester. Steffi gulped. It looked too small to fit her. She shot Katrina a worried look, genuinely biting her lip and playing with her hands. 

 

"Did... did Philip want me to wear that?" She quavered. 

 

"Ha!" Katrina barked, taking another deep swig of bubbly, "Philip leaves such decisions to me, you stupid child- I am more responsible for the popularity of his silly 'fatgirls' than he is. And I intend to present you as the cum-starved, jiggling blonde bimbo you were brought here to be."

 

With that, one assistant, as she had before, cut Steffi out of the cotton shirt and white spandex shorts she had been wearing all day, leaving her fat body helplessly quivering in the room's cool air.

 

Katrina turned to her main assistant who remained by her side, "Normally, I'd put a new fatgirl like this in some cute panties to disguise any remaining evidence of their former maleness, but do you see how that's not a problem here? Just a bulging FUPA and breeding hips. Magnificent."

 

The assistants pulled the mesh over Steffi's head and manipulated her arms through the straps. It was tight even at her narrowest point- her chest- and as they rolled it down it stretched to accommodate her increasing width, past her creamy, yielding belly, the mesh digging in softly, forming an impression, and finally, with much grunting effort and stretching the dress to it's elastic limits, over Steffi's swelling, billowing fat hips, around which the diamond net mesh was so tight that her blubber bulged out thickly in diamond bubbles of soft lard. 

 

"My God what a fat pig. Any smaller and this thing would explode off of her." Katrina observed, coldly. 

 

"Alright, get this pathetic blimp off her feet. Time for every girl's favorite: shoes."

As assistant came around the corner with a rack of slutty looking heels, while another walked over with a foot measuring tool, sat Steffi down and took her feet in hand. Sitting down strained the thick elastic mesh of the net dress even more, causing the triangles of fat to bulge even further. 

 

"US women's 8 wide" the assistant called out. 

 

"8? My lord, are you serious? She even has the dainty feet of a schoolgirl. Are you sure you're not really a girl, Steffi?" She let out a laugh as she approached the rack of shoes. 

 

"Redmond. Ha. Ah, here we are..."

 

Katrina gently extracted an unusually wide but still delicate looking pair of white four inch heels and handed them to her kneeling assistant. 

 

"I have no doubt, Steffi, that you know how to waddle in heels. Unless I'm wrong, and I never am, you've been sneaking away to walk in your mother's or your sister's or your 

aunties' heels every chance you got since you were little."

 

She was not wrong. And the invocation of her family- her sister in particular- and the thought of what they might think had they been able to see her in this moment, sent a pang through Steffi's thumping heart. In truth and in fact, had Steffi's sister Elyse been able to see her, her surprise would not be nearly as great as Steffi may have imagined.

The third assistant rolled out a large mirror, while the first two hoisted the nervous blonde fatty to her feet. 

 

Catching her reflection, Steffi could barely recognize what she saw. A wildly oversexed, distressingly obese, blonde teenaged prostitute dressed for a Miami sex party.

 

Katrina glided over to admire her handiwork from Steffi's perspective. She gave Steffi's gelatinous hips a firm two handed shake and observed the hypnotic bouncing and quivering of white blubber loosely encased in hot pink netting as it worked its way throughout her entire body.

 

"My word, Steffi. You are not going to last long. I hope you enjoy this. I know everybody else will." 

 

Steffi swallowed hard, trying hard to tune out the competing erotic frustration and genuine anxiety all this brought to her with a hazy daydream of the gooey, yummy treats she longed to stuff herself with.

 

Katrina snapped her fingers once again. "Ladies. This corpulent floozy must be stage ready in 20 minutes. Melody, for all her talents, is not a professional hair and makeup artist. I want blonde hair extensions. I want makeup somewhere between tasteful and whorish. I want thin gold bracelets around these fat wrists. I want light vaseline and glitter on these huge jello-filled arms" Katrina held up Steffi's bloated, flaccid arm and shook to demonstrate. "Do you see what an absolute cum-magnet this is? We have a chance to do some good work here, girls."

 

Katrina's main assistant approached with a small blue box, which Katrina took in hand. 

"Ah, I nearly forgot. A gift from that awful man you adore so much..."

 

Katrina opened the box and pulled out a thin gold necklace, which she looped around Steffi's fat-encased neck. Resting on her chest, just above the cleavage line the dress had created, were the words, in capital gold letters: 

 

"PLEASE FEED ME”

 

chapter 33

 

Philip rejoined Peter, his region's newest member by way of a sizable investment, in the lushly appointed outer hall of the chateau following his customary backstage check-in with the site crew and organizational personnel in charge of executing the evening. 

Both men were clad in crisp, dark, tailored suits, though Philip had advised Peter not to bring or wear anything he felt hesitant about discarding in the heat of passion, should the urge arrive. Suits were the norm, though there were a few men in black tie, some in formal military dress from their respective countries, and some regional finery including, of course, the sizable Arab contingent resplendent in their white thawbs. It was a truly international crowd with a dizzying collective net worth, over which hovered a giddy air of anticipation.

 

The outer reception area was civilized to the extreme. Crystal chandeliers twinkled overhead as a young pianist filled the room with classical strains from a grand located in the center of the hall, and waiters hurried cocktails made-to-order to the privileged membership from any of the several well-stocked and tastefully lit bars up and down the long, wide hall. A young junior member working his first event promptly arrived to Philip and Peter with a silver trey carrying a double scotch on the rocks for Philip and a dirty martini for Peter. 

 

"Well, so far I only see a room full of somewhat athletic-looking rich men around my own age. This is disappointing, Philip".

 

Redmond chuckled, slapped his companion on the back and clinked glasses with him. 

 

"My friend, you're going to be eating your words in just a few minutes. Or, better yet, somebody else will be."

 

The lights of the chandeliers above dimmed and the pianist stopped his playing as large monitors descended from the ceiling at various points throughout the hall. Some of the crowd began to applaud in anticipation.

 

"Oh, you'll enjoy this." Philip chortled, taking a bracing sip of his whiskey.

The monitors flashed to life. The words, in sleek, italicized letters, "Club Butterfat CXCII - Mexico City" faded in, followed by a two minute montage, set to an uptempo latin salsa beat, of the prior month's event. Huge swaying asses of all colors in thong bikinis, smiling, doped-up fatties blowing kisses and dancing awkwardly but happily, massive hanging bellies slapping against misshapen thighs pouring over with rolls of lard. A close-up of a delicately made-up but enormously fat-crowded face with oxygen cannulae fitted into its nose having a thick tube pushed past its lips. Then onto hyperquick cuts, on the beat, to flashes of a hog waddling, to cheers, onto a large stage with an LCD screen overhead, to shots of chaotic gangbangs, naked piles of flesh pounded mercilessly with oversized cocks, teasing shots of soft fat rolls in motion, cellulite being firmly groped, shaken and slapped, and finally, with the music suddenly dropping out, and the screen fading to black, the sounds of anguished, terrified screams, pleading, and begging from a soft but fat-thickened voice, accompanied by ghoulish laughter and the thick slapping of flesh. The sound faded out. 

 

Philip turned to Peter, whose eyes were wide, and on whose lips a genuine smile had appeared. "Just wait".

 

Suddenly, a happy europop electronica song began to play. The monitors came alive once again, first with a blindingly white screen, and, flying forward from the background with a comic "bulge" sound effect, the playfully puffed pink logo "Club Butterfat", followed by, in black block lettering, "CXCIII - Genve". 

 

The ensuing video, obviously cobbled together in haste but with skill, immediately cut to a shot of an enormously fat young man in a double-wide airplane seat begging, with wet eyes, to be fed. Then to another heavily made-up fatgirl weepily pleading to have her belly stuffed - "feeeed me pleeeaaaase!" she wailed. Then a shot of an obese pear shaped fatty in the back of a van biting her plump lip and saying, with obvious desperation "I just need... a little sweetness... in my mouth". Followed by an enormous fat hog of over 850 pounds breathing with difficulty, stuttering and sobbing "f-f-funnel... p-p-pleeeaase!" Then a quickly multiplying mosaic of fatties all desperately begging to be fed, offering anything, clutching their soft, empty bellies, weeping for food, turning into a cacophonous composite of whining, desperate noise, which then cut out, suddenly, the screen turning to black. Fading into view was the simple message 

 

"WELCOME, MEMBERS" in tasteful black text. 

 

The lights came back up to applause and approving murmuring from the membership. 

Peter's eyes were narrowed and his nostrils flared. He aggressively drained his martini 

and shot a malevolent smirk at Philip.

 

"Well, Peter? Shall we proceed? There are some people I want you to meet, and you certainly don't want to miss the weigh-in ceremony. It's only for new and notables, as weighing every hog would take all night, but it's always a highlight...."

 

With that, double doors up and down the hall opened up to the massive, vaulted interior of the mostly hollowed-out chateau. Fog and pulsing laser light poured out as loud electronic dance music began to play. The members proceeded, happily and gleefully, inside, to where their own hogs and those they wished to meet would be waiting.

 

chapter 34

 

With a guiding hand placed firmly and warmly on Peter's shoulder and the other swirling his potent drink, Philip led the way into the throbbing, flashing, cavernous main room. The decor was tasteful, but not subtle, with a sort of modern European aristocratic chic aesthetic. Gaudy chandeliers hung from above, and pulsing lasers reflected and refracted through the crystal to the hypnotic beat of house music, giving an effect not unlike but more magically disorienting than that of a disco ball. Sconces glowed amber against the wall, and pnumatic tubing was barely visible criss-crossing above the chandeliers in the high rafters. Hanging at downward angles on the upper walls were massive LCD monitors, which currently just displayed the club's signature logo in a bouncing, quivering pink graphic. 

 

The room was enormous, and dimly lit enough that you could not see the other end. Huge, deep conversation pits upholstered in plush red velvet dotted the space, each with a pole extending from the center, circular banquette topped with a white card bearing a number. Series of heavy wooden double-doors lined the walls on either side, each with a red plaque bearing number in black lettering. These were large private suites that were reserved for senior membership or for those in exceptionally good standing. 

 

In between the conversation pits, which were spaced generously from one another throughout the room, there were never spaces of more than 15 feet or so without some sort of plush sitting surface- overstuffed armless chairs, circular beds piled with soft pillows, chaise lounges for reclining, and of course, throughout, massive steaming silver treys of every fattening food imaginable, tables piled high with glistening desserts arranged with breathtaking artistic flare, and, of course, uniformed waiters standing by with heaping treys of the same, as well as several more bearing frosty, voluminous, whipped-cream-and-cherry topped milkshakes. It was a feeder theme park. As the smoke cleared, Philip and Peter saw that many of the memberships' precious cargo had already been led, like a herd of pigs, into place, lured with morsels of food that the starving hogs could not resist. 

 

It was clear to Peter that, by virtue of the makeup of the hogs occupying each of the numbered conversation pits, that the various contingents of membership tended to self-segregate by specific taste in type of hog rather than by nationality or language or race. Philip's attention appeared to be on recognizing, greeting, and making smalltalk with influential or important members who were also making their entrances, but Peter, for whom all this was new, gawked at the sight in front of him. 

As Philip stood talking numbers with a regional director, Peter fixated onto a pit to his left that was filled with a jostling, jiggling gaggle of fatgurls. Five of them. All fake, blown-out peroxide blonde and heavily made up, stuffed into sprayed on polyester bandage dresses that hugged enhanced-looking obese curves. They looked very young- each weighing, Peter estimated, each around 400 pounds, or a bit more, and so heavily tarted up that there was no trace, as Philip had intimated, or falsity to the feminine aesthetic. It looked like a meeting of a particularly unsuccessful collegiate branch of Overeaters Anonymous. The girls clutched at their bellies and whined petulantly to one another, scanning the room anxiously for their members with wide eyes and bitten lips. 

 

Suddenly, out of the fog, three men emerged- each in their mid-40's, and each from evidently differing backgrounds. A Swede and a Nigerian, both wearing suits, and an Argentine in military dress. Each grinned as they approached the pit, which contained the over 2,000 pounds of eager, hungry fat they had supplied themselves for the night. The fatgurls squealed upon seeing their beaux appear from the darkness, bouncing up and down excitedly and straining their dresses, though none stood up. 

 

"Who's ready to eat themselves out of their dress?" The Argentine barked as the other two men smirked. A shrieking chorus of "Meeee!" rang out, as flabby arms shot up to indicate enthusiasm (school habits died hard, and these fatgurls looked like they'd been in middle school less than half a decade ago) 

 

The Nigerian approached the center banquette and placed his palm on a pad. Immediately, the inner bench slid back and was replaced by a buffet of sweets- all sweets, Peter observed, curiously. With flashing eyes and a frenzied squeal, the five fatgurls all awkwardly lunged and rocked forward, sliding off the outer banquette and onto their knees, breathing hard as they inched toward the food. Once within grasping distance, each girl began cramming themselves full as if their lives depended on it, chewing as little as could be managed, letting out moans and "Oh my GOD"s, and other aural signals of much needed relief as they frantically self-filled. 

 

The three men clinked glasses and laughed at the comic spectacle of hoggish gluttony from their young companions. "No tears this time- I'm almost disappointed!" The Nigerian man laughed as he reached down and jostled the hanging pool of bellyfat beneath the largest blonde- maybe 460 pounds, Peter estimated. "What's the matter, baby, don't you really want to show me how badly you need to eat?" There was no response- only desperate swallowing. If they could hear, it didn't matter. The only thing these girls cared about was filling the bottomless, screaming need for calories, as each made involuntary, pornographically muffled moaning noises with each gluttonous mouthful. Only one had had the presence of mind to put her comically blown-out blonde hair into a ponytail to keep safe from the gooey globs of dessert she stuffed into her apple-cheeked face. 

 

The Swede mock-sighed. "They spend days primping and obsessing over their hair and makeup, but every time they have buttercream dripping down their chins within minutes." 

 

The Argentine quipped back "Priorities, my friend. If my girls don't taste like butter when I kiss them, they get the funnel."

 

chapter 35

 

The Swede laughed and turned to the Nigerian. "Tiffany's put on at least 30 pounds since last month- I'm surprised she wasn't chosen as a notable. Still barely 18. What are you filling this hog with to make her blow up so fast?"

 

"You know, it sounds simple, but corn." The African replied. "More than that, of course, but I've just been feeding her like a pork sow, with a little twist. My grandfather used to raise pigs and swore by corn to fatten them up, so I figured it's corn syrup that got her as fat as she was when I found her, and it's also what seems to be making all these teenagers so fat these days, why not just max her out on it? You wouldn't believe how addicted she is. I just keep her filled with the stuff. Between that and the hormones, she's ballooned. Begs to be fed day and night."

 

The Argentine smirked as he surveyed the young hogs continued two-handed filling, plump asses bulging out behind them, straining the fabric of Katrina's handiwork. "That's a dangerous strategy, amigo. She'll be diabetic by the time she's twenty, and god knows what else", he said, wryly.

 

The Nigerian laughed and smacked Tiffany's big ass, sending ripples through the blonde's flabby body "Oh my goodness, I hadn't thought of that! Tiffany, did you hear that? You'd better stop eating and go on a diet..."

 

All three men roared with laughter. None of the girls stopped eating, their eyes glazed over in pleasure.

 

"Haven't you heard?" The Nigerian responded to the Argentine, "I can just sell her to Petrov and the deathfat guys. A corn-syrup addicted fatgurl already falling apart at 20 years old? I'd make a fortune off of them. Plus, I have some very plump prospects graduating from high school next year that I'd be glad to dedicate more of my focus toward."

 

"Hmmm".... The Argentine mused, running his hands over the bulging rolls of doughy backfat stacked above two of the more pear-shaped girls' arched backs. "Yes, I see your point. You'll have to connect me with your corn syrup supplier, then." He wrapped one of the gorging blondes' platinum ponytail around his fist and pulled her up from the endless bounty of sugary treats- "Do you like the sound of that, Daisy? We're taking the training wheels off. I expect this ass to balloon, no excuses. Or else I might send you back to school to finish your freshman year... understood?" 

 

The blonde breathed heavily, frosting and whipped cream smeared around her mouth, and dutifully whined "yessss daddyyyyy" while batting her heavily lashed blue eyes, which darted back down toward her pile of sugar and fat. Peter noticed the unmistakable effect of minor facial procedures to enhance the fatty's feminine appeal- nose job, lip fill and other collogen injections, and finely threaded eyebrows. The Argentine had obviously invested a great deal into this hog. 

 

The feeder held the fatgurl up by her hair for just enough time for her to begin to squirm and whine before releasing her back to her porcine self-stuffing. 

 

"I hate to throw all my hard work on Daisy and LoLo away for such quick turnaround, but suppose there's a strange satisfaction in driving a $200,000 Ferrari into a brick wall. Can you imagine what these fat sluts will look like after a year or two of Danju's corn syrup method? We may have to skip the deathfat boys entirely and go right to industrial resale."

 

The Swede beckoned a uniformed waiter carrying a trey of heaving milkshakes, who proceeded to unload them onto the banquette's flat surface, one in front of each young hog, who all perked up in excitement at what they knew from experience was a delectable, fattening frozen dessert packed with a cocktail of drugs that would make their soft bodies ache with pleasure and tingle with euphoric sensation for hours and hours- especially if they kept drinking them. 

 

The Swede winked at the impatient, greedy, obese teenagers, which served as approval for them to begin guzzling what they coveted. 

 

"You see, this is the wonderful thing about our friendship, boys." He said, watching the two fat blondes that belonged to him gulp with desperate abandon. "I'll get much pleasure watching you trash Tiffany, Daisy and Lolo here on 24 month blowup plans with nothing but the cheap sugar they crave. They deserve it, after all." He sunk his fingers into one of his girls' bulging upper arms. "And you, in turn, will enjoy watching Bambi and April here slowly- well, not slowly- grow until they can no longer fit into the regular pits. I intend to keep these hogs until they're at least 24 or 25. I'll wager that April hits 900 pounds- and not one of those big boned beefhogs- a 900 pound fatgurl is pure lard by that point due to the hormones. Sensational. And then you come by your blowout honestly. Have you ever seen a 900+ pounder redline?" 

 

"Twenty-five??" The Argentine barked back- passing out shots of chilled vodka- "Where's the fun in that?"

 

Peter stood transfixed taking this all in- he had no idea how much time had passed. 

Philip slapped Peter's back. "Terribly sorry, Peter. I had some smoothing over to do from last month with a VIP, but now we're all clear." He noticed Peter's transfixed interest. 

"Ah! You've been watching a few of our 'Cradle Robbers' at work. These three are exclusively interested in Fatgurls as close to the minimum age, which is 18 without exception, as possible. They tend to lose interest and pawn them off on some other member once they age out of college co-ed territory- usually without having put more than one or two hundred pounds onto them. It's hard not to fault them for laziness, but to each his own so long as they pay their dues. There are all sorts of interesting sub-groups within the club, as you'll soon see."

 

"I.... see... " Peter muttered, still taking in the scene. The three men were maneuvering their five giggling young blimps, high from their first hit of narcotics and with bellies sloshing full of sweetness, at least for now, out of the pit to jiggle around on the dance floor. 

 

Philip looked at his companion, amused. "C'mon. We'll head to our spot- the presentations will start soon, but first I want you to meet somebody…"

 

chapter 36

 

Philip took Peter warmly by the arm and guided him briskly through this novel fantasy-land of feederism taking place all around them. These fatties moved slowly, but the room, until moments ago populated mainly with well dressed members, was beginning, it seemed to Peter, to fill up with more blubber than he'd ever seen in one place in his entire life. Some face down in piles of decadent food, others happily sucking down milkshake cocktails, others waddling around aimlessly searching for their benefactors, while other members looked on wolfishly for strays to poach. 

 

Grabbing two fresh drinks from a passing trey, Philip expounded as he made a meandering path through the floor, winking at meandering fatgurls poured into club dresses and nodding at members new and established:

"So as you can see, about two thirds of the 'talent' here is of the fatgurl variety- and I'm thrilled about that. But there are subgroups, not limited to the 'cradle robbers' you just saw. There are those that trade exclusively in blondes or brunettes or exotics, others that go for as much cosmetic surgery as possible to get that fake bimbo stripper look. Others get off specifically on girl-next-door or fat wifey-types. Others only abide pears. Some just go for pure circus fat lady size- but I don't allow slobs, at least not past a point. The unifying quality is that none of them can have a trace of discernible maleness. Lotta ways to control for that, but me, I like it to look as seamless and natural as possible. The fatgurl type is great because it creates competition that isn't just based on a number on a scale. I respect the variety of taste we cater to, but if I could get the board to approve a fatgurl-only policy, I would."

 

He pointed to another group- some older Canadian gents leading around a few short-haired, bondage-gear-clad twenty-something fat boys on a leather leashes. They all looked to be in the 400 pound range, pale bellies jiggling and slapping against 

unshaven thighs and moobs bouncing freely.

 

"There are still plenty of old schoolers left. All fatties lose their masculinity in some sense, but they don't all become giggling girls. This type over here is what we call 'Basic'. Just sort of your general overfed submissive gay clone. Obese, smooth, usually comes to us with some sort of drug addiction or another that can be used to our advantage. They're suggestible. In my opinion, this is beyond boring. Inexcusably uncreative. Back in the early days of the club this was the dominant type of fatty we had. Back before tastes evolved and specialized. I always hated it. We still get a few of 'em, but members usually pass these hogs around and folks often get tired of them before they even get very big, which then becomes an annoying problem to solve. It doesn't hurt that they're viewed as entirely disposable by the guys that bring them in."

 

They had reached the back of the hall, a wall facing the still empty stage. As Philip talked, he glided Peter past an attended velvet rope and into an elevator, which, without a button pressed, began to ascend.

"It'd take me forever to walk you through the taxonomy of tasted and cliques within our membership, but there is, as I said, somebody I'd like to you meet specifically. Takeshi Nomura is a board member- not a founding member, only joined four years ago, but he's really become a player. I have my reservations about his influence, but I have a feeling you'll.... bond."

 

The elevator reached its destination- the Board VIP lounge. No fatties allowed. This was a place to talk business.

Mr. Nomura and his retinue were huddled, smoking and drinking, passing around a series of tablet computers displaying inscrutable images. 

 

"Philip! Philip my boy." Nomura parted and glided through his entourage to shake Redmond's hand. 

 

"Takeshi." Philip grinned. "What poor, doomed creature do you have locked up downstairs this time?" 

 

"Backstage, actually. A new LTO, my friend. A 12 month plan from today. Wait five minutes, Philip, and you'll see for yourself. I'm told you have a new stunner yourself- the floor is abuzz about it. You really must stop showing off, Redmond- you're well liked but you'll be resented if you keep peacocking like this." Nomura teased. 

Redmond turned to Peter. "LTO stands for 'limited time offer.' Colloquially, we call these 'heart attack specials'. Huge fatties, in absolutely terrible shape, that members like Takeshi think they can 'wrap up' in 12 to 18 months, by any means available, no holds barred. Nomura here is the leader of the 'Deathfat' wing of membership- or, I'm sorry, Takeshi, is that considered offensive nomenclature?"

Peter's eyes were burning.

"Offensive? I embrace it. Please use it!" Nomura laughed, draping his arm around Redmond. "You know, Philip, I have absolutely no problem with your Fatgurl movement. Completely compatible with my own tastes. So many of them are absolutely, irresistibly stunning. I just wish you'd let me get my hands on them and push them a little harder. Those bitches want to eat- so let's make them really eat. Show them where all that eating gets them!" He laughed. 

 

"It's something almost all these fatties have to deal with eventually, it's true. I just don't like making it a deliberate goal unto itself." Redmond retorted.

"I think you're lying." Nomura took a long drag on his cigarette. "I've heard you talk. And word is your new teenaged dream is on a 24 month plan. Besides, the key to satisfied membership is new product. Turnover is good for business. Who wants to keep looking at the same fatties year after year?"

 

He had Redmond there. He decided to change the subject.

 

"In any case, old friend, please meet *our* NEW friend, Peter Saint-Julian. Peter is a new member, and from what I surmise comports very closely to your own tastes- although I'm hoping to get him into a big, wide-hipped redhead of my own choosing this weekend."

 

"A pleasure, a pleasure. We will have much to discuss, Peter. And much to show you. As I said, I'm not hostile toward Philip's vision of a sea of huge, tittering bimbos twirling their hair and pressing their tits together for our pleasure. I simply want us all to stop pretending we *don't* all aspire to see them clutching their chests and calling for help while we're fucking them! By the way, we really need to think of a term for when that happens."

 

Peter gripped Nomura's hand firmly. "I think I've found my team, Philip." 

 

"I am rarely wrong about these things", Philip smirked as he strolled toward the viewing balcony. "Now why don't we all watch the stage. The introductions are about to start.”

 

chapter 37

 

Backstage, Steffi was seated in a double-wide padded chair, pawing at her belly, whimpering, and was seeing double. She cannot remember a time she had gone this long without eating- even before she had met Philip. She was lightheaded, hardly able to hang onto a coherent thought for more than a few seconds. She considered what she'd do to be placed back in her suite full of food at that moment. 

So unaware was Steffi that she didn't realize that she was part of a progression of similarly distressed fatties, all of whom were emitting similar moans of frustration and meek please of hunger to nobody in particular. 

 

Murmers of hopeful recognition- a non-fatty who might have food was approaching- cascaded up the line as Roger Fleury marched toward the wings and stage entrance from the back-offices. He eyed Steffi with a broad smile as he approached and stopped in front of her, hungrily taking in her egregiously tarted up form, face, hair, and soft body stuffed into tight netting. He gripped her doughy upper arms hard, flab seemingly oozing through his fingers. 

 

"Remember what I told you, mademoiselle. You will soon have all the food you crave, and all the attention you desire. Give the men what they want, and eat it all, porcelet."

He kissed her fat cheek softly and gave her arms an affectionate pat, strolling confidently toward the stage. Steffi was still entirely unsure what she was about to do and what was expected of her. 

 

Roger took the stage, mic'd up and beaming. A round spotlight shone on him- less charismatic men would wither, but he shone. The crowd cheered enthusiastically. 

"Bienvenue! Welcome my friends and fellow members of 21st Century Blimps, to Club Butterfat 193, Geneve. I am, humbly, Roger Fleury, and I will once again be your master of ceremonies this weekend," *applause*

 

"It is with pride and pleasure that I look out upon not only so many old and new friends, but on such an obscene abundance of blubber- I'm delighted to say, marking a new record for gross hog tonnage for a midseason event! Congratulations! *crowd cheers at length*

 

"This is despite the unfortunate loss of over a ton's worth of some of our largest dancefloor-cleared hogs last month in Mexico City!" *crowed roars ecstatically*

Fleury pauses. He furrows his brow but grins. He knows how to work this crowd. "I have been instructed to remind you all that we want to do allll that we can to avoid a repeat of last month's traumatic events. Be mindful of your hog's consumption and exertion, especially those above 650 pounds, and look for the telltale signs of redlining..." The crowd went into a frenzy, stomping and pounding chairs. Hogs looked up from their food, worried. Up in the VIP observation area, Nomura shoots Redmond a smug and knowing look while Peter orders another drink- a double.

 

".... and be mindful that we have trained medical teams on standby, and are pleased to offer a variety of treats and foodstuffs *more* heart healthy than pure lard!" Fleury winks and grins. "But, my friends, of course, more than anything, follow your desires and enjoy this fabulous weekend! *crowd cheers*

 

"...And now, of course, it is my pleasure to introduce to you a selection of new and notable additions and returns to the weekend's festivities. These, as you know, are hogs either submitted by new and prominent members, or otherwise deemed by our board and quality committee to exhibit exceptional potential or recent development across all categories...."

 

The huge screen behind Roger suddenly went bright. The letter "B" in quotes floated to the fore, followed by the name "Jesse" in a thin font, followed by "Richard Amaro" beneath it. 

 

"First, we have a submission from brand new member Richard Amaro, of Vancouver". A smattering of cheers from the back go up. 

 

A sandy-blonde, somewhat dumpy, freckled young fatty waddled on to the stage, built effectively like your average soft-jawed, overweight former high school lineman, but sapped of whatever muscle lay beneath due to prolonged inactivity. Belly fat wobbled, moobs bounced, but no real ass to speak of. The best that could be said was that his body was clearly predisposed to gain weight- particularly visceral belly fat- and that, perhaps, he might balloon with a dedicated course of feeding- though Amaro had yet to establish any sort of reputation for fattening competency. Jesse was pink cheeked, maybe 5'10, and dressed in a typical leather harness with patent leather briefs. An outfit you'd pick up in any BDSM store in any city in the world. The crowd applauded politely. 

 

"Right this way my boy. Step onto the scale. That's right." The fat boy's eyes darted around nervously. He was heavily drugged on something, and fairly incommunicative. 

Philip grimaced and turned to Nomura. "We have to do something about these basic hogs. It's embarrassing." Nomura nodded. "I could tell Amaro was a sub-par addition. I don't care how rich he is. I could certainly do something interesting with that hog though, 

if and when he loses interest in it..."

 

The boy was corralled onto a wide pad on the center of the stage, where the spotlight pooled on him, accentuating his ruddy, mottled complexion- on the screen, a digital dial began to spin- then was replaced by a compliment of statistics, which Roger read off enthusiastically:

JESSE - BASIC HOG

21 YEARS OLD

5 FEET, 10 INCHES

408.6 POUNDS

BMI: 58.7

MEMBER: RICHARD AMARO (INAUGURAL)

 

A BMI under 60 was seen in the organizational culture as a major faux pas. Nevertheless, polite applause rose from the crowd, one or two heckles of "get that hog a meal!" from those already slightly overserved, with a few sycophantic hoots of approval from the Amaro table in the back. It was company culture not to judge initial offerings from a new member too harshly. The hog was ushered offstage unceremoniously, where he was greeted with a milkshake and ushered to his sponsor, and doubtlessly more food. 

 

The stats and backdrop for Jesse were wiped off the screen, as Roger in his column of light once again took center stage. 

 

"Off to a lovely start!", he lied. "Richard, we expect big things from you. Remember, your fellow members will be your greatest resource! Now on to the next!”

 

chapter 38

 

A grunting figure began making heavy, toddling footfalls onto the stage. On the screen emerged the letters "RP", followed by a name, "Pancetta", followed by "Viktor Dolokov".

Up in the VIP suite, Philip turned to Peter "Ah, I suppose we can continue our taxonomical lesson! 'RP' stands for 'Real Pig'. These feeders prize real, literal pig-like characteristics in their hogs, and employ all manner of surgeries, implants, or prosthetics to achieve the desired effect. Sometimes they're fatgurl types, sometimes not. We don't have many of these- it's a small but zealous contingent. Takes a lot of dedication. It's actually a form of artistry all on its own- I have to admire it. Some of these members are actual surgeons, and enjoy acting out their fantasies on these hogs, who themselves, more often than not, are willing fetishists themselves in the same vein, or at least think of themselves as such at first. They tend to be messy eaters, these hogs, and the members who sponsor them are especially fixated on subjugation, degradation, and dehumanization". 

 

"Well, you can't fault them for that!" Peter rejoined, smirkingly. 

 

"Ha- I suppose not. Unfortunately, as with most willing and conscious fetishists who take fantasy too far, these hogs usually experience some sort of moment of terrifying clarity and panicked regret when they realize how irrevocably far their own fetish has taken them. We keep them pretty much permanently subdued after that." 

 

On the stage, Roger continued:

"Now, you all remember Director Viktor Dolokov's charming Real Pig, Pancetta, don't you? Pancetta has been hard at work at her trough these last few months, it seems, and has undergone a few more impressive modifications! Take your time, my sweet..."

The shuffling, naked hog, skin a pinkish hue all over, sucked air awkwardly through a surgically altered nose that presented with two forward-facing nostrals- a proper snout. The crowd cheered, impressed. Each exhale brought with it a wheedling, pathetic squeal, as the hog clopped slowly toward the weigh-in pad on makeshift trotters affixed to her feet- training hooves for the real thing. 

Roger read out the display:

 

PANCETTA- REAL PIG

25 YEARS OLD

5 FEET, 8 INCHES

561.9 pounds 

BMI: 85.2

MEMBER: VIKTOR DOLOKOV (REGIONAL DIRECTOR)

 

The crowd whooped and whistled, impressed.

 

Pancetta was a wide, thick, fat-all-over hog, who weighed even more than she looked. A shuffling wall of fat, sucking air out of nostrils that had sacrificed functionality for decorative purpose. Even though her feeder had chosen to identify her as a fatgurl type, she didn't exhibit much in the way of femininity. Nor masculinity. The ribboned pigtails only served to identify her, more than anything else, as a "Sow". The likeliest explanation was that Dolokov had fixated on the name "Pancetta", which he deemed to be a girl's name. What he was really after, obviously, was a pig. 

 

Roger approached the hog to do a bit of crowd-work, grabbing a sweaty roll of meaty back-fat, he shook, sending the hog's lard-engorged torso into a thick wobble

"My goodness, piggy, five hundred and sixty two pounds! Better ease up or it'll be time to send you to market!" The crowd ate it up. "Somebody will have to tell me which part is the bacon and which part is the tenderloin- all I know is that, as the chefs say, 'fat is flavor'!" The crowd laughed and applauded. 

 

"Now, Pancetta, you are to be commended- those trotter shoes cannot be easy to waddle in, especially at your weight. Surely Viktor will treat you to a more permanent solution soon, yes? Viktor, I would never presume to advise, but what is this lovely farm animal doing on two legs? Though I suppose this belly would drag on the ground were you to have her on all fours" He grabbed and shook a pink upper belly roll - "perhaps we can put that to the test later tonight?" The crowd applauded as the wheezing pink hog was escorted off the stage- but not before the reveal of a pink curly tail- a permanent addition to the fatty's round, ballooning haunches. 

 

"Next, we have another new member addition from young Mr. Patrick Stackhouse of New York. It would seem young Patrick has learned from the best." Roger gestured to the balcony, where Philip sheepishly acknowledged the shout-out with a half-raise of his whisky glass. 

 

"Please welcome to the stage first time offering, Jenny!" 

Waddling out confidently onto the stage in clicking heels came Jenny, shimmering, bouncing brown hair and gleaming white teeth. An overfed, hormone pumped beauty queen stuffed into a skin-tight purple gown that showed off her exaggerated hourglass. Patrick had sunk massive expense and time into Jenny, keeping her under wraps for six months worth of hormone conditioning, aesthetic procedures and treatments including E-cup tits filled with real fat and a perfect, brand new nose, as well as a moderately aggressive course of private fattening and substance-heavy psychological conditioning of his own devising. This was an impressive first entry. In the upstairs area, Philip furrowed his brow. "God damn it." He had underestimated his protege. The fatgurl's poise, relative to the others', was partly due to the fact that Patrick had fed her beforehand in violation of the rules, ameliorating the hunger panic the others were undergoing. He wasn't worried that it would spoil her appetite. 

 

Roger took Jenny's fat, manicured hand and kissed it tenderly. "Gentlemen, I don't think I need to tell you when you see a star born before your eyes! Give us a twirl, sweet Jenny." Jenny, beaming with the smile of a pageant contestant, shuffled in her heels, masking the effort, to turn around, showing the crowd her wide-hipped backside, and raising her fat, tanned, bare arms in the air in a Marilyn Monroe-esque pose. From the crowd, the men screamed obscene pledges of things they'd feed her, things they'd do to her, things they'd give to her. Shuffling back around, she blew kisses and flipped her shiny hair over her fat, round shoulders. She was high on the adulation.

Upstairs, Nomura leaned over to Redmond: "You didn't tell me Yvette had a younger sister!" He joked. Philip forced a smile. 

 

"Right this way, my beauty" Roger ushered young Jenny to the weigh-in pad, where she stood, poised, as if waiting to be crowned Miss Universe. Roger read the screen:

 

JENNY- FATGURL

21 YEARS OLD

5 FEET, 7 INCHES

514.7 POUNDS

BMI: 80.7

MEMBER: PATRICK STACKHOUSE (INAUGURAL)

 

The men bellowed such that the room seemed to shake. Euphoric, Jenny licked her dark, painted lips and pressed her deep cleavage together as she stared carnally into the dark crowd. She could almost hear the cocks hardening. She loved it. 

 

"My dear, it looks as though you have a public that dearly wants to make your acquaintance. Mr. Stackhouse," he winked, "... I'd advise you not to let this one out of your sight or she might end up on her knees in a more senior member's suite!" He smacked Jenny's huge, round, firmly packed fat ass. "Now go fill that belly, fat girl... you deserve it. And much more…"

 

chapter 39

 

Upstairs, Philip grabbed another drink and paced, doing back-of-napkin mental math about Steffi's potential gain over the month-plus prior. Why hadn't he taken a more personal role in preparing her? He'd been so busy. But it would be humiliating to be outdone by a snot-nosed rookie member, much less one he'd nominated himself and charged with the preparation of his own hog. 515 pounds was impressive. More impressive was the absolute exquisite attention to detail Jenny had shown- not to mention enthusiasm and poise. What cocktail of drugs did Patrick have her on? In any case, Miss Congeniality was an extrovert and an attention whore- much more Yvette than Steffi, and was going to receive a mammoth amount of attention. She would likely blow up quickly. It may have seemed petty considering the overall goals and culture of the club, but Philip was worried. He was competitive. And the mental math wasn't turning out in his favor. 

 

As Jenny jiggled offstage, down into the crowd, dozens of hands outstretched to receive her (though she took only Patrick's for now), Roger tried, with some difficulty, to bring the focus back to the stage. 

 

"Monsieurs, please, we've only just begun! I have, next, a submission from our esteemed Board Member Takeshi Nomura!" That got the crowd's attention. "Yes, gentlemen, another limited time offer- one year only! Or less, if you scoundrels can't learn to behave yourselves!" He taunted, playfully.

 

"Make it six months!" Shouted Nomura from the balcony- his arm around new friend Peter. The crowd cracked up in approval.

 

"Now, now." Roger mock-scolded. "Please welcome to the stage, Bailey!" 

Shuffling from the wings, sucking air like a fish, oxygen cannula affixed to nostrils (the tank for which was wheeled alongside by a Japanese attendant), was an entirely androgynous and alarmingly obese person in a thin, open robe in the style of a hospital gown. Thick, sallow belly fat hung against tree-trunk thighs, while bloated, fat-logged breasts hung lazily to either side with downturned nipples. The wheezing was audible. The audience laughed and clapped. 

"On second thought.... Three months?" Roger joked to approving laughter as he gave the slow hog a wide berth. "Mister Nomura has instructed me to advise the membership that Bailey is a very gluttonous fatty and, as such, all members are permitted and encouraged to ensure he does not go hungry!" Nomura's team, surreptitiously, had wheeled vats of thick, viscous, high calorie slop up against the walls. 

Bailey slowly lumbered his way to the weigh-in pad, bloated, edemic legs wobbling periously as fat, flat feet threatening to be swallowed up by ankle fat slapped against the stage. Roger read out the results:

 

BAILY- LTO

28 YEARS OLD

5 FEET 11 INCHES

712 POUNDS

BMI: 99.3

MEMBER: TAKESHI NOMURA (BOARD)

 

"Ninety-nine point three! So close, Mr. Nomura. So very close." Upstairs, Nomura gritted his teeth. It had been close. 99.3 was no shame, but he had insisted upon making a triple digit splash. One good stuffing could have made the difference. His team was getting soft. Somebody would be fired over this. And Bailey would be treated with no 

mercy moving forward. 

 

Bailey's eyes were half-closed, as he searched around the crowed, pathetically, bloated hands clutching his empty belly. "P... please..." he seemed to mouth. The deathfat members roared to have him handed over for stuffing, shouting taunts and brandishing funnels and tubes menacingly. 

"I would tell you all to be gentle with Bailey, but I think Mr. Nomura would advise us to seize the day, as tomorrow is never promised for anybody..." He moved in on Bailey, softly grabbing the collar of fat around his throat, derisively shouting "...especially when you're gobbling yourself toward a half-ton of lard!" Laughter. "Fill this hog's belly, boys! Let's get that heartrate up!" Manic cheers.

 

Bailey was escorted slowly down into the throbbing crowd by two attendants, and a third to wheel the oxygen, a slop-filled tube pushed into his mouth within seconds of reaching the floor.

 

chapter 40

 

"Now please," Roger continued on, "Next, we have a special treat. A brand new offering from our very own director of scouting, august Board member, and the man responsible for tonight's affair, the legendary Philip Redmond!" The crowd applauded loudly and dutifully, craning their necks to gaze up at Redmond's balcony, where he grinned and toasted back to them, masking his nerves. 

 

"At the risk of inflating expectations..." Roger laughed at his pun, "I will say that I suspect Redmond may have outdone himself with this charming new fatgurl who I had the pleasure of meeting backstage. At her age, should just be starting her second year at university. Instead, she's here with us, and she's hungry, boys. Please welcome Steffi!" 

 

Steffi felt a hard shove on her backside, prompting her to toddle out in her high heels, holding her fat, bloated arms out to keep from losing balance, falling over, and embarrassing herself in front of Philips' friends. The light shone on the fat blonde, nearly blinding her. 

 

The crowd immediately stirred at the sight of this shy, obese, teenaged sex kitten stuffed into hot pink mesh that encased flesh of such gelatinous softness that it oozed out in soft triangles of lard at the tightest part, around her wide, round hips. 

Sensing a deer-in-the-headlights moment, Roger rushed over to take Steffi's fat hand and escort her forward to the front of the stage. Seeing her in motion, the crowd's eyes collectively bulged. This girl was pure jelly, pure undulating girlblubber, from her impossibly wide, perfectly round hips which swung and wobbled from side to side with each halting, toddling step, to her hanging fat-sack arms which quivered and shook with each footfall. The spotlight reflected upon Steffi's perfectly styled yellow hair, accentuated by Katrina's billowing extensions to frame a naturally sweet, wide-eyed, heart shaped face that had been further puffed with young fat in the weeks prior.

Philip looked down from the balcony, enthused. She looked massive. Melody was truly a talent. Others in the VIP lounge slapped his back and muttered praise. 

 

The mesh dress left little to the imagination- lily-white skin against pink netting, showing off Steffi's exaggerated pear shape and showcasing the impossibly jellified consistency of her soft, toneless fat. Something primal in the crowd stirred. She could almost hear a low growling. 

 

"Smile at the gentlemen, porcelet." Roger whispered. She did so.... Replying "b...but.. they're so quiet.. why are they so quiet?" Roger whispered "... they are just taking you in, my dear... just smile." 

 

The nature of her outfit and the silence in the room allowed for the audible sound of Steffi's soft fat clapping against itself to echo off the stage. Thighs slapping together at the knee, belly slapping against thighs, breasts bouncing into one another and arm fat slapping against her sides. It was a wet and intoxicatingly erotic sound. 

They came to a stop just short of the weigh-in pad. 

 

"Gentlemen! Surely, now, you see what I mean! Steffi was, if you can believe it, working in a mall food court just over *one* month ago... this is, as you can see, a truly natural fatgurl!"

At his table, Patrick Stackhouse, while no less impressed, muttered at the veiled dig. 

The crowd broke their trance, cheering and whooping. Steffi blushed and held a fat hand up to her mouth to keep from giggling. Beyond her unique and temptingly carnal figure, Steffi's obvious innocence and, youth, and doe-eyed obliviousness was like catnip to the room full of feeders. 

 

Tracing Steffi's wide figure suggestively with his hands, giving her hips a slight wobble with a flick of his wrist, Roger worked the crowd. "I'm sure you're all wondering just how MUCH young pork we're working with here!"

"Weigh that fat whore!" Came a shout from the crowd.

 

"I wanna measure those hips!" Came another.

 

"Send that obese bitch down here! We wanna give her a snack!"

Roger whispered to Steffi to take three steps forward onto the pad. The digital dial spun once again behind her as the men gazed up in anticipation. Roger could barely disguise his glee. 

 

STEFFI- FATGURL

19 YEARS OLD

5 Feet, 6 INCHES

523.6 POUNDS

BMI: 84.4

MEMBER: PHILIP REDMOND (BOARD)

 

Steffi put both fat hands to her mouth, gasping. Her heart raced as she worked not to lose consciousness between the shock and her low bloodsugar. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy, shouting out catcalls and obscenities.

 

"Fill that fat blonde bitch up with cum and lard!" 

 

"Hope she's ready to open her throat up!"

 

"Shoulda stayed in school, blondie! Hope you're hungry!"

 

Steffi's head spun hearing all of this, and was shocked at the weight she'd just heard. If he was honest, so was Philip. She was easily 10 to 15 pounds fatter than his rosiest projections. And what's more, he had saved face by besting his protege by seemingly every metric- even Steffi's total lack of poise turned out to be a paradoxical asset. 

Roger approached from behind and startled Steffi by pressing his strong hand into the small of her back, looking over her shoulder and appearing to gaze down her decolletage. He addressed the crowd "Gentlemen, some of you in the back may be wondering what the shining gold-lettered necklace hovering above young Ms. Steffi's delicious looking tits might spell out- it says 'PLEASE FEED ME'. If you insist, Mr. Redmond, if you insist!" He pulled his hand back and gave Steffi's ballooning behind a hard slap, sending a wave of helpless jiggling through her soft body.

 

"Young American girls just keep getting fatter and fatter, don't they? Enjoy, gentlemen... now, on to the next hog!"

 

Nomura sidled up to Philip. "Word was you had a 400-something pound teenaged fatgirl bursting with potential... looks like she porks up easily. I'd be happy to help you maximize your return on that 24 month plan... I'm at your service." He patted Redmond on the shoulder and excused himself downstairs. 

Philip needed to get downstairs too. His starving, quarter-ton booty princess was about to be released into the crowd, and fear of retribution by a Board member would only hold them off for so long. Besides, hungry Steffi would likely happily agree to deep-throat anybody holding a trey of donuts in her current state. He needed to move fast.

 

chapter 41

 

Philip moved like a lion through the throbbing, murmuring crowd of feeders and their hogs toward his helpless property. Members dutifully stepped aside to clear his path as he stalked the long ballroom with purpose; none of his usual glad-handing and friendly asides. 

 

He shoved his way through a dense gathering of feeders circling a VIP conversation pit on the far side of the room, to the left of the stage where Steffi had exited after her debut and introduction. 

 

There she was. 523 pounds of undulating, buttery pork, diamond bubbles of lard oozing through the pink mesh she was stuffed into, on her dimpled, fat-encased knees surrounded by grinning, laughing feeders who stooped periodically to grope a handful of Steffi's toneless blubber and whisper doubtlessly obscene encouragement into her ear. 

Steffi's small mouth was wrapped around the custom molded plastic end of a length of clear hose in the shape of a thick, hollow dildo. The hose snaked up and attached to a large copper funnel, held aloft by one feeder while another slowly emptied two pitchers of thick, white shake* into the basin. Her eyes were half-closed in gluttonous ecstasy as she sucked, hard, through the head of the hard plastic cock and gulped greedy, sticky mouthfuls of the substance. Her heretofore painfully empty belly was being filled as hands playfully groped and slapped her bulging body. She was, unintentionally, giving the boys a hell of a show. 

 

*Ed. note: It should be said that the "shakes" served at official events, which have been mentioned now several times, are not simply milkshakes in the traditional sense, though they nonetheless appear as such to the naked eye. For one thing, at the typical hog's volume of consumption at these gatherings, no human stomach could take that much dairy. The shakes are a combination of your typical heavy/sweet ice cream, rendered, sweetened, creamed lard, a combination of heavily hormone-infused, high-fat, non-dairy milks, and a cocktail of appetite stimulating compounds, light doses of benzodiazepines, opioid painkillers, and MDMA, caffeine, and an ingenious variety of artificial flavoring agents to taste. 

 

These shakes are ubiquitous at club events, but are not without their risks. The extremely high fat content, with the inclusion of liquified lard, is a red-line risk for some hogs. A recipe alteration was proposed to include a statin dose in the shakes to offset the cardiac danger. This proposal was quickly voted down. The drug cocktail is obviously another danger, but only in abnormally high consumption, or in hogs with already compromised respiratory systems, as the dose-by-volume is extremely low and designed only to give an almost imperceptible boost of euphoria and well-being. Unsurprisingly, these risks are ignored almost unanimously by the membership, and the unique shakes are enjoyed, craved and begged for, by essentially every hog in attendance. -Ed.

 

Philip smiled. It wasn't as bad as he had feared. Just boys having fun. Into his field of vision slithered his old friend and colleague Richard. 

"Well, it was either this or triple penetration in shifts, Phil. These boys were foaming at the mouth. I don't know what you were thinking letting her get down off that stage alone. You're lucky I was here!"

 

"You're right- I got caught up with Nomura and a new cash-cow member. I'm grateful for the assist Richard, though part of me was curious to find her getting turned inside out by a pack of young bucks. But this is exactly what she needs. Poor thing is starving and deserves a boost.

 

"You're really not going to address the fact that this is a MUCH fatter blonde than the one you showed me a month and a half ago? 

 

"Yes, although Stackhouse is owed some credit in that- he oversaw her preparation. Evidently the girl has a propensity to put on weight, poor thing..." 

 

"Who could have predicted?" 

 

The two men held back their chortling laughter and turned back to the pit, where the men were funneling a third shake down Steffi's fat-puffed throat. Hey eyelids were heavy as her pink lips gripped the thick nozzle and sucked greedily.

 

"that's right baby, gulp it all down. This should put you in the right mood for the rest of the night" one of the feeders whispered into her ear. "Fuck, this porker isn't gonna last two years- her heart is beating so fast it's making her tits bounce" another joked. It was true- as evidenced by her askew "PLEASE FEED ME" neckless.

Philip realized that the scene was reaching a tipping point- it was only a matter of moments before cocks were unsheathed and buried throughout defenseless Steffi's undulating flesh.

 

chapter 42

 

He stepped forward commandingly- the crowd of feeders looming over Steffi parting for their superior. Steffi, her mouth still molded tightly around the plastic cock streaming creamy deliciousness into her still ravenous belly, raised her eyes and saw the man who had, in her imagination, turned into more of a myth or god than a real person. Even so, as the nozzle was removed from her mouth by one of the feeders, her fat face lunged after it hungrily, brow crinkling reflexively in annoyance. She gulped her last mouthful of shake and trained her eyes, no longer lazily hooded but popped with an alert anxiety that made her lips and hands tremble, on the man who had changed her life unrecognizably in just a few short months.

 

"Five hundred and twenty three pounds, Steffi?" He slowly walked toward her, his face an unreadable cipher. A blank slate. 

 

"Point six." Richard muttered to himself. 

 

As he encroached, Steffi began to stutter. "I... I didn't... I just couldn't stop eating... in that room... I was there for so long, and you... why didn't you... am I... am I really....am I really..."

 

"Are you really that fat?" Philip cut her off- now looming over the stammering, shaking blonde, looking down to meet her needy gaze, taking in the enormity of her quivering young body, which spread like thick, undercooked dough, loving especially the cartoonish, ballooning protrusion of Steffi's ass behind her. There was nothing like a truly massive white ass resting against fat calves. 

"Oh yes, baby girl." Philip brushed his hand against Steffi's trembling fat cheek and stroked her golden hair. 

 

"...And by the look of it you enjoyed yourself. I know I told you to never stop eating but I didn't think you'd take it quite so to heart. You've piled on about 50 pounds of beautiful lard since I last saw you..."

Steffi, being crotch level with Philip, began to see the thick cylinder of Philip's manhood expand down the leg of his pants. Dizzily, she licked her plump, pink lips and let out a small whimper...

 

Philip snapped his fingers- a pair of monstrously built attendants suddenly flanked Steffi- gripping her by the arms. Their broad hands and thick, strong fingers sunk into the yielding, blubbery flesh of her toneless upper arms as they heaved her up from her kneeling position, with surprising ease, back on to her fat kitten-heeled feet. 

Philip took a slow, casual stroll around Steffi's wide circumference- luxuriating in the increase in her perimeter since he last had the pleasure. He grazed his fingertips against the bubbling triangles of lard oozing out of Steffi's debut "outfit", which looked not long for this world.

 

"... I knew you had talent, but you've shown yourself to be a greedier, more hopeless hog than I could have possibly anticipated. And now everybody's seen what a tragically desperate glutton, what a perfectly oblivious ditz, what a naturally blimp-able hog you are. You're on everybody's radar now, Steffi, not just mine. Now everybody is going to want to watch what happens to you."

 

Philip had made his way back to facing Steffi, who had been concentrating so hard on retaining consciousness that she had barely heard his miniature soliloquy. 

A moment of silent eye contact passed between the predator and his slow-moving prey. 

 

"... but my god you do look beautiful."

 

Philip took a small step forward. He took his prize fatgirl's round, cherubic face in his hands, and stooped to kiss her deeply, his thin, cruel lips pressing against the pink pillows of her mouth. 

 

As if some seal inside her had broken, Steffi pressed her lips back against his, throwing her fat arms around Philip's neck, joyfully. After an eternity, Steffi released him and buried her face into Philip's chest, clutching at his shirt, sobbing. Not out of fear or despair, but out of overwhelming happiness to be with the figure who had haunted her hazy thoughts- the one solid fixed point in a world of competing fears, raging appetites, dark desires, and opaque confusion. She nuzzled his chest as Philip stroked her hair. 

 

"Did I... " she sniffed, gaining something resembling composure. "Did I do what you wanted?" She looked up at Redmond, pleadingly.

 

"Baby, I'm so proud. Yes, believe me when I say you are a star. You're my star."

Philip took a step back from the clingy fatgurl, taking her in. She had grown so round- so much softer, rounder, fatter than the swishy obese boy he had seen in the food court clutching a sack of grease like a security blanket. This was a pristine, morbidly obese beauty with an almost unthinkable propensity to pile on fat. He clenched his teeth hard. He was going to ruin her. Drown her in blubber while she sweetly and obliviously abased herself for his approval. Her last sensations would be some combination of the sound of cheers, the sensation of swallowing something thick, and shuddering orgasm. But not now. Later. Much later. Or perhaps not that much.... 

 

He stepped forward, reaching his arms out to grip Steffi's bulging "love handles". He shook- hard- then shook again- then released to watch the young blimp's blubber shake. It jiggled and wobbled, first her buttery pendulous hips and middle, then in waves cascading down to her fattened calves and up through her round tits to the thick hanging waddle of her double chin, out to the cellulite-pocked jello sacks of her arms. The two beefy attendants held her hands to ensure she did not lose balance. 

Philip moved on the wobbling hog, pressing his lips to her ear, raspily whispering:

"Do you feel that, kitten? That's fat. So much fat. It jiggles and wobbles and has no purpose other than that. That's simply what it does. And that's what you are. You are fat. Nothing more. Some of the softest, most beautiful fat I've ever seen, but no more, simply than fat."

 

Steffi was frozen, struggling with the words she was hearing but still overwhelmed with gratitude at simply hearing the voice she had longed to hear for what had seemed like a lifetime.

 

"And if you think you're fat now, kitten..." Redmond growled, lowly, seizing a handful of buttery lard from the expanse of ass extending behind her "... if you think this ass is huge... if you think this obese, out of shape body is hard to carry around, if you think your lungs are burning and your heart is racing just from standing.... You have no idea just how enormous I'm going to make you."

 

Steffi swallowed. Her mouth was bone dry. She had stopped jiggling. Her heart was somersaulting. He continued to monologue with quiet intent:

 

"Blubberella, you are going to eat like you did in that room- and much more- every single day. You'll eat until you cry, until you pass out, then beg for more when you come to. You are never going to stop eating, you will never complain, and you will never disobey. If you do, well, your contract was explained to you. You'll end up someplace much less nice. And more importantly you will never see me again, and you will know you have made me angry. But I know you. You will eat, and grow, and sweetly obey everything you are told. Because you're mine. And in return you will want for nothing. You will swim in ecstasy. You will have me. And my love. Until the end."

 

chapter 43

 

"Because you're mine" echoed in the young hog's fat-addled brain. Somehow, the almost comically villainous speech Philip had just delivered into Steffi's ear was interpreted in her brain as the most eloquent expression of romantic love she'd ever heard. 

 

Steffi wiped away tears of joy and nodded excitedly at her man, jowly pale cheeks jiggling softly, leaning up at him for a kiss with which to seal his promise of love. 

"No." Redmond indicated downward with his eyes. He snapped his fingers and the two attendants once again grabbed Steffi's hammy arms and gently lowered her onto her knees, onto the padded ground. 

 

"Let's show all these nice men how much this plump greedy kitten wants the cream..."

With that, Redmond unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants and lowered his zipper. He reached inside to free a throbbing, girthsome ten inches of thickly veined cock glistening with pre-cum. 

 

Steffi's mouth was no longer dry... her eyes bulged with need as she instinctively slacked her jaw, anxiously worrying that her small mouth might not be up to the task. 

Redmond dabbed the pre-cum dripping tip of his cock onto Steffi's pink, outstretched tongue. The drug immediately entered her bloodstream- her pupils dilating and euphoria washing over her, just as it had with Jim. A needful whimper escaped her mouth as she licked and slurped the head clean. 

 

"God what a fat slut..." one feeder whispered to his colleague. "This one really has no control."

 

After a few halting, timid attempt by Steffi to wrap her mouth around Philip's monstrous rod, he took her fat softened jaw in his hand, pried it open an additional half inch, and shoehorned the turgid girth of his cock into her waiting mouth, inch by pulsating inch.

 

"Thats it baby, open that fat throat... show everyone." He slid deeper down his prize pig's gullet, feeling it open up and vibrate as the hog's muffled moans enveloped his meat.

 

Once he was deep down her gagless throat, nearly down to the base, the cheers began to start. Here was this quarter-ton 19 year old, buttersoft lard oozing out of pink mesh, with her throat quite literally filled with cock, so tightly in fact that she was unable to bob her head, as was her instinct, resulting instead in an awkward sort of whole body bounce, smooth white lard sloshing and clapping as tits met belly, belly met thigh, ass met calves, arms met sides, and all interpolated rolls slapped together, reproducing that signature intoxicating sound that was the siren song of feeders. 

 

Philip began to thrust, a proud grin on his face as he gazed down on the strained but joyous face of his young property, her body jiggling wildly underneath him, as was always her proper place, sucking air desperately through that delicate upturned nose that could have belonged to a minor Hollywood starlet.

 

"Gentlemen." Philip addressed the surrounding men in good humor, not ceasing his thrusting. "I'm glad to see you approve of my latest quarry." The men roared approval.

"As you can see..." He gestured down at Steffi's overstuffed mouth, from whence came muffled whimpers of delight "...the poor blimpette can't help herself.". Laughter rippled through the assembled men as Philip ground deep down his fatgurl's blubber-insulated throat, causing the gag-resistant Steffi to nearly choke. The bulging outline of Philip's shaft could be seen moving up and down her neck. ".... As I'm sure you'll all soon see."

"Take a mental picture of this little piggy now, boys-", Richard interjected to the crowd. "If I know Redmond she'll blow up to a barely mobile party girl before her first year is out- a redline risk every night." The men growled approval. 

 

"Look at her suck that cock- she's a hungry slut" one feeder barked. "Wait 'til you see her spit-roasted. I'm sure she won't get out of Switzerland before that happens" another shot back. "To say she's 'sucking' is generous. This bitch is getting face-fucked. Redmond's too thick."

 

An adjacent feeder leaned in to tease Steffi, stage-whispering, "Hope you enjoy mobility while you have it, you fat bitch." She heard others- "Look at that lard bounce- there's not a shred of muscle in there. No wonder she blew up so easily..." one observed. "We'll have to hook her up to the fuck/feed machine and film some promos- who knows how long this one will last." "Nineteen years old and looking ready to pop any minute... man, this club has come a long way."

 

Redmond had settled into a rhythm, pumping up and down his lovestruck hog's throat. He imagined her in the same position six months from now. A year. Two years. How the mixture of joy and strain will move more toward strain and away from joy as she balloons with lard. Imagining what her face will look like, choked with cock, 100 pounds from now. 300 pounds. How the pleading look would shift from one of desire to one of despair. Of a desire to be freed, twinned with dawning horror, far too late, at her own complicity. The thought took him over the edge. 

 

Redmond looked down at the writhing, bouncing mass of young blubber so grateful to be impaled. His whole body seized, his musculature clenching. After one more deep plunge, he withdraw three-quarters of his length from Steffi so that the head of his cock was resting comfortably on the flat of her tongue and exploded warm sweet goo into the cavity of her mouth. Steffi's cheeks bulged slightly as her taste buds once again sensed the singular narcotic they had experienced only once before and became instantaneously addicted to. She cooed and hummed in satisfaction before swallowing the load in three gulps, proceeding to lick and suck the dripping head in front of her for any remainder that had escaped. 

As he deflated and resheathed his weapon, to Steffi's meek, mumbled protestations, the crowd, which had fallen silent for the moment of le petit mort, burst into applause- as if Redmond had just given a killer powerpoint presentation at an important meeting. The noise startled the young blimp causing her heart to jump. 

 

As Steffi licked her lips and caught her breath, she looked up at her protector and faintly wheezed "...thank... you...", with a sincerity that Philip found genuinely moving. Redmond took a knee to whisper in her ear. "You're welcome, kitten. But you're not done yet. Not even close."