"Extra Slices #6: Fortunes and Facing It"

This set of patreon exclusive stories features 2 stories that are sequels to my "Fortune Telling" and "Face Off" series of shorts.

Enjoy!

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“Madame Zara in Businesswoman Goes Big and Bust”

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Marlena was a businesswoman, a real boss bitch as it was. She was the kind of woman who dressed in power suits and loved being in complete control of every situation she walked into. She was an aggressive micromanager who loved to manipulate and control others. And she hated fat people. She was an extremely fit woman, a woman who was proud of the figure that she had worked hard to achieve.

Everything she had gotten she had worked hard for. Marlena was an absolute workaholic, and anyone who didn’t work as much as she did, didn’t bother to grind as hard as her, they were lazy losers. And fat people were the perfect embodiment of this. She saw them as greedy, piggish slobs and nothing more than that. They couldn’t hang with her. They had no business being around her. And making fun of fat people became one of the few forms of stress relief that Marlena had.

Yes. Marlena had a lot of money, and she had a stereotypically hot body. But she was also an anxious wreck, stressed out and angry all the time and surely working herself to an early grave.

That’s where Madame Zara came in.

The fortune telling was just supposed to be for a laugh. It was a company party and Marlena, on a rare night where she had allowed herself a second martini, was talked into letting herself relax and half fun for once with a playful reading from the stranger. Madame Zara, sensing Marlena’s vanity and stress played her cards accordingly. She predicted that Marlena would become a great big glutton of a woman, the kind of lazy person who spent her days indulging in hedonistic pleasures and simply stuffing her fat face like a good lazy pig.

Marlena scoffed. In fact, she did more than that. She yelled. She berated Madama Zara, and she created quite the scene while doing so.

But within days of that portent-filled meeting, Marlena began acting differently, loosening up, indulging more. She began stress snacking at first. And then just regular snacking. She allowed herself to eat all sorts of tasty treats that she had previously ignored. Ice cream became a regular habit, but she was also frequently seen snacking on chips and cookies and anything else that she could get her hands on. On more than one occasion she strolled into a meeting with a pudding stain or something similar on her blouse. Marlena simply didn’t care.

She started eating more at home too. Her meals became bigger, longer. She found herself ordering in more food from a greater variety of places, but she also found herself going out a lot more too with the clear intent of trying new places and new food, lots of new food. She found herself sampling a little bit of everything, and the more she ate the more she learned something important.

Food made Marlena feel good. 

It also made her fat.

The better Marlena felt, the more she ate. On days when she didn’t feel good, she ate to feel better. She ate constantly and as a result her fit figure soon disappeared, buried under layers of fatness. Her trim tummy turned into a tubby one. With each new tub of ice cream that she consumed, her tubby tummy got tubbier. He ballooned into a full blown button busting blubber belly. And she grew a titanic ass to match.

Marlena’s ass blew out behind her. She developed two big bulbous cheeks and bounced with every step that she took. And those steps got more labored as the pounds kept piling on. She grew thick thunder thighs that started to rub together and turned her formerly confident strut into a slow waddle. She moved like a fat penguin through the office, frequently knocking things off of the corners of desks.

She was a mess.

And she didn’t care.

She just kept eating.

Strangely enough, even as she outgrew her clothes, even as she noticed the judgmental looks she was suddenly getting, the kind of looks she used to happily dole out to others, Marlena didn’t stress out about how she looked. As her weight went up, her stress went down. She was becoming exactly the kind of fatty she used to make fun of, but she kept eating anyway. She watched as each day her body got bigger, and she made the conscious choice not to change- unless it was changing into a bigger outfit of course. And the more she ate and the fatter the grew the more frequent those outfit changes needed to be until Marlena gave in and discovered the joys of stretchy pants.

Marlena stopped caring about a lot of things. She stopped caring about how she looked, and she stopped caring about work especially. She started showing up late for meetings and missing deadlines. The only meetings she was ever on time for were ones that happened over food, and then she would be far too focused on stuffing her face to contribute anything productive. Eventually, it wasn’t just that Marlena was letting her figure go. She was let go from her job as well.

And still Marlena didn’t care. She just found herself eating more in response. All the time she no longer spent working meant she could spend a lot more time eating, and she really took advantage of it. It turned out that Marlena had also spent a lot of time saving and making wise investments, so by the time she was fired she never really needed to work anymore anyway. She could spend her days indulging, growing fatter than ever and being happier than ever.

Marlena went from being vain, and stereotypically fit, slim and sexy to being a completely out of shape blob of a woman. She had become a fat slob, far fatter than anyone she had ever made fun of. And she found it all to be beautiful. And she couldn’t have been happier. She was also kinder, gentler and well loved by everyone.

It was a fat and wonderful life.

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“Time for Sex”

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God, you’ve gotten so fat and it’s beautiful. Just look at you there, peeling your clothes off. It’s slow work because it takes so much fabric to cover your big, beautiful, blubbery body. And it’s sticking to all that sweat you’ve worked up, worked up from just standing there because you’re so large. But keep going.

Take it all off.

I love watching you undo that top, watching those strained buttons finally get to relax. You can’t help but pop one with your chubby fingers in your eagerness to get your clothes off. It was already under so much pressure because of your big blubbery belly. And now that blobbish mass of fat is free to burst forth, uncontained. It flops out even further. No point in sucking in. You hold your gut in your fat hands and give it a big shake. Up and down. Up and down. You know what it does to me. You know how aroused you touching your big, fat flabby body makes me feel. I love watching you knead your belly blubber like it’s bread dough, and this is your way of taking control for a bit.

You want to tease me. You want to make me want you even more. I see what you’re doing. We’ve both agreed to this. We both love it. We can’t get enough of it. Of all this fat, this food, of each other. I watch as you pinch your love handles and let out a pathetic little moan. It’s so hot that way your fat hands keep going back to your gut and shaking it further, undulating it up and down. Hypnotic. Your entire body is comprised of fat folds that shake and quiver at the slightest touch, and I want to rub my hands all over them.

But you won’t let me.

Not yet.

Pants first.

That button has been screaming all day, especially after that last meal I got in you. That was quite the feast wasn’t it? And it’s got you all revved up. Me too. But the pants, the pants have to go first. And you peel them off extra slow because they’re practically painted onto your thick thunder thighs. The inside part of your pants leg proves especially difficult because your thighs are pressed so tightly together. All that fat you’ve got. It’s what makes your waddle. It makes you widen your stance in desperation, but your thighs just keep wanting to touch. They crave that touch just like I do. And now your belly keeps getting in the way. It wants to hang there, sagging down like an apron of fat as you fight against its heavy mass just to get your pants off.

You’re getting winded, but it’s okay. You’ll get to rest, laying on your back soon enough. You’re looking forward to that. I know that’s what you want. I’ve heard you say it over and over again. You’re begging for it, but you’re putting it off as best you can. I love it. Go ahead. Keep going. Slip those pants down your thunder thighs. Let them drop to the floor past your bloated cankles and let me see you slowly step out of them. It’s hard lifting your fat feet isn’t it? So hard.

Are you even wearing underwear today? It’s so hard to tell because you’re that fucking fat. You big fat apron of a belly, this saggy sack of fat just hangs down so far down your thighs, it covers up anything you might be wearing underneath. Same with your thick meaty love handles hanging there like slabs of drooping fat. And your ass cheeks? Your big, bloated, cellulite covered ass cheeks would have thoroughly eaten your underwear.

But I don’t think it’s there in the first place. You know better. You didn’t bother wearing any underwear today because your knew this was coming. You’ve been waiting for this. You’ve been such a good piggy all day so you could earn this moment, and you didn’t want to slow things down by worrying about something as silly as underwear.

And now you’ll get on your back, just the way you want it.

You do want this, right?

Yes. Yes. That’s what I want to hear. You’re with me. I’m with you. We love each other and your fat, and now you’re getting flat on your back for me. It’s a beautiful sight, you laying there looking so helpless, so needy, so wanting this. The desire in your eyes is almost as intoxicating as the sight of your fat body, the massive mounds of flesh that I am about to scale.

Sex is so different now. Back when you were thin, you used to be in charge. You were so flexible, so athletic. You loved to be on top. Oh the things you would do. But now? Now you love this even more. You sit back and feel your fat move, feel my touch, gentle, then firm, then anything we want. Your body pulses. Your fat sloshes about. You quiver and moan as you jiggle. Each move, each touch causes more of your fat to ripple over and over again. You’re far more sensitive now than you ever were before. The pleasure crashes over you in waves, it moves just like your fat does. It’s overwhelming. It’s so good.

Yes. Yes. Always yes. Tell me how much more you want, and I’ll give it to you. I have the chocolate covered strawberries you asked for right here, and the whipped cream, and the honey. And I will gladly feed you, cover you, lick it off of every fat fold of your body. You're not fit anymore, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll never be slim and athletic again, and we both agree that’s for the best. We tumble together. We lose ourselves in exertion and ecstasy. We finish together and I lay myself on your soft pillowy body.

This is heaven. This is perfection. This is us now and forever more, fat and happy.