so I chugged the whole la croix without burping once. But then I didn’t feel like I wanted to burp at all and felt super nauseous. I took a big risk standing up and boy HOWDY am I glad I did!!!
Another old one that i'm recycling here. I had a story idea years ago, very likely insired by an early post by @thegreedyofficefatty, about a boss getting off on fattening his tubby secretary. Yes I know, never been done before. It's a cliché because it works, right? (also I was young and not very subtle lol) Anyway, never got round to making it a proper story. So here’s what I have:
The young girl pauses at the top of the stairs, flushed and breathless, clutching her bag against her heaving tummy. A tummy that is a bit too large for a girl her age. And a bit too full for this time of day. A box of cake had greeted her at her desk this morning. A token of appreciation from the boss. He’s generous that way. Despite his disparaging remarks about fat girls in general and her own round tummy in particular, she suspects he likes to see her eat well. The way he eyes her swelling tummy during lunch, or the amount of treats he rewards her with for her hard work. Unfortunately she makes it way too easy for him…
She can feel the cake, the entire thing, sitting heavy in her distended stomach. She hadn’t been able to stop before devouring the whole thing, despite a copious breakfast. She can’t help herself. And he notices. “Ease up on the chockies there girl, that skirt is working overtime” he’ll say, or “Been treating ourselves, have we?” while giving her sides a little pat. He’ll hand her a box of donuts: “Now don’t eat them all at once, you’ve got quite enough insulation as it is.” ... To her colleagues, pointing out how she never buttons her suit jacket anymore: "Better watch what you eat girls, you think missy here always carried this little drum in front of her?" ... Or to the union rep: “Do my girls look like they need a pay raise? Look at this one, any more pampering and you’d think she’s expecting.” She hates it but she can’t seem to lose weight. And she wants to keep her job.
She smooths out her skirt and attempts to suck in her belly. No chance. The skirt has a tendency to ride up and it certainly doesn’t help that it sits tighter than it used to. Oh well. She mentally prepares for a cruel remark or two. One more deep breath and she knocks on the boss’ door. He’s in a crunch and needs her to work through lunch. It’ll do her good, avoid the temptation, she thinks. Then her eyes fall on the feast laid out on the side table. He’s watching. “If I’m ruining your lunch break I might as well make it worth your while… you’re not one to turn down a good feed are you dear? Any room left in that tummy of yours?”
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Oh how she hates those stairs…
She's been indulging in "working lunches" with the boss for a while now, and it's showing. The tight pencil skirt can barely contain her full round tummy. Her fat breasts are straining at the buttons of her blouse. She's breathless from lugging her heavy frame up the stairs to her office. Her co-workers snicker and whisper about her increased bulk.
Her swollen ballbelly is sure to warrant a slap and a poke from the boss, and she'll giggle obligingly, and push her blubber ever so slightly up against him. She'll pretend she just hasn't gotten used to how much space her tum takes up. She knows he likes this game they're playing. He'll tell her that his wife is concerned, it’s not good for his image, such a tubby secretary. The wife thinks he should curb her appetite. 'What, with the box of donuts you sent me this morning?', she'll whisper.
He likes making her show his wife around if she ever shows up. His elegant and thin and supremely bored wife, who eyes her heavy gut with obvious disdain. If he knows she's coming he'll give the fat girl a treat first, and watch her struggle to hide her glutted state as she bends to hand his wife her tiny bitter black coffee. She knows they talk about her as soon as she leaves. And she knows she's in for a stern talking-to about letting herself go as soon as the wife leaves.
Most days he's content with reminding her himself what a fat little butterball she's turned into.
He'll pretend to measure if her gut's gotten bigger again (it has and he knows it. He knows how, too). Just an excuse to cop a feel of her packed tummy. A casual squeeze of her plump tits. She'll playfully slap his hand away. He doesn't like being thwarted. He'll grab her, pull her closer, push up against her tight tummy till she moans from the pressure. Remind her of her place, most men in his position wouldn't look twice at a chubby little fatty like her. She'll blush and nod and agree…
He'll call for an early lunch, order masses of food, then call her to his office. He loves playing the generous boss, only the best for the employees in his care. Oh she loves eating, so she'll play along, giggling and fluttering her lashes, and moaning with pleasure at every bite she swallows. Make sure he gets a good eyeful of her heaving cleavage, as she breathes heavier with increasing fullness.
He'll stuff her silly, so much so she'll have to unzip her painfully tight skirt, she'll make a show of it, moan how tight it is, slowly peel it off, leaving him free range to grope and prod her giant gut, only to finally heave her onto his desk, her naked mound of a belly rising before him. She'll hear his belt buckle clink, and then he'll really fill her up.
Come to think of it, maybe the stairs are the smallest of her problems right now…
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She’s ballooned. She’s too fat to even pretend she still works. He’s filled her up till her clothes burst more times than she can count, and now she's too fat to take notes, and breathless from the weight of her giant packed gut. He doesn’t even bother setting up ‘working lunches’ any more. She’s his and she’ll eat. He teases her, slaps her naked barrel of a tummy, knowing full well that he's the reason she's overeaten to the point of morbid obesity.
She's sprawling on his desk, resting. No chair would fit her, let alone withstand her mass. She’s glutted senseless. Completely, utterly sated. Just aware enough to give the boss what he wants. He likes to grope her rolls of fat and her painfully distended potbelly under her tight blouse and skirt. She can barely keep herself propped up on her elbows, her tummy's way too large, and packed tight as a drum. But she makes the effort. She knows he likes seeing her like that, massive triple chin competing for space with her fat cleavage, pushed up by that mountain of a tummy. Likes to watch her struggle as he forces the last bites down her gullet… hear her whimper as he jabs at her overblown stomach. Feel the release when he finally peels of her clothes… or when the seams rip.
She can’t remember what she wants more. Him. Food. More food.
