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"Fat Trimmings" Volume 15 (Special XL Edition)
🕑 Added 2024-03-05 17:57:48 +0000 UTCSo remember how I said this was going to come out around 3:00pm and that it would be over 4,500 words? Well, surprise! It's releasing two hours early and is clocking in at over 5,200 words.
You've heard of a 21 gun salute? Well it turns out that I felt like "What If" needed a twenty-one hundred word send off. I hope you enjoy the grand finale!
As previously stated, the continuing "What If" feature will be replaced by a series of Thick Burger centered stories. I hope to get your thoughts on "What If" as a whole as well as on Thick Burger and your feedback on my other stories as well in the comments.
Enjoy.
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“Janey’s Got a Gut”
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Janey is a glutton. She wasn’t always that way. In fact, her diet used to be painstakingly controlled. But that control was done mostly by Janey’s fatphobic mother, an incredibly vain woman who had grown up as a head cheerleader, prom queen, and sorority girl who was in the phase of her life where she was desperately trying to live vicariously through her daughter and was hanging on far too tightly.
And as a result of her mother’s meddling, Janey was indeed a slim, trim popular girl and also a huge bitch. She was vain and with a terrible attitude, especially when it came to fat people. She loved to put them down as a way to distract herself from her own terrible insecurities. She was quite the bully and, if anything, her vain mother was proud of it.
But once Janey got to college and away from her mother, things began to change. The specter of her mother hung over her for a couple months, and get her away from indulging too much. But as her vain best friend and roommate, Tanisha, began to put on the freshman 15, it seemed inevitable that Janey would eventually follow. And once she began to indulge even a little bit, the dam quickly broke.
It turned out that Janey absolutely loved to eat. Sure, she did her fair share of drinking beer at parties as well, but it was in the dining hall where she really went to work. The dining hall offered all you could eat, and, damn, could Janey eat. She would spend her time having the largest lunches and most decadent dinners she could. She would combine cuisines, sample multiple desserts and always have seconds or third of every course. It was like she was making up for lost time.
And in response the pounds began to pile on quickly as she blossomed into the fat girl that she was always meant to be. She grew a big round belly, a gelatinous gut that always entered a room far before the rest of her, and then shook and swayed on its own whenever she would move. Janey went from having abs, to a paunch, to a pot belly, to a sloshing spare tire that divided itself into a big double belly and served as the perfect symbol of her incredible gluttony.
Her perky ass tried hard to keep pace, expanding into a tremendously fat and flabby rear end that constantly knocked stuff off of tables and eventually needed two seats to even fit it wherever she went. Her ass had ballooned into a complete blubber butt, and she quickly became known as a lard ass wherever she went.
But she didn’t seem to mind. As she waddled about thanks to her tremendous thunder thighs, all of the comments that came her way seemed to bounce right off her fat flabby body. She knew she deserved them. She felt like maybe she was dealing with some kind of karmic fallout, but really the truth was that she was happier than she had ever been. It turns out that a lot of her bad attitude was from being hungry all the time.
So Fat Janey went waddling about making amends, taking all the mean comments that came with it, and grew fatter and happier by the day. And it wasn’t just her. Janey’s habits were in line with her roommate’s, and by the time they graduated college, Janey and Tanisha had gone from being a couple of hotties to the fattest hogs on campus. They waddled about with the bulging bellies and fat asses. Their hips were so wide that they could barely walk through most doorways individually let alone side by side. After college they eventually got an apartment together and owned a couch for a short amount of time that they had to squeeze themselves into. Eventually, they grew out of that particular couch, and once they broke it, they upgraded to a larger and more structurally sound one.
Janey, of course, felt a fair share of heat from her mom, but with summers home, and then in between graduating college and getting an apartment with Tanisha, Janey’s habits became to rub off on her vain mother who began to blow up right alongside her porker daughter. She doesn’t have many comments to make nowadays since she’s busted out of everything but the stretchiest of pants.
And that’s where things stand today. Three slim women turned into big fat fatties. Their gluttony abounds, and it shows no signs of slowing down.
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“The Pig Statue”
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You shouldn’t touch strange pig statues that don’t belong to you.
I suppose the broader moral is that you shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you, but things like pig statues are especially a no go. Really, common sense at this point should tell you that things like that are bound to carry some sort of curse on them. You think people just make little golden statuettes of pigs just to be quaint? What a foolish thought.
So take this as a warning already and stop picking up strange pig statues because you’re just begging for trouble. Just ask Sofia.
Sofia was a model. She could have been a supermodel if she could control her wandering hands. Despite all the money she was making from her modeling gigs, she was the kind of person who loved looking in dingy little shops for deals. She was a sucker for fun thrift store finds and loved to visit dark little antique stores looking for unique finds.
Here’s another little hint. Dark little antique stores are the best place to accidentally pick up a cursed pig statue. Avoid them at all costs. If you must go to an antique store in the first place, perhaps to find an end table to complete your bedroom set, avoid the dusty ones. The dust level of an antique shop increases the chances of picking up a cursed item, especially a cursed pig, exponentially.
Sofia was in the dustiest shop imaginable.
And I tried to warn her, but, being the arrogant know it all bitch that she is, she had to go ahead and pick up the pig statue.
Immediately a tingle ran up her spine and the untold hunger of a gluttony god store in the pig for a millennia - or a simple witch’s spell that had been placed on it that morning (hard to say really - surged through her. With the most intense rumbling in her stomach, she hurried off to the food court.
Once there, she began to stuff her face with an incredibly sloppy meatball parm hero. It was something to watch this glamorous woman in her designer clothes shove a hoagie in her mouth like a hog. She gave no care to the sauce and cheese as they flew from the bread and onto her nice white shirt. She didn’t care about the bloating sensation in her belly as her precious abs began to melt away and a small but noticeable pot belly began to surge forward and strain the buttons of her top. Instead she cared only about finishing the sandwich and moving on to the bag of chips that came with it.
The chips were demolished in what seemed like mere moments. Her greedy hand crushed them and shoved them into her mouth without heed to the crumbs that were flying except to occasionally scoop some out of her cleavage with her grease and sauce covered hand. Once the chips were done, she chugged her soda in short order, adding another color of stain to the canvas that was her shirt, and finished with a loud and rather unladylike burp.
And so ended her first course.
The next course was a feast of Chinese food that left her covered in the remains of lo mein, sesame chicken, and spicy boneless spare ribs. After that came rice and beans and half a dozen empanadas, and this was all finished off with a generous sampling of three different cheesecakes.
The button of Sofia’s pants had completely blown off by the time she finally came to and realized the amount of gawkers she had watching her food driven spectacle. She burped again and walked, really waddled, away cradling her incredibly bloated food baby as pictures of videos of the incident already began to circulate online.
The curse kept up its work. Sofia found herself ordering huge amounts of junk food, eating pizzas not by the slice but by the pie and always with a side of both mozzarella sticks and garlic bread. She was transforming herself from a slim and sexy hottie to a hog, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The inevitable quickly came from all that eating. Sofia’s bloated belly stayed permanently bloated from all the junk food that she stuffed it with. Even if there was nothing in it, it was still a big sagging, deflated looking ball of turgid fat that dropped down toward her fat knees. It has become an enormous thing weighed down by greed, gluttony, and gravity. Her abs, her most prized part of her body part, have turned into the thing she hates the most, the gelatinous sack of fat that is her still growing gut. Her segmented belly is something to behold and is so large that it pushes herself far enough away from tables to make getting food and other tasks something of a challenge. Of course, navigating this challenge is also the only exercise she really gets these days, unless you count chewing as exercise.
Her ass has ballooned in size. Nowadays when she waddles to the food court, she needs two chairs just to fully support her voluminous backside, one for each gargantuan, cellulite covered cheek. And her fat ass still spills over the sides of those chairs. She has broken numerous pieces of furniture much to her chagrin and to the delight of others. Luckily, whenever she breaks a chair her well cushioned ass breaks her fall and she basically goes from sitting on a chair to sitting on two beefy beanbags.
Sofia’s thighs are massive tree trunks as well, juicy thunder thighs that greatly hinder her movement and limit her to a slow ponderous waddle. Her movement is extra slow because the burden of her incredibly high weight leaves her winded after every few steps. Her thighs are each twice the size that her tiny model waist used to be. The loose fat of her thick thunder thighs droops over her fat knees and comes with obvious saddlebags and cankles that rest above swollen, fatty feet.
Sofia still models today, but it’s a very different kind of modeling. She hates it, but she reluctantly had to turn to mukbanging and fetish modeling to pay her massive food bill along with the rent for what has become her messy pigsty of an apartment. She stuffs her face and plays with her fat, humiliating herself just to get by.
So yeah, don’t go into any antique shops. And if you must, don’t touch anything. Definitely don’t touch any pig statues, not even the cute little porcelain ones, just to be safe.
That’s a lesson that Sofia had to learn the hard way.
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“Obesity Virus”
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It couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple.
And by a nicer couple I meant it couldn’t have happened to a bigger pair of obnoxious, stuck up assholes. He was a personal trainer, and she was a glamorous model, and they loved to flaunt their bodies and make fun of people, especially fat people.
Then they got sick. He came down with it first, but she got it much worse from him. At first they thought it was a cold, but it wasn’t. It turns out, as they learned far too late, that it was a virus, an obesity virus. He probably got it from one of his fat clients who came in with a cold one day, and then he gave it to her. But the origin of the virus doesn’t matter. What matters is what it did.
It cranked up their appetites and crushed their metabolism. It drained their energy to exercise as well. In short, it was their worst nightmare come true. They began to eat more and exercise less and so their hot bodies soon became coated in fat.
They tried going to doctors, but once the doctors heard about their lifestyle changes the only advice they could give was to stop eating like pigs and get their fat asses off the couch. But they couldn’t do that. They were too hungry, and the fatter they got the lazier they became. They became the worst kind of fat people stereotypes, everything they used to loathe and make fun of.
By the time one doctor finally realized what was going on they were already well on their way to obesity, and it’s not like the doctor had a real cure anyway. She could only tell the couple more of the same. A virus is not an infection. There are no antibiotics to take for the obesity virus. They just had to let it run its course and then focus on diet and exercise.
But it became impossible to tell whether or not the virus had run its course and they were just being pigs of their own accord. And their efforts to engage in diet and exercise were met with quick and humiliating failure.
Now he’s a fat boy, a big pig of a man with a jumbo spare tire that hangs over his pants and a flabby set of moobs that rests on top of it. He’s no longer hardbodied and handsome. He is a portly, piggish man with a boorish appetite and the lack of manners to match. His gym t-shirts are all now stretched to their breaking point and stained with food and grease and sweat. They don’t cover his big fat belly which shamelessly spills out from under them. His sweaty muffin top encompasses his middle.
His ass is fat and disgusting too. It’s blown out behind him and ruined all but his stretchiest sweats. It’s a big fat wobbly cushion. He’s a perpetually winded rhino with a great big rump. And that ass is joined by his thighs that have grown fat enough to rub together and cause an untold amount of chafing. He’s fallen so far from the capable athlete that he was. It’s ironic that his every day “uniform” is pretty much exclusively gym clothes given that he doesn’t go to the gym anymore now that he’s a weak, pathetic fatty just like the people he used to make fun of and call losers. He’s the lazy loser now, a fat assed couch potato whose only exercise comes from lifting his arms from his meals to his fat, double chinned, face when he stuffs it.
She’s not any better. In fact, she’s worse. She’s become an absolute hog, a truly obese woman who out classes him in weight but not in matters. She’s a great slob when it comes to eating. It’s like she’s given up entirely and just gives in to her constant greedy cravings with reckless abandon. She used to be so driven and put together, so glamorous, and now she’s too lazy to care about her appearance. She cares about constantly eating, not about how much of her meals end up running clothes that she’s going to outgrow anyway.
Her belly is massive, a jiggling mass of flesh divided into two thick rolls that encircle her middle, a thick upper segment, and an even larger, doughier segment that fights to free itself from the confines of any shirt she tries to wear. She hates the size of her ponderously large paunch, but she knows she’s too far gone to get rid of it, so instead she just doubles down and makes her double belly even bigger. That’s why it’s such a sizable sack of fat that she has taken to angrily shaking with one hand while she stuffs her face with the other. It’s funny when you think about how trim her middle used to be, and how much she used to love to show it off. Now, she hates her gut, but because of its sheer size and ability to quickly outpace and escape any new shirts she might wear, she can’t help but show it off.
Her blubber butt has blown up as well. She’s a true lard ass now, which is ironic because that was always one of her favorite things to call other people when she made fun of them. She’s a wide load with a huge, spongey, shelf of an ass. Each massively bulbous butt cheek swings on its own as she waddles about. Her wide hips knock things over, and she elicits all of the laughs and mean comments that she used to relish throwing at others. Her blubbery behind is a chair breaking thing to behold.
And it comes with tree trunk thunder thighs that swing awkwardly as she waddles about. They’re built atop thick cankles and fat feet with chubby sausage toes. Her breasts have gotten bigger but are mostly full of sagging fat that has left them covered in stretch marks, and her gains up top have been easily outpaced by the pounds that have piled on everywhere else. Even her arms have gotten fat and developed big flabby bingo wings. She used to be proud of her toned arms. Now there is nothing that she is proud of, and all that does is drive her to stuff her fat face even more. Her double chin wobbles as she eats fattening meal after fattening meal.
They’re both big fatties now, and obviously they can’t get work as a personal trainer or model anymore.
So where do they work?
They work at Thick Burger of course. They spend their time being berated by customers while serving them their food. They are belittled and bullied as they take out the trash or scrub a toilet. They can feel the weight of the world weighing down on them even as they watch the weight of their regular customers increase. But the schadenfreude of watching slim hotties turn into fatties, suffering the same fate as them isn’t enough to dull their pain. For that, they can only rely on each other.
But hey. At least the employee discounts are good.
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“What If” (Part 15)
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What if this is it?
What if these are the last steps she ever takes on her own?
That’s what she’s thinking as she takes her slow, lumbering waddle back to what looks to be her permanent spot on the couch.
Could this really be it? Could she have actually succeeded in eating herself int immobility? If these were her last moments of moving under her own power what should she do? Should she celebrate? Is this what she’s always secretly wanted? If she didn’t want it, how else could it have gotten this far?
When she started all of this, she was so slim. She was the pretty, popular girl with a wealth of friends and a family that was proud of her. She was the envy of all, and yet she was beloved. She could get anyone she wanted. She had been a cheerleader in high school in college. She had even gotten work as a model. She was the model that other models envied.
Would they envy her now? If they were here to watch the girl who used to strut down the runway struggle to waddle back to the couch one last time? No. She knows they’d spend all their time laughing and oinking at her. They’d be snapping pictures and saying all sorts of mean words.
“Piggy. Cow. Whale.”
But do any of those words do her justice anymore? It feels like she surpassed them all long ago.She still eats like a pig, but regular fat people are pigs. She used to call chubby girls pigs all the time. She is not chubby. And her ass is filled with lard, but how many people in the world have an ass as heavy as hers? It’s an amorphous blob so large that she’s not sure it’s fit to be called anything. Even cow– Yes. Cows are certainly larger than pigs. She would call an obese person a cow, and she is certainly an obese person. But even obese doesn’t fully describe her now. She’s not just obese. She’s not even just super obese or morbidly obese. Normal people get obese.
She’s special.
She is an immense woman.
Whale would seemingly be the most appropriate, but even that seems strangely limiting to her. And as far as she’s concerned her massive body has no limits save for the immobility that she is soon to experience.
Her face, once slim and slender and of model quality is now completely unrecognizable. She doesn’t even think her own family would recognize her buried under all of that fat that comprises her jowly cheeks and multitude of chins. Her face is now fat and flat with fat. Her chubby cheeks have caused her eyes to look beady, and she has an overall piggish appearence. Her many chins sag downward toward her bloated chest and wobble against her thick, fat neck.
She has fat shoulders and fat arms. They used to be thin and toned, and now the fat rolls over her elbow. Her bingo wings wobble endlessly as she lifts food from her plate to her mouth, one of the few tasks she can still do easily by herself nowadays. Her forearms and wrists are bloated with fat to the point of becoming whatever the arm equivalent of cankles is, and her big fat ham hock arms end with big, clumsy, fat mitts for hands which each end in thick sausage fingers with enough added surface area to make them perfect for scooping leftover sauce or whatnot from her plates like the good piggy that she is.
Her chest is massive. Her two pendulous breasts way her down and the only thing that gives them an illusion of being anything other than two sagging bags filled with bowling balls that want to reach as far down her body as humanly possible, is the fact that she has her massive belly to prop them up. Even then, the massive sagging tits rebel and try to find a way to droop more down the side of her belly, but she is so immense, so spherical with fat, but even the sides of her belly push the stretch marked breasts up at least somewhat.
Her belly is a sight to behold. She wonders if it even deserves to be called just a belly at this point, or a gut, or even a spare tire. It’s really just a sack of fat– No – it’s a fully segmented double belly, so it’s really more like two gelatinous sacks of fat loosely stacked on top of each other and both sloshing about whenever she makes the slightest movement. She is a jiggling mess with rolls and folds that she can’t even begin to reach herself which is now why she needs a team of her loyal subscribers to help her.
She’s so weak, pathetic and helpless.
And her gut is so gargantuan that it hangs down near her knees, well past her nether regions. When she sits down it spills out almost entirely past her fat lap.
And that lap is extremely fat. It is wide, couch spanning wide, as her massive tree trunk thighs, well past the thunder stage, spread out oozing across the cushions and pressing together. Her thighs are the things that will ultimately do her in. They used to be slim but athletically built, toned and capable of carrying her long distances and at great speeds. Now she takes forever to waddle anywhere, and soon she won’t be moving them at all. Her thighs, each far larger than her waist used to be, are above her thick cankles and they’re all supported by her fat swollen feet that just can’t take the immense weight anymore.
She needs to sit down on her fat ass, an ass plush enough to serve as its own couch. Each mammoth cheek moves of its own accord although the sheer weight of her flabby lard filled cheeks does make them sag even as the size of them causes them to stick out like a broken down shelf. Her ass used to be so perky and tight. It used to turn heads. Now the only thing it does is knock things over when she turns around. Her bloated behind is a blubbery mess, and she knows that the next time she sits on it, she’s not getting up on her own again.
It’s a miracle that she’s still standing right now, honestly, a testament to how athletic she used to be when she was a slim hottie. That past is the only reason she’s still standing in the present, but it won’t save her from her immobile future.
She is over 700 pounds, well over six times. She never bothers remembering the exact number anymore. Why bother? What’s the difference between five, ten, even twenty-five or thirty pounds at this point? It’s wild to think that she could half her body weight and then half it again and still be considered clinically obese. What a fatty she is, a complete tub of lard, a flabby fatso.
A ball of fat. That is what she could likely best be described as, not a pig or cow or even a whale, a ball of fat. But then again, maybe not. Balls have shape. She’s a blob of fat, full of jiggling lard and devoid of any other shape unless that shape were to simply be called fat. She is just fat.
Fat.
Fat.
FAT.
Fat is what she is. It’s all she is at this point. Her previous existence as a functioning human, a slim and sexy popular girl, a mean girl, a chubby curious girl, it’s a distant memory. It all feels like another time, another reality. She just is fat now. All she is, all she will be, is fat.
She waddles closer and closer to the couch. One foot in front of the other knowing each step would be one of her last ones. There’s a determination in her furrowed, sweaty brow. Getting back to the couch will be one last athletic accomplishment, a sheer show of will to get her gluttonous body there in one final show of autonomy.
Soon she begins the slow, arduous task of turning her mammoth body around. Her gigantic ass is like a space shuttle ready to dock with a space station for the last time. She shivers with anticipation as she knows once she sits down she will never get up by herself again. This is the final moments of her mobility.
One last step.
One rock back and then…
Plop.
The entire couch creaks loudly under the pressure of her immense weight as her massive ass settles into the permanent indent it has carved for itself. This is it. She rests easy now and breathes knowing that she has fully surrendered to her helplessness. She is a pathetic pig, and she is content with that.
To cement her new status as an immobile hog, and to celebrate her crushing of the 700 pound barrier, one of her feeders– she is unsure of which one since she has so many that come and go at this point— brings her an extra large pizza to eat on camera for her many adoring fans. It has extra cheese and the number 700 is spelled out in pepperoni.
She does her duty and begins to consume the slices one at a time. Cheese and grease drip down her chin as she scarfs them down. The slices go down easily. Her gluttony is well practiced at this point. The challenge only happens once the second pie is brought to her, a full blown meat lovers. This takes her longer, but it’s mostly because she puts on a show. She moans and groans and rubs her belly. At some point she demands that her feeds rub her belly for her while still stuffing her more.
As she stuffs herself she thinks about all the food she’s eaten to get here. How many pizzas has it been? How many doughnuts? She couldn’t even count the doughnuts by the boxes at this point. Thousands of meals have enlarged her corpulence. Over five thousand, over six, seven. How many more? How could she even count her snacks? For her snacks are what others would consider meals. What even is a meal for her at this point? She doesn’t have meals. She has feasts. Pregnant ladies eat for two and she eats for an entire nuclear family and their dog. She has been eating like an Olympic champion training for fatness. She deserves a gold medal, or at least a blue ribbon like the good show hog that she is.
She remembers how she was at the beginning of all this, how thing she was, hot hot she was. She remembers all the way back to that first cupcake, to the moment she first decided to indulge herself, to let herself go. Back then she thought she would maybe just get fat. Sure, she thought there was a chance she would be weak and pathetic, but nothing like this. She didn’t think when she first took a bite of that cupcake that her hunger would grow to be so all encompassing. She never imagined she’d make her living as a fat fetish model stuffing herself and debasing herself for the amusement of others.
She never dreamed of immobility.
And she certainly never realized how much she would love it all.
As the second pizza stretches her stomach against the muumuu that she’s wearing, she thinks of all the clothes that she’s outgrown, the glamorous outfits she destroyed with food, the buttons she burst, the pants she ripped. She thinks about how each outgrown outfit has been left in her immense wake, artifacts of the slim and sexy woman she used to be and every step on her journey from 115 pounds to over 700.
As the view count in front of her continues to rise, she reflects on how much her social media accounts have grown, how many more followers pay to live vicariously through her decadence, who worship her, who pay through the nose to demean her, who keep her so well fed. She wishes she could dance for them one more time, but she knows those days are long behind her. The most she can do is give them a few shakes of her massive jelly belly and moan at their approval as she gorges herself more and more.
She eats the entire pizza and grabs one of her feeders by the chin.
“Now where’s my cheesecake?” she asks with hunger still in her eyes.
“This piggy wants her dessert.”
The feeder bows to his mistress.
“My apologies, Mistress, but we are not done yet.”
“What’s next?”
“We are bringing you some Thick Burger.”
Are eyes glimmer with that familiar hunger as she licks her lips and gives her awaiting belly a squeeze.
“Sounds delicious.”
