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Fat Humiliation Stories
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It started with the fast food, just picking up something fast after work, no harm in junk food once in a while, but then it was everyday, just a quick snack and no longer a meal, the inability to say no to the enticing colors of the packaging. Then came the laziness, why walk when you have a car?

Name: Gusty

Years old: 37
My favourite drink: Gin
Music: Rock
Hobbies: Drawing
Piercing: None
Smoker: No

The car wash was ridiculously busy that day.

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Then another…. I fished round my shorts waistband for the back pocket, and plucked out a hazelnut chocolate bar. Every shimmy sends a stabbing thrust through your swollen form. Mind if I took five minutes?

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My warm face and neckline needed the cooling mist. I just remember she had this awesome figure. The taste of the hot dog lingers on your tongue. Jeans became binding. You needed that relentless, clenching hold on you.

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I arced it up for the rooftop, then switched it off at the tap. I squeezed my soapy sponge and started scrubbing from the front of the vehicle. From the way the rope wraps around your stretchmarked skin…. She was gorgeous. He left me a nice tip before he drove away. Keeping the weight off your feet softened those smarting thrusts - until they came for you in your loveseat.

She was here the last time I was. A salty fistful of fries. The dampness denuded my delicate rolls. And coming…. Your middle, stretching past its means, straining to swaddle that last spoonful of mac and cheese. A beefburger, sorely missing a bite or two…. Belts became curbs on the shape you were taking on.

You wanted those bands to jut into your chest, digging their way down your sides. Pins and needles tingle your chubby fingers.

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My stomach gurgled more in anticipation. I dragged the red cone out in front of my workstation, and disconnected the hose. Always in blissful agony. I approached a 4x4 and waved it toward me. Those handcuffs are beginning to constrict you. Fewer angles. My grip was vice-like on the balustrade as I put one foot in front of the other, taking each step with a jiggle and a huff.

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It was sort of what I wanted. When the last rivulets had dropped off the rooftop he wound down his window. We ordered it in January, remember? Rolls upon rolls of soft, sensitive bulk. There were more cars in the queue. Not even whisper. Night after night. And do you have any spare shirts?

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My doughy arms were pinched tight in my short sleeves. The aches, the groans as your body adjusted around your growing appetite.

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I peeled the wrapper off and took a big bite, then chewed it slowly. No use to cry out. A little too much, a little too soon. The struggles to bend, to reach… to wrest yourself behind a desk, the woodwork pressed to greet you with a fractured creak. In others, it was cripplingly embarrassing, even if it did save us our blushes.

I approached the metal stairs with a hint of foreboding. He met my bulging breasts, my clothing gap around my waist, the lack of gap between my thighs as I lent over and let the stream of water run over his wheels.

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But you left the seams where they were. Another slice of pizza. The way my bloated boobs jostled and jumped when I went to his window to say I was all done must have helped. I blew out my chubby cheeks and smiled at him. I had to breathe in to pick the hose back up. Your clothes lie split in the corner. Necklaces became chokers. From your ribs. He pushes it down past your lips. I upped the intensity on the windows, letting the vapour soak into my darkening blonde locks.

I was still thinking about food that afternoon at work, my belly bunched on the bonnet while I tried to wipe the top of a windshield clean. I gave it a tug. You got drunk on the fullness. It turned me on and concerned me all the same. From your waist.

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I paused to catch my breath at the top, knocked on the door, then opened it. The droplets titillated my folds, making me giggle. Tenderness - dwarfed only by the need for more. I guess it just meant crunch time was getting closer.

And tiny. To breathe… lungs yearning for release from the cake, puddings and pies you were putting away. I was cool with it. She said something to Jamie on the other lane and left. I guess it was handy, in some ways. The cold water had dripped down across my white shirt, making it cling to my nascent fat like plastic wrap. Those soft, steady lulls, filling up your stomach, scoring another notch over your hunger with a burp and a sigh.

I gave my big belly a soft shake, then stood up straight again.

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Then another. Loaded and stuffed, hammed-out on the couch, waiting. Your hips too wide for the sides. That pang from within. She used to lift too. Soon, even in your summer clothes, it sought you out. My energy was depleting. Your thighs mushed up together.

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I stuffed the notes in my cleavage, grabbed my lower shirt and wrung out the water that had gathered there, being careful not to drip it on my unbuttoned shorts. So fat it hurt to relax - yet the deliveries kept coming. Perfect pain. More curves. Pain from above.

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Months of munching before it gripped you again, away from the kitchen cupboards. From the hang of your gut. She had these incredible muscles. I brushed off what I could and refilled my bucket.

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