The Weight of Reality (Chapter X) (Patreon)

By the time Sarah got home from the restaurant, every step had become its own kind of pleasure.

The hallway seemed narrower than it had before. Or maybe she was simply wider than every memory she had of herself. Her hips brushed the wall when she turned toward her door. Her belly led her forward, heavy and low, swaying against the front of her thighs. Her dress clung obscenely to her, stretched thin over the vast softness of her stomach, her hips, her ass. Her bra had given up on pretending to be supportive; it was now just a strained band of fabric buried under the weight of her breasts.

She fumbled her keys twice because her fingers were so chubby.

Inside, the apartment smelled like her now: chocolate, grease, warm skin, old takeout, and the faint lavender candle still losing its battle on the windowsill.

Sarah shut the door and leaned against it, panting.

Her belly pressed outward, enormous and very real. Dinner had stuffed her belly. Pasta, ribs, fries, cake, milkshake. Every bite had become part of the pressure stretching her middle, part of the heat blooming between her thighs.

She looked down.

There was just so much of her.

Her breasts rested heavily on the upper swell of her belly. Her stomach poured forward in a soft, thick apron, hiding sight from her legs completely. Her thighs were mashed together, huge and plush, rubbing whenever she shifted her stance. She had to widen her feet to stand comfortably, and even then, rolls touched folds everywhere.

The sight made her whimper.

Not from fear.

Not anymore.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Look at me.”

She waddled toward the sofa slowly, one hand on the wall, the other cupping the underside of her belly. The weight of it filled her palm and then overflowed it. She lifted, just slightly, and felt the drag ease from her hips before the softness dropped back down with a thick, heavy sway.

The sensation went straight through her.

Her knees weakened.

“Fuck.”

She laughed breathlessly, then moaned as her thighs rubbed together again, heat trapped between them. The restaurant had lit something in her that had only grown hotter on the way home. Every glance from a stranger, every squeeze into the booth, every groaning breath as she fed herself past fullness had struck her to the core.

She was undeniably huge.

She was stuffed.

She was turned on by both.

When she reached the sofa, she turned with difficulty and lowered herself down. The cushions compressed under her weight with a deep, strained groan. The sound made her head fall back.

“Nnnnh…”

Her belly spread across her lap, soft and warm, rising and falling as she breathed. She sank deeper into the couch, hips wedged snugly, ass filling the cushions, thighs forced apart only slightly by the sheer bulk of them. Her body surrounded her. It trapped her in softness.

Sarah slid both hands over her stomach.

At first, she touched herself cautiously, as if the transformation might still vanish if she admitted she wanted it. Her palms moved over the upper curve, then down across the broad, heavy slope. She pressed in. Her fingers sank deep, dimpling the flesh before it slowly pushed back.

She gasped.

Again. Harder.

The fat yielded under her hands, warm and alive. She kneaded herself, grabbing two handfuls of belly and squeezing until the softness bulged between her fingers. The sight was obscene. Her own body, too large for modesty, too soft for denial, jiggling under her grip.

“I’m so fat,” she whispered.

Her thighs clenched.

The friction made her moan.

She said it again, rougher. “I’m so fucking fat.”

Pleasure pulsed low and hot. She shifted her hips, but the movement was clumsy; her belly was in the way, her thighs were too thick, her body too big to move with the easy grace she remembered. That helplessness should have frightened her. Instead, it made arousal spill through her like warm running honey.

She tugged at the bra.

It barely moved. The band had rolled beneath her breasts, cutting into the soft crease where her chest met her belly. Sarah hooked her fingers under it and pulled upward with a grunt. Her breasts shifted heavily, then spilled free one at a time, dropping onto the upper swell of her stomach with a weight that made her shudder.

They were enormous.

Soft, full, flushed from the trapped heat of the bra. Her nipples were stiff, sensitive, dragging against her belly when she breathed. Sarah cupped one breast in both hands and still could not hold all of it. The realization made her bite her lip.

She pinched one nipple gently.

A sharp cry escaped her.

Her other hand returned to her belly, stroking, squeezing, lifting the lower hang and letting it fall. The flesh slapped softly against her thighs. The sound was filthy and intimate. She did it again just to hear it.

Then her hand slid lower.

Her thighs fought her. They were so thick beneath her belly that she had to lift the heavy apron with one arm and dig under the waistband of her panties with the other. The effort left her panting. Her fingers found damp heat, wet and swollen, her arousal trapped beneath folds and fabric and the pressure of her massive thighs.

“Oh… oh fuck…”

She pushed the leggings down as far as her bulk allowed, only to her upper thighs, where they bunched tight. It was enough. She spread her knees, but her thighs resisted, thick flesh rubbing and compressing around her hand. She had to reach under the belly, around it, into the hot, hidden place beneath herself.

The difficulty of her sheer size and softness made her wetter.

She was forced to work around her own size. Forced to lift her belly to touch herself. Forced to breathe harder because her fullness and fat pressed in on her from every angle. Her body had become an immense obstacle, fat and warm. 

Her fingers slid over her clit.

Sarah bucked.

The motion sent waves through her belly and breasts. She watched herself ripple, mouth open, cheeks flushed, eyes wide in the dark reflection of the television.

She circled slowly at first, learning how pleasure moved through this new body. Everything felt amplified. The pressure of her belly against her wrist. The wet heat between her thighs. The weight of her breasts dragging with every breath. The stuffed ache inside her middle from the feast she had devoured.

She stroked faster.

“Nnnh… hah… God…”

Her free hand clutched her belly, grabbing a thick roll and squeezing as she touched herself. She imagined herself in the restaurant window again: enormous, greedy, beautiful in a way that made her old self seem pale and hungry. She remembered the booth hugging her hips, the table pinning her stomach, cake melting over her tongue while she grew wetter beneath the table.

Her fingers worked harder.

The sofa creaked.

That sound undid her.

Sarah moaned loudly, a deep, helpless sound that filled the apartment. Her hips tried to lift but could barely manage it under the weight of her belly. The failed motion sent another rush of arousal through her. She was too big to move easily. Too full to breathe cleanly. Too turned on to stop.

“I love it,” she gasped. “I love being so fat.”

The words pushed her closer.

She rubbed faster, trapped hand slick and frantic, thighs squeezing around her wrist. Her other hand kneaded her belly in rhythm, fingers disappearing into softness. Her breasts bounced heavily against her stomach. Her whole body became motion: jiggling, shaking, breathing, swelling around the pleasure building inside her.

“I’m fat,” she whimpered. “I’m huge. I’m so huge.”

Her orgasm hit like a breaking wave.

She cried out, fat back rolls arching as much as her body would allow, belly rolling, thighs clamping hard around her hand. Pleasure pulsed through her in thick waves, deep and wet and overwhelming. She shook under her own weight, gasping, fingers still moving until the sensation became too sharp and she had to stop.

For a long moment, Sarah lay there panting.

Her body settled slowly.

Belly over thighs. Breasts on belly. Legs spread as far as they could go. Panties tangled around her knees. The apartment hummed softly around her, smelling of food and sweat and sweetness.

She slid one trembling hand over the vast curve of her stomach.

The touch no longer shocked her.

It soothed her.

Sarah smiled into the dim room, heavy and satisfied, and let her fingers sink lovingly into the fat that was hers.

Reality had never been so good.