Hi. The name’s Wendy, Wendy Carter and this is the story of how I got fat. Let me describe myself: tall black girl, long wavy raven hair, deep soft eyes, full pouty lips. I used to be a svelte thing, slender waist, rounded hips, nice ass, perky tits. Made a good living as a fashion model. I was every man’s dream girl. I never had to worry about anything I ate, either, since I had such a high metabolism. Nothing I ate ever stuck to me.
That all stopped when I got married. Rich is such a sweetie. Says he’d take care of me for the rest of my life. Means it too. I can’t resist that. Plus he’s rich. That never hurts things.
At first, I want to keep living like I always had. I’d lived my whole adult life in an apartment in the big city, alone, doing everything for myself. But Rich wouldn’t hear of that. He moves us to his mansion in the country, a huge estate with lots of servants.
“I’ll do some work around here, sweetie,” I say. “I’m sure there are plenty of chores to be done.”
“No, dear, don’t exert yourself. Relax. Let the servants do it.”
“Sure, honey. I’ll just wait by the pool.”
***
So I do. I spend a lot of time sunbathing in my bikini. You know the one. A tiny red thing. Two little triangles of fabric over my nipples, another over my pussy. Sipping daquaries. Another one? Thank you, you’re too kind. The servants are so good. They spoil me rotten here. Bon bons? Don’t mind if I do. It’s a good thing my metabolism is so fast or I couldn’t eat these. Luckily, I could eat junk food all day and never gain an ounce. Would you be a dear and get me another dessert? One is never enough for me. They’re surprised that I can eat so much and stay so thin. But not as surprised as I will be soon.
I wonder how much I could possibly eat without gaining an ounce. Perhaps I’ll find out. There’s nothing else to do here but eat. I can find out how far I can go. Test my limits. Know for sure.
Weeks pass. I spend my time eating and eating. And eating. Breakfast in bed. Days by the pool, nibbling sweeties. Lavish dinners. Rich and the servants always so kind. Always there with an extra treat. How lovely! I’m so lucky I can do this without getting fat.
Oh, another? I couldn’t possibly. Well, if you insist. Ah! That hit the spot. I eat until I’m absolutely stuffed everyday and I go to bed content. I’ve always had a big appetite. But I could never satisfy it in public before. Now that I’m married, I don’t have to pretend that I don’t eat at all anymore. I can eat whenever and whatever I want.
Months pass. Something’s happening. My bikini’s getting tighter. Impossible. It doesn’t stretch like it used to. Could it be shrinking? Could I be GROWING? No. I don’t eat that much more than I used to. And I still get exercise, don’t I? Well, sunbathing should count. And I go swimming, too. I think. Didn’t I do that last week? I’m sure I did. Here comes the maid with another tray of éclairs. No thanks, not today. I think I’ll pass. Well, maybe just one. I can’t resist these. In fact, I can’t resist any sweets. It’s becoming a problem.
It’s not just my bikini. My tight jeans are tighter. All the dresses in my closet bind around the hips. The buttons strain slightly.
I CAN’T be getting fat. I’ve never been fat. I’ve always been so skinny. But no one seems to notice. Rich keeps pampering me, the servants don’t say a word. I protest.
”Look, Rich, do you think I’m gaining weight?” I poke my belly. Soft. Slightly pudgy. Not fat yet.
“Of course not, Wendy! You’re as beautiful as ever. Have another slice of pie.”
“I couldn’t. I’m sure I’ve gained weight. Well, okay, one more.”
No denying it now. The scale in the bathroom shows a higher figure. I was never above 130. Now I’m 140. My old skirts don’t button. Zippers stick, seams pull. My hips are wider, my belly rounder. In the mirror, I see my face is rounder. All those éclairs and creampuffs are going to my figure. I’ve finally hit my limits. I’ve got to start cutting back.
I go to the gym in Rich’s basement. But working out is hard. It makes me sweaty and tired. Maybe a little break by the pool will help. Oh, a margarita? Thank you, that can’t hurt.
I don’t go back to the gym in the afternoon. Or the next day. Working out is just so dreary. The next time I try, my spandex leotard feels too clingy. It holds in my bulges but it’s uncomfortable. It feels ready to split.
I start smoking. Maybe that will keep my weight down, I thought, but it’s just going up up up. I see myself getting plumper everytime I look in the mirror. My thighs are spreading, my ass is swelling, my tits are starting to look bloated. Rich, look at me. Do I look fatter to you? No? But how do you explain this? My bikini’s getting tight on me! You think I should go up a size? Yes, I guess it’s normal to wear out bikinis but still…
Rich said that I should get a bigger bikini if I think I’m getting fat. Fat? Oh, no, I couldn’t be getting fat. It’s not possible! Why do they have to have so many tempting sweets around here? I can’t resist them and I see them every where I turn! Candies chocolates éclairs cakes…I snack constantly, I just can’t keep them out of my mouth. Everytime I stop to think I find that I’m popping some snack into my mouth. No, it can’t be. I can’t be gaining weight. It’s not true. I won’t get a bigger bikini. This one’s always been fine and it always will be.
I spend too much time lazing by the pool. I need to exercise. I’m starting to get fat, I can feel it. My bikinis are tighter. I need some willpower. Need to resist. But there are just too many treats around. Too many. Too tempting. Why do I have such a sweet tooth? Gotta cut back or I will be a blimp before long! The bathroom scale says I’m up to 160. 160 lbs! I’m a cow! A huge fat blimping cow. I’ve got to get under control.
Oh, no! The kitchen is stocked with fattening goodies – chips and cookies and pastries. Why do we have so many of these? Can’t anyone see what they’re doing to me? They’re tempting me so badly. Come on, Wendy, they call from the shelves, eat us, eat us all, you know you want to. No, no, I won’t! I won’t eat a single bite, I’ll be a good girl.
I resist. Rich would be proud. I eat only a salad for dinner. Rich’s cook has prepared a feast as usual and I’m sorry to disappoint him by only eating so little. But I must. No excuses. No more overeating. Nothing but lettuce and bread and water. Well, maybe just a little more.
In bed, I scold myself, furious. My gut rises like a mountain before me. I promised I would only eat a salad. Why did I have to eat that lobster? And all that cake? It was too good, too tempting. EAT EAT EAT WENDY they called out. And I did. I ate them all, putting them into my swelling swelling tummy. My tummy which gets bigger every day.
The rest of me is getting bigger, too. My boobs rest on the shelf of my bloated belly. My butt is huge, my thighs are monstrous. The scale says 180. Only 180? I feel like I must weight a ton. I’m enormous. It’s getting harder to move, to get out of bed in the morning.
I don’t exercise at all anymore. I can’t squeeze into my spandex outfit anymore. My bikini burst apart today, so Rich got me a new one. Hope I don’t outgrow this one!
More tasty treats everywhere! EAT EAT WENDY EAT MUNCH CRUNCH CHEW CHEW GROW PLUMP FATTEN I can feel my body growing, ballooning, getting fatter. Like a blimp. Like a helium balloon being inflated. Why can’t I stop?
My dresses are so tight. My pants won’t fit. The scale says 200 now. 200?!? I can’t be that big fat huge. But I am. I must stop before I absolutely explode!
But I can’t. I’ve come too far and I can’t stop. The pounds are coming more easily now. They fall around my hips and ass. I’m growing, absorbing, expanding. How big can I get? How large will I become before I stop? Before I can’t fit into my clothes? Before I can’t fit through doors? Before I can’t move? Before I pop?
Clothes are TIGHT TIGHT TIGHTER TEARING RIPPING BURSTING apart. 210..220… How can I keep gaining? The food leaps out of the fridge, off the shelves and tables and platters, into my mouth. NO, I cry, no, I don’t want to eat, I want to stay thin and trim and fit! Leave me alone! I can’t eat you! I’m getting waaaaay to fat! Look at my tits! My ass! My gut! They’re getting bigger as I watch in horror. My arms are flabby, my legs are soft. Cellulite. Adipose. Fat. All over me.
Rich buys me new clothes and I try to explain my problem. He doesn’t think it’s a problem, he says. He still loves me. He thinks I look fine. If I want to lose weight, he tells me, I should just eat less. He doesn’t understand that I can’t! I’ve lost the battle. There’s no way I can eat less.
I give up. You’ve won, food. Come and get me. Make me fat. Make me huge. I’ll be as fat as you want me to be. I can’t resist. Mmmm. No, I can’t. I don’t want to. Not anymore. I don’t need to. Mmmm. Delicious. The food laughs, it knows it has won. It knows that I will be huge soon. My belly is growing rounder and rounder. My ass is ballooning. I’m such a fatty, such a ridiculous fatty now. 230..240…I’ll hit 300 soon, but I don’t care anymore. The food is so good, that I can’t care about consequences anymore. Yes, I’m fat now. But it feels good. And I’ll be fatter soon. And that will feel better.