(Tags: BBW, SSBBW, WG)
Cindy knew what she wanted, and knew it well. She wanted a life of adventures and romance. One full of hot, passionate sex and intrigue. But she also wanted to never leave her home. Luckily, she'd figured out how to get both, in a sense.
As soon as she was out of college, she wrote. Not on blogs or websites like she had in school, but as an educated woman writing for novels. But she didn't write to appeals to the reader's adrenaline, intellectualism or curiosity. No, she wrote to a appeal to their libido.
While something of a sexual novice, largely due to her asocial tendencies and chronic shyness, she had a voracious sexual appetite and had spent nearly every day since puberty (with rare exceptions) indulging in every fantasy she could gobble up, or create for herself.
Whether straight up porn, smut blogs, romance novels or just sexy tv shows she was constantly exploring the seemingly limitless appetite of her lustful mind, exploring all avenues and opportunities for sexual self discovery. But when it came time to write her own work she knew that she needed to foster an audience, so she chose one genre that had captured her imagination more than any other: the Western.
Her first book, which became published far more easily than she'd expected (as romance tends to publish easier), was moderate. It was about a thin, busty woman in the west, wife of a settler working as a rancher, in expansionist times. She loved her husband, but the local real estate honcho fell in love with her, and offered to pay the poor rancher who could hardly afford to keep a roof for nights with his wife. The man refuses, but seeing how hard times were, the wife accepted. Over time she grows torn between two men she loves, and it ended with her bedding both of them
While writing the novel she found herself having a hard time stopping, the constant arousal too great to ignore, driving her mindlessly to keep at her keyboard, squeezing her thighs, riding on the sexual tension and following its guidance. She made sure to only take breaks to masturbate only when she <really> needed to, keeping her sexual energy at fever pitch at all times.
And when the publisher got back, saying they were ready to put the book out, she was ecstatic. It was a quick process of hurridlt following editor’s notes to trim and perfect the book, bring it to where it needed to be hitting the shelves. The second it was sent to the presses she dove into the sequel, and decided to amp up the stakes.
The rancher’s wife continued er steamy affairs, dangling both men, but her husband couldn’t handle his reputation as a cuck, and forced her into the home with threat of violence. From there she, at risk of her own life, broke out to be with her lover, where they indulged in each other’s bodies, but when the husband found her missing he came at the rich industrialist with the force of the law, getting a corrupt sheriff in the pocket of a rival investor to arrest the woman’s lover. The woman tricks her husband into bed, and knocks him unconscious, the book ending with her daring escape. She lamented not ending with a sex scene, but felt she had fit enough in, and had plans for the sequel.
And the sequel came, and they kept coming. People so invested in the rawness as well as the character and drama, giving her more and more incentive to write. At first she hit a rhythm where she only left the house once a week to buy groceries, and stopped writing to cook or bathe, her publishers found out about her anxiety, and how productive it made her, and offered to send deliveries of read made meals to her, cutting out the grocery store.
Once that was the case she indulged in her escapist writing at all times, constantly either looking for new avenues for sexuality, or writing her own contributions. She ordered sex toys of all varieties, favoring a wall mounted dildo for the shower, with handles above it so she could get the feeling of rough, intense fucking she missed.
But even more than she indulged, she wrote. The woman meets a group of Comanche and joins them, marries one, but misses her old lover. Promising faithfulness, she asks her new husband to break the man out, saying a good man doesn’t deserve to rot in jail. They break him out, and a love triangle inevitably develops. It’s not resolved, but the woman starts sleeping with both of them.
During the writing of this book she began to realize that having a constant light distraction let her stay working for longer, and helped keep at bay her need to get off, which tended to ruin her flow if it wasn’t at the end of a session. She found this out by eating, and starting ordering more and more of the pre-made meals in her delivery service, just to keep snacking as she moved onto the next book.
In the next book, a woman from the Comanche tribe fancies the industrialist, and the four end up in a gorgeous orgy in the end. While writing that book she moved her writing room, and bedroom set up around, so that her freezer and microwave were in her bedroom suite with her writing desk, so there’d be no more need to wander around the house all the time.
Then for another sequel the original husband heads out into the wilderness to find them, and he becomes captive after failing to get them. And in a taboo, twisted ending that shocked her readers, and even pushed her own boundaries, the woman remembers him forcing himself upon her, and decides to abuse him sexually.
During the writing of that book she looked into more ways to stay stuck in place, so she bought a pair of vibrating panties to keep running while she wrote, so she could keep writing while getting off. She was startled to find that she needed to order up several sizes from what she thought she needed, having only worn bathrobes for years without realizing it. She decided not to stress about the size up, even as she needed to order yet another size up at the end of the novel.
The story finally ended with her finally agreeing to settle down, but having such cravings that when the group came near town she would sneak in and deal at the brothel, engaging a final curiosity, another woman’s body. That story ended with some more blatant sex scenes, such as inviting her new husband to the brothel with her, and some other indulgent writing. By the end of the series her curious libido was more responsible for what she wrote than higher function.
After needing to size up her panties again while writing that book she started to realize just how pressing her weight gain really was, but pushed the thought out, and kept up her cycle of laziness, lust and gluttony, writing in place for hours while snacking and getting off hands free. She never needed to move more than just reaching over to make herself food, only having to get deliveries every few days, or whenever she craved something specific. But then she finished her last book, and ended her distractions, and was forced into acknowledging the changes.
Finally assessing the damages, she took a hard look at her body for the first time in a long time. Despite all of her exploration, she’d done very little to physically examine herself. She’d developed a thick tummy roll over the past few years of writing, her hips were widened, her breasts were heavy and her legs met down near her knees. She didn’t have a scale, nor did she care to measure it, but she could feel, suddenly thinking of it, how much heavier she truly was.
Acknowledging her body physically, she was forced to realize how much it had changed. Weaker, dimpled with cellulite, shaking with excess flab and fatness, sagging fat breasts, a small double chin, lungs that ached just standing for too long. She was more than letting herself go, she wasn’t even thinking about her body, just constantly sitting in place and gorging.
Terrified by the feeling of it, she convinced herself this was the cost of her writing, and dove back into it almost immediately, writing a short one off story about a prodigiously thin Navajo woman who falls in love with a rancher and is torn between her love for her people, and her lust for him.
The story was a huge hit, but ended up taking more out of her than she thought. Writing a new character, a new story, had taken nearly twice as long as the any of the books in her previous series. And that stress had gotten her to step up her eating. Constantly stuffing her face, just slamming back food, she’d added on even more extra weight, and this time she was forced to reconcile it, instead of jumping back in. This problem wasn’t going away.
Cindy reviewed herself once more, but instead of convincing herself that this was a necessary cost, she came to a new realization. Indulgence was sexy. Her books were about women giving into the animal, the thing inside of them that drove them to consume more, take more in. Sin was sexy. Greed was sexy. Insatiability, indulgence, a lack of care about cultural norms and expectations and perception were the purest form of what sex is. So standing in front of a mirror, taking in her heavy, sagging, body, well over twice the form of her thinner body with jiggling fat and dimpling cellulite she stopped seeing a failure to care, and so a success in not caring. And it was sexy.
Her libido guiding her, but in a different direction, she announced a new project. It couldn’t be the same series she’d done before, making a character people loved as she was get fat would just make people angry at her. But she wrote about a purely indulgent woman, who took EVERYTHING she wanted. And this story wasn’t about an innocent girl exposed to things she wasn’t ready for, it was about an experienced woman who knew what she wanted and got it.
The book was about a fat, but incredibly busty brothel matron with a big fat ass and thighs to kill for, wearing extravagant clothes and jewelry, indulging constantly in men, women, drink and food, making it clear she was so above people that their perception of her didn’t matter, her perception of them did. If a man called her fat she wouldn’t get upset, she’d completely ignore him, and if she fancied him, she’d seduce him, her complete sexual power taking over his limited will power. People’s objections to her meant nothing, she was truly powerful.
The story did need an entrance character, so she added in a secondary protagonist, a young girl forced into prostitution to keep her drunkard husbands ranch aloft. THe girl was a sexual novice, and the matron would groom her into being a conquering warrior of sexual power. She never made that character gain any weight, though, as she never reached the true levels of detachment as the matron, though it was suggested as something that may happen later in the final book.
This story continued for years as a best seller. Empowering fat women, lesbians and bisexuals, sex workers, skinny shy women and everyone who may indulge in her book as escapism. It caused enough of a stir in mainstream media to raise controversy, and the mystery was propelled by Cindy’s reclusiveness, refusing any and all interviews that weren’t by phone.
But as Cindy wrote, she found there were costs to this lifestyle of indulgence she preached. Unike the matron, whose metabolism and active lifestyle kept her obesity under check to just swollen breasts, hips, thighs, ass and a small, but sensual tummy roll, Cindy was not active and her metabolism seemed to have abandoned her.
She watched as her body got too weak to walk, switching to a waddle. Her hips were too wide for any vibrating panties she could find, and her pussy was so fat that even remote vibrators had trouble getting both inside and on her clit comfortably, and reaching past her belly to put them in was hard since her gut stopped her from getting two hands down to her pussy. Her belly was also so big there was no hope of doing more than pressing her gut onto her wall mounted dildo. She kept it up, on it’s cracked tile, only as a reminder of her sex drive, or occasionally grab it and pretend she was jerking someone off.
Cindy was becoming entombed in her excess fatness, but still found sexiness in that, having let herself go into such an indulgent waste of flesh that even masturbation was limited. She was truly sinful, using her body as nothing but a vessel for her vices, ignoring all requisite for self care in favor for reckless, earthly pleasures, carnal and gourmandizing. She, through the writing process, had even taken to ordering in prostitutes, male and female, in order to get truly satisfied with her indulgence.
Then, she finished the final book, suggesting the matron would retire to satisfy her urges in some other country, and the younger woman would fill her role perfectly. Her community swarmed with excitement at this ending, and the buzz spread to the mainstream controversy. A book suggesting pure indulgence as a positive result was distressing to the public, but that controversy just made her book get more and more attention, which peaked when she was offered a movie deal.
Accepting eagerly, she used the money to get a comfy chair, some nice clothes for her bigger size, and trusted the filmmakers to handle it fine, only getting insistent that the movie carry an R rating, and actually have some sexiness to it.
She let the thought of the move fade in her mind, and quickly hammered out a couple more books, content to let them do what they would. But this obliviousness was torn from her when she got an email inviting her to the premiere in Las Angeles. She was suddenly shaken.
As much as a shut in as she was, and that amount was a woman who’d been in her home for over a year, she didn’t want to turn down an opportunity like that. But she was terrified beyond any reckoning at going in public, especially as the swollen blob she’d become, breasts as fat rolls, belly filling her lap, hips filling a double wide seat and leaving a muffin top to spill over arm rests. She was obese beyond obesity, now, and feared having to acknowledge what that truly meant in the real world, outside her den of private sin.
But after realizing what her film was and what it meant, she gathered herself, and acknowledged that she needed to live by the worlds she wrote. Indulgence was sexy, and she was more indulgent than almost any person, so she was going to do her best to live by her character.
She hired a seamstress to come into her home and measure her, and make a dress, as well as a stylist to work on her face and hair. When asked if she wanted to hide her figure- her fatness, she said, “no. Show it off,” gathering false courage and self confidence.
Wrapped in fine red silks and with her hair done up, and properly washed for the first time in too long (she wore it in a ponytail almost all of the time while writing) she was ready. Well, after filling out a prescription for ativan so she could stay in a drugged ease for the entire event. When asked about transportation she said confidently to her publisher “buy me two seats.”
The publisher laughed and said, “by your food orders, I wondered if that may be the case. Don’t worry about it, that won’t be an issue.”
As much as she hated exercise, she did find herself compelled to waddle around her home, trying to build up some muscles in the months before the show, as well as the slightest bit of cardio. Just enough so that she wasn’t waddling and wheezing the way she did as she shuffled through her home, gasping for breath on the way to the bathtub, belly slapping her knees as she barely moved, shuffling from one hip to another. And with months to get it done, she did manage to get to a place where her waddles were slightly less obvious, and her breathing was only heavy, not retching.
And then the big day came. A limo brought her to the airport, and she was given a ride on those cars for disabled people to her terminal, so she didn’t have to embarrassingly wobble her swollen body down the airport. Because she was technically disabled now, a strange realization in itself, she boarded early, finding rather than two small seats waiting for her, they’d gotten her a ride in first class. The chairs were still too small, her mass overflowing, but with no one beside her it didn’t matter too much.
She did somewhat wish they’d gotten her two seats in economy, just so her butt would fit on the chair, but did wonder if her belly would even fit between two rows of seats. Probably not, she decided, and fell asleep, drugged into calmness for the flight to LA. At her hotel room she began gorging on food orders, hours until the premier. She needed her belly FULL for the movie, so she didn’t have to eat like this at the show. Two and a half pizzas and a gallon of soda later, she was having difficulties even walking through the pain of fullness, but that was a small price for how long that would take her without needing to gorge again.
She also masturbated a few times for good measure, eating being linked to sex for her these days. She also didn’t want the movie to arouse her <too> much, so this was a premature strike. Then the cab arrived, and she rolled on to the premier. Then, washing up and perfuming quickly, she made her way down to the limousine, and off to the premiere.
Her heart would have beat out of its chest when she pulled up to the show, but she was drugged out of any possibility of that. With a small apprehension, Cindy hauled herself to standing as the limo pulled up, and dragged herself out to the click of a hundred cameras, the gasps of shock in the crowd signifying what she figured they would. With what she wrote about, and how reclusive she was, they knew she’d be fat, but hadn’t dreamed she would be <this> fat.
Cindy had gotten to a mass where she was nearly so inconceivably enormous that she’d star in a TLC show about her, and within a few years likely would reach that size. A belly that hung to her knees and dimpled in cellulite was plainly visible, her red dress tight with an extended neckline that dragged over her gut and almost down to her belly button. Slits in her dress ran up to the top of her thighs, where the top of her belly rolled over her hips in a small crease. She doubted any of them had seen a woman her size dresses so provocatively before, but she shrugged it off. She wasn’t dressed controversially, she was dressed confidently. She was sexy.
So, wobbling with what little grace she’d trained for, and huffing far less than she once did (and restraining herself as best she could) she made it to the lobby, to hundreds of darting comments about her size, dress, and lack of concern for either of them, or the swarm of comments around her.
As she entered the lobby and searched with sweaty desperation for a stool to sit on, a plump woman, a few years younger than Cindy, who had just turned 36, ran up to her. She was heavy set, but rather than Cindy’s giant gut, was proportioned with a full bust, wide hips, a big ass, strong thighs and a noticeable, but sexy tummy roll. She wore a dress nearly, but not quite, as revealing as Cindy’s. The woman was beautiful and sensual in a way that made Cindy flush slightly to look at, but was also very heavy, likely just over half cindy’s weight. “Cindy Andrews, right?” The woman asked.
“Yes,” Cindy said, as if she wasn’t incredibly nervous, and in desperate need for a seat.
“My name is Eliza Tiber, I play Vanessa, the matron of the brothel, I’m just… I’m so excited to meet you!” She said, ecstatically. “I know, I’m a little bigger than you wrote, I gained some weight after the filming.”
“You’re excited… To meet me?” Cindy asked, startled.
“Of course I am! I love your books! This series is what gave me the confidence to fully put myself into acting, and this role… Well, it’s nice to get to feel so powerful in a role, you know? Thank you so much,” she said, reaching her arms out to hug the bloated author.
Despite her anxiety, and the loopy state her overfull belly, tired body and ativan gave her, Cindy felt a sudden well of pride. “Don’t worry about the weight, I don’t think I’d mind if she was a little heavier in the sequel. You look amazing, Eliza,” Cindy managed through short breaths.
“So do you,” the actress replied. “Anyways, I’ve got to go get my photo taken, but if you’re in town for a while I would love to talk with you about character for the sequel, maybe get to know you? Like I said, I’m a very big fan of your writing.”
Acting on her ‘put on’ confidence, and embracing her sexual power, Cindy smiled at the smaller, rubenesque girl. “Meet at my hotel room for some champagne and discussion after?”
Eliza blushed and giggled. “Yeah,” she said, suddenly somewhat timid. “I’d really like to.”
Nodding, and turning away Cindy smiled, having truly become what she had written.
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(Tags: BBW, WG, XWG) -This week's short story theme was Western! Watch out! This one, too, is very sexual! Hope you like it!