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Tara snatches the pitcher, glugging back the crisp, cold beer before dropping it at my feet.
BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPPPPPPPPPPPPSPSPSPS
“Fool!” she berates, attempting to snap her manicured sausage fingers condescendingly, “I’m trying to get WASTED here! Go see if they have any Everclear.”
She rolls her eyes. With a smile of submissive joy I hold the blunt to her thick, bimbo lips. She drags deep, holding it as long as her lungs allow. She blows her smoke arrogantly in my face. I hand my fat babe another saucy rack of ribs for her to ssshhlurp back while I clear the mound of stripped bones. Even at this pool party Tara is all about eating and she’s really putting the caterers to the test. When we rolled her in here the first thing she spotted was a 40lb mound of avocado and salsa mix and instantly claimed it as her own. Now green is smeared across her perfect face, topped with tangy yellow from the egg mayonnaise that followed. The way she’ll take any food and indiscriminately scoop it into her face is so damn sexy, I love watching her slowly suck leftovers from her fingers. Her entire 650lbs are painted with slopped snackage. Her blueberry body is gorgeous in her tiny black string bikini, bursting from every side in languorous rolls and folds of blubber so in most places she may as well be naked. Her tits are enormous and hardly contained by her deliberately whorish swimwear.
“Careful, idiot boy!” Tara spits as she callously drops another stripped bone, “This bikini is from DIOR! BBBBBBRRRRRRRUUUUUUPPPP” My Tara prides herself on only wearing the most exquisitely expensive haute couture, in fact her $1400 custom Dior bikini is the cheapest thing on her. She accessorises excessively with gold and platinum bracelets (“Silver is for poor people”) and bangles dangling from her chubby wrist, quickly getting too small for her pliancy. The latest line up from Cartier, Van Cleef & Arpels and Tiffany can all be seen on her thick wrist, each bracelet costing at least double its retail price because of how much more material it takes to fit my obese Goddess. Tara casually scratches a diamond paved love-bracelet on the silverware as she hastily reaches for a whole roasted chicken, denting the $84,000 accoutrement. She doesn’t even flinch, money means nothing more to Tara than displaying her status and dominating those less mega-rich than her (though technically she doesn’t have a single cent to her name, exploiting Daddy and me and her OnlyFans followers). Tara’s cankles overlap her jangling anklets, they hang beautifully off her fat calf. Her chubby feet are stuffed into open toed red-bottomed Christian Louboutin heels. Her necklace is one of a kind, an absurdly expensive 10 carat round cut diamond decorates the center, glistening like a disco ball. Her entire ensemble put together would easily cost $800,000. If you just mugged her you could retire.
She’s so fat she hasn’t even bothered to get out of her SAKA chair, instead laying indolent, eating. She’s taxed the buffet so far by devouring 14 plates of ciabatta, 110 fish tacos, bacon dogs, at least 16 grilled watermelons, 600 chipotle pork sliders, 7 buckets of dill shrimp, 200 tropical island chicken wings, 140 butter-drenched corn on the cob (including the cob!) and enough liquor to sink the navy.
It’s not like this party wasn’t ready for her, though. As I fetch her drinks I pass 20 industrial barbecues flaming food ceaselessly, 3 bars plus 2 swim-up, pizza deliveries by the half-hour and 12 different catering companies. I bring my girl her 40 of Everclear.
“What do you want to mix it with baby?”
Tara’s eyes narrow as she gulps back a whole chicken wing, “Mix? Are you trying to turn me into a fat pig like your niece?” she scolds, repositioning her gut between her squishy thighs, “I’m an INFLUENCER, I need to keep this tight, HOT body. I can’t be consuming unnecessary calories.” She snatches the Everclear and glugs it all back in under 10 seconds before letting the bottle clank to the floor and starting on a whole baked potato drenched in butter and sour cream.
This is my kind of pool party. The sky is flawless blue, a gentle breeze makes the 30 °C pleasant and there are TONNES of fat chicks. Bored, obese, babe blobs with nothing to do but eat and drink. All of them are stuck up bitches who married rich. Tara’s friends Maddison and Chloe are both here, neither of them prone to turning down free food and excuses to show off their enormous bodies.
Chloe is a little skinnier than Tara at just 570lbs but loves to show it off, cramming her gorgeous softness into a skimpy American flag bikini. Her thick, brunette hair curls softly about her porky shoulders, her bright blue come-to-bed-and-feed-me eyes sparkling naughtily at me. We fucked a couple times in high school and I know she’s keen to ride me again, mainly because she’s told me several times. She’s definitely the “slut of the group” despite her whole clique constantly fucking any guy they can get their blimp legs around. She has more of an apple body, her hockey-bag hips flapping over the edges of her painted-on Stars and Stripes swim shorts.
A loud BUUUUUUURPPPP draws my attention to Madison, the fattest of the three. She’s 770lbs and reclined on her side so her couch-sized gut slumps lazily on the floor like a sleeping pet. Her hip reaches 6-feet in the air and gently rises and lowers with the sweaty exertion of eating. Her red hair is done up in space buns out of her face, her sparkling violet eyes sleepily drooping as she automatically brings slices of extra-spicy meat lover’s pizza to her face, slurping off the cheese and toppings and discarding the stripped bread. Her pasty, igloo body is on full display in a mesh cover up jumpsuit, more mesh than cover up. It clings to her sweaty skin. She has nothing on beneath so her nipples are only slightly obscured, her pussy covered by her swinging gut.
“Ok Instagram Live, we’re here at the Hevyar-Little Compound, check it out we got tonnes of food, tonnes of booze, tonnes of weed and most importantly, tonnes of girls” the guy on his phone spins the camera to show Tara and her friends. “Check it out, I’m hanging with @ TaraBunny who you probably know from Instagram.” Tara mindlessly wooooos and starts chugging her drink, getting into shot and speaking coquettishly to the guy interviewing her. He’s some big influencer apparently, there are a lot of social media stars here, Tara and her friends allow their pictures to be taken, loving the attention. “So how many followers do you have right now, beautiful?”
Tara smiles, not her actual smile though, she’s covering up her embarrassment. “Nearly 500,000.” She by and long considers that not enough ‘worshippers.’ I feel bad, my baby’s self-esteem is ridiculously high but it’s still tethered to the success of her social media. That’s how vacuous she is. She’s one of the most popular SSBBWs online, behind only a few of the major players like @ QueenOti, @ thatfatlatina and @ Cece_Lecrémeux.
“For those of you who don’t know, Tara’s the daughter of THE Tammie Pinguis.”
Tara hides her contempt, finishing her segment of the livestream before taking her frustration out on me, pushing me away to go grab her food. She hates how any conversation that should be about her always comes around to her mega-obese mom and the Revelation. Her mom is responsible for bringing hyper-obesity to public attention. “So what? She’s a fat bitch, who cares?” Unfortunately for Tara everyone here cares. Fat is fashionable. That’s what this party is for, the elite overweight, not that my 650lbs girl thinks she’s fat. Tara considers herself curvy and full figured which is why she allows herself to be classified so. Say the word obese to her and she’ll claw your eyes out. Some skinny girls try to eat but bouncers stop them, reminding them that food is for the guests who need it. There are even higher ups from the Equality Commission attending today. There are so many fat girls here, all so sexy, but nobody is hotter than my Tara.
“Is she hotter than me?” Tara snaps, palming a cheddar-stuffed burger into her face. She’s talking about another guest at this party.
“No way baby” I answer wisely.
“No,” Tara reassures herself, “they only like her because she’s black.”
Tyrana Oti is an enormous coffee-toned goddess reclining on her side while 6 or 7 different dicks vie for her attention. They bring her food, fanning her with palm leaves. Apparently, she was once a humble, skinny Princess in South Africa but there was an uprising and her parents were killed and she sought asylum in Canada. Once here she indulged in western decadence and became the obese, black queen now taking up so much attention at this party. Because Tyrana is black and a victim of social upheaval she’s really been a darling of the social justice movement. Tyrana is all over Black Lives Matters, a spearhead of feminist empowerment given she’s so fat and literally a Queen. Tyrana is something like 930lbs with 800,000 followers. It’s easy to see why, her enormous mud-shake mountain of a body is somehow forced into a revealingly tight zebra-print bikini. Her hair is ironed straight, utterly perfect like a goddess, not even any of the manic gobbling she’s been doing all day has spilled into her hair, unlike Tara who’s a smorgasbord of greedy colors. She wears a golden Cleopatra headband and matching multi-strand necklace. Tyrana’s belly is a soft, African velvet bloated beyond herself. She wears sparkling diamond high heels. Her sharp eyes are obscured with high-end sunglasses. Her 500lb gut spills lazily over the edge of her pool-chair, slumping heavily to the ground and currently being massaged and lotioned by two studs.
“Which’a yoo white boys gonna get’cha girl ‘nother pizza?”
Half the crowd thirstily runs to comply, each grabbing Tyrana several stacks of pizza as she rubs her stomach with greed. No wonder she was invited to this exclusive soiree, she’s obese beyond belief. Tara particularly hates Tyrana, not just because she’s black but Tyrana is “stealing” all her followers. Also, Tyrana has a Mega-Yacht, and Tara’s always wanted a Mega-Yacht.
Tara’s annoyed. “Why are WHITE people the bad guys? Do they not see how beautiful I am? Do they think I’d be this beautiful if I was a nigger or a gross Indian from Pakistan or something? Like, hello, all the hottest people are white! TRINNY!”
The young girl comes waddling over, “Yes, Tara?” This is Trinity, Maddison’s little cousin. The girl is 14 and a solid 400lbs. Her hair is red in braided pigtails, her sweet face smiley, her sharp grey eyes vivid. Trinity wants to be properly fat like her idol Maddison and the whole clique. She looks up to these girls, they let her hang out with them because they find it funny to get her drunk, convince her to message ridiculous shit to the boys she likes, and give her deliberately terrible sex advice. Trinny loves how confident they are, how they always get what they want, who they want. Trinity wishes she could be fat like them and is already struggling to walk. Unfortunately for her she’s getting a lot of exercise right now. Tara and Maddison had a bet over who could fuck the most guys in a weekend, both betting their servant girls, and Tara won. Now she gets to keep Trinity as an extra slave for a month.
“Hi, Jay…” Trinity greets me, batting her eyelashes and taking careful babydoll steps. Trinity hands Tara a plate of turkey legs.
“Where’s that fat sister of mine?”
Talia appears, Tara’s 11 year old sister. She’s skinny as a snake but fully dressed because “Nobody wants to see your disgusting blob body, Tali!” She’s also developing some serious eating disorders thanks to Tara’s bullying but… who cares? Tara’s incensed to see Talia is on her phone.
“WOOOOOOOOW okay bitch, maybe focus on your fucking JOB? For once? Now stop being selfish and get your pretty sister more cocktails.” Talia runs off, fearfully obedient. Since she was pulled out of school to become Tara’s new personal assistant my girl has been bullying her sister, forcing her to fetch food while she and her many lovers fuck. Tara is just thinking of a new way to take her follower-fuelled frustration out on her little sister when the party is interrupted.
BOOMSHUKBOOMSHUKBOOMSHUKBOOMSHUK
Music blasts from the top-of-the-range sound system around the pool. The star of the show emerges, our hostess. Brooke is by far the fattest of all the fat bitches here and also the youngest of Tara’s clique at just 19. At a staggering 1200lbs and only 5’ she’s considered “the fat one” and really loves her luxury. Brooke’s enormous body is crammed into a snow-white YSL bikini, amazingly she wears even more jewellery than Tara. The most eye-catching piece being a bespoke 24k gold belly chain adorned with exquisite jewels. The 210 inch chain taking nearly 50 ounces of gold to manufacture and costing a whopping half a million dollars. Brooke is already on her fifth chain as her expanding belly outgrows it every 6 months.She’s laid on her side, goddess-style on a portable palanquin throne. It’s being carried down into the shallow end of the pool by 6 tall, insanely buff guys who struggle together to lift their mistress’ enormity. Amazingly all of them are her boyfriends, masterfully manipulated by Brooke, their bank accounts put under as much pressure as their bodies are now. Apparently Brooke is looking for a seventh boyfriend so that, according to Tara, “she can have one for every day of the week.” Her curly blonde starfish-decorated hair is immaculately coiffed, her naked meteorite tits covered by nothing but two ornamental seashells, her pussy permanently hidden beneath her mermaid tail gut. Even though it’s unseen, Brooke demands her pussy be decorated with the finest jewels also, an 8-inch platinum dildo with an emerald ball on the tip is moulded perfectly to her. If you lifted up her beast of a belly you would see the exquisite piece of jewellery stuffed inside her perfect, shaved, chubby pussy, the brilliant cut emerald shimmering under the boulder of fat would make you feel like Indiana Jones as he stumbled on treasure in an abandoned cave.
A 6-gallon fish tank at her side swims with life, Brooke delicately snatches up a couple live shrimp with her cubby fingers and sharp, stiletto nails. She crams the struggling creatures between her lips and moans as she guzzles them back. Brooke slathers salt-water drool down her cleavage each time she pops a wriggling critter into her painted lips, giggling naughtily as she crunches them in half, savouring the feeling of their bisected bodies squirming helplessly in her mouth before being GULPED back to wriggle among other doomed crustaceans in her boiling gut. Her feeding bowl also contains baby octopuses, numerous colourful shimmering fishes and mussels. She scoops out a waving red crab and CRUNCHES it in two, the remaining half still trying to snap free before being dunked in a bowl of warm melted butter and dropped in her mouth. There’s APPLAUSE from the crowd for this show of “bravery” and “feminism” and beauty.
Her boys let her down, the palanquin floats in the water while her men keep it from drifting about. They wait for silence.
“Attention, guest. Your hostess has an announcement she wishes you all to hear.”
They wait in silence, the crowd watching as Brooke knocks back the last of her aquarium appetiser.
“NYOOOMM SHLUUUURPP GNARPF I’m gonna SNAAAARKK SLUUUUKK do porn BRAAAAAAAAAAAWPPPP”
Her not-too-happy boyfriends applaud while her guests celebrate. The representatives from the Equality Commission are the most vocal supporters. They announce that in tandem with this display of “female physical autonomy” Brook will be the guest of honour at their SIZE CELEBRATION LIVE STREAM. An event to spread the word on size acceptance and the dangers of fatphobia. Tara notices the attention Brooke is getting from her supporters and wonders why. Brooke gets treated like a goddess while Tara is suffering in a tiny $20,000 a month apartment with only 2 walk in closets. I can tell Tara is thinking because of the pained expression on her bimbo face.
“Hmmf!!” Tara pouts, displeased by her friend’s success, “This is SO unfair! Why aren’t guys lining up to pay my way for everything?? That’s it, asshole!” she yell, slapping me with a sharp crack across the face, “You’ve been way too lazy, time for you to start actually working, I’m gonna get a million followers and be the first plus-sized girl to do so!”
I’ve tried to help her. I noticed that SSBBW posters get more followers and views based on how much they weigh. I’ve tried in a roundabout way telling Tara to exploit her weight, that if she could get to 1000lbs she’d be unstoppable. Of course she didn’t take that well and nearly bit my cock off.
“How are we gonna do that, baby? Tyrana is already close to a million and there are other girls bigger than you on the sight.”
Tara pouts. “Why do you ALWAYS put me down? You’re such a bad boyfriend” she cries as I bring her a suckling pig, “Every time I want something you’re always saying it’s impossible or illegal, well I’m a strong, beautiful, independent woman” she explains as I feed her “and I’m gonna be the most popular fat girl on Instagram even if it kills you!”
~~~
The front door of Tara’s family mansion opens.
“Tara! Baby girl, what are you doing here?!”
“Wooooow SLUUUUURPPP GNYOOOMMNOM I gezz I’ll go BLUUURKKK GNAARRL fugg myself!”
Her dad apologises and steps aside so his darling obese daughter can roll in. Tara’s wheelchair whirrs up the steel ramp. Tara has 4 KFC family buckets in holders on each ledge either side of her and she randomly snatches gristly, greasy wings. Chunks of chicken batter litter her multi-chins in a thick amber of drool. KFC gravy paints her chest, her black crop top sodden through.
“Sorry, angel, of course you’re welcome it’s just we weren’t expecting you.”
“Do those lazy Africans still work for you?”
She asks this right in front of several of their black workers. There have been a number work for her parents over the years (her mother in particular enjoys hiring “Those hot young negro boys”) and Tara’s enjoyed their servitude too. I know several got fired because she banged them, she told me once that when she was 14 she accused one of them of rape “for a joke.”
“Ummm, yes, sweetie. They’re just taking care of your mother right now, would you like to go say hi?”
“NO!” Tara scolds, glugging back the last of her macaroni salad bucket and snapping at the maid to fetch her more food, “Jay’s going to take some pictures of me with the boys for my Insta.”
Her plan is to exploit the BLM movement “like Tyrana,” to play the woke game for attention. I’ve already got the captions written up for photos not even taken yet;
So honored to get to work with black creatives and support black artists, especially female or
gay ones
#blacklivesmatter #BLM #whiteguilt #bimbo
It’s a load of bullshit copy-pasted from every other virtue-signallers post, just like they always are.
“So I need my diamond bikini,” it really is made of diamonds, not that anything she wears is fake, but this bikini is something else. Perfect miniature round cut stones are painstakingly sewn onto a white string garment. Over 90,000 of these diamonds fill the skimpy swimsuit from its fabric to its seams. Over 10,000 man hours have been put into making this immaculate piece of clothing only to have Tara’s adipose hang over 90% of it, “and bring around the Bugatti you bought me to match.”
“Of course, sweetie, your bikini is in the pool house. So is your mother.”
Tara fumes but time is against us and finally we go. It turns out the pool house is just another mansion specifically for the indoor pool. Tara’s mother, Tammie, is inside.
SHHLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPPPP BLAAAAAARPPPP NYOOMNUUMMM NYOOMMNYOMNYOM GLUUURPP SHMAAKKK LOOOOOOOOOOORRPPPPP
BRAAAWRPPP SLUUUURRRP BLUUUURP GLOOOOPSHH SLUUUKKK CHEWWW!!!!
Just the sound of her eating is enough to turn me on. I’ve visited 5 times now, each trip following negotiations between Tara and Tammie mediated by Mr. Pinguis. Tara is basically pimping me out to her mom, not that I mind. Tammie Pinguis is well over 12,000lbs. She’s as wide as a highway, her gut almost as long. You may have heard of her from the Revelation. Yeah, I’m banging that Tammie Pinguis. I sure hope Tara takes after her mom, evolving into this formless hill of sexy unmoving flesh. She’s utterly trapped in herself and loves it, spending all day being funnel fed mass amounts of food that could feed an army. Tammie’s beautiful face betrays its eastern European heritage with cruel, controlling eyes and sleek dark hair with the slightest tinge of cougar silver. Not that you’d be able to tell Tammie is in her 40s, she still looks so young, the fat ironing out any creases in her gorgeous face. It’s the only point on her that resembles a human, the remainder of Tammie a sweltering, sweating, bubbling landscape of treacherous pink flab. It scintillates, lips of fat smacking and slurping across her moon body. Her titties are each meteorites, so soft to suck on and beneath each of those maximised mammaries are among my favourite places to stick my dick. I’ve fucked so many of my step-mother’s rolls but we’ve barely scratched the surface. I admire her landmark body, taking it all in until I realise-- “Hey, I thought this was the pool house, where’s the pool?” My query is answered as someone emerges from beneath Tammie’s gut. He removes his scuba tank and I see it’s one of her 17 year old employee boyfriends. He hands me the air tank and an industrial flashlight meant for underwater spelunking.
“She told us defer to you whenever you’re here.” With that he hobbles off, his body crippled like nobody should be at his age. I see Tammie’s sleepy eyes hover open just enough to spot me, then go wide with sexual excitement. She adores me, every time I come here she tries to get me to leave Tara, offering to let me stay as one of her “live in toy boys!” Suddenly an arch of water jets out from beneath her belly. Tammie is in the pool, she’s just outgrown it. Whenever she gets sexually excited she unleashes a hellish torrent of foul farts, thus the tsunami blast of water. I turn to explain to Tara I won’t be long and to console her for my impeding infidelity (albeit infidelity at her imploring) but she’s already in a feeding binge. My girl is knocking back handfuls of Taco Bell extra-beefy chili burritos, she won’t even notice I’m gone.
I strip, strapping the tank to my back. I find a spot on her waist I know to be particularly flexible, just where her stage curtain hip meets the field of her upper thigh. I slide between them, using the natural lubricating slime of her body to slip into the water beneath. It’s pitch black, stupidly I fumble for the light not having turned it on previously. My eyes adjust through the goggles. Finally with the minimal amount of light I can see the world beneath Tammie Pinguis. It’s hard to believe I’m still on Earth. Through the thick, hot swamp everything looks completely alien to me. Pieces of food bob about, irrigated from her anus or dislodged from the many submerged folds of her. Tammie’s smooth, blobular undercarriage moves like a lava lamp above me, a forest of fat nodes drifting peacefully in the filthy water. The vast underworld of my sexy mistress shifts and dislodges like breaking ice caps to nearly knock me clear before settling in a new, more comfortable position. It looks like a melting ceiling of thick, pink stalactites. I swim towards where the water is warmest, finally the light finds the most unearthly sight of them all. Two vast pistons of blubber, neither longer than a foot-and-a-half but each of them is as wide and round as a helicopter landing pad. They’re concentric rings of fat batting gently at the water, Tammie is kicking her legs playfully, they look like vast animals gesticulating back and forth. Directly beneath her asshole is a sunken mound of post-digestion animal bones, whole skeletons (many still intact) and skulls scattered like an elephants graveyard beneath. The hollow, bone faces watch me, eyeless. As I approach I start to kiss her titan thighs. I work my way up, peeling blubber aside to reveal her salty, creamy sex. I remove the oxygen feed and start licking. Instantly the water around me starts to swell and chop, threatening to sweep me away as her sexually charged body vibrates. Inconsequential above water, it becomes a maelstrom of deadly pleasure for me below. I lock in, wrapping my legs as deep as I can into one of hers. I continue to lick, sucking and slurping, basically the same way I’ve seen Tara eat. I feel her clit slide towards me for further pleasuring and between quick gasps of oxygen I punish her pussy with my willing slave tongue. She starts to piss with pleasure, a foul cloud of thick orange blasting me like a frog laying its eggs. It’s at this point she’s ready to fuck so, clinging to her under-gut like some tiny insect trying to impregnate a giant, deadly female, I grasp tight and slide into her. It never takes long for either of us but Tammie always cums first, that is the rule after all. With my core aching I give one final shunt and Tammie starts to orgasm. Instantly there’s a surge of boiling shit and I’m smashed against the floor of the pool, my cock still out. The bones are swept aside with how hard I hit them, scattering through the darkness. The riptide isn’t over though and I’m dragged into the wall of the pool, my skull sharply smacking on the marble. I manage to ball up, finding a grip at one point and holding on for dear life in this orgasmic maelstrom. After 5 minutes of feeling like laundry Tammie’s erotic outpouring finally slows and I feel my way (the water now too thick with sexual slime for the light to work) to freedom. Like something being born, I emerge from between the squelching folds wet and pained. My body aching, I hand the scuba gear to the next guy.
The whirring that echoes through the swimming pool tells me Tammie’s sleep-pumps are active. Fondue cheese and beer and jelly and Coca-Cola and tapioca pudding flood into her face while she snores.
After a very quick rinse down in the servant-showers I return to find my Tara undressed. As she nakedly crunches back A&W she berates her hot male workers.
“-- so we’re going to take pictures of you all fawning over me and finding me super-hot and it’s gonna make me even more famous and YOU all get to keep your jobs.”
It’s clear most of them don’t want to do it but they know well enough not to cross the Pinguis family, especially not the women. Mr. Pinguis walks in, he’s holding Tara’s g-string diamond bikini in one hand, talking on his cell.
“-- yeah Tara just arrived… hold on lemme ask. Tara, your grandma Tabbi and grandpa are on the phone, do you want to speak to them?” Tara throws him a glare so evil it could pop a balloon. “Sorry, Albert, Tara is busy doing her Instagramming… It’s an online thing, remember I told you both about it at Christmas?… Yeah she’s getting really popular on it, she’s made so many friends, everyone there adores her… Okay well give our love to Tabbi, hopefully we’ll see you soo--”
“DADDY!!” Tara screams, right in the ear of the mousy maid feeding her cannoli, “Get my bikini on me NOW!!”
He hangs up and attends to his girl. Mr. Pinguis dresses her, I paint her toe nails (we’re short for time, it’s usually done by experts) while her style gurus do her hair and amazingly manage to apply makeup around her constant eating.
She chooses down by the Pinguis family private lake. Their property is huge and the sandy shore of the water makes the perfect backdrop for her shoot. The hunkiest black employees she has (all of which are good looking) stand around in super tight swimming trunks. Many of them are uncomfortable as we had no idea what sizes to get so Tara instructed I play it safe and go small. I see Tara admiring their bulges, making jokes to the hottest ones and flirting right in front of me. I take these photos of all these hot guys around my girl, some of them lifting her on her pimped litter, others bringing her drinks, basically Tara being worshipped which in her not-all-there brain is what people will want to see. Many of them she has on sex-chains (borrowed from her mother) which she thinks will be a female empowerment thing. She has them surround her, worshipping her, while she reclines like an Egyptian queen. It’s exactly what she saw Tyrana doing. She vamps, coquettish at the camera while they kiss her feet, arms out for her divine attention.
“That’s enough, slaves!” she giggles, dismissing them from her, “Now, with the car!”
I drool like Tara as Mr. Pinguis pulls it around. Her brand new 2021 Bugatti Chiron Sport in blue! This is my dream car, the stuff of myth, a thing of beauty and one of only 60 ever made. What I wouldn’t give to take this baby for a spin. It parks with the mansion in the background to showcase all of Tara’s wealth. With my help she lumbers over (I’m ready to catch her any moment, I still can’t believe her 650lbs has never broken a heel) and casually rests her enormous ass on the hood, the same way she’s seen thin Instagram models do. I GASP as with a sharp shriek of metal the front lip of this superb machine is dented, turned into tinfoil. The hypercar, only 3.5 inches off the ground, slams into the gravel the moment Tara dumps her weight on it, its $50,000 carbon fibre lip spoiler shattering. As much of a tragedy it is to see this beautiful car destroyed, damn if my girl isn’t the hottest she’s ever been. I can barely contain my excitement as I ogle my goddess, her jiggly fat frame juxtaposed against the solid silhouette of this sleek hypercar. “Get me up” she commands. Together several of us lift her onto the bonnet of this beautiful 2021 Bugatti Chiron Sport that I would give up a testicle to own. We help her to her knees, a finger in her mouth playfully. Instantly Tara’s weight creases the body work on this amazing vehicle, it crumples inwards. We struggle to position Tara’s walrus body on the centre as she complains indolently. I hide my cringe as her enormous self-importance renders this luxury car worthless without a care. We take the pictures, helping her to get into sexual shapes, re-positioning her flab and belly multiple times as Tara poses sensually like a model on a car magazine. Each time we move her, you can hear the frame creaking in protest, its magnetic suspension struggling.
“Take some from inside” she commands, “it’s gonna look so sexy!” Everyone around her vocally agrees with everything she suggests, no matter how narcissistic or insane. We help her onto all fours, her double-moon ass facing towards the windscreen so the photographer inside sees her playfully looking back while her asshole on full display swallows her bikini g-string, doing nothing to hide her pussy. He snaps a few pictures before Tara unwittingly releases a stinking Indian food and cheese-binge FART that’s quickly followed through by a blast of stinking shit. It splatters across the windscreen of the beautiful car, coating the whole thing. It drips with lumpy turds and unprocessed beans, a thick soup of Tara’s shit slowly drizzling down the glass.
“Oopsie” Tara dismisses it, releasing a less devastating BURP from the other end, “As long as we got the shots. Put me on the roof, now, slaves!” Tara screams. “I saw some skinny bitch model pose like this in FHM and I would look SO much better than her.” We help her sit on the roof of the car, taking 12 of us to achieve it while Tara yells about how we’re taking too long and she has places to be and how important she is. Immediately the roof of the vehicle starts to sink inwards under her weight and the rear window shatters, not that she notices. The beautiful bodywork, designed for the best aero-dynamics, squish like marshmallow. I ready a few of the male models to rush in and catch her in the very real possibility the entire roof gives way. After 2 minutes of Tara giving the camera her sluttiest looks and congratulating herself for being so hot, Tara lets us lift her down. In the struggle one slave’s shoulder is dislocated and another has his foot broken when Tara mindlessly steps on it.
During a break (in which Tara devours 65 entire grade A5 wagyu steaks) her phone gives her an idea. “Film this, bitches” she snorts seductively, having seen something she likes on social media. Tara lacks the creatively to think of anything herself so she just copies what she sees other models do. After being helped up by 4 guys Tara actually walks over to the car with her own legs (even though it’s only 2 feet away this is still impressive.) Her fat sweating thighs rub and squelch against each other while her huge overhanging belly jiggles rhythmically each step. Everyone’s phone is out as we catch a rare glimpse of Tara’s ass and cellulite thighs wobbling. She opens the door to the Chiron and seductively slides in, showing off her massive belly, side boobs and arm fat to the camera as she does. Of course in Tara’s mind she’s strutting gracefully like a model as if she was hired by Bugatti for one of their commercials. What everyone else sees is this huge, wheezing blob of a girl panting to waddle 24 inches before fighting to fit in the driver’s seat. As Tara plops down the suspension buckles under her massive weight. The car drops with a loud snap, both tires on the driver’s side bursting. Oblivious, Tara gives a seductive smirk and wink to the camera, teasing her fans. “Oh my god, how fucking HOT was that?” she squeals.
I watch, practically in tears as the $3.7-million now-pummelled hypercar is towed for scrap. Tara only made her father buy it for her because she heard another girl had more cars than her.
“SHIT!” Tara announces on the limo ride home, “I forgot to pout for Daddy to get me a Mega-Yacht! Fuck, why didn’t you remind me, idiot?!!”
Tara shoves my face sharply away.
~~~
“Backlash?? What do you mean backlash?” she yells at me.
Tara is on all fours, like a pig, eating donuts from the considerable pile mounting on her bed.
“The pictures we posted, babe, the ones you said were ‘superhot’”
“No, what does backlash mean?”
“Oh, people are upset about them.”
“What?? People love feminism and Black Lives Matter and all that bullshit. BUUUUUUURP”
I look at the pictures once more, they’re hot no doubt about that. But in one of them Tara’s literally rested across the back of 6 or so black workers, all kneeling for her. “Fine, if those idiots don’t appreciate how hot I am I’ll find something else to blow their minds.” Tara returns to her donut heap, feigning indifference, though behind her eyes I can see the trepidation. If I didn’t know better I’d think she’s concerned people don’t like her.
~~~
“Hey, bitches, Tara here” she lazily wheezes, barely even trying, as she reclines on her bed. “Today I’m trying on these new club dresses from PlusLove, they sent them to me because they knew I would look so hot in them so let’s try them on.” I stop recording, now I’ll help her change into the first dress, a purple mini dress at least 4 sizes too small for, when she wears stuff this size the material stretches so much as to become see through.
Tara keeps complaining as always. “Can you believe I’ve been eating and even gaining weight yet I still look as small as ever?” she asks with a straight face as her stomach drops from the edge of the bed to the floor with a thick thud. “If I stay this skinny I’ll never overtake Tyrana!”
However I’m checking her phone, it’s part of ‘boyfriend duty’ to keep track of her social.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, babe.” The hashtag has been trending since last night;
#CancelTyrana
“What the fuck?” Tara exclaims in her usual angry-confused cadence. They’re talking about Tyrana Oti, the 900lbs+ beautiful black blob. How could this happen? I click on the news link and read.
“Instagram Princess Tyrana Oti started out as the obese-positive movement’s favourite powerful, black, queen. Now it seems her reign is over. Documentation leaked from secret services reveal Tyrana’s family wasn’t ousted in a military coup as originally reported. These new reports claim she killed her father and mother for their money and fled to Canada to escape justice. It’s also reported in South Africa she had lots of slaves, especially whites, and blacks who aren’t South African.”
There’s a grainy cell phone shot of Tyrana in her regal ware as literal slaves are brought before her and beaten. She’s not skinny like she said she was, she’s already fat and spoiled, surrounded by food and opulence. She claps gleefully like a retarded child as a machete is put to the neck of one kneeling prisoner. Apparently this man named his new daughter after the Princess, unfortunately Tyrana thought the baby was too ugly and took it as blasphemy. She bites her lip and moans with joy as the blade comes down, cutting off the film just as a servants steps forward carrying a wriggling bundle to its greedily salivating queen. We go to the response from Tyrana.
“This is a misrepresentation of events,” she explains, “my team are working on clearing this all up.”
I keep reading the article. “It’s as yet unclear how the confidential data leaked or who’s responsible, but Tyrana Oti has already lost several of her sponsorships and Instagram are suspending her account.”
BAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Tara can’t help but laugh at her rival’s misfortune. She’s jolly to see anyone hurt but this is personal. “Dumb fat bitch! That’ll teach her to step to me, I would have whooped her ass” Tara confidently states as I help slip the dress on her like trying to fit a bowling ball into a sock, “Now I’m DEFINITELY gonna be the first size-positive influencer to reach a million followers. JAY!” She claps her hands at me.
“Yes, baby girl?”
“How many followers am I at??”
I consult her profile, distracting her by feeding bacon and cream cheese bagels into her piggy bimbo face. “You’re still at half a million, baby girl.”
Her face creases in pain like she’s just had a contraction. She’s trying to think.
“So how many more until a million?”
“Well, you have half a million… so another half a million.”
“So I only have to get another half of what I have now!”
“No baby you…. yeah, yeah that’s right.”
I finish pulling the way too small dress over her, her head appears the other end with a vindictively beautiful smile. Suddenly I get a thought.
“Baby, Tyrana was meant to appear at the Equality Commission’s SIZE CELEBRATION live stream, maybe now you can be featured instead?”
She likes the idea and commands I instantly get on the phone and make it happen. Being featured in the livestream could be huge for her follower count. As I leave the room, she admires herself in the floor to ceiling mirror.
“Make room for the TRUE Queen!”
~~~
Tara’s yacht is just one of many ridiculously-priced presents she’s demanded of her father. It’s “one up from the one Kylie Jenner has” which is apparently what matters. She comes out usually to take pictures, she doesn’t actually enjoy sailing around as you only have as much food as you can carry. One time Tara actually called the coastguard when she ran out of pizza. They weren’t happy. Still, Tara’s yacht is a source of severe annoyance to her since it’s not a Mega-Yacht.
I take pictures. Tara’s ass pressed into the camera, both of which devour her thong. Her fat thighs are like melting white dough. She grabs a swathe of rubbery fat on her hip and looks back at the lens shaking it, giving her most sultry, seductive face. It’s the same one she gives old rich guys at the casino. Behind me the sun disappears making it too dark to shoot.
“Will you hurry up?” she barks at me as Talia shoves shrimp into her face, “I need a dump!”
Talia is red from serious sun burn, spending so much time exposed constantly rubbing lotion into Tara’s obese softness. Trinity is also here .
My phone buzzes. It’s set to notify me only for Tara related info. Texts from her, updates to her social, hashtags.
#CancelTara
Oh fuck!! This is not good, it’s trending. I check her follower count… it’s dropped! Tara sees the concern and despair on my face but ignores it, probably assuming it’s to do with my dying niece. She carries on eating cheesy nachos. I follow the hashtag to phone footage from… Brooklyn’s beach party!
“Babe, look at this…” I advise her stunned, only to see Tara and all the crew are looking up at the sky, something behind me.
Hey, why’s it so dark?
I turn to see a Mega-Yacht! Just like Tara’s always wanted. The thing is huge, its hull is open at the bottom like a catamaran so it docks around us. Our crew runs about trying to escape this ship. Tara swears and screams at them to not neglect her feeding duties despite what’s going on, biting into Talia’s fingers. We can’t outrun it and before long we’re locked beneath the bigger ship.
“Ms. Tara Pinguis,” someone speaks through a megaphone (for a Mega-Yacht!) as gangplanks extend towards us, “you’re invited to join the Lady of this vessel. She’s expecting you immediately.”
Tara refuses to leave at first but then we run out of food and she decides to accept the invitation. Talia and Trinity stay behind, I can only take care of Tara right now.
As we wheel her through the luxurious hallway of this billion dollar craft, feeling a little more like prisoners than guests, I explain to Tara what’s happened.
“Baby, they’re trying to cancel you!”
Tara starts to blub and whine about how she’s a woman and men are the bad ones and how can they cancel her when she’s getting so close to her goals? “-- and I’m a good person and WHY don’t I have a Mega-Yacht??! Also--”
But she stops dead when we’re brought on-deck. The surface is massive but bare apart from a few crewmates and servants.
Then there’s this ship’s owner.
The Captain steps forward, holding out his hand. “Ms. Pinguis, we’re so pleased you could join us!” Tara ignores his hand, rubbing her gut to soothe the hungry pain. I think I shake his hand. It’s hard to tell. I can’t take my eyes off her. “Ahh, yes, I understand. I’ve sailed around the world and THIS is the most amazing sight I’ve ever beheld. Ms. Pinguis, may I introduce you to your grandmother.”
The woman is FOUR times the size of Tammie. If she weren’t so obviously alive I wouldn’t believe she’s a human being. Her vastness actually spills over several sides of the boat, her pyramid gut spreads across the deck like a giant squid is attacking us. She’s literally blocking out the sun, casting a shadow so cold over all of us I start to shiver on this 28°C day. I can’t describe her arms or legs because she has so many ledges and chasms and hills of blubber she’s hardly even a shape. It takes a minute of squinting to make out her face, only revealed when a double decker bus-sized shelf of lard collapses into a new position. Despite having such an alien body she’s definitely related to Tara. She has the same cruel, eastern European eyes and thick eyebrows, dark hair and thick lips. She’s mega-sized, hence the Mega-Yacht. She has dozens of strong men rushing about to keep her massaged. She’s being injected with food from at least 20 different tubes winding into her mouth like some alien-feeding-cyborg. The tubes all branch off the sides of the boat to smaller ships that trail alongside, the food tanks stored aboard so they can switch out, returning to shore to restock. Suddenly I start to think I’m underfeeding Tara.
“Grandma Tabbi??” Tara exclaims.
“That’s right! My lover and owner of this vessel, Mrs. Tabitha Pinguis. Moving her is so difficult most of it has to be done by sea, that’s how I came to meet my beautiful mistress and--”
“BWUHHH!” the blob that’s apparently Tara’s grandmother screams. Tabitha sprays her feeding crew with mouthfuls of slopped food like a tidal wave.
“Of course, my special one, I’m just doing it now.” The Captain obliges Tabitha, changing the channel on her megascreen. It’s phone footage.
“Why are WHITE people the bad guys?” Past-Tara complains, this is Brooke’s pool-party when bae was fuming over Tyrana getting all the attention. “Do they not see how beautiful I am? Do they think I’d be this beautiful if I was a nigger or a gross Indian from Pakistan or something? Like, hello, all the hottest people are white! TRINNY!”
The Captain laughs, “Apparently the internet thinks you’re saying ‘tranny’ at the end there too. That alone is enough to cancel you.”
Tara groans in hunger and frustration, her stomach matching with a deep grumble. I step forward. “Okay so you got that footage from someone at the party, almost definitely one of Tara’s many many love rivals, but why release it? What do you get?”
Tabbi grins, signalling to slow her feeding for a moment. The many tubes pumping different coloured fluids and purees into her sinkhole face slow, the change in speed barely perceptible. “MWUH!”
I turn to the Captain for translation. “Madam Pinguis heard of young Ms. Pinguis’ quest to become ‘Instagram famous’ and became jealous. She hates that her UNGRATEFUL daughter, Tamara--”
Tabbi interrupts with an indignant roar of spite at the mention of Tammie’s name. My cock grows a little bit harder, which I didn’t think was possibly in the presence of this thing-shaped goddess. If you’d told me this morning I would meet a girl bigger than Tammie I’d assume you were trying to scam me.
“-- Of course, my Bimbo Queen. Tabbi hates that her ungrateful, FAT, spoiled, selfish daughter is now world famous thanks to that stupid REVELATION. Your beautiful grandmother can’t abide both her daughter and granddaughter getting famous. She deserves to be more worshipped than both of you combined so she’s decided she will be Instagram’s biggest bitch.”
I check my phone, finding her quickly. Holy shit! Her Instagram account has already got as many followers as Tara.
“My Lady joined Instagram this morning, we’re just getting the hang of it.” I can see the appeal, not just her relation to Tammie but the fact Tabbi is over 45,000lbs! “Her goal is to reach a million followers, which you might notice is similar to your plan! We’ve already gotten rid of the most popular fat girl on the site--” Now it becomes apparent, this is how Tyrana Oti got cancelled, I’m vaguely aware Tara’s family has some far-back-reaching connection to government bigwigs and could have dug up that footage, “-- but you Tara, you’re a Pinguis. You actually might pose a risk to our beloved Tabitha.”
“Don’t cancel me!!!” Tara squeals helplessly, the same way she does when she’s just opened the last of her Christmas gifts.
“Cancelling is just the beginning,” the Captain continues on behalf of his lover, “She considers the fact you both live your own lives a great betrayal when you and Tammie should be spending your days feeding and serving her, instead of literally eating into HER family fortune. She’s going to achieve your dreams and once you’re done we’re going to destroy everything else in your life. She’s going to take your boyfriends, your clothes, your cars, EVERYTHING.”
The boat starts to rock and I realise it’s reacting to Tabbi’s movement, the grandiloquent grandmother is laughing, the many ripples of her body shaking and swaying and reflecting in the ocean at the idea of Tara’s misery.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I look up to where the noise came from. One of Tabitha’s feeders got too close and is grabbing at a bloody stump where their hand used to be. They’re dragged off by other workers as Tabitha greedily gulps the appendage back.
“Ahh well,” the Captain shrugs, Tabitha licks blood from her lips and many many many chins, “that’s what you get when your hands are covered in cake batter. We warned them! Although the training was all in English so--”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” Tara screams at the top of her lungs, her stomach practically empty at this point. Tabitha makes a similar, annoyed noise and we’re escorted back to our yacht.
“Feel free to keep trying but Tabbi will be reaching her goal at the Equality Commission’s SIZE CELEBRATION livestream, we know you haven’t been accepted yet buy you’ll be getting an invitation soon, Tabbi wants you there so she can defeat and embarrass you in front of everyone online, so if you think you can reach 1000lbs by then well… good luck.” He laughs as our yacht is released. I look to Tara, she’s already passed out from her sugar crash (happens if I don’t balance her food intake properly) and the stress on her already taxed body.
Someone calls, I answer; “Hey, I’m calling from the Equality Commission, is this Tara Pinguis’ representation?”
It’s a short conversation. The Captain didn’t lie, Tabitha’s used her pull to get Tara on the livestream. This is serious.
As I watch Tabitha’s ship disappear into the distance I stroke my baby girl’s hair.
“We’ll do it princess, we’ll do it” I assure, not certain who it is I’m assuring.
~~~
“Hey, it’s Gay-Jay and our queen, the one and only Tara, is about to do the latest Instagram challenge!” I speak to the camera. She makes me do her hosting duties as much as possible so she can continue eating off camera. I didn’t want to be known as Gay-Jay but Tara thought it was good for two reasons. First “So I can look like I have queer friends without having to hang out with an actual faggot” and two so her male followers think she’s single.
Tara’s fully determined to destroy her grandmother. She’s so driven I can only imagine what Tara would have done with her life were she not born a bimbo who ate herself into obesity. We considered a bunch of the current trending challenges but a lot of them are dance or workout-based and therefore off the table. We tried the pillow dress challenge but there’s no pillow big enough to cover her, it’s hard enough finding duvets that do so. We also considered the #365grateful challenge but Tara actually couldn’t think of anything she was grateful for other than herself. Although my baby has lost a number of her followers because of the whole #CancelTara campaign, most of the internet’s attention that day was on her mega-Grandma’s debut. Still, Tara has to be careful with what she posts.
We cut to my Tara in her silk, blue, high cut night-gown and bedroom heels, sipping from an extra-sugary bubble tea (which I drove 40 minutes and back to fetch).
“Today we’re trying the mukbang challenge!” she recites fake-enthusiastic in front of a salad bowl full of spicy noodles, “I have no idea how I’m going to finish all this but I’ll try!”
If you’re watching on Insta the next thing you see is Tara, rubbing her gut in front of half the original bowl of noodles. “Ughhh… I’m STUFFED!” she complains, “I can’t eat another bite!” she covers her mouth as if about to burp.
However, what actually happens is--
“I have no idea how I’m going to finish all this but I’ll try! … NYOOOMM SLUUUKKKK SLUUURPPP GLOORPPPFFPFPF YNAAAARRPPP HEY! FAGGOT! WHERE’S THE REST!!!”
Two hours later Tara’s eaten 97 bowls of spicy noodles as well as 17 of everything else from our local Chinese restaurant, including 400 orders of sweet and sour chicken balls, 190 orders of mushroom noodles, 300lbs worth of chow mein, 43 dinner for six orders, over 100 servings of jar doo wings, at least 7000 spring rolls, 200 orders of shrimp fried rice, 54 plates of Szechuan chicken, 12 wheelbarrows (literally how they delivered it) of barbecue pork, every type of egg foo young and an ocean worth of deep fried shrimp. As she’s rubbing her gut, feeling sorry for herself from how full she is, I place a half a bowl of noodles in front of her as if that’s all she’s eaten and start filming again.
“I can’t eat another bite!”
A second later we cut and Tara lifts the spicy noodles to her face and practically drinks them back.
“That ought’a show that fat old BITCH who’s in charge!” Tara declares smugly, snapping her fingers for her servants to bring her any food whatsoever. She’s been focusing on nothing but getting more followers than Tabbi. I know that if my girl is defeated she’ll be heartbroken. The problem is Tabbi is getting thousands more followers per day. “SHHHHLUUUUUUURPPP Bring me more, IDIOTS!” she yells at her workers. I check Tabbi’s Instagram. FUCK! Since I checked half an hour ago she’s already gained over a thousand followers, people obsessively checking her out. Tabbi isn’t holding back either, she’s posing in the sluttiest getup, using her sex angle as much as possible. She’s already close to Tara’s total follow count and I don’t know how to break the news to my baby girl.
GUUUUUULPPPP SLOPPOPP GRAAAARKRKRK BRAAAAARPRPRPSPSPSPS MRRRFFFFFF BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPPPPPPPP
I watch Tara devouring this king’s feast like an in-breath and start to form an idea. Tara doesn’t read the comments from anyone non-verified but usually they’re all from thirsty or old or creepy or Indian guys with broken English;
U r beautiful sexy and fat booty
OMG you are so sexy, would love to rub oil over your big sexy belly!
please please chek youre dms I love you
ABSOLUTELY STUNNING TARA BEAUTIFUL GIRL HELLO FROM SOUTH AMERICA
My dear lady *tips fedora* I am a fellow feminist and would love to treat you like the queen you are. I don’t live in Canada but can sell my car for a plane ticket to come see you. Please respond I’m a really nice guy *bows out hoping you will respond*
Tara never checks her Insta anymore, making me do it all for her since her fingers are usually too greasy to operate her touchscreen. I could potentially post anything without her knowing. I place the phone so she’s in shot, just hidden enough so she doesn’t know I’m filming. Picking up my own phone, I order her a couple snacks from Dairy Queen, Burger King, Royle’s Pizza and several other places.
I don’t like to lie to her but she wants nothing more than to win this competition and beat her grandmother.
~~~
“Another one fucking broken!!?” Tara pouts, stamping her feet. This is the third digital scale this week, “There’s no way I’ve gained 50lbs! I’ve been to the sauna, I’ve tanned, I’ve been drinking beer instead of liquor. What more does a girl have to do??” She grabs a nearby red velvet cake and plops down on her toilet. It sounds like she’s cracked another seat under there, I’ll have to check when she’s up. As she slurps sticky cake from her fingers she unleashes a dump, me and Talia get to work massaging her feet. Fat little Trinity enters.
“OWW!!” Tara kicks me in the face because my foot rub isn’t satisfactory, in deference I start sucking her toes. Trinny hands over the tray of devilled eggs she’s delivering, watching jealously as Tara shovels them straight into her mouth. She doesn’t seem to care about the stink, obviously use to this type of womanhood from hanging around Maddison.
“Dares no way GNAAARRLLL SLUUURPP I gained dat mujj SLOOOPPP GNUUUUUSSHHHH wade!! Yoo, kid BUUUUUURPPPP stebb on da sgalez!”
Trinny obeys and steps onto the scales; 432lbs
“Yaaayy!” Trinity smiles, “I’ve gained more weight!” She does a sweet little dance before a disgruntled Tara orders her back to the kitchen for more snacks.
“I bedder nod BLAAAAAAARPPP SLUUUURRKKKK be pwegnant, GNAAWYLWLYW abortions are sooooo boring! BUUUUUURPPP”
I remind Tara she’s medically incapable of getting pregnant and she growls at me to get her more cake. I look away, the real reason Tara’s been gaining so much weight is my interfering. First up I’ve been mixing all of her food with liquid calories, weight gain formula, sugar etc. I’ve also been slipping her appetite stimulants. I’ve also been adding grease and melted butter to every meal, chocolate milk and whipped cream in all her coffee, and pureeing everything possible. I’ve also been trying to offset any extraneous movement for her, bringing her toilet in here to her bedroom. Unfortunately she has to stand to weigh herself, which takes several of us to accommodate. I’ve been secretly recording the weigh-ins and posting them. It’s insane how many extra followers she’s getting since I started posting her weight, now she’s 800lbs.
Tara’s never needed my help overindulging but the Equality Commission’s livestream is in two weeks and if she can’t get more followers than her Grandma… well. Tabbi’s already got a number of verified followers, most of them the kind of celebrity who latches onto any enabling liberal movement. As far as they’re concerned, mindlessly encouraging monstrously obese Tabitha Pinguis to keep eating is the same as standing up for anyone “under”-privileged.
~~~
“Hello everyone, welcome to the Equality Commission livestream of the first annual size celebration event!”
It’s the big day. The Equality Commission’s livestream to celebrate the absurdly obese women of the world (and trust me, it’s only women). Only now do I realise the main event of today’s festivities is a friggen eating competition!! They want all panel members including both Tara and her grandmother to eat as much as possible before they do a big final weigh in. If Tara doesn’t eat the most she’s going to lose to her grandmother in front of everyone. I’m sure this all Tabbi’s doing, today was going to be live from inside the convention centre but then Tabbi signed up and the only venue big enough for her is hosting a football game, so we’re in the parking lot outside. It’s like a fair with booths and even rides, but the main attraction are the guests of honour. All of them are BIG women, influencers who spread a “shape-positive” message and show that plus-sized women can be just as sexy as thin women. I’m… not so sure. While there are some absolutely stunning fat girls like my Tara (obviously) and her friends, there are a bunch of influencers who take one of the Bs out of BBW. You can really tell some of them only started eating because otherwise they’re just skinny ugly bitches.
“Jay, get me something looser!” Tara’s talking about her one piece red lace corset, she bought it last week and already she’s outgrowing it. I admire my underhanded handy work, loosening the front zipper to reveal more cleavage, then go back to fitting her stripper boots over her pudgy feet. I’m not sure if Tara thinks she has an hourglass body, but on her the corset looks like a Christmas bauble.
Tara’s not the only familiar face. Talia and a few other servants are her to feed her. Brooke is here as a VIP guest, dressed in silver sequined bra and a thick red fur coat. Chloe is in a tight purple leather 2-piece club outfit, halter top and hot pants, basically dressed like a ring girl or liquor rep, the most likely careers for a girl with her (lack of) brains. Maddison has gone to insane extremes, having a sequined, sheer black, bodycon jumpsuit tailored tightly to her bulging 800lbs, sparkling stilettos on her fat feet. Looking at her I’m so distracted by how hot she is I nearly don’t notice Tara is now BIGGER than her. Of course there are plenty other fat girls here, ready to prove themselves the most woke by… eating the most? I would look for the logic but this is all SJW shit so there is none.
I start to get dizzy from malnourishment, Tara’s claimed all food in our house over the past 2 weeks. Then I realise I’m not dizzy, the ground is shaking.
“And here comes the hottest new influencer and the Equality Commission’s new spokesmodel--“
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPP
Tabbi’s wet fart is so poisonous her servants instinctively avoid her backside. It’s amazing, this avalanche of a woman is being carted in on the back of a mining truck. The industrial vehicle bigger than most houses backs up, bringing obese Tabbi forward. Stairways descend, making it easier for her servants to bring her food, and smaller 16-wheel oil tankers accommodated to carry Pepsi and chocolate milk pull up beside her, tubes pumping her full of their contents.
“It’s good to see you two again!” announces the Captain, accompanying his mistress. In the back of the truck I spot Tara’s grandpa, Tabitha’s actual husband, cramming whole roast boar into his lovers’ mouth. “What did we say, first to a million? Looks like we’ve got you beat!”
I check the social, fuck! Tabbi’s at 980,000 followers! Tara’s only at 800,000. I really have to think of something quick or my baby’s gonna be real upset. “Don’t worry about it, angel” I assure my girl, “you’re still younger and hotter than her!” I mean that too, Tara’s gaining has brought her up to 900lbs of pure fat. “We’ll beat her, baby, I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something??” Tara scoffs, “But you’re stupid! You couldn’t even think of…” she stops, slackjawed as she tries to finish her insult, “… something STUPID! Hah!” I kiss her forehead, slipping a couple blocks of tiramisu into her face.
“Well, whoever comes up with a plan better do it quick because we’re about to start any--”
“THREE! TWO! ONE! LADIES, START EATING!!”
Dammit! I thought we had more time, I still wanted to slip Tara a fourth dose of appetite stimulant and take her to the bathroom so she has more room. The din of women digging into the provided buffets sounds like a doghouse. Food flies everywhere in the furore, but the collective mess of every human sized woman is nothing compared to Tabbi’s solo filth. With a sweet little hiccup she unleashes a spilling tidal mouthful of custard down her gut and across the ground.
I keep feeding, more and more, shoving as much into Tara’s face as possible. Talia has a drum of cake batter she messily packs into her sister’s face. I check the follow count, Tara has gone up by 3,000 but Tabbi has added twice that number, I have to do something quick!
“Just a quick update Tabitha has eaten the most at over 2000lbs of food--“ I look to my girl, eating confidently, my heart skips at this number, “However, we are judging by relative food eaten and the current frontrunner is… Tara, who’s devoured 80% of her own bodyweight already.” I smile looking to my girl, she might actually do this.
They both keep eating, Tabitha topping 3000lbs, then 4000lbs, then 5000, her followers growing by the hundreds. Tara quickly reaches her own weight in food, still taking the lead but her follower count isn’t rising as quickly.
“And as we approach the last of the food it looks like Tara’s still in the lead.”
“MLLUUUUUUUUKKKKK!!” Tabitha screams at her various boyfriends, the Captain turns to us, translating with the same fury and vitriol as his mistress.
“How are you doing this?? We know how much you can eat, girl, you’re going nearly twice your usual speed! Are you cheating?”
Tara holds up a finger and we slow her feeding. “I habb a SLUUUUURPPP GNAARLL secret webbon!” This grabs the Captain’s attention. He turns to his lover Tabbi who’s now roaring.
“What secret weapon?” the Captain translates.
“Talia!”
We all turn to the young girl, shocked that Tara should single her out for praise. Talia’s a semi-decent feeder, having been raised to keep Tara’s massive mother happy, but she’s by no means a secret weapon.
“Me?”
Talia almost smiles, finally, some approval from her big sister.
“Her? She’s your secret weapon? But--“
“GWWUUUUUUUUUUURSSRSRRSSSSSH!!”
“Yes baby, I’ll tell them,” the Captain grovels before addressing us once more, “Talia, your grandmother DEMANDS you leave your big sister and come feed her instead or ALL of you will be cut out of the will.”
Without even a response from Talia Tara shoves her little sister forward. She looks back to us but Tara is already feeding. Talia moves towards her monstrous new owner, the 46,000lbs grandmother slobbering hungrily as the tiny little girl approaches.
“Babe, are you sure we can afford to lose Talia?” I urge, checking the follower count, Tabbi’s at 992,000 and still rising.
“SHUDDUP, FOOL!” Tara scolds, slapping me across the face, “Do you think I’m stupid or something??”
I watch as tiny Talia crawls across Tabitha’s squelching, moon-bouncer body. She takes a basket of muffins from some slower servant and starts cramming them into her gargantuan nana. Higher and higher her follower count rises and the stream is nearly over, Tara can’t eat enough! She’s not gonna make it! I cannot fail her, I have to think of something--
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
The squealing screams are like a trapped animal. Everyone turns with agonised gasps but my Tara just laughs. I don’t even have to look to know what she’s laughing at. She had a plan all along.
Talia is squealing in agony as medics rush in, a bloody stump where her hand once was. Grandma Tabitha noticed the cake batter all over Talia’s hands, the cake batter Tara made sure her sister was covered in. Unable to suppress her greed Tabbi has chomped into her granddaughter’s tiny little wrist, ripping the hand clean off and swallowing it back.
“OH SHIT, THAT RICH WHITE WOMAN JUST HATE-CRIMED THAT LESBIAN!!” Tara yells loud enough for everyone on Instagram Live to catch it.
#CancelTabitha
Organisers are running around frantic to do damage control, PR experts making urgent calls. At least two dozen police officers start organising the difficult task of Tabbi’s arrest. The back of the ambulance closes and Talia is whisked off all alone.
“HAH! That’ll teach that dumb CUNT to betray me!” Tara flicks her hair back, smearing it with cream and powdered sugar. “She’s the one who leaked that video that nearly had me cancelled! That little bitch ACTUALLY thinks she can bully ME? I’ve been bullying her since she was born! JAY, START FILMING!!”
With a proud smile I start livestreaming my girl.
“Hey, bitches, this is Tar-bear, I just won the Equality Commission’s little eating contest! Unfortunately Tabbi Pinguis is cancelled.”
As she vogues for the camera I surreptitiously hit the SCALE button on her SAKA-chair, revealing her weight; 999lbs
My jaw hits the floor. I knew I was sneaking calories into her diet but how the HELL did she gain so much weight so fast? The reveal is all it takes. Her follower count JUMPS with every quick refresh and within seconds--
“YOU DID IT, BABE!” I celebrate, “The first SSBBW influencer with one-million subscribers!”
“I knew it” she says without humility, “With my hot body and amazing personality there’s no way I wouldn’t be the first!”
She gives insincere thanks to her followers before ending the stream. “Come here, boy!” she demands, pulling me closer by my lapels, “I really like how obedient you’ve been lately, I’ve been so turned on and… wait a minute… WHAT DO YOU MEAN SSBBW?”
Uh oh!
She snatches her phone from me and checks her feed.
“WEIGH IN VIDEOS!! And what the FUCK are these hashtags? Are you calling me fat?” she throws the phone at my face, furious, knocking one of my teeth out. “That’s it, ASSHOLE, just for that I’m having your kid aborted!”
“Whu… abor-- bae? Are you pregnant?”
Tara realises she’s let the cat out of the bag. That explains how she gained weight so fast. She gives me her innocent eyes, an unnatural expression for her beautiful face. “Oopsie” she giggles, biting her lower lip, “guess you’re gonna have to take extra special care of me, I’m not being out-spoiled by some fucking baby!”
She lets out a proud BURP before returning to her feasting. I rub her gut, lovingly looking at my cruel, slut queen. My gorgeous hippo princess, so beautiful and powerful and vapid.
Mega-Yachts and hypercars and all the food in the world might not be enough for Tara but as I watch her slip into a food coma, her obese body filling out her wheelchair, I know I have everything I need right here.