You hate your job. Of course you do. I mean, who wants to work at Walmart? They make you mop up vomit, deal with crazy customers and your coworkers do nothing. Now they have you greeting people all day. Seriously, this job is for senior citizens and ex-cons. Scrap that, this job is for robots. You’re so bored, there’s nothing left to do on your phone. You think you might quit so you can go get high and...
Hang on…
Shit… Really? No… NO WAY! This is your lucky day because an absolutely HUGE chick just came into the store! She’s your dream woman! She’s being wheeled in on one of those super-strength SAKA wheelchairs because she is FAT - AS - FUCK! She’s easily 900lbs. Her enormous gut is a lard-filled hammock crammed tightly into a blue sundress that stretches thinly over her, tearing at the hips and disintegrating with slopped food. The bust line is ripping as the material struggles heroically to contain her huge tits, each the size of rose bushes. They slump squishy on her waistline, itself spilling lazily over the arms of her chair. The front of the dress is a stain of slopped dinners like an artist’s pallet of different colours, tomato paste orange and mustard yellow and the faded bleach stains of hungry slobbering all mar her pretty, baby blue dress. A thick spider-web strand of slobber dangles from her plump lips down to her flooded cleavage. It’s clear they once bought her this diaphanous dress for its billowiness but she’s long overgrown the failed garment. It barely comes down to her belly button, the rest of her pale stretch-marked gut hanging between her thick, pasty legs, wobbling side to side hypnotically. Her arms are encased in bubbling rings of obesity that jiggle and bunch and squelch about as she delivers fistfuls of French Fries from a greasy brown bag to her bloated toad face. Her nose is tiny and dotted with sweet freckles, her cheeks chubby. Triple chins bounce happily with constant chewing. Her curly blonde hair hangs tangled and matted. Her bare, bread-loaf feet rest comfortably in padded stirrups, sausage toesies painted to match her dress. She’s easily as wide as 3 people, in fact she’s barely fitting through the door.
Holy shit dude, she’s making eye contact with you!
She can’t be older than 19. Her entourage of family members fuss about her including her mom and dad, each with empty shopping carts, and two younger sisters (14 and 11) who between them guide her chair. She’s also got 3 other adults with empty shopping carts.
Her Daddy approaches you.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where the candy aisle is loca--”
The enormous daughter interrupts.
“DAAAAADDYYYYY!!! NEED CANDY NOOOOOWW!!” she starts thrashing and squealing like a pig on fire. Daddy gives you the same condescending smile shitty parents give you when their kids misbehave, except it’s usually toddlers causing trouble.
“Of course, sir! Right this way!”
The fat girl instantly quits her bellyaching and goes back to her food. You’re only too happy to help (who wouldn’t be?) and lead her straight to the candy and snack aisle, ushering the freakish rabble of loathed customers out of her way. You’re pretty surprised by how fast her chair can move even with all her weight on it. Her young sisters expertly work the advanced controls while she indolently scoops thick, gloopy KFC macaroni salad from a family bucket filled to the brim. She slops it all down her face, cleavage and dress, obviously not giving two shits about the slug trail of filth she’s leaving on the floor. As you guide her you watch this obese beauty eat. She’s two-thirds of the way through her macaroni bucket and lifts the rest of it to her face, letting it ooze messily into her mouth, most of it spilling. There’s still a mass of food at the bottom but obviously the effort of displacing it is too much as she mindlessly drops the bucket to the ground.
“MOOOOOMMYYYYY!!” she calls, deliberately helpless. There’s a naughty twinkle in her eyes, you know her game and she can tell. Mommy is quick to attend, bringing her a Starbucks Trenta cup filled with thick, KFC gravy. She guzzles this back, sleepily eyeing you as you watch the hot thick brown dribble from the corner of her lips and soak her sundress even more like a wet t-shirt competition. She drinks 12 of these before you finally reach the candy aisle. Her giant pillow of a tongue rolls across her lips, drool divulges intensely from her mouth.
The closest shelf is covered in Twinkies and she orders Mommy to start working. The obedient, browbeaten woman begins speedily filling her cart with boxes of Twinkies and Ding Dongs, cupcakes and Fruit Pies, packing them efficiently like Tetris to fit as much per load as possible. The gorgeous blonde glutton, knocking back two Double-Downs at once, lets out a proud bone-shaking BUUUURP before straining chubby, helpless hands towards the snacks inaccessibly next to her.
“HEY!” she yells right at you, “Don’t just stand there! Get me food, NOW, I’m starving!!!”
You grab snacks and start ripping them open. She doesn’t question your sudden subservience, she just opens wide and lets you shovel them in. She moans loudly as if in orgasm like something from When Harry Met Sally as you cram the first 4 Bear Claws down her gullet, swallowing them whole without chewing. Wow, you can tell keeping up with her feeding is gonna be a challenge. One of her servants collects the empty boxes to be rung through later. She eats so much you start to wonder if this is real. Did you get into an accident on the way to work and this is just your dying brain giving you a good send-off? Did you even wake up, maybe you’re still asleep? You’re definitely alive as she pinches you sharply, your contemplation distracting from your feeding.
“C’mon!” she scolds, “Hungry!” She opens wide again and you mash a handful of double-stuffed Oreos into her face. She has no boyfriend here so you assume she’s single, if you were dating this fatso you wouldn’t let her out of your sight! While she’s placated with all this food you decide to talk to her. You introduce yourself. She doesn’t even look away from the box of Chips Ahoy! being presented by one of her servers. Daddy laughs, stroking his beloved daughter’s messy golden hair.
"Oh dear, I’m sorry, she can be a little bit distracted when it comes to food. It might come off as rude to some but she’s just being her” he says, impressed you’re feeding his girl and helping with a bundle of Nutella bread sticks. She downs these whole, you hear the vague crunch of them snapping in her throat as she swallows. “This is my daughter, Demi. As you can see she’s fond of her food and modesty isn’t a priority for her.”
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPFPLFPLFPLF
You tell him you don’t mind and the two of you shoot the shit for the next 10 minutes, ignoring the satanic stench of her bowel movement while the others fill carts to be taken to a closed-off cash register. He tells you how Demi is 19-years-old and has “always been a bit chubby.” She’s always made food her first priority and her endless appetite has always been the centre of focus in the family. He says he owns a software company but could really use help looking after his little girl while he’s busy earning her impressive inheritance.
Damn, this guy is looking for someone to be this fat sex-symbol’s feeder?! You go into interview mode, explaining how you’re currently looking for a new career direction that can challenge you and how you relish hard work and blah blah blah.
“Well, I can tell she likes you (she hasn’t acknowledged you for 15 minutes through her eating) because she’s letting you feed her. She usually only lets her family do that.”
Demi interrupts.
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! HEY! Could you two stop fucking about for ONE MINUTE and start concentrating on ME maybe?? I’m a starving girl here!”
You help roll her further down the aisle to where the chocolate bars are. She gets through the store’s ENTIRE STOCK of Mars bars, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Bonka-Bars, bags upon bags of M&Ms (peanut, peanut butter, pretzel, caramel, all of them) KitKats, Coffee Crisps and every other speck of chocolate. She lets you cram it all in to her mouth in an indiscriminate gloopy, chocolate swamp, swallowing it back as fast as you can cram it in. Soon the shelves are looking bare but you call your associates for an urgent restock and Demi claps excited like a retard.
During this your asshole supervisor appears. Ugh. You don’t respect him, he’s 45 and one of those guys destined to work at Walmart forever, convincing himself the ‘power’ he has here is worth something and exercising it to its limits. How can you respect someone who would do anything for this minimum wage job when you know the company would drop you the second you’re non-profitable? Also his car is shit.
“Hey! What are you doing? I told you to cover the greeter’s spot, Krystal had a family emergency.”
“Oh please!” you retort, “Funny how Krystal always has a family emergency the morning after she goes out partying. Just because you’re giving her an easy ride doesn’t mean she’ll return the favour--“
His stupid face goes extra-stupid as he struggles to work out what you mean.
“Just get back to you post or I’m writing you up--”
“Excuse me!” Demi’s Daddy interrupts with the kind of indignation only a customer could show, “I asked this employee for help and they’ve been very accommodating. Now, if you don’t want someone assisting us we can explain to your boss why you lost our patronage.”
Idiot apologises to Daddy and backs off, muttering to you how you’re going to have a conversation about your future here. You forget about him, all you want to do is impress your dream girl!
You continue stuffing her face with the most sugary treats first, leaving the chips and more savoury junk food for later.
“You know,” Daddy declares over Demi’s noisy grunting, “we could consider this your job interview. Servants are fine but I need someone with a real passion for making my baby girl happy. What say you do your best here and afterwards Demi will decide if you’re gonna come work for her?”
DAMN!! Your perfect job, feeding a big beautiful woman all day long!
Ok, it’s crunch time. Either you can show this girl how well your worship or you can spend the rest of your days in this hellhole. You chose the former, using the orange cones from the parking lot to block off every aisle you take Demi down so no other asshole customers will interrupt her feasting. You escort Demi through cakes, ordering the bakers there to create more as quickly as possible. You grab every icing bag you can find, squeezing the frosting directly into Demi’s suckling lips as if she’s breastfeeding, her sweet happy giggles only endearing you to her further. Then you take her to the freezer section where she devours all the ice cream as well as 200 boxes of ice cream sandwiches, multiple 18-packs of Jolly Rancher popsicles, every variant of Magnums, countless Klondike bars, tubs of profiteroles as well as everything else, drinking back bottle after bottle of chocolate and caramel sauce. Next is the deli counter where you watch in slack jawed astonishment as she casually devours whole kielbasas like they’re nothing, making you wish she’d devour your kielbasa. She chomps messily through great slabs of seasoned beef and unsliced ham and even the decorative bowls of black olives. Then you take her to cereal which is apparently one of her favorite foods. Showing your initiative, you run over to dairy and grab a cart of 4ltr chocolate milk jugs. Emptying the milk into the cereal boxes, Demi messily slurps back Lucky Charms, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Reese’s Puffs, Cocoa Pebbles, Oreo-O’s, Honey Smacks, Cookie Crisp and Frosted Flakes.
You’re just cramming 6 triple-chocolate-chip cookies into Demi’s face when she starts to splutter.
“UUUURRRPPPPP!” she sprays various crumbs everywhere, “I’m NYOMMM GLARRPPP firz-tee LUMMFFF BLOORRPPP”
You run to the drinks aisle and fetch a cart full of 4ltr sodas like Dr. Pepper, Coke, Mtn Dew, Sprite and Fanta plus all their knockoffs as well as a couple dozen jugs of extra-sugary juice and a bunch of chocolate milk. As you’re wheeling it back you get an awesome idea and take out your cell phone.
You return to Demi. You unscrew a bottle of Sprite and hand it to her, she lifts it to her face and greedily glugs, squeezing the bottle so the pop fills faster. After 10 seconds all 4ltrs are depleted and she allows the empty plastic to clank to the ground. You’ve already got the lid off a bottle of Pepsi and bring it gently to her lips, holding it so she needn’t use her poor, fat arms. After 16 bottles of pop and 20 jugs of milk she starts to complain.
“UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPP that was DELISH! But my tummy is upset now, get me to the bathroom!”
Her gut rumbles ominously. Demi releases an ungodly fart that fills the air and stings your eyes. Her family gets her to the bathrooms nearby but there’s a problem! The entrance is far too narrow, she’ll never fit!
“DAAAAADDYYYYY! I don’t wanna wait ‘til we get home!” Demi pouts, fake crying. More toxic gasses escape her ass. Daddy looks to you, hoping for an answer. Suddenly, you realize! Demi can use the mother/baby changing facility, it has an extra-wide entrance for strollers and a tonne of room inside. Daddy is pleased with your efforts.
“Great idea, it’ll be like her bathroom at home, we had to knock through the den and--”
“HUUUUURRYYYYY!!!!”
You barge past the queue of women and their infants waiting to get in the bathroom and rap heavily on the door. The bitch inside gives you some bullshit about having to change her baby, fortunately you can open these doors from the outside in case of emergencies and this is an emergency. You yell at the dumb single-mother cunt to grab her brat and scram. She gives you some lip about human rights but Demi SCREAMS at her to move. Once you and Daddy have Demi inside (the rest of her crew continue shopping) you help ready her. You peel the sodden sundress from her clammy gut, revealing the dress is about the size of a duvet and littered in rips and sweat stains. The back side of it is the most sweatiest, noticeably lighter where her butt cheeks press against it, a 3-foot skidmark of fetid brown and green scored up the back. You’re careful to give Demi some modesty, your neck nearly snaps as you fight the urge to stare at her tits, instead sneaking a look in the mirror. They’re pasty white like snowman segments and beautifully squishy. You can also see she’s going commando, relying on her belly fat to cover her privates. Finally the two of you get her settled on the shitter and before ass even touches porcelain she lets loose. She drops dumps for a solid 40 minutes while you feed her, the door wide open this whole time to keep her cool. When she’s finally finished you help lift her so Daddy can clean out her asshole. You can see how much she’s struggling to stay upright, despite being leaned over the arms of her chair and latching onto your shoulders. Valiantly you take as much of her weight as you can, starting to shake with the effort after 20 minutes of cleaning. She releases a fart like a race car revving, sharting a thick slop of shit all over the bathroom wall.
“Whatever,” she dismisses as you ply her with bag after bag of Goldfish, “they have workers for that.”
Finally you get her out of the bathroom and back into fresh air just as she starts demanding to visit the bakery aisle.
Your prick supervisor comes up to you, red-faced and screaming.
“Did you order 50 large pizzas to the store?”
“What?! No!” you answer honestly, slightly concerned, “I ordered EXTRA-large.”
“What the fuck are you playing at? You’re not allowed to order food here and your shift ended TWO HOURS AGO!”
But you’re a little more occupied as, behind him, you can see Demi’s father handing her the pizza boxes, either assuming they’re for her or not caring. She rips them open downing 4 slices at a time and inadvertently smearing the pizza sauce all over her lips, the skin of melted cheese sliding down her chins to plummet into the mess between her cavernous cleavage.
“You know what? Forget it, you’re fired!” he declares smugly, really hoping to see anything on your face other than indifference. You shrug.
“Did you hear me? You’re fired.”
Demi’s Daddy approaches you.
“Good news! You’re hired!”
Now you’re not indifferent. “Really?” you're excited as hell.
“Ordering these pizzas without being asked is an excellent touch, made Demi very happy. It’s exactly what she needed to kill that painful ‘hunger’ feeling she always gets after going to the bathroom. This is the kind of initiative I need my employees to have!”
You’re not listening to your cocksucker supervisor who’s trying to convince you to be upset. Just then he sees the semi-attractive half-his-age coke-head Krystal walk in, hung over. He thirstily runs over to make sure she’s okay.
Daddy tells you the salary for being Demi’s carer, yes, salary. He’s also offering health and dental, a company car (more of a van for picking up food orders), expenses and you get to make your own schedule just so long as you’re always there for her breakfast. You ask if you can work all day and every day and that’s music to his ears. This is amazing, now you get to spend all day feeding this beautiful blob-goddess!! As Daddy goes to find the Store Manager to complain about your constantly interrupting former supervisor you return to Demi to help feed her pizza.
“So” she swallows a mouthful of extra-spicy meatlover’s, “now that we’re dating you’re gonna have to work a LOT harder for me than the pathetic excuse for service I saw today BUUUUUUUUUURRRPPPPPPPPPP!!!”
Woah! Dating? Shit, looks like Demi has her own ideas on what your duties will involve. You double-check your pulse again, just to be totally sure.
“BLOOOOOOOOOORRPPPPPPPPPP I hope you fuck better than you feed. Start going to the gym, too, I like abs. And beards, I like beards. Now, I’m getting a little low on fast food, what’s say my new worker-boy orders his SEXY new girlfriend another two-hundred of these babies? Also, I smell McDonald’s!”
Her nose wiggles and mouth floods. You tell her you’ll be back with her McDonald's in no time, this is Walmart after all. She smiles and with a greedy lick of her lips, slobber running down her chins, she says “Well bae, get to work, I’m STARVING!!!”
You love your job!