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- “So I… wanted… to do something… for… the game’s western release…” the young girl muttered under her breath as she typed. Her fingers danced across the keys, illuminated by the garish pink and blue shades that lit up every letter and symbol on the device. “Caroline and Justine are… the best, I hope you guys… like it. Also… play it with Japanese audio… because English voice acting sucks.”
- Apparently satisfied with what she’d entered into the computer, she moved her right hand from the keyboard to her mouse. She quickly inspected the screen, adding the finishing touches to whatever it was she was working on with a few well-practiced clicks. “Okay… let me just pick the category here… and… submit.” The dull green-and-gray of the website flickered for a moment as the page reloaded – “DEVIANT ART” the logo in the top left read, split into two stylized lines.
- “Finally… Hahh… that one took forever…” she said with a heavy sigh, leaning back into the fancy ergonomic-looking office chair that she sat upon. Despite her expensive equipment – designer chair, LED keyboard, and three enormous monitors – the girl hardly looked old enough to be in high school, though it wasn’t easy to tell in the murky glow of the room she was in.
- The space was quite remarkable, in its own peculiar way. By the harsh light of her screens and her tacky gaming keyboard, one could see her walls were covered with images of wide-eyed colorful anime girls, taking up most any free real estate on the painted drywall. One could hardly turn three feet without seeing schoolgirls in matching maid uniforms, idols in frilly pink outfits, and skimpily-dressed dressed blonde vampire girls who looked even younger than her. Not to mention the two large glass cases filled with intricate, expensive-looking figures, and the multiple bookcases weighted down with hundreds of manga volumes – there could be no doubt. This girl was a weeaboo; a Japanophile, an otaku, a member of the proud Wapanese race.
- One didn’t even have to look at her surroundings to figure that out, however. She fit the stereotype quite well on her own – her straw-blonde hair was done up in two pigtails that clearly hadn’t been carefully groomed, frizzing out a bit as they dangled down to her shoulders. She was clad from head to ankle in a full-body pair of kigurumi animal pajamas, designed after the cat species from the popular Beast Captor series of video games. It was, of course, primarily popular only in Japan – but the girl hardly paid much attention to any other regions anyway.
- These weren’t the only stereotypically “otaku” qualities about the girl – there was one other distinctive, and moreover extremely conspicuous, thing that identified her as a member of the anime-loving nerd community. That is to say, she was incredibly, disgustingly overweight.
- She had to be at least three or four hundred pounds, which at her diminutive height showed up monstrously in the horizontal dimension. Her jelly-hips poured out from either side of her chair, flowing around the top-of-the-line adjustable armrests and drooping down half a foot beyond like a soft, pale avalanche of blubber. Her ass was a flabby, yielding pile of fat, as fluffy and wide as the lewd dakimakura hug pillow that sat on her bed just a few feet away from her.
- She rested a hand on her elephantine gut, a wobbly mass that pulled the buttons of her XXL pajamas taut as it pushed down to the edge of her knees. “Haahh… Man, though, writing that story was so much fun… being stuffed by Caroline until I’m so fat I can barely move…” she said, the tempo of her breathing accelerating as she spoke. Her cheeks, two plump, soft orbs of jiggling fat, grew ruddy and flushed as she reminisced on what she had just uploaded on the computer. She put both hands on her enormous belly, looking down at it lustily, pushing out her bulging double chin. “Too fat to waddle around… T-teasing me for being such a… hahh… b-big fat piggy… nfff…” she gasped, her hands rocking her lard-sack of a gut from side to side, providing a gentle stimulation for her feminine parts and pushing out a low, sputtering fart that rocked the fat globes of her rear. Tiny droplets of sweat began to bead on her forehead, trickling down in thin rivulets and soaking in as dark stains on her pajamas – they were not the first.
- Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. “Honey? Are you awake?” said an older woman’s voice from beyond the thin wood panel.
- “Shit!” the morbidly obese little girl hissed, her foul language at odds with her childish appearance and dress. She attempted to sit up and grab her mouse, but her pillow-plump arms were hardly dexterous enough to perform such a maneuver with any kind of speed.
- “I’m coming in!” said the voice, gently but firmly, and with a metallic tinkling of the latch, a bright shaft of light slashed into the gloom-dark of the room.
- The girl turned to the source of the sudden glare, holding up a chubby hand over her face to block out the worst of its blinding brilliance. “M-mooooom!” she whined breathlessly, her chipmunk-cheeks still a sensual shade of scarlet. She pounded a chubby fist against the armrest of her chair, making her entire plush mass quiver like the world’s largest gelatin mold. “I thought I told you to… hff… knock!”
- “I did knock!” said the mother, flicking on the light switch. In a sudden flood of illumination, the entire room came into view – along with all the empty plates, snack containers, and general clutter that littered it. She crossed her arms reprovingly as she inspected her daughter’s messy, slobbish room.
- This response only made the girl pout even further. “Well… Knock more…!” she whimpered.
- “I don’t have time to play games with you, Abby! Wait… are you on that site again?” Her mother’s tone grew sharp at her daughter’s backtalk, and sharper when she saw what was on the computer screen. “I thought we discussed this!”
- “Crap…” Abby sighed, seeing she hadn’t been quick enough in her attempt to close her internet browser. “M-mom… i-it’s not that bad, like I said, it’s like… uhh… a… body positivity thing…!” she mumbled, stuttering partially due to being totally off guard, and partially due to still being out of breath from her earlier “exercise”.
- Her mother sighed and put a hand to her forehead. “You said that last time, but everything that you showed us on there seemed… just… unwholesome…” said the middle-aged woman, who was herself a gorgeous slim thing, with full breasts and natural golden blonde hair – the latter of which perfectly matched her otherwise-completely-different daughter’s. Her aging, yet gracefully beautiful face wrinkled as she said, “You know your father and I want to cultivate a healthy sense of self-esteem, but the doctor said…”
- “Dumb doctor doesn’t know… hff… shit, anyway…” Abby spat, her breathing still ragged and rough as she turned away in childish frustration. She crossed her arms as best she could over the flabby lumps of her breasts, pushing them up into her chins and making her entire face look even more lard-heavy than it usually did.
- “Could you please be respectful when I’m speaking, Abigail?!” said the woman, her voice thick with exasperation. She glared at her daughter for a moment, but, taking a different tack, exhaled a deep breath and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to Abigail’s side, placing a loving hand on her cheek. “Look, Abby, I know you like the attention you get from your stories, and we’re so proud of you for being so diligent with them… but… your father and I have been talking, and we think we might have spoiled you a bit recently…”
- Abby whipped her head back to face her mother, sensing some deeper implication in her words. “Wait, n-no, I won’t go on the site again, I-I… hff… I…! N-not that…!”
- Her mother’s brow lowered in worry at her daughter’s sudden, desperate plea. “Abby, I know you don’t want to go on a diet, but don’t you think it might be good for you? You look like you’re about to pop out of those pajamas…”
- “N-no, really, actually th-they’re looser than usual! S-see!” Abby said, reaching a hand down towards her belly button and pinching the fabric up from the gut that it was plastered around. It hardly came up at all, drawn drum-tight by her plush mass of belly fat.
- Her mother looked unsurprisingly skeptical. “Uh huh… and how long has it been since you changed? I don’t like that I need to mention it to you, but it kind of… smells a bit, sweetie…”
- As if on cue, Abby suddenly felt a wave of gas push down through her overworked digestive tract. She desperately clenched it in – the timing was miserably unfortunate for the wide little glutton, and to make matters worse, she was unused to holding it in for very long. “Uh… I… I’m sorry, mom, b-but… d-don’t you think it’s wrong to… uh… smell-shame… or something…?” she stuttered hesitantly.
- Her mother took a moment to ruminate on her words. “Smell-shame… can’t say I’ve heard of that one… but, well… I wouldn’t want you to feel judged…” she muttered to herself, tilting her head from side to side.
- That worked?! Abby nearly shouted out loud, but managed to keep both that and the rising tide in her churning gut at bay for the moment. “A-anyway, didn’t you say I should be… hff… h-healthy at any size? That’s what you said… hahh… right?” she wheezed, her face slowly growing more and more crimson with the strain of holding it in.
- “Well, in theory, but the doctor said at the rate you’re going you’ll certainly face serious cardiac issues before you’re twenty…” her mother said grimly, and on her face one could watch as the scales of forgiveness slowly shifted back towards a guilty judgment. “And I don’t know how we’re going to get you going back to school with how big you’re getting… forget about desk sizes, I’m not certain you’d fit in the doorway…” She placed a gentle hand on her daughter’s soft, double-layered gut, wrapped in a fuzzy warm layer of synthetic wool. “How did you even get so big, so fast…”
- The shade of Abby’s cheeks instantly grew several shades darker at this comment, though for an entirely different reason than anything her mother might have suspected. “O-okay…! I… I know… I mean… l-look, I won’t go on Deviantart anymore, promise! And… hff… I… I’ll try to go to school… soon!” she pleaded, carefully choosing what she agreed to do.
- Her mother’s critical tone softened slightly. “Soon? Well, I guess that’s better than the ‘never’ answer you were giving last week…” she said with a hand at her chin. After a moment’s thought, she crossed her arms and declared, “Alright, fine. No full-on diet. But you’re not getting fourths at dinner, young lady!”
- “A-alright! I… It’s a deal!” Abby desperately wheezed, the dam of her rear trying desperately to stem the tide of roiling gas that pressed against it.
- Her mother nodded approvingly. “A writer and a negotiator, too. I’m so proud of you,” she said, smiling and stroking her daughter’s cheek. “Anyway, I’ve got to get to work. You know where your lunch is!” She walked out from the room, calling back, “Love you, honey!” as she closed the door.
- “Love you too, mom!” Abby gasped, before releasing the longest and loudest fart she could recall had ever passed through her well-worked intestines. “F-fuck…!” she winced, the hot, bubbly release so pleasant it was nearly painful. Her rear cheeks undulated and wobbled as though shaken by a massage chair, and the air in the room grew visibly thicker with her vented gas. “Ahhhh… h-holy shit…” she gasped in relief, reaching for an unopened bag of chips on the side of her desk before she’d even caught her breath.
- Before she could tear into the greasy snack, however, something interrupted her. Ping, ping, ping – the buttons popped off from her front, one by one, letting the doughy mass of her belly spill out from the frontal opening in the pajamas. Abby put down the still-unopened chips as a smile spread across her sagging jowls. “Hey… quicker than expected…” she grunted, patting the sides of her massive gut. She opened up a file on her computer, putting a strike through a line that just read “XXL”. Above it were the lines “L” and “XL”, with the same marking already through them.
- “Huh… do they even make XXXL? I bet mom could get it…” she muttered to herself, looking at the next line, which had another X added to it to the front of it. “Eh, if not… who cares… won’t be leaving this room soon anyway… heh…” she chuckled as she saved and closed the file.
- Opening up a fresh word doc, Abby shifted her bulk forward so that she could type comfortably. “Anyway, I think I’ve got a few new story ideas…” she said, her eyes aglow with the harsh blue of the computer screen – “A day in the life of a DA writer”, she began to type.
- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
- Abigail’s fingers clutched the drawing pen with all the dexterity of two overfilled sausages, flab squishing all around the tiny black utensil. Her normally plump, smooth brow was furrowed as she stared at the computer screen. “Hfff… c-c’mon… shtupid…” She gasped and wheezed with the effort of just making a line on the tablet.
- It was no surprise, given the young lardball’s size. Each of her arms alone had to weigh nearly as much as most other girls her age, two heaps of pale cream-flesh that wobbled with the strain of moving her hands. Despite her previous promise to her mother, Abby’s eating habits had continued down their self-destructive path, and the pounds piled mercilessly onto her tiny frame.
- And what a frame it was. Not content with being merely morbidly obese, Abby had eaten herself into near-immobility, with a belly that poured down over her knees and legs that pressed up against each other all the way down to her calves even with her legs spread apart. Very little would fit her at this size other than custom-made clothes, which is exactly what Abby wore. Her peculiar taste in fashion was on full display, as she wore a pair of pink button-down pajamas large enough to be a bedsheet, complete with a pig-eared hood.
- She was so enormous that she had had to give up on her fancy office chair, choosing instead to locate her “battlestation” atop her bed, which was the only place that could comfortably support her spreading bulk. The tablet was positioned atop her doughball gut, nestled safely amongst flannel-clad folds of soft, supple flesh. As she continued to attempt to draw, her motions on it grew more exaggerated and jerky, a sign of her increasing frustration.
- Finally, she tossed the pen down with an irritated groan, sending it to catch in a lower fold of her gut. “Art is sho… hfff… damn hard, should have jusht… hfff… shtuck with writing… urrrp…” A belch shook her chins, the full wobbling triplet that sprouted between her lips and her nonexistent breasts. The jostling was quickly followed by an ominous gurgling in her gut. Abby’s face contorted into a look of distress as she moaned, “Oooh… Thish one ish… nggg… c-coming quick…!” A wet ffrrtttlbttblt sputtered from her beanbag buttocks, the gas spilling both upwards into her onesie pajamas and out into the open air.
- For a moment, she made to heft herself from the bed, but it soon became clear that her overworked bowels would not wait that long. “F-fuck… S-sho… F-fat…!” Abby groaned as her farts gave way to a slick, wet mess, yet the sound she made was not entirely one of discomfort. A perverse sort of grin lifted her flabby cheek as she felt the back of her pajamas balloon outwards with a fresh, hot load of mess. It peaked, then sputtered back down to a bubbling denouement of wet gas.
- Abby, for her part, was all out of breath, her heart racing with not only exertion, but excitement. “I… hfff… I c-couldn’t have made it even if… haaah… I-I wanted to…!” She turned to look back at her monitors, where they loomed above her bed on a specially-ordered harness. Or, more specifically, she looked at what was on top of her monitors – a blinking green light, indicating that the webcam there was turned on. “D-did you all… hfff… s-see that?” Abby looked right into the camera as she spoke, a breathless sort of wonder on her jowls. “I’m s-sho fat I… urrrrp… C-can’t even… haah… h-hold it in anymore…!”
- On the screen, text was rapidly flying by, zooming from the bottom of the stream chat to the top. Taking the majority of the page was a visual of Abby’s current project, a crudely-drawn image of a girl nearly as fat as the artist herself, complete with poor proportions and heavily-referenced individual parts. That clearly was not what was drawing the viewers, however.
- No, what brought the crowds was the small picture-in-picture of Abby herself, illuminated dimly by the glow of the screens, with all her sweaty chins and cheeks and belly filling up the frame. She looked like the mess that she always did, her pigtailed hair still unkempt and stained with food and grease, but that only seemed to excite the viewers all the more. The “current monthly donation goal” had reached its goal of $5000 and was continuing to climb, not to mention the additional counters of “Abby’s Pizza Fund <3” and “Piggy Pajamas Pool” that were also much higher than they had any business being.
- All of this extra cash had not gone purely to Abby’s own indulgence, however. Her room had only increased in nerdy splendor, with a matching series of event-exclusive posters along one wall, and even more pricey scale-sized figures cramming up her glass cases on the side. She had even had the money to pay someone to set them up – there was no way the massively overfed teen could open the boxes herself anymore.
- Abby’s tongue lolled out as she let out a lusty moan, her clumsy fat-bloated digits massaging her own titanic gut. She did not even have to reach down below to get the response she needed. “S-sho… big… haaahhh…” From between her messy buttocks, there came another bubbling release of the gas that had built up in her overstuffed gut, sending Gabby over the edge. “Mmfff…!” She grunted in sheer bliss, quickly reaching for a slice from a half-emptied XL pizza box at her side and stuffing it in her mouth to complete her pleasurable release.
- Despite her de-evolution into creature of pure pleasure, the viewers could not get enough of Abigail’s shameful display. “G-guessh that’sh a… haaah… ‘nother one for the… mmfff… counter…!” Abby reached as best she could with her lard-sack arms for her keyboard, punching in a combination with slow, clumsy strokes. On the stream, yet another number went up, from 10 to 11 – this one read “Abby’s Happy Moments”, in a bubbly pink font.
- As her self-indulgent high started to fade, Abby’s attention returned to the mess that her unruly bowels had made. “Better get thish… hfff… cleaned up…” She minimized the stream with a few more clumsy presses on the keyboard – though the camera light remained on – and reached for a remote attached to the side of her bed, with a button marked “call”.
- It was not even half a minute after pushing it before the door to her room was cracked open. “Abby? You called?” came the voice of Abigail’s mother.
- “Urrrrp… Y-yeah…” Abby patted her gut contentedly as the belch made her grapefruit-sized cheeks quiver like two pale, pinkish puddings.
- “Oh good, you… haaahh… brought the pizzash, too…” she said, upon seeing her mother.
- In her hands, the straight-laced ponytailed woman carried a stack of no less than five extra-large pizzas, which she carried over to the side of Abby’s bed. “Well, they keep piling up at the door… Abby, honey you can’t keep ordering like this. While your father and I do appreciate how you’ve helped contribute to the mortgage, the doctor’s said multiple times that you’re on the verge of…” As she set them down, she began to realize the reason why her daughter had called her. “Oh, jeez, not again, Abby…”
- “O-on the verge of…?” Abby asked, trying to keep her excitement from showing.
- Her mother sighed. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up…” Her exasperation was palpable, obviously that of one who had dealt with this situation before. She reached towards her daughter’s back, finding a buttoned flap built into her pajamas that allowed easy access to the rear. “Honestly, I swear, you’re getting bigger every day…”
- Abby’s breathing quickened slightly at this remark, but her attention was on something else. “Y-yeah, jusht… ngfff… h-hand me the…” She grunted and wheezed as she tried in vain to reach over her own belly, towards the stack of pizzas near her plump little feet.
- “Oh, honestly, Abigail…” Her mother sighed yet again, picking up one of the boxes. “Will you at least promise me that you won’t keep ordering these damned things at three in the morning?”
- “S-shure, jusht… ngggff… p-pizza…!” Abby lied. She whined and flailed, a prisoner of her own jiggling flesh.
- “Here you go… I swear, you’re going to eat yourself straight into a heart attack if you keep it up…” Her mother opened the box, setting it on her daughter’s spreading shelf of a gut.
- A shiver went down Abigail’s spine, not only from the cool air of her mother opening her back-flap. “Sh-sho good…” She stuffed a whole slice between her cheeks at once, grease from the pepperoni joining what was already on her oily, unkempt skin.
- “Oh, lord, Abigail… just how much are you eating? I swear, what’s in here must weigh as you yourself used to…” Abby’s mother put a hand to her forehead, not noticing her daughter surreptitiously rubbing a hand against her own belly to better fondle herself. “These clothes are ruined… and I hate to say it, but I think they’re getting small on you.”
- “O-outgrowing the cushtom made… ngmphh…” Abby downed the first, and stuffed yet another slice in her mouth, already a fourth of the way through the pizza in under a minute. “There’sh… urrp… a-a… hff… b-bigger one in… c-closhet…” Her breathing was heavy already, as her heart-rate began to pick up once again.
- “Don’t eat so fast! You’ll upset your stomach!” her mother said in admonishment. She reached into Abigail’s closet, a mess of empty figure boxes and old electronics, trying to find the clothes that her daughter had mentioned.
- Abby was so intently focused on her food, she hardly even heard her mother’s words. “Mgnphh… N-need… M-more…!” she cried, stuffing another slice in on top of the first. It was hardly the only thing she had been eating recently – her stomach was already packed to the brim with the pizza from before, and all the extra grease, cheese, and acidic sauce was not helping her stomach settle.
- Yet still Abby pushed on. “Everyone’sh… w-watching…” she mumbled to herself quietly, feeling hot jolts of excitement at the thought as she stole glances at the blinking green webcam light. Her digestive tract was an overstretched balloon beneath a heavy pile of wobbling fat, getting packed fuller and fuller. Even despite how much there was around it, an angry redness could be seen near the upper regions of her massive gut, signaling its displeasure with its owner’s overindulgence.
- Finally, just as it looked like she might burst open right then and there, Abby lost control of her innards once more. “Hngrk… Hrlrlrurrrp…!” She spewed a stream of half-chewed pizza chunks and bile down her front, splattering onto the box. “Hff… Haah… W-wha…” In half-dazed amazement Abby stared, shocked that she had eaten so vigorously as to induce vomiting in herself.
- It did not stop there, however. “S-still… h-hungry…” she muttered to herself, looking at the mess with the eyes of a starving beast. She reached out to grab it, when…
- “Abigail! That’s disgusting!” Abby’s mother held the second outfit in her hands, a ball of pink fabric so big it filled up her arms to hold it. “What the hell has gotten into you! I swear, it’s like you’ve gotten into some kind of online cult or something. All you do is eat all day and stay in your room, swiping away from tabs the moment I come in…”
- Her mother’s harsh words only excited the perverted little butterball even further, however. “N-no, I-I can explain…” she stumbled over her words, her mouth full of carbs and grease, while her cheeks flushed a deep, lusty scarlet.
- It did not escape her mother’s notice. “I was young once too! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing at night when your bed starts creaking!” She put her hands on her hips, hung her head, and sighed. “I just don’t know what to do… my daughter is writing smut on the internet, and apparently plans on eating herself into the star of one of her stories…”
- “W-well… I-I…” Abby hadn’t realized just how much her mother understood. “I-I mean… I-it’sh like a… b-body poshitivity… thing….” she mumbled halfheartedly. She could feel her heart fluttering, struggling to pump blood down her grease-clogged arteries.
- “Body positivity? Abby, honey, I’ve seen your stories! You write about them growing too fat to keep from messing themselves, and being ‘pampered little piglets’ forever! Is that what you want for yourself?” Abby’s mother reached in and pinched one of her daughter’s triplet of chins. “I haven’t seen you stand up and leave this room in two months! You’ve grown too fat to waddle, honey!”
- Despite her mother’s genuine concern, Abigail took the harsh words in a very different direction. “I-I mean… I can probably… s-shtill…” She tried to imagine herself standing and fitting outside her door frame, but was unable to. She was simply too fat. The thought drove her mad, adding to the tingling, tugging sensation buried beneath her many folds.
- Her mother did not stop. “Do you know what happens when people get that fat in real life? They don’t live long, Abigail! You keep eating like you’re eating, and you’ll have a heart attack within the year! You eat more grease in a day than most people eat in a month!”
- “W-within a year…!” Abigail sucked in a sharp breath – though it was not for the reason her mother suspected.
- Still, she nodded. “And then you’ve got all this money… your father and I are very proud you decided to take up art as a hobby, but of course, it’s just another outlet for this bizarre obsession of yours. In any case, I have a hard time believing that the commissions of an amateur artist are able to bring in nearly this much…” She looked around at all the nerdy trappings, figures, and other memorabilia that her daughter had purchased. “It’s almost like there’s… something else…”
- Then, her gaze drifted towards the monitors.
- “Th-there’s n-nothing…” Abigail started to reach for her keyboard, to mash the macro she had titled “MOM EMERGENCY”. Being an eight-hundred-pound teenager, however, did not afford a great deal of dexterity.
- “Give me that, young lady!” Her mother yanked the keyboard away, deftly flipping through all the screens, until she found the one.
- There, Abigail’s mother saw herself and her daughter on camera in a corner of the screen, with the half-finished sketch from earlier taking up the majority of the remaining real estate. The chat was going nuts, spamming things like “You tell her, mom!”, “Stuff her as punishment \(^o^)/”, and a great deal of “🐷” repeated over and over.
- “W-what… what is… this…?” Abby’s mom’s jaw hung open in shock, as she absorbed the full meaning of the money counters and “Abby’s Happy Moments”.
- “I-it’sh… I-I…” Abby was utterly unable to muster words. Her heart was beating faster than she could ever remember it doing before, uncomfortable and quick… and yet, she wanted more.
- “Have you been… putting your body on display for strangers on the internet?!” The older woman looked for some way to kill the stream, her words thick with righteous fury. “No daughter of mine will turn herself into some immobile fat-pile just for the gratification of a bunch of sickos!”
- “Hfff… I-immobile… f-fat pile…!” Abby could not take anymore. Her mouth opened wide, sweat beading on her face. She could feel a tingling in her left arm, lancing deep into her poor, fluttering chest. “H-here it comesh…!” She stared right into the green light of the webcam, a big smile on her face, as the most earthshattering orgasm she had ever felt rocked her flabby mess of a body. “Mmfff… S-sho…! Sho… huge…!” Pure lightning streaked from her heart right down to her nether regions, making her moan like a stuck pig. A fresh wave of mess escaped her overstimulated innards, making her cute pink PJs stretch even more to contain it.
- Meanwhile, Abby’s mother had been too aggravated to even manage to shut the stream down, broadcasting her rage to the entire world. “I cannot believe this! How dare you…” It took her a moment to realize her daughter’s moans were more than just teenage rebellion. “…Abby? Oh gosh, Abby!”
- Abby pointed to her chest, then to her left arm. “A-arm… I think… hfff… the doctor… wash right…!” Her breath came in short, desperate gulps, visible distress all over her face. What her mother did not realize, however, was that Abby was riding the highs of the most indulgent, depraved orgasm that she could ever have imagined.
- “O-okay! Don’t panic, sweetie, I planned for this…!” Her mother dashed away, to the hallway closet just outside Abby’s door.
- “C-can’t shtop… haaahh… W-want… M-more…!” Despite the jerky tremors in her chest, she reached for yet another slice of pizza, stuffing up her mouth with warm, greasy pleasure. Somehow, in all the frighteningly pleasurable pain and terrifyingly painful pleasure, Abby found the wherewithal to reach over and increment her “Happy Moments” counter to 12 for the day. The chat was losing it, dumping in money in $100 increments to watch Abigail ruin herself with such abandon.
- Her mother quickly returned, a steel bottle in her hands, with a tube and small triangular mask attached. “Here you go, sweetie. Now, just breathe…” She placed the triangle over her daughter’s nose, even as said daughter continued to gobble down greasy slices of pizza.
- Oxygen flowed through the mask, helping her poor lard-encumbered lungs finally catch up with all the sudden exertion. Slowly, Abby felt her chest beginning to calm, returning to its normal (albeit much too fast) rhythm. “Haahh… S-sho… mnff…” She mumbled and moaned incoherently, her cheeks a ruddy, lusty shade of scarlet.
- “Just relax… Oh god, what am I going to do with you, Abby…” Her mother mopped her brow with a kerchief, running her fingers through her daughter’s tangled, messy hair.
- Having achieved a greater high than she ever had before, Abby felt herself start to calm down. Her eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, and they closed in warm contentment. Sleep was coming quickly. Not, however, before one last thought.
- “I have a… hfff… great idea for a… urrrp… shtory…”
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