Wendy's Thick Burger Challenge

Wendy's Thick Burger Challenge
By IceMan

“All I’m telling you is, if you’re gonna talk shit on all the other restaurants in town, then you’d best put your money where your mouth is.”

You’re standing in line at your girlfriend’s favorite restaurant, which, not-so-coincidentally, she just so happened to be the mascot for. Dressed in her typical white-and-blue striped frilled blouse with a short skirt, if you held up her photo to the cartoon on the menu, you would barely tell the difference.

“Alright, fine,” Wendy says with a huff, her red pigtails bouncing slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s the bet?”

“We’ll do it like that stupid documentary,” you say. “The one with Morgan Spurlock.”

“You’re gonna make me eat Mickey D’s for a month?” she says, her tone tinged with the acerbity that always flared up when you mentioned the other eateries in town. “I’ll just buy the rope now.”

“No, you twit. Wendy’s. One month, starting today. Nothing but Wendy’s. That’s it. You know what, just to sweeten the deal, if you do that, I’ll pay for everything you eat. But if you go anywhere else, then you’ve gotta pay for a month of wherever I eat.”

She thinks for a moment, but then gives a wry smirk and says, “Fine. I’ll take your bet.”

“Good. Now, what do you want to order? Lunch is on me today.”

Wendy rests one arm on the counter, sets her head in her hand, and bats her eyes towards the cashier. “I’ll take four Baconators, large fries, and a large chocolate Frosty,” she says, straight and even.

For a second, you can only blink. You feebly place your own order and pay the tab, then take the trays to the table in silence, Wendy boring into you with that same wry smirk all the way. “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” you say once you sit down. “Are you trying make me broke?”

“What, you can’t afford a meal at Wendy’s?” she replies.

“I can, but - okay, wait.” You’re suddenly able to return that shit-eating grin. “What I specifically said was ‘Everything you eat.’ So you actually have to eat all that.”

Her cheeky visage doesn’t change. “Oh, I know exactly what you said,” Wendy says. “I fully intend to eat every single morsel of meat and crumb of fried potato on this plate. The shake... uh, I thought we could share the shake.” She quickly covers her slightly flushed face with the last comment, and you notice the second straw on her tray.

You peel off the thin paper wrapping and stick the straw in the thick ice cream. “Okay, that’s great and all, babe, at least you’re not just wasting my money. But that’s like....” You squint at the menu to try and read the calorie counts next to the items as you slurp up the viscous cold chocolate flavor. That blessed middle school math comes in handy as you try to tabulate it all. “.... at least 5000 calories. Aren’t you worried about...”

“Worried about what?” Wendy says, taking a big chomp of her first Baconator

“I’m just figuring you’re going to try this every day for the next month so -”

“So?”

“So you might... put on a little bit of weight.”

“Aw, you’re worried about my health. Dude, I’ve got the metabolism of a squirrel. And even if I did put on a few pounds... that wouldn’t be so bad, now would it?”

You can feel a flash of heat suddenly rising to your face. “U-uh. Yeah,” you stammer out.

“There’d just be more of me to love,” Wendy continues. “C’mon, Anon. I’ve always known you liked your patties extra thick.”

“Stuff it. Just - just eat your food.” A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead.

“Oh, wow, you do, you perv! Jeeze. I bet you planned for this too.”

“No, I didn’t realize that - I mean, I just thought you’d -”

“You thought I’d what? That I wouldn’t take advantage of you paying for me to eat at my favorite restaurant in any quantity I want, and thus fulfill your fantasy of -”

“No! I didn’t think any of this through. You’re giving me way too much credit.”

“Okay then,” Wendy says, rolling her eyes. She’s already nearly finished her first burger, and, with a big bite and a gulp of milkshake, followed by a handful of fries slathered in ketchup, she starts on the second. You’re barely nibbling at your own meal while Wendy quite literally stuffs herself with bacon, beef, and starch. Furthermore, you can’t help but notice that she seems to be squirming a bit with each bite of burger of sip of shake, her calves firmly interlaced below the table. A few faint moans escape her side of the booth to reach your ears.

“Are you alright?” you ask. “You really don’t have to eat all that. I don’t mind doing this once, but -”
“No!” Wendy snaps. “I’m gonna do it. It’s... it’s so good.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Alright then. I know you love this place but, really, it’s just fast food.”

Wendy pounds down the second burger. “No, it’s not! It’s the best fast food franchise on the planet. Always fresh, never frozen. Perfectly square patties with no cut corners.” She tears into the penultimate with a second wind of vigor, finishing it faster than the second, but each bite lovingly chewed and swallowed.

By the time she’s reached the final burger, though, Wendy is slowing down, giving you time to finish your own meal. Her stomach has distended into a hard orb pressing against the stitches of her blouse and bending the parallel stripes.

She moans a bit and stifles a burp. “This was a mistake.”

“In the words of Radiohead, you do it to yourself, and that’s what really hurts,” you reply as you help her up. Disposing of the trash in a receptacle, you let Wendy rest herself on your shoulder as you walk towards the door.

“I think you’ve proven your point though,” you say. “If you really don’t want to go through with this -”

“No. I’m gonna do it,” she replies as you fumble for your keys and unlock the car. “Because I want to. I have a whole month to eat the my favorite meals every single day. I’m not going to pass that up.”

She wraps her arms around you and presses her swollen gut into your crotch. “And because I know you’ll like it... or is that just a footlong in your pants?”

Breaking the embrace with a jerk, you quickly flop down into the driver’s seat while Wendy rides shotgun, reclining the seat all the way back to rest and digest properly. It takes quite a bit of effort to keep your eyes focused on the road instead of her dainty hands massaging her bloated belly, and the occasional sensual moan snaking its way into your ear. This bet was a mistake.

So it continues for the next week. Every day you’d meet Wendy for lunch in the same strip mall. While you might peruse something across the way, the taco joint for a pair of soft-shell tortillas piled high with carnitas and pico de gallo, or the Thai place for a plate of pad thai noodles with chicken, or even the little deli for an authentic reuben sandwich on marbled rye with strong sauerkraut, for her it’s always the same thing from the same place. Multiple sandwiches of square patties, double- or even triple-stacked, with melted American cheese, slices of onions, lettuce, and tomato and a heaping helping of bacon; garnished with mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup; and set between two fluffy buns. Golden french fries packed neatly into a little paper box, their orderly rows soon to be stained red by globs of ketchup and their number rapidly reduced, like yellow-coated line infantry facing cannon-fired grapeshot. And always a chocolate shake with two straws, to share.

To be perfectly honest, you had no real way of making sure she was keeping to the deal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but something about how her stomach was starting maintain a certain softness, visible even through her clothes, like she had stitched herself to an overstuffed goose down pillow, was enough proof for you. The only thing that was truly disappointing was your early morning work shift, which meant you couldn’t watch her pig out during breakfast.

Wendy’s newfound adipose seems like some sort of mirage or dream, so on the eighth day of her new diet, you strategically sit yourself next to her when you go to lunch. She had since upped her dosage from four Baconators to six, added a second pack of large fries, and was only sharing one of her Frosties. “Hey, uh, don’t people normally sit on opposite sides of the booth?” she asks as she tucks in.

“I just want to cuddle my girlfriend today,” you reply, and you wrap your arm around her paunch in the semblance of a hug. Beneath the starchy cotton, her squishy fat is yielding to your squeeze.

“Ugh, in public? You’re such a weirdo,” Wendy says. “But I bet you like that... don’t you?”

You quickly retract your arm as blood rushes to your face.

“You like all of this,” she says as she smushes her stomach, doubling its folds.

“We’re - uh - we’re in public -”

“Oh?” she says, letting her corpulence spread out again. “Then maybe we should do something... special tonight.”

You bite your lip and nod.

When Wendy arrived home that night, she brought in at least ten bags emblazoned with her over-genuinely smiling face (which also lacked the beginning of a double chin) and began arranging each neatly-wrapped burger in rows on the kitchen table. You watch in silence as if observing some kind of sacred Buddhist ritual, counting 24 Baconators and a Dave’s Triple when she’s finally finished. She examines her handiwork and then says, “Alright, the game’s - uh - strip... burgers. For every three Baconators I finish, I’ll take off an article of clothing.”

“This isn’t much of a game,” you say.

“Would you prefer we didn’t play?”

“No, no. But, like, do I get to decide what clothes you take off? What’s the catch here?”

“There’s no catch,” she says. “I just... I’m going to eat all these burgers, okay? Deal with it. Jeeze.”

“Yeah, but the point of it being a game would be that you don’t expect to finish all of them, wouldn’t it? So that you don’t have to take your clothes off.”

“I dunno. Do I need an excuse to fuck you tonight? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if I get through that Dave’s Triple at the end of this. Now hand me that shake.” That buttoned your lip, and you comply with her demand, granting her the first of four Frosties to wash down her feast.

The first three burgers went down quick enough. Wendy was used to eating double their number almost regularly. She promptly removed the sky blue bows tying her pigtails together. “Oh, come on, that’s cheap,” you say.

“Oh, hush. It’s not like you’ll be waiting long for the good stuff.”

“Okay, fine, but, you can keep those in. They’re - uh - cute....”

Wendy rolls her eyes and re-ties the bows, then promptly tears into the next burger. Two more follow it, and she undoes her dainty white shoes and kicks them under the table. You throw her empty shake cup into the garbage and hand her the next one.

“Do you want me to put the other two in the fridge? I’m worried they’ll get melted if they sit out for too long,” you say.

“Sure,” Wendy says with a bit of a groan as she starts the next Baconator.

“Hey, don’t eat them too quickly. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m fine. I can do this.”

“If you say so.”

You’re starting to believe she can as she pounds down the ninth sandwich and unrolls her stockings. They’re practically plastered onto her cellulite-dimpled thighs. Her blouse is starting to take on quite a bit of strain, and you’re only hoping that Wendy is looking forward to removing it as much as you are. In fact, as she’s halfway through the tenth burger, you hear a soft, but sharp rip.

“Shit,” Wendy says. “Well, I guess there goes that one.” The poor thing had split straight down the middle. She begrudgingly removes the torn garment, throwing it in the heap with her stockings and shoes and letting her belly flop onto her bare thighs.

“Yeah, enjoy it, you sicko,” she says, noticing you staring. “You got your first prize early.”

Prize indeed it is. Wendy’s belly is this perfect amorphous blob, dotted with cute brown freckles much as her chubby cheeks. It folds over a little bit where it meets her belly button, but otherwise it’s a smooth, round ellipsoid.

“Hey, Anon. Your jumbo french fry is showing,” Wendy says, giving her gut a little jiggle. Mesmerized, you plod over and gently... poke it. Your finger sinks at least half an inch in before reaching her hard-packed stomach.

“Ow! Hey, don’t do that, you’re gonna make me vom. If you want to be helpful, you could give me a little rub down here.”

You pull your chair over and greedily fill your hands with Wendy’s tubby spare tire, making gentle circles to help her digest all that meat and cheese and grease. It’s nice and soft beneath your fingers, pliable as bread dough. She polishes off another burger, and you swear you can feel her tummy expanding outwards. As she starts on the twelfth, she realizes something, though.

“I miscalculated,” she says.

“Miscalculated what?” you say.

“There’s more burgers than I have clothes to remove. I’m not counting the blouse, because it ripped. So I’m gonna take my bra off next, and then my panties, and then I’m still gonna have nine burgers left.”

“You could have taken off one shoe at a time or something. Or worn pants. Or we could still count the blouse. I dunno. This is your game of cheeky strip tease and gorging session. Like, isn’t the point to get naked?”

“Yeah, whatever. Let me finish this guy off and then you can ogle my tits, you perv.”

Wendy had always been a bit of a chesty girl, and her bosom has gained quite a bit from her recent binging, though not as much as her tummy. Her girls are overflowing the cups of her bra, freckled flesh muffining over the elastic, the straps cutting into her shoulder and back fat. Fortunately, she’s able to alleviate her discomfort with the completion of her twelfth burger. As she licks a bit of sauce off her upper lip, you reach your hands up from her stomach and around to the clasp. Wendy smirks as you fumble slightly in undoing it, but it eventually comes free, and you lean back to watch your handywork unfold. Her breasts, no longer supported, droop onto the crest of her belly, and her big pink inverted nipples are bared for the world to see.

“Go ahead and grope them, you freak,” Wendy says. Her tits are far more than two handfuls, and you wished you had a second pair of arms so that you could feel the entirety of their softness all at once.

Before you can get your fill though, Wendy softly pushes you aside. “Alright, out of the way,” she says. “I need to finish those burgers before they all get cold. And get me another shake. I’ve drained the last one dry.” You could almost cry, but you know you’ll get another dose later.

Between requests for more belly rubs and general fullness, it takes Wendy a little bit more time to finish the next few Baconators, but the reward is only sweeter.

“Hng on,” she says. “Gonna need to get up for this one. Oof.” Getting up from her seat requires a bit of effort. She slides her panties down and throws them in the clothes pile. “Well, I guess that’s game over for me,” she says, slapping her ass into a rough storm of rolling blubber. Almost a work of Renaissance art, her double wide bubble butt was thick with cushioning and dimpled with bits of cellulite and dotted with freckles. “Yeah, that’s right, take a good look, weirdo,” Wendy says, noticing your stare. She plops back down to resume her gorging.

15 Baconators down, nine more to go, plus one Dave’s Triple. The next three go down about as quick as the last few with the help of gratuitous belly rubs. Only by number 19 does Wendy need to really start slowing down, perhaps her brain finally signalling how full she actually was. Even so, she manages to consume that one and even two more, plus the rest of the penultimate shake. Burgers 22 and 23 takes her some time to finish, almost as if she were savoring flavors she’d tasted 21 times before tonight. Finally, the 24th and final Baconator is the next-to-final thing left.

“Go on, honey,” you say, giving her stomach an extra firm rub. “You can do it.”

“Yeah, I know I can do it, idiot.” She tears into it, and demolishes it as if it were her first one. Now only the Dave’s Triple leers at her.

“Give it to me. I’ve got to do this,” Wendy says. Her stomach burbles and bubbles, digesting all of her massive meal. You gingerly hand her the triple-decker burger, which, slow bite by bite, disappears into her gullet.

Wendy moans and burps softly. All that remains is a pile of wrappers and empty paper cups, and an overstuffed nude young woman. “That... that was inhuman,” you say.

“Unless you wanna... unh... fuck me right here, Anon, you’re gonna have to carry me upstairs,” Wendy says. “I dunno if I can walk.”

“I don’t know if I can carry you.”

“What a big strong man like you can’t carry little old me? What are you some kind of wimp? Make those muscles work!”

Grumbling, you bend down to lift her out of the chair bridle style. Your muscles are screaming under her weight and a vein is bulging in your forehead as you slowly trudge up the stairs with the bloated fatty in your arms. “How much do you weigh, you fatass?” you ask.

“It’s rude to ask a woman her weight,” Wendy says.

“Then I guess we’ll find out.” You turn towards the bathroom. “Think you can stand for five seconds?”

“I dunno, maybe?” Wendy says with a twinkle in her eye. You set her down and pull the scale out from under the sink. The LCD comes to life as Wendy steps on it.

“235,” you say, collapsing against the wall.

“Wow, 68 pounds in a week,” Wendy says, following suit.

“I thought you said you had the metabolism of a squirrel.”

“Well, Wendy’s may be fresh and good, but nobody said it was healthy in large quantities.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” you say, leaning in and kissing Wendy on the cheek. “Because you’ve never been more beautiful.”

“Just get me in bed. I want you to ride my fat ass before I pass into a food coma.”

You heave Wendy to your bedroom and set her on the bed, the springs groaning from the strain. Undoing your pants, you climb on top of her and slowly slip inside her, the plushness of her thighs forming the perfect cushion for your crotch as you begin to thrust in and out. Wendy moans and groans, and you force your lips upon hers to silence her. Her mouth tastes of bacon and cheese. You take your time to revisit her pillowy breasts and belly, scooping handfuls of freckled chub, as well as copping a feel towards her chunky ass, squeezing her thick cheeks. Every part of her body was incredibly soft to the touch, an ideal squishiness that was a carnal pleasure to grope and embrace. Wendy’s ponderous belly made the a great handhold to support yourself while you rammed your length into her. All you could think about while you did the old in-out-in-out was that, if she kept this up for the rest of the month, there’d only be more of this amazing softness, and, with that, you came to your climax.

“Wow...” you say. “I hope you’re up for a round two in a little bit Wendy, because I - Wendy?”

She seems to be softly snoring, her flabby shoulders evenly rising and falling. Part of you is disappointed that you won’t get seconds in your night’s feast, but another part of you is pleased that Wendy ate so much she could only fall asleep. You wrap her in a hug and cover both your bodies with the sheets and blankets. Snuggled up against Wendy, your manhood set in the nicely shaped shelf of her ass, you softly fall to sleep as well.

The remaining weeks completed Wendy’s transformation from skinny to morbidly obese. Every day brought a new load of plush fat to her figure, expanding her thighs and belly to new reaches of obesity. Her brisk walk turned into a pendulous waddle that shook her asscheeks back and forth with each step like a flabby metronome while her belly bounced against her calves. Her breasts heaved with each labored breath as they threatened to burst out of her shrinking blouses. A double chin rounded her face beneath her plump, dimpled cheeks.

This was all aided by a diet you would have thought impossible except for Olympic athletes. You’d managed to get your shift changed to better hours so you could spend more time with Wendy, particularly to have breakfast with her. She literally only subsumed on Baconators, fries, and chocolate Frosties. Every morning she’d start her day off with at least five of the burgers and drown them with a shake. At lunch and dinner she’d eat seven or eight more, with two large helpings of fries and two or three shakes. By the end of the day she was always full and happy, and grateful for your ever-willingness to provide a belly rub or two.

But all good things must come to an end. The final day of the diet came. “Do you have anything special planned for tonight?” you ask Wendy over breakfast.

She swallows her last Baconator and nods. “What, you think I didn’t? Just be here at Wendy’s tonight at 9:00.”

You do as she commands, arriving to find the restaurant deserted besides your girlfriend, sitting on a titanic throne of wrapped Baconators in the kitchen. You walk through the double glass doors with your eyes the size of saucers. “How... how did you do this?” you ask.

Wendy only gives her signature smirk. “Dude, I own this place. I just asked for their entire supply of bacon to be made it to Baconators. And all of their chocolate ice cream. And enough fries for fifty large boxes, figured that would be enough.”

You can only blink, mouth agape.

“If you have no objections, I’m gonna chug the shake tank now,” Wendy says, waddling over behind the counter to the dispenser. She sticks her chubby cheeks under the nozzle and pulls the lever, pouring a stream of viscous chocolate ice cream into her maw. Spellbound, you watch her gulp down what must have amounted to a full gallon of shake, before she stops, clutching her temples. “Gagh! Brain freeze,” Wendy cries, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh? Well, maybe I’ll just call this whole thing off then.”

“Like you’d really do that,” you respond.

“Yeah, you’re right. Just get me a couple of those burgers. Gotta have a bit of savory to go with my sweet.”

Wendy munches on a box of fries while you bring over a dozen burgers for her. One by one she easily swallows all of them and asks for more. While she drowns herself in Frosty, you bring over the next dozen.

“You’re going to try for tearing out of your blouse again, aren’t you?” you say, noting that it’s already under a bit of stress from Wendy’s blubbery body.

“Oh, hell yeah I am. This one’s even a size too small. Now get me some more burgers, because that’s the only way you’re going to see me out of this thing tonight.” You’re more than happy to acquiesce.

Soon enough, half the burgers and fries are reduced to only wrappers and boxes, and the shake machine is half empty, and yet Wendy was nowhere close to moving at half-speed. In fact, her rate of consumption seemed to increase as she proceeded to disassemble each burger like a reverse factory line. Thousands upon thousands of calories disappeared into Wendy’s ever-expanding stomach.

You’d lost count of how many Baconators she’d actually eaten when a few small tears began to appear in her blouse, right along the maximum radius of her stomach and along the sleeves where her ginormous flabby arms pressed against the thin cotton. Her ass had long since fallen out of the skirt, exposing her tent-sized white panties wedged between the rippled globes of her butt cheeks. She had consumed at least 50 of the stack of burgers when the the poor blouse finally gave up the ghost. “Well, there we go,” Wendy says. “I was waiting for that to happen. It was cutting right into my tits.” She throws the garment in a heap on the floor.

“I’m not going to finish this without your help,” she says. “So get to work.” She rubs her chubby fingers along her gut. Immediately, you snap to attention. Her belly had grown so large that you could no longer reach around it. She’d developed a pair of pillowy rolls along her sides, but the front remained smooth and spherical, and dotted as ever with those adorable brown freckles that covered the rest of her fair skin. Under where her gut folded over it, her belly button was deep enough to swallow your hand up to the wrist, surrounding it in her billowing warm fat. Exploring every inch of her malleable fat was an absolute dream, feeling your fingertips sink inches into her corpulence. You’re so distracted by your massaging that you don’t notice Wendy finishing all but ten of the Baconators and the rest of the fries.

“Hoof,” Wendy exhales with a belch. “Hey... gnhg... I think I’m gonna need you to feed me the rest of those.” She leans back onto the cold floor, and you grab the rest of the burgers, straddling her belly. “Not exactly the best place to sit right now,” she says with a grunt, followed by a pained smirk. “‘Specially ‘cause you’ve got your eleventh finger poking right into my gut.”

You unwrap the first burger and hold it to her face. Wendy quickly takes a bite, chews, and swallows. Bit by bit Baconators vanish in a non-subtle magic trick, Wendy licking your fingers clean of the greasy drippings and sauce with each one finished. As she finishes the sixth, you hear a tearing sound from behind you.

“Whoops,” says Wendy, reaching down to remove her tattered panties. “Hang on, let me just see if I can...” She takes a deep breath, blowing her enormous chest outwards as far as she can and forcing her bra to split. “... there we go.” Wendy's boobs had grown from massive to obscene in size, a duo of spotted pontoons hanging from her bosom onto her paunch, capped with her dinner-plate sized nipples. They maintained a certain shapeliness which kept them round, but they were soft as butter to the touch from weeks of gorging.

Three more burgers go down, though each one takes at least a few minutes for Wendy to finish. Beneath you, her belly was quite firm for once, happily burbling as it digested her feast and converted it into even more luscious squishy fat.

With the paper off of the last burger, you bring it to Wendy’s mouth, but she doesn’t open.

“Come on, here comes the airplane!” you tease.

“Stop it,” she groans. “I can’t do anymore.”

“Oh come on. You’ve eaten like a hundred of these things already. You can’t do one more?”

“If I eat one more I think I’ll explode.”

“I’d say that first it’ll all go to your thighs, but that’s already happened.”

You waggle the burger in front of her. “Come on. You said these things were the best in the world.”

“They are,” Wendy says, tearing up a bit. “But it hurts! I think I really overdid it this time....”

But keeping the aroma of that crispy bacon and rich beef patty, the shiny red tomatoes and crunchy lettuce, the steamy warm golden bun and the creamy cheese in front of Wendy’s nose is just too much for her, and like Jaws coming up for the Orca, she greedily swallows it in five massive bites.

“Good girl,” you say, patting her stomach.

“No... not done yet,” she sighs. “Still more shake.” She points towards the green light on the Frosty machine. Sluggishly, she heaves herself off the floor and lumbers over to the shake dispenser. Once more, she fills her face with fluid chocolate ice cream and milk, chugging it down to fill the spaces in her overstuffed tummy. After a few minutes, the machine emits a rattling, almost coughing sound, and the light turns from green to red.

“Empty?” you ask. Wendy can only nod before releasing a massive belch that echoes off the walls of the empty restaurant.

“Alright,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Final weigh in time.”

You let her rest her prodigious weight on you as she waddles over to the package scale. “I can’t see the scale over my belly,” she says. “You’re gonna have to read it for me.”

You’re forced lift her gut out of the way to view the scale. “468,” you read. Wendy moans and sets down with a plop.

“Well, you’ve won the bet,” you say. “You’ve proven to me that you could eat here for the rest of your life.”

“Like there was ever any doubt. Hey, just to make up for wiping the floor with you, you don’t even need to pay for all the burgers I ate. Instead, you’ve just gotta do one thing for me.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve gotta make love to my fat ass harder than you ever have before.”

Much to both of your pleasures, you did.