Anna and Clara - II
Anna and Clara
Clara looked at me with longing. Please, she said, will you feed me and feed me until I am a great quivering mountain of blubber? I looked in her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and I understood for the first time the sheer intensity of her desire to spend every waking moment stuffing herself with the most decadent and fattening food imaginable, the desire to bury herself deeper and ever deeper in her own fat. Looking into her eyes, her face contorted with passion, I promised her that I would.
Never never stop feeding me and making me fatter and fatter, she said as she dug her plump fingers into her second cheesecake and placed a hunk between her lips.
I will never stop, even if you become so buried in fat you cannot move a muscle, I will feed and stuff your fat fat tummy.
She seemed relieved; tears subsided as she contemplated a life of uninterrupted pleasure, surrounded as it were by her massive rolls of fat.
Spring rolled around into summer, and Anna and Clara just spent their time eating and getting even fatter. I started working on the garden. Definitely it gave me muscles for the endless massages of their soft fat thighs and tummies. Anyway, as June came around, I loved to bring them strawberries, still warm from the afternoon sun, with masses of whipped cream, and feed them one by one. Ah cream, I have more to say about that. One day a Jersey cow appeared. Anna swore that she bought her on Ebay, but I think a local farmer was somehow involved. Anyway, we had the pasture, and there was no end to the warm milk straight from the cow that Anna and Clara would drink, so creamy and so fattening.
As fall came, it was clear that Clara was not going to be walking much more. Sometimes, she did not get out of bed for days at a time, and, just after a vast Thanksgiving feast, she tried to stand up, and even if she had been able to stay on her feet, her legs were now so fat that she would not have been able to move them to walk, anyway. She fell back into the bed with the heady knowledge that what she had fantasized about for so long had finally come to pass. She was, quite simply, too fat to stand up, too fat to walk.
Even though she was totally stuffed from the day-long feast, she cried for donuts, and she started eating them, one fattening donut after another, while we massaged her huge tummy to help them go down. She barely paused for breath, but in short breaths, snatched between donuts, we heard her moan, Oh my God, I am sooo fat, sooo fat, then she turned to us and gasped, Please, please keep feeding me, make me fatter and fatter and fatter. From that time on, freed from the need to walk, she ate more than ever, such was the need to fill her massive tummy that kept on expanding in front of her.
Another year rolled around, and now even Anna was so fat as to be barely able to walk. One day we were talking and I asked, What if we had, let us say an unsympathetic journalist come and interview us on our mode of living. What might he say?
Interesting, said Clara. Let me see. She thought for a moment:
I was met at the door by a mountain of a woman who introduced herself as Anna. She was devouring a Danish pastry, stopping just long enough to say a few words to me. Her massive body was enveloped in endless rolls of flab, a body doubtless the product of years of unbridled gluttony. She was panting heavily from the exertion of walking but a few steps to the door. Improbably, she had on nothing but a bikini, and most of that was buried deep in her massed fat. She stepped back to let me in, but her vast gut protruded so much I was barely able to squeeze past. She then led me slowly into the house, shuffling forward on legs so deformed and disfigured by great rolls of hanging fat as to be barely recognisable as such.
OK, said Anna, that was me - unbridled gluttony, and I love my fat, fat legs so it’s my turn to continue. Anna thought for a moment:
I was introduced to another woman by the name of Clara. This woman was so obscenely obese as to defy description. She was sitting, utterly naked, on a king-size bed, with her legs stretched out each side, presumably in an attempt to leave space in front for her massive gut. It seemed that most of the bed was covered by this vast outpouring of flesh in front of her, great slabs of thighs and the great globes of her behind. In truth, I was witnessing a scene of true depravity, for Clara barely acknowledged my presence and continued stuffing herself. On the table-like top of her left thigh had been placed a huge cheesecake. She dug great chunks out of it with her hand. Then she had a great heap of whipped cream on the top of the great mound of her belly, in the space between vast lolling breasts. I watched transfixed as she dunked the pieces of cheesecake in the whipped cream and shoveled them into her mouth with her other hand with barely a pause for breath. She seemed to show not even a smidgeon of the restraint one normally associates with civilized beings. From the endless empty plates and discarded cartons and the mountain of cakes and candies still next to her and all the crumbs spilled around her, she had to have been in the middle of a day-long gluttonous binge. Looking at her, it could almost be said that she was nearly submerged in her fat, in a body that was a testament to her truly insatiable greed.
Clara said, And that was just a midmorning snack; he should have seen me eating lunch.
Another wonderful year rolled around, and it was summer, and I was bringing Clara her early breakfast just as dawn was breaking, and I was struck by the play of the early morning light from the window, on her massive rolls of fat, the slow transition from light to shade on rolls that were almost perfectly circular. I asked Clara, What is it?
As if she was thinking the same thing, she understood what I meant and replied, It is like a perfect storm. First, I just love to eat and eat without ever having to stop. Then I utterly love being fat, the feeling of it and the way when I reach out in almost every direction all I can touch is my own soft fatness. It makes me feel so sensual, just the touch to my vast fat tummy brings me great waves of pleasure. Then I fantasize about things that I eat and feel so yummy going down and how they are going straight to my thighs, tummy or maybe even my upper arms and making them fatter than ever. Then I love being pampered and spoiled, and the only thing that I have to think about is what I want to eat next. Before you showed up, we were wondering about how we were going to manage, especially as Anna got fatter and fatter. So it is wonderful with you, having no worries and I can be totally out of control.
Now also what I like is how you have learnt so well to read my thoughts. I just lie here with my eyes closed, and maybe I think what I would like next is a hot pastrami sandwich, so overstuffed that I can hardly fit it in my mouth and just dripping with melted cheese, and, just like that, I open my eyes and there it is. I don’t even have to go to the trouble of putting my thoughts into words. Then you sometimes even read my dreams. Of course, I always dream about food, and it has happened that I am having an afternoon nap, dreaming of an ice cream sundae with half a gallon of ice cream, chocolate and butterscotch sauce, drizzled with nuts and drenched in whipped cream and as I slowly come to, I feel the sweetness of it on my lips as you feed me the first few spoonfuls. I just lie there, luxuriating in my fatness, enjoying that wonderful transition from slumber to wakefulness.
Then I asked, Do you think Anna wants to get fatter, so fat that she can no longer walk?
She’s in two minds; she knows that you would look after her, but she also likes being able to walk just a little bit, if only for that wonderful way her whole body jiggles with every tiny shuffle she takes, and I know you like that, too!
Then she added, Changing the subject; you have never punished me for being such a pig and put me on a three-minute starvation diet, even though that part fills me with horror.
I looked at her solemnly.
I shall punish you now for having the temerity to discuss whether you deserve punishment or not. You have three hours to prepare so what would you like to stuff your fat tummy with to prepare you for your period of intense privation?