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Description
Series: OC
Character: OC (Abigail)
Synopsis: A perverted otaku indulges in her weird fetish.
Contains: Extreme weight gain, fetish content, farting/belching/wheezing.

“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.

Description
Series: OC
Character: OC (Abigail)
Synopsis: A perverted otaku indulges in her weird fetish.
Contains: Extreme weight gain, fetish content, farting/belching/wheezing.

“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.