TURN AROUND IF YOU DON'T LIKE FATFURS, TRA LA LA LA LEEEE

Tasha waddled into the bathroom, her sides caressing the doorframe briefly, but lingering enough to promise that they may meet for longer in future. Despite her former athletic prowess and adherence to perhaps the strictest diet this side of tacky reality television, she had known some time the utterly unavoidable. Tasha was getting fat. Too fat. Too quickly. Inches upon inches. Pound after pound. Softer and softer. Rounder and rounder.

Wearing her favourite corset top that she had bought a year back at the height of summer, she had noticed a few of the snaps breaking free, a little stretching of fabric, and even a tightness that had crept up over the past few months. She knew she'd grown, but had so far denied herself the pleasure of trying the scales.

She hadn't needed to. Those around her - family, friends - told her everything she needed to know. In fact, some of her friends seemed to enjoy her progress from a former track hopeful into a buxom, cushiony feline, plump in figure and ready to party. She would eat like a pig, with almost no restraint, buttons popping and chairs bowing. She would sweat from walking to her front door each morning.

Others would gleefully pinch and prod at her softening body, a pillowing mass of beauteous fat, marvelling that as the world turned from day to day, Tasha would get continue in her almost robotic pursuit of getting bigger and bigger.
She had grown accustomed, too, to wearing lounge pants. Waist size unknown. Each pair of shoes she'd ever owned had burst clean open, either due to weight or swelling. Her belly was round and soft, and roughly the size of a space hopper. Her thighs clung together when walking, like two plump sausages struggling to break free of the same tubing. Her face had gotten round and chubby, her chins doubling, and her neck performing a gradual disappearing act. But she loved it. All of it. She was getting grand. Royal. People were aware of her. People talked about her. And she was only going to continue down that path.

And so, to the scales. She giggled breathily, cradling her enormous belly with her thick, fat arms, waddling slowly and ever closer towards the weigh-in. With one foot, she stomped clean onto the platform, before allowing the other to do the same. There was a crack.

She peered downwards, hoping to see her latest score. She saw a heaving, rotund cleavage, and an even bigger gut, wobbling on its own accord. She grinned, heaving her flab about to try and get a view of her weight, failing at every turn. She eventually managed to lean back slightly, allowing her to see the LCD display. Her ample rump quivered in anticipation. Her fat toes tried to wiggle but failed beyond one or two. Her goliath form had caused a hairline crack in the scales themselves, but she was still able to see the damage from her habits.

'380lbs'.

Tasha laughed mischievously, every flabby part of her body wobbling in glee. Reaching for a pack of glazed donuts she kept in the medicine cabinet, she slapped her bed-breaking belly with gusto.

"Here's to the next 380!"

And with that, she would guzzle donuts until it became boring. The next task would be attempting to leave the room without getting gloriously, voluptuously stuck.