Chapter 5: Buried in Blubber
The world had shrunk to heat, pressure, and the deafening rumble of Amanda’s body announcing its next phase. The groaning floor, the distant shouts, the flashing lights—it all blurred into a dull periphery. The core reality was the overwhelming presence of her. Chad knelt by her head, his hand on her cheek, feeling the vibration of her internal machinery through his palm.
“Chad,” she breathed, her voice a low tremor. “It’s… shifting. The pressure. It’s moving lower. Into my… my backside.” Her eyes, wide and dark, held a frantic need. “I need you there. I need you to see. I need you to feel it.”
He understood. This wasn’t a request for comfort. It was a demand for witness, for participation in the most visceral way possible. He nodded, a sharp, jerky motion. He pushed himself up, his body protesting, and began to pick his way along the vast slope of her side. Walking along her was like traversing a living, breathing dune. Her skin, slick with sweat, radiated a feverish heat. The fine crack near her hip wept its clear fluid, tracing a glistening path into the deep crease where her immense buttock met her thigh.
The canyon between her ass cheeks was no longer a cleft. It was a deep, shadowed valley, spanned by the ruined fabric of her muumuu, which was buried and stretched taut as a drumhead over the rising flesh beneath. The scent here was profound, musky, and deeply organic—the smell of her sweat, her skin, and something else, something earthy and potent.
The growth was focused here, a slow, tectonic pushing outward. The two mountainous hemispheres of her ass were still expanding, grinding against the wreckage of the store, pushing the walls further out. But they were also swelling inward, toward each other, making the valley narrower, deeper, hotter.
“You have to get closer,” Amanda’s voice floated back to him, strained and urgent. “Between them. So you can see.”
He hesitated for only a second. Then, driven by a compulsion deeper than fear, he dropped to his hands and knees at the entrance to the valley. The heat was intense, like peering into a bread oven. He crawled forward.
The space was tighter than he’d imagined. The fleshy walls, soft yet unyielding, pressed in on his shoulders. The air was thick, humid, and carried the full, unfiltered weight of her scent. It coated his tongue. Above him, the last shreds of black fabric formed a tattered canopy. Light from the broken storefront filtered in, casting a dim, pinkish glow on the skin walls surrounding him. He could see every pore, every stretch mark like a river delta on a fleshy map, every shudder as another internal spasm rolled through her.
He was perhaps three feet in, the space constricting, when the next contraction hit.
It wasn't a growth surge. It was a powerful, rhythmic clench that originated deep within the core of her and radiated out. The walls of flesh around him convulsed, squeezing inward momentarily, pressing the air from his lungs in a soft oof. A deep, liquid gurgle echoed from somewhere ahead of him, in the dark, hottest depths he couldn’t see.
“Oh, fuck… Chad…” she moaned, and the sound vibrated through the flesh pressed against his ear. “It’s… it’s coming. My body… it’s pushing something out.”
The realization dawned on him, cold and shocking, yet immediately accepted. The insane feast, the constant influx, the miraculous, terrifying conversion of matter into her being—it had to have a result. A biological conclusion.
Another gurgle, closer now. Wet. Prodigious.
The sphincter, hidden in the dark recess ahead of him, gave a distinct, wet puckering sound. The air changed, growing even heavier with a new, pungent, fecal smell. It wasn't just waste. It was the smell of processed excess, of sheer volume.
He should have been repulsed. He should have scrambled backward in panic. Instead, he was frozen, hypnotized by the raw, undeniable reality of her body’s functions. This was the logical end point of all her consumption, and she wanted him to see it. He was her audience, trapped in the most private theater imaginable.
Her body clenched again, a powerful, peristaltic wave. The muscular ring ahead of him, perhaps a foot or so beyond his face, bulged outward slightly, distending. It was a dark, wrinkled rosette, glistening under a film of natural lubricant. It pulsed, relaxed, then pulsed again, each time opening a fraction wider, revealing a hint of deep, impenetrable darkness within.
“It’s so… full,” she groaned, her voice shaking with effort and a kind of awed release. “I can feel it… a whole… log… building up inside. It’s so thick, Chad. It’s stretching me open.”
As if to illustrate, her colon gave another loud, portentous rumble. The pulsing sphincter gaped a little more. A hint of solid, dark brown matter pressed against the opening, then retreated as the muscle tightened.
Chad’s cock, ignored until now, was achingly hard, trapped painfully in his jeans. The obscene intimacy of it, the filthy reality, had short-circuited every conventional nerve and ignited a deeper, primal one. He was trapped between the cheeks of a woman who was actively, audibly trying to shit, and he was wildly aroused.
“Touch it,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “Touch where it’s coming out. Feel how stretched I am.”
His hand moved as if detached from his body. He reached forward, through the stifling heat, his fingers trembling. They made contact with the hot, wet ring of muscle just as it gave another powerful, involuntary push.
The sensation was shocking. The muscle was incredibly hot, softer than he expected, but rimmed with a firm, tight tension. It yielded under his touch, then clenched fiercely around his fingertip as it bulged outward again. He felt the undeniable, solid pressure of something immense just behind it, waiting.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” she panted. “Now… now get your fucking pants off. I want you inside me. I want to feel you there while I push this out. I want it squeezing around your cock.”
Her words were filthy, direct, a electric shock to his system. He fumbled with his belt, his shredded jeans, pushing them down over his hips with frantic, clumsy movements. His erection sprang free, thick and leaking. The humid air felt cool on it for a second before the enveloping heat swallowed the sensation.
He shuffled forward on his knees, the fleshy walls of her ass guiding him, until the head of his dick bumped against her slick, pulsating entrance. The contrast was dizzying—the soft, wet give of her outer labia, the fierce, rhythmic clenching of the star-shaped muscle just beyond.
He didn’t wait. He pushed forward.
Her anus accepted him with a hungry, wet gasp. The ring of muscle, stretched and stressed by the internal pressure, fought him for a second before yielding, sucking him inside with incredible, tight heat. He groaned, his head falling forward against the sweaty flesh of her cheek. It was unbearably tight, hotter than anything he’d ever felt, a velvety, muscular vise that pulsed and milked his length as he sank deeper.
“Fuck, yes,” she hissed. “All of it. Give me all of it, you shy little nerd. Stuff me.”
He bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against the full, sweeping curve of her ass. He was buried to the hilt in her rectum, her colon clenching around him in waves that mirrored the building pressure of the fecal mass ahead. He could feel it, a firm, immense presence just beyond where his cock ended, separated only by the thin, straining wall of her intestine.
He began to move, pulling back and thrusting in. The friction was intense, slick with her natural juices and the prelude of what was to come. The sound was wet, obscene, slapping softly in the confined space. Each thrust massaged the immense load inside her.
“Harder,” she grunted, her body beginning to strain in earnest. “Make me feel it. I’m gonna… I’m gonna shit now, Chad. I’m gonna push it out around your fucking dick. You’re gonna feel every fucking inch of it.”
Her body tensed around him. The rhythmic clenching of her rectum changed, becoming a powerful, sustained bearing down. The muscles locked, pushing. He felt the solid mass inside her shift, moving downward. The pressure around his cock increased impossibly, squeezing him like a fist.
She let out a guttural, straining cry. “HERE IT COMES!”
The bulging, dark-brown tip of the stool breached her stretched opening, pressing directly against the base of his shaft where it entered her. It was massive, easily the diameter of a soda can, solid and insistent. As she pushed with a primal groan, it began to extrude, slowly, inevitably.
Chad could only watch, mesmerized and impossibly turned on, as the thick, solid length of shit began to emerge, sliding against his buried cock. The feeling was indescribable—the intense, tight heat of her, the firm, unyielding pressure of the waste moving past his sensitive skin, the sheer, shocking intimacy of it. The smell filled the cramped space, earthy, ripe, and profoundly organic.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she chanted, her voice a broken stream of pleasure and release as the log extended, forcing her opening wider, glistening and brown. It pushed out another inch, then another, a fabricated monument to her consumption. It began to sag under its own weight, curving downward toward the ruined carpet below.
Chad’s orgasm ripped through him, triggered by the visual obscenity and the relentless, squeezing pressure. He came in violent, pulsing jets, his seed adding to the slick mess inside her, his cries muffled against her skin. His hips jerked uselessly as she continued to push, the turd now a good foot long and still emerging, a seamless, continuous extrusion.
Her climax followed, a body-wracking convulsion that made the entire mountain of her ass shudder. The valley walls squeezed him relentlessly. Her rectum spasmed around his softening cock, milking him dry as the final length of the immense stool slid out with a soft, wet plop onto the growing pile beneath them.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant echo of sirens. The heat was a solid thing. The smell was a blanket.
Chad, still buried inside her, felt the exhausted tremors running through her body. The sphincter around him fluttered weakly, spent.
“They’re… they’re bringing a crane,” a muffled voice shouted from beyond the wreckage. “We need to brace the exterior wall!”
Amanda’s body gave one last, subtle shift. It was not a growth spurt, but a final, settling sigh of mass. The cracked floor beneath them emitted a sound like a pistol shot—a main support joist finally snapping.
The entire back half of the store dropped six inches with a jarring, concrete roar. Dust billowed. The single flickering light died, plunging them into absolute, warm, pungent darkness.
Chad, trapped within her, felt the new, precarious angle. He knew the structure was failing. But as he lay there, encased in her aftermath, her spent body a fortress around him, he felt a strange, complete safety. The world outside was falling apart. In here, in the dark, with her, he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Her voice came softly through the black. “Don’t you dare pull out.”
He didn’t. He stayed buried in the slick, pulsating heat as the world settled into its new, tilted orientation. Dust choked the air, but here, in the pocket between her ass and the slumped floor, he breathed in her. The smell was a complex layer cake of sweat, spent sex, her sharp release, and the sweet, undeniable odor of her fat.
“The floor,” he mumbled, his lips moving against skin that tasted of salt.
“Fuck the floor,” she breathed, her voice thrumming through the flesh surrounding him. A deep, contented groan vibrated in her core. “That felt… astronomical. I’ve never pushed out something that big. You felt it. You were right there.”
“I was.” His own voice was awed. He was still inside her, softening but present. The physical connection felt more binding than any vow.
Outside, the shouts took on a new, panicked tenor. “The foundation’s compromised! She’s going down! Get the crane cable around the main support beam!”
Metal shrieked. A deep, grinding noise came from beneath them, a sound of reinforcement rods bending under a weight they were never meant to hold. The angle of their world shifted again, a slow, lurching descent of a few more inches. Chad’s stomach dropped. Amanda simply sighed, a rumble of pure satisfaction.
Her body answered the movement. It wasn’t a violent surge. It was a slow, inexorable inflation, as if the drop in elevation allowed her mass to relax into a new, larger volume. The cheeks surrounding him, already beyond comprehension, pushed outward with a gentle, firm pressure. The crushed display cases to either side squealed in protest, then were silenced as the fleshy advance crushed them flat.
The space around Chad tightened. The warm, fleshy walls pressed more insistently against his back and chest. It was a loving, smothering embrace.
“They’re trying to brace it,” Chad said, listening to the frantic activity.
“Let them try,” she murmured. Her hand, somewhere above and behind him, shifted. He felt a tremor as she likely reached for something. A moment later, the sound of crinkling cellophane cut through the distant chaos. The smell of powdered sugar and fried dough filtered into their intimate space. She was eating, calmly, while the building collapsed around them.
The absurdity of it—the mundane act amidst the catastrophe—made a hysterical laugh bubble in his throat. It came out as a choked puff of air against her skin.
“What?” she said, her mouth full.
“You’re having a snack.”
“I’m fucking starving. That took everything out of me.” She took another loud bite. “You want some?”
He didn’t. He wanted something else. The heat, the pressure, the total sensory overload had rewired him. His cock, spent moments ago, began to stir again within her still-fluttering channel. The sensation of filling, of being deeply seated inside her overwhelmed body, was an addiction he hadn’t known he craved.
He shifted his hips, a subtle experimental grind.
A low, hungry sound escaped her. The crinkling stopped. “Again? You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
“You’re still…” he began, but words failed. You’re still here. You’re still huge. You’re still mine.
“I’m still everything,” she finished for him, her voice dropping to a possessive purr that he felt in his bones. “And you’re still buried in my ass. So move. Fuck me properly this time. Make me feel it in my goddamn stomach.”
He began to thrust. It was harder now, the space more confined, his movements a strenuous push against the incredible, yielding mass of her. Each withdrawal was a fight against suction; each plunge was a submission to overwhelming heat and tightness. The wet, rhythmic sounds were louder in the new, cramped dark.
“Yeah,” she hissed, abandoning her snack. “Like that. Claim it. It’s your hole now. You feel that? My insides are still churning. There’s more in there. You’re fucking me while I’m full of shit.”
Her dirty talk was a blunt instrument, shattering any last pretense of normality. It excited him violently. He slammed into her, his own grunts joining hers. He reached blindly forward, his hands sliding over the sweat-slick curve of her inner cheek, seeking purchase. His fingers traced the path of the earlier, weeping crack in her skin. It was wider now, a tender fissure.
He pressed his thumb against it.
Amanda shrieked, a sound of pure, unraveling pleasure. Her rectum clamped around him in a series of frantic, milking spasms. “YES! There! Do it! Push in!”
He didn’t hesitate. He worked his thumb against the stressed, fluid-beaded dermis. It gave way not with a tear, but with a soft, parting sigh. His thumb sunk in to the first knuckle, then to the base, into a layer of hot, subcutaneous softness that wasn’t quite muscle, wasn’t quite fat, but something new, something deep and yielding.
She came instantly, a crescendo of guttural cries. Her body didn’t just clench; it seemed to swallow. The walls around his cock convulsed, pulling him deeper. The flesh around his buried hand seemed to warm and pulsate.
And then, the consumption began.
It started where his thumb was plunged inside her. The parted flesh, intelligent and hungry, began to knit itself back together around his digit. It wasn’t healing. It was incorporating. He felt a subtle, insistent pressure, a gentle pulling as the very substance of her adhered to his skin, welcoming him in.
“Oh… oh, Chad…” she moaned, the sensation clearly rippling through her. “It’s… it’s taking you.”
A strange, warm lethargy spread from his hand up his arm. It was not unpleasant. It was an immense, gravitational pull toward sleep, toward dissolution. He was losing the boundary where he ended and she began. The pressure around his cock intensified, not with muscular contraction, but with a gradual, cellular encroachment. Her inner walls were conforming to him permanently, molding to his shape and holding him there.
He was becoming a part of her landscape.
He should have been terrified. The last spark of his old self, the nerdy kid from the computer store, recognized this as the ultimate ending. There was no coming back from this. But that self was distant, a ghost. The man he was now, the one buried inside the woman who was a force of nature, felt only a profound, echoing rightness.
He stopped thrusting. He went utterly still, allowing the process to happen. He nuzzled his face into the skin before him, inhaling her final, definitive scent.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
Her body answered. The gentle, pervasive pull strengthened. The flesh around his thumb crept over his knuckle, encasing his hand. The warmth enveloping his cock became a constant, perfect pressure. The sounds of the dying building faded, replaced by the thunderous, rhythmic symphony of her heartbeat and the deep, tidal rushes of her digestion. The darkness behind his eyelids and the darkness surrounding him became the same.
HE'S CONSUMED.
HE’S CONSUMED.
The absorption was not violent. It was a gentle, cellular invitation. The flesh of her inner thigh, where his face rested, softened and deepened. His cheek sunk into it as if into a warm, forgiving memory foam that adjusted perfectly to his contours. The subtle pull around his buried thumb and enveloped cock was a constant, humming pressure. It felt less like being digested and more like being rewritten, his outline blurred by the overwhelming reality of her.
He slept. Or something like it. A state of non-thought, where the only inputs were heat, rhythmic internal sounds, and the faint, sweet smell of her metabolism.
Outside, time passed in a chaos he was no longer part of. The crane’s cables whined. A wall buckled. People screamed. Orders were shouted over megaphones, their meaning lost. The floor joists snapped one after another like a string of firecrackers.
Amanda slept too, a contented, log-like sleep of incredible repletion. Her body, however, did not rest. It worked. It converted. It expanded.
The growth began not with a surge, but with a sigh. A long, slow exhalation of mass that made her spill outward in every direction at once. The ruined shoe store’s remaining walls vanished, consumed by the advancing wave of her hips. Polystyrene ceiling tiles rained down and stuck to her sweaty skin. The crane, its cable finally secured around a main column, strained, whined, and then its engine blew with a puff of black smoke as the column simply ceased to be, absorbed into the widening delta of her back.
She filled the concourse.
Her ass, the twin mountains that had buried Chad, now swelled to become the landscape. They pushed past the shattered gate, flowing into the open mall walkway. The growth was obscenely lush, a rolling, unstoppable tide of adipose tissue that swallowed benches, potted plants, and the pretzel kiosk with a soft, crushing sound. Her skin, stretched beyond any natural limit, took on a waxy, translucent sheen. A fine network of bluish veins mapped the continental stress. In places, the dermis split with soft, wet pops, not bleeding, but weeping a clear, oily serum that smelled of warm butter and salt.
The public, those who hadn’t fled, were caught.
A group of teenagers, phones held high, were engulfed up to their waists as the warm flesh flowed around their legs like rising dough. They shrieked, struggling, but the fat was insistent, pressing their jeans-clad legs together, climbing their torsos. An older couple, frozen in shock, simply disappeared as the advancing flank of her hip rolled over them, a wave of living lard swallowing them without a splash.
Chad felt it all from within. The world shook with her growth. The pressure around him increased, a constant, cozy compression. He was a fossil in the making, embedded in the deepest stratum of her. He stirred, consciousness returning not to panic, but to a profound sense of placement.
Then, a new sensation. A deep, grinding convulsion from the very core of her. A peristaltic wave, different from before. It wasn’t moving waste. It was moving him.
“Mmm,” Amanda hummed in her sleep, a sound of deep satisfaction that vibrated through him. “Time to go, baby.”
Her rectum, which had held him in a slick, warm embrace, suddenly changed tone. The muscular walls, which had seemed to welcome him in permanently, began a slow, insistent, rhythmic pulsation. It was not a spasm. It was a directive. A gentle, inexorable pushing.
He was being expelled.
The realization was quiet, factual. The flesh around his thumb loosened its kiss, releasing him with a soft, sucking sound. The snug channel around his cock began to systematically massage him outward. It was methodical, intimate. He was not being rejected; he was being delivered.
“That’s it,” Amanda murmured, her voice thick with sleep and power. “Gotta make room. Gotta keep growing. Out you go.”
He slid slowly, an inch at a time, as her body worked him free. The sensation was unimaginable—the intense, velvety friction of her insides coaxing his sensitive head, his shaft, his balls, out into the open. He was hard again, the stimulation too profound to ignore. He gasped, his hands pushing weakly against the immovable flesh of her inner cheek.
“Fuck… Amanda…”
“Just let it happen, nerd,” she sighed. “My body knows what it’s doing.”
He emerged into a new world. Not the ruined store, but the open mall concourse, now a canyon formed by the sheer cliffs of her ass on one side and the crushed facade of a sunglasses hut on the other. He was on his back, staring up at a flickering, broken skylight. The air was cooler, but thick with the scent of her—overpowering, omnipresent.
He was slick from head to toe with her internal fluids and his own spend. He lay in the shadow of her, but he was free. He tried to sit up.
He couldn’t.
Her body was still moving, still growing. And the process of expulsion was not complete. The immense, overwhelming pressure inside her was shifting, moving something else. Something behind where he had been.
He understood. He began to shuffle, to crawl backwards on his elbows, his bare skin sliding on the tile floor greasy with her effluvia.
Amanda’s breathing changed. It became a low, focused grunt. The towering wall of her ass cheek tensed, the entire mountain of her body shuddering. The deep, organic rumble he knew too well echoed through the concourse, louder now, amplified by the vast cathedral space of her insides.
Her anus, still glistening and stretched from his exit, bulged dramatically. It pulsed open, a dark, straining star.
“Oh, here we go,” she panted, a note of effortful triumph in her voice. “The main event.”
From that dark, pulsating opening, the tip of the stool began to appear. It was not like the last one. It was wider, darker, a colossal plug of dense waste. It was the physical testament to everything she’d consumed—the pizzas, the milkshakes, the very structure of the building, perhaps even the essence of the people now buried in her folds. It inched out with a slow, gravitational inevitability.
Chad stared, paralyzed by a grotesque fascination. It was as thick as his thigh. The smell was profound, a peat-bog richness that coated the air.
It kept coming. A solid, unbroken column of brown that extended further and further, beginning to sag under its own monumental weight. It brushed against his leg as it grew, warm and disturbingly firm. It pushed past him, a soft, insistent nudging that moved him along the floor. He was being pushed aside by her shit.
Amanda groaned, a sound of ultimate release. The final foot of the monstrous turd slid out with a wet, heavy slap onto the concourse floor, followed by a gush of liquid release that splattered across Chad’s legs and the ruined tiles. The pile was a monument, steaming faintly in the cool air.
She relaxed. A long, shuddering sigh of relief escaped her. And with that sigh, the growth resumed in earnest.
Freed from the internal blockage, her body inflated like a feverish balloon. The fat rolled outward in undulating waves. It flowed down the concourse, swallowing the distance toward the food court. It pressed upward, cracking the second-floor walkways. The flesh that had buried the teenagers now climbed over their heads, leaving only a few frantically waving hands visible before they, too, were subsumed. A security guard, running, slipped in the greasy smear and was overtaken by the soft, advancing tide.
Chad scrambled to his feet, naked, shivering, watching the world disappear under the woman he loved. Her skin gleamed under the emergency lights. New fissures opened, weeping their oily sap. The very floor beneath her deformed, tilting as the foundation of the mall itself began to fail under the concentrated, impossible weight.
She was no longer just a woman in a mall. She was the mall. Her body was the architecture. Her flesh was the new landscape.
From his place on the ground, covered in her filth, Chad looked up at the continent of her. One of her eyes, the size of a dinner plate, opened slowly and looked down at him. A smile touched her lips.
“Hungry?” she asked, her voice the rumble of continents.