Daphne wins a prize

Daphne was a young executive on her way up the corporate ladder.  She was a blonde bombshell used to getting her own way and it showed.  Years of indulgence had a real impact on her figure, rounding out her thighs and piling inches onto her bustline so that she sported a wildly voluptuous figure. She looked every inch the sexpot, even in her demure gray business attire.  Her tight gray pencil skirt hugged her meaty hips tightly; when she crossed her legs with the slight soft zipping noise of nylons sliding against one another, the stitches down the sides looked ready to split.  Her snug gray jacket and conservative white blouse looked almost inadequate to cover her expansive bosom.  She was only 28 – and with her rounded face and her light blonde hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail, she looked even younger - but she was fast becoming one of the most feared sharks in the business world due to her ruthless determination to be the biggest and the best at everything.
And she was on her way to another success.
Daphne strutted her way into Chez LeBeum with the confidence born of success.  This restaurant was known to be the swankiest dining spot in town, the place where only the absolute crème de la crème dined.  It was ridiculously exclusive, and the owner was known to be a tempermental eccentric, but the food was supposed to be so good that there was a year long waiting list.  Not even the senior partner in her firm could secure a table here.  That would discourage even the most arrogant diners, but not Daphne.
Daphne briskly shoved her way to the front of the line, pushing clumps of waiting customers aside, and snapped her fingers in the maitre’d’s face.
“Table for one,” said said haughtily, tossing her hair, “And be quick about it.  I’ve got a very important conference call later this evening with major executives in London and Tokyo and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Hmmm,” said the maitre’d, unfazed. A tall lean man, he stroked his pencil-thin mustache thoughtfully. “And Madam does have a reservation, yes?”  
“No,” said Daphne, “but you’ll make room.  Let’s just say…I know people.  And I could make things very unpleasant for you if I get anything less than 100%, perfect service here.”
Daphne leaned over the maitre’d’s podium, narrowed her eyes and poked him sharply in the chest.  Her was positive that her bluff would work.  This snooty stickman had probably seen it all – bribes, begging, bartering – but outright threats? Nobody had the chutzpah to do that here.  Daphne knew that if this worked her reputation would soar. She had come alone, but she had no doubt that word of her exploits would soon be common knowledge among the city’s business elite.
The maitre’d opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when a short waiter ran up and pulled on his jacket sleeve.  He bent down, so that the waiter could whisper excitedly in his ear.  His long, sour face broke out in a look of surprise.
“But of course, Madam,” said the Maitre’d. “I have just been informed that the owner himself wishes for you to dine here tonight, compliments of the house.”
“What?” said Daphne, suddenly shaken, her light blue eyes opening wide. She hadn’t expected that.  How had the owner learned of her entrance so quickly?  He must have waiters all over this place reporting to him minute by minute what was happening in this restaurant.  Talk about hands- management! The guy must be a control freak!
“Francois here will show you to your table.” The maitre’d pointed to the little waiter, who bowed deeply.
“Follow me, Madam.”
Daphne smirked to herself as she heard the line behind her explode into furious murmurs. No doubt most of those people had been waiting for hours and had no clue who this plump young woman was that she should get such special treatment.  She followed the waiter with an extra swing in her step, her perfect derriere wiggling in her form-fitting skirt, her stiletto heels clacking smartly on the floor.
They sat her at a table right smack in the center of the dining room.  The waiter looked like he was about to pull out a menu, but Daphne cut him off. She liked to stay in control.   
“I’ll have the business dinner,” said Daphne archly. “And don’t skimp on the salad.  I’ll know. And I’m not someone who’ll accept anything less than the absolute best.”
“But, Madam, you are our 1000th customer this year! You have won a most special prize!”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Great, I’m sure. What’d I win? A T-shirt?”
“No, Madam, perish the thought!  Chez LeBeum would never think to give away something as tacky and tawdry as that!  You have won a free dinner and a show – a fabulous five course dinner prepared by our top chef and first-row seating to our evening’s exotic entertainment.”
Daphne tried to conceal her surprise. Six courses? Free entertainment? Obvioulsy, the owner had heard of her, this rising new star in the business, and was actually trying to impress her!  Her mind raced, feverishly calculating just how much she could milk this for.  Why, if her co-workers at the office learned that she had gotten the royal treatment here at Chez LeBeum…they’d probably make her CEO!
“That’s a different story,” said Daphne, “I’m glad to see you know how to treat your customers. Good, then let’s see this meal. And don’t skimp!” she added, pointing an accusatory finger. “I’ll know.”
“I would not dream of it, Madam,” said the waiter. “I will see that you get the full meal that’s coming to you.”
***
Minutes later, the waiter placed the first course before Daphne.  It was a bowl of deep red soup, chunks of thick meaty sausage floating in a thick creamy brine, topped with a dollop of sour cream.  Daphne cocked a skeptical eyebrow.  Typical, overly rich Euro-crap, full of fatty creams to disguise the overall blandness.  I can’t believe they’re trying to pass this off as a fancy meal, she thought bitterly, I’ll really have some choice words for these jerks when I done with this.
“This soup is actually made from over twenty different kids of sausage –“ began the waiter, but Daphne cut him off sharply.
“Yesyes, I’m sure it’s just wonderful,” she said sarcastically. She dipped her spoon into it and delicately sipped a taste.  She almost fell out of chair in shock. It was fabulous!  She fell in to eating immediately.
By the third course, the changes in Daphne were obvious.  She was getting fatter, growing subtly with each decadent bite.  Her breasts, already ample C-cups, had swollen up and now resembled a pair of pumpkins struggling for room within the confines of her jacket. Her stomach, too, had grown, rounding out into three flabby jelly rolls that tested the bounds of her blouse and the waistband of her skirt.  The buttons down her front strained against her big boobs and bloated belly, as slight gaps began to appear.
At the next table, a couple turned to look at Daphne, smiling insidiously.  
“You’re filling out quite nicely, aren’t you, Miss?” said the male, his face contorted into a nasty leer.
“Yes, you’re becoming quite the fat little piggy, aren’t you?” agreed the woman.  They both laughed.  Daphne didn’t react; she didn’t even hear them. She was way too intent on this delicious plate of potato dumplings, all drippy and buttery and warm.  Daphne was only vaguely aware of what a spectacle she must be, shoveling food into her face, but she was so caught up in the pleasurable sensations that this exquisite food released on her tastebuds that she didn’t care.  She was wholely oblivious to the more insidious changes taking place in her slowly ballooning body, her widening rump and bloating tummy.
She leaned back briefly to heave a contented sigh and was startled by the fullness of her own tummy.  Wow, she thought, stunned, this food really is filling! I can’t believe how stuffed I am and this is only the third course.  I’ve still got three more courses to go.  
Absently, she stabbed another dumpling on her fork and popped it into her mouth. Heavenly! She patted her swollen stomach, a big rotund dome that pressed tightly against the waistband of her skirt. Her skirt was snug before, but now it was hugging her curves so tightly that there were no creases at all in the material, which was stretched to bursting over her hefty thighs.
She swallowed the dumpling and felt the savory morsel travel down her throat into her distended abdomen.  Sure, she was full, she knew.  She should probably stop if she valued her figure, since this rich food was definitely sooooo fattening.  But it was all so good and Daphne was never one to pass up anything that was her due.
“Is Madam enjoying her meal?” asked the waiter obsequiously.
Daphne grimaced.  The truth was that she was indeed.  The food was absolutely spectacular and she couldn’t get enough of it.  But she knew better than to ever admit something like that.
“I guess it’s adequate,” she sneered, “for an establishment of this…low caliber.” She waved a chubby hand dismissively, oblivious to the strain her movement put on her puckered jacket buttons. “Keep it coming. Maybe some of these other courses you promised will be more impressive.”  
“Very well, Madam,” said the waiter, placing another tray before her – a beautiful heaping of pasta, piled high with thick meaty sauce and stringy melted cheese. Daphne’s stuffed gut gurgled in protest, but Daphne wasn’t one to admit defeat.  She plunged in with renewed gusto.
Daphne was porking up as she ate, her butt expanding into a pair of melon-sized cheeks that strained the stitching of her overly snug skirt.  Her juggs inflated slowly, like auto airbags in slow motion, as she crammed more and more food into herself.  Amazingly, impossibly, she looked like she had somehow gained at least a hundred pounds over the course of a single dinner.  Her big, fat body was pushing her business attire to its limits, yet, amazingly, it held on, stitches screaming, buttons groaning for release. It was getting harder to spoon food into her chubby cheeks as her soft round breasts rose before her like a set of inflating pontoons, mounding up and out of the top of her blouse and jacket like bread baking in an oven.
Her growing stomach was actually pushing her away from the table, adding to her difficulties.  Her arms, growing pudgier and fleshier as she consumed, wouldn’t bend as easily, but still she struggled to grab more food from the table.
“Fuck this,” she swore. She lunged for the plate, grabbing it and pulling it close to her mouth. Since getting to the table was such a chore, she set it on the shelf that her enormous breasts now created, putting it conveniently close to her greedy mouth.
That was only a temporary solution, though, because, as she ate, her hips pressed harder and harder into the armrests of her chair.  She was blowing up so big and so fast that she was soon going to outgrow it, and the tortured wood made ominous creaking noises as her expanding bulk put increasing pressure on its frame.  
“What…what’s happening to me?” gasped Daphne to herself between big, gluttonous gulps. “I’m… blowing up… like a balloon! I’m turning into a blimp!  But this food is just soooo good that I can’t stop…can’t stop…getting bigger…and fatter…and wider…and rounder…oohhh, sooo full…but soooo hungry.”
Her giant belly resembled a big, overripe watermelon on the vine, grown to ridiculous proportions, and ready to bust open. She prayed that her clothes would continue to hold her.
On the fourth course, the chair finally buckled and splintered, sending Daphne to the ground with a thunderous crash.  Daphne landed with a splat on her well-padded bottom, her enormous blubbery body quivering and shaking like a mountain of gelatin.  Her clothes shook and trembled but miraculously not a single stitch popped, despite the near-constant moans and grumbling they emitted.  Now the waiter had to place entrees right in front of her face as Daphne lay on the floor on her big bloated behind, too stuffed to lift herself up.  The entire crowd now turned to watch her, ignoring their own meals to gaze in fascination at this behemoth beauty stuffing herself to immobility in their mist.
“Look at this greedy hog.” Laughed one young woman, walking up to poke Daphne’s rounded flank. “She looks ready to burst!”
“I don’t think she’s going to last much longer,” said another diner, patting her billowing paunch.  His touch sent ripples through her gut.  Now everyone was whispering, remarking in wonder on Daphne’s increasing girth.
“She’s really getting huge! I’ve never seen anyone who gets the Chef’s Special treatment get THAT big.”
“And she’s not even done…I can’t wait to see how big she gets before this is all over.  It’s going to be a hell of a show.”
By the time Daphne finished the fifth course, she had grown absolutely enormous, resembling nothing so much as a gigantic, rotund blimp with a tiny peanut head almost enveloped by her burgeoning flesh.  She felt stuffed and gorged beyond belief, so full that her breathing was shallow and labored, her belly button ever-so-gently brushing the ceiling with every wheezing inhalation.  Her tortured clothes were stretched to the absolute limits around her vast blimpish bulk, straining so hard that it hardly seemed possible that they hadn’t burst to shreds already.  She was so full that it almost seemed that the pressure of her constrictive garments would be enough to rupture her.
Daphne was so round that she couldn’t move a muscle.  She could barely see beyond her own flesh, encased in a gray cloth prison that creaked and grumbled ominously.  
“Is Madam enjoying her meal?” asked the waiter’s voice.  Daphne blinked dumbly; she was so stuffed that it was hard to think straight, hard to even fathom the impossibility of her situation: that a single meal had blown her up to the size of a human blimp. After a moment, she regained some of her composure.
“Oh, yes,” she gurgled dreamily, “It’s absolutely delicioussss…everything is sooooo good…I could just keep eating like this foreverrrr…Urp!”  Daphne was so stupid and bloated that she didn’t even try to surpress the sudden burp that wracked her body, sending blubbery ripples under the surface of her insanely taut clothing.
“Now then, madam,” said the waiter, appearing in her field of vision, “We have one final course – the dessert.”
Daphne swiveled her head as much as she could, her eyes wide with panic…but also anticipation.
“Are you insane?” she wheezed, sweat pouring down her chubby face.  “I’m absolutely stuffed!  I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“But madam just said…nevermind, if Madam is finished, then Madam is finished.”
“Wait, wait!” Daphne yelped, as she heard the waiter’s voice fade slightly.  Was he walking away?  She desperately craned her neck – as much as she could – to try to catch a glimpse of him. She knew she was totally full, that consuming still more food was the height of folly…but it was all just so good that she couldn’t stop herself.
“Yes, Madam?” said the waiter’s voice.
“Just…just tell me what the dessert is,” said Daphne.  “I’m not saying that I want it,” she added snappishly, “I just need…er, want to know.”
“Of course, Madam.  It is a sumptuous white chocolate mousse, a house favorite, the richest and most decadent dish we have available at the restaurant.”
Somewhere along her enormous flanks, Daphne’s tiny, useless hands clenched and flexed, as if she was subconsciously trying to reach out for that tasty dessert that she knew was out of her reach.  Despite herself, Daphne felt her mouth begin to water.  That did sound positively sinful!  She knew that she shouldn’t still be hungry; her vast belly was throbbing with almost painful fullness even now, but the thought of this tempting treat made her simply ravenous.  She felt her stomach growl despite its fullness.
“Madam?” said the waiter. “Has Madam made her choice?”
Sweating, Daphne tried to answer.  She tried to deny her want…her need…she tried to say ‘No, I’ve had enough, no more, I couldn’t eat another morsel, enough already, I’ll explode,’ anything, but she couldn’t.  All that came out was a high-pitched, helpless squeak, as her pleasure circuits took control.  Helplessly, licking her plump lips, Daphne nodded to the waiter.
“It seems she may have some…difficulty, so if Madam would permit me the pleasure, I will help her.”  The waiter lifted a bowl above Daphne’s head, a huge silver bowl brimming with rich white chocolate.  She slowly started to tip the chalice and the warm sinful concoction dripped out into Daphne’s eager open mouth.
Losing all control of herself, Daphne eagerly lapped up the ooey gooey chocolate as it poured into her face.  Heavenly! Ripples of pleasure echoed through her cavernous blimp of a body. All around her, the other patrons, who had been so eager to observe her earlier growth, began to back away, whispering nervously amongst themselves.
“Do you think she’s going to make it?”
“She’s gone farther than any winner I’ve ever seen! I think she might even get through the dessert.”
“I don’t know…she’s looking pretty tight in there.  Let’s move back.  Er. Just in case…”
Their concerns didn’t even register, so lost was Daphne in the pleasures of the feast.  But as she swallowed the mousse, her body grew even more, swelling out in all directions like an inflating water balloon hooked to a faucet.  The summit of her massive belly slowly began to press against the ceiling, forcing more of her to expand outwards along her sides.  Her clothing stretched as thin as tissue paper, the seams groaning under the ridiculous pressure, the buttons trembling as they struggled to hold in her enormous balloon of a body.  Her clothes acted as a fragile exoskeleton, the only thing keeping her vast flabby body in some vague semblance of a human form.  She was completely round, like a gigantic soccer ball, a huge whale of a woman, a ball of blubber growing ever bigger, ever larger.
As the last drops of the mousse entered her mouth, Daphne was so crammed full that she didn’t dare even sigh in satisfaction. She looked like a mess. Her tubby face was covered in chocolate.  She lolled her tongue along her chunky cheeks, hoping to lap up even just a little more of that mind-blowing taste. She knew she shouldn’t, but, oh, fuck it, it was good.
“My God,” she mumbled, peering down at herself.  “What’s happened to me? I’m…I’m a blimp! I’m huge! Oh, crap, I’m so full…ugh, I can’t believe this, I think I’m gonna explode!”  She held her breath fearfully, but she didn’t blow as she feared she might.  She could feel everything she’d eaten churning around inside her voluminous gut, turning swiftly into new fat, a galaxy of blubber to add to her zeppelin-like girth.  Her tightly-quivering skin was at its absolute limit, ready to tear apart with the slightest provocation.  And it was all her fault for stuffing herself like such a pig!  How could she have lost control like that!?  This was terrible! It was all because of this terrible restaurant! They had done this to her.  I’ll show them, she thought angrily, as soon as I get out of here, I’m going to sue them for everything they’re worth! I’ll take them down!  They’ll soon regret the day they messed with  Daphne Sinclair!
She was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts by the waiter’s voice. “Did Madam enjoy her meal?”
“Mmm?” she said, confused.  She strained to look at him, but her own massive, chipmunk-like cheeks obscured her vision, pressing in on her round, moon-like face.
“Did Madam enjoy her meal?”
“No, Madam did not! Maybe the next course will be better!”  Daphne thought.  She tried to snap at the waiter but her lips had grown so fleshy that even talking was a challenge, so all she did was mutter incoherently.  But then realization hit.  The meal was over…she had eaten everything, consumed all eight courses of this insane feast…she’d surpassed her limits, stuffed herself beyond what any human could ever possibly consume and she hadn’t burst…the ordeal was over.  She felt a tingle of relief pass through her trembling, over-full belly, but she couldn’t so much as lift a finger in relief.
“Would Madam care for an after dinner mint, though?” asked waiter suddenly, holding up a tiny chocolate wafer.
Daphne stared, her eyes ballooning.  Sweat broke-out anew on her forehead as her eyes locked on that tiny mint.  A mixture of pure visceral fear and deep longing greed battled in her mind.  That mint…it looked so good.  So cool and refreshing.  It had to be just as good as the rest of the feast.  But she was so full, so ridiculously past full, that she dared not.  No, no, she couldn’t.  Yet she couldn’t stop herself from opening her mouth eagerly and lolling her tongue, begging, pleading wordlessly, for the waiter to place that last tiny treat into her waiting mouth, to give her that final little tidbit that surely would prove her undoing.  Her body quivered and creaked, so packed with blubber that the slightest waft of air against her sides produced a deep rumbling like a kettledrum.  The buttons of her jacket were ready to give; the gaps between each shivering button could be measured in feet.  The seams in her skirt were fraying, moaning with the intense pressure that her giant fat-filled thighs and belly were placing against it.  Her underwear, too, was bursting at the seams, her panties ready to split, her bra ready to buckle.  She was nothing but a helpless blob and the only way that she could save herself, the only way to end this before she simply exploded like an overfilled air mattress would be for her to stop eating, to refuse that mint.  But she knew that she was completely powerless.
Inside her head, she silently prayed that the waiter would have mercy, despite all her insults and rants, that he would refuse to obey her request and simply not give her the mint.  But, at the same time, she hoped, hoped beyond all reason, that he could let her have it, let her taste that one last savory bite.  She needed it.  The waiter was saying something in response to her, but she could barely hear him above the desperate creaking of her own overloaded body.  
“Uh!” she gasped, barely able to breathe enough to get out a sound. Her plump lips parted eagerly as the waiter leaned over to gently place that last nibble into her mouth.
“There!” he said unctuously, as he nudged her chin shut. The savory taste of rich mint chocolate touched her tongue, and Daphne cooed softly at the flavor.  Dumbly, she began to chew, her eyes glazed, her mind lost in rapturous pleasure, a goofy smile plastering across her puffy, sauce-spattered cheeks. Daphne struggled to swallow, forcing that last bite of mint down into her overbloated belly. And that was it.  She was finally done.  She gasped in relief, as far as she dared, since even breathing too deeply seemed like it would be enough to blow her poor over-stretched skin to bits.
But, unfortunately, she’d eaten just one bite too many. And her body was still swelling, stretching, becoming tighter and tighter.  Her eyes widened with renewed panic as she realized what was happening and she tried to squeak out a plea for help, but her burgeoning flesh made it impossible for her to talk.
“And now that you’re finished,” said the waiter, “It’s time for the show to begin!”
He must have noticed the quizzical look in her eyes a second before detonation.
“It will be a spectacular fireworks show, Madam. The biggest and the best.”