Kallie Tell
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Buffet Sluts- Part 2
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 03:00:18 +0000 UTCThe restaurant was somehow even larger than it had appeared from the outside, and seemed to stretch further in each direction that Lyla could actually discern. Just steps from the entrance row after row of booths began, and in each booth, an oversized, panting fatty in a collar was wedged as they gorged themselves, literal piles of food in front of them. Living up to its moniker, an enormous buffet snaked through the room like a river, and while some patrons were waddling towards it with empty plates, others had parked themselves right in front of a particular station, stuffing handfuls of greasy food directly from the pans and into their greedy, double-chinned faces. Each patron was accompanied by a notably large, scantily dressed woman clearly serving the same role as Sable, and many of the well-fed patrons were actually being fed by their assigned waitress, their faces becoming coated in sticky sauces, cheese, and frosting as they devoured bite after bite, seemingly desperate for more despite how much they’d clearly already put away.
While not every customer was the same size, there was no one Sable could see that weighed a pound less than 250, and the more she took in, the more she noticed blobs of fat so blubbery and enormous that they’d literally eaten themselves helpless, their fat swollen arms now too stubby to reach past the wobbling mountains of fat that made up their middles and access their plates. More than one of those supersized tubs had a funnel down their throat, and Lyla watched in horror as another waitress poured gallon after gallon of ice cream down the funnel of a pile of lard so oversized that even completely naked, Lyla struggled to discern their gender.
There was so much to take in it was almost overwhelming, and Lyla had to focus on individuals instead of the room at large in order to steady herself enough to remain standing. First, a woman with a belly so large and swollen that she genuinely looked ready to burst, moaning as her waitress crammed burger after burger into her mouth, barely giving her time to chew before forcing in the next bite. Then another woman laying flat on her back in her booth as her waitress, another well-endowed, barely dressed tubster, was actually sitting atop the table, forcing her customer to eat more and more from above as her own belly forced her fat thighs apart and hung just above the table's surface, jiggling with every one of the waitress's moments.
Another woman waddled by and Lyla almost gasped, the woman’s ass so unbelievably massive that Lyla was genuinely unsure how she was walking on her own accord. The woman was moving as slow as molasses, giving Lyla plenty of time to observe the way her fatty, wobbling cheeks bounced as her rounded hips swayed side to side, the roll comprising her love handles sitting heavily upon the shelf of her ass and still somehow giving her a prominent muffin top although she was entirely bottomless, her only remaining clothing a tattered button up shirt that had apparently burst open quite some time ago based on the volume of dried food stains that spattered it.
As she watched the pear-shaped obese woman lumber on, Lyla noticed more and more. A man so fat and helpless he could no longer exit the booth of his own accord being helped by a team of waitresses, all of them puffing, panting, and struggling as they attempted the wedge the unrecognizable lump of blubber out of the booth and onto what appeared to be a mobile scale, a heavily reinforced medical device featuring a handle with which whoever was pushing the wheeled fatty-mobile could steer. A woman resting her massive, bare breasts on the table as she scarfed down cherry pies with both hands, the red filling dripping from her sausage fingers and down her third chin almost reminiscent of a crime scene. A girl that couldn't have been more than 20 testing the limits of an oversized college sweatshirt, her face buried in a sheet of cake by the hand of her waitress and her unbuttoned jeans split right up the backside, exposing her toneless, cellulite dimpled ass.
Every single person in the building, even a few stray waitresses, were fat, glutted messes of lard, most of them panting and gasping between bites but still continuing to fill themselves like their lives depended on it. Most were feeding themselves, but a significant number seemed to be reliant entirely on their waitress to pack them full.
Lyla took a step back, frightened by the almost cult-like scene. She watched as a woman devoured a massive slice of pepperoni in just a few bites, coated her rounding face with grease, then smacked her belly while she burped heavily, apparently much to the delight of the pregnant-looking waitress beside her. The waitress smacked the woman's belly again then once more, each time producing a loud, unrestrained burp. In fact, Lyla was beginning to notice that the room was a cacophony of gluttonous onomatopoeia, and besides the groans, moans, and grunting from the restaurant's oversized clientele, there was a loud burp every few seconds, the sounds often overlapping to the point that it was difficult to trace their origin.
Lyla continued to watch as the woman picked up another slice and devoured it with the same ferocity, lifting her belly in two hands and shaking it to produce further burps and make more room, and Lyla felt that strange, almost dizzying feeling rise within her once again, much more difficult to ignore this time.
“I think I need to sit down,” she whispered, and Sable smiled, eyeing her closely.
“Well, let's sit down then,” she said, reaching up once more and adjusting the fastener on Lyla’s collar.
As they walked through the buffet to an open booth, Sable shook her head as if attempting to clear it and scanned the room, looking for May. If she was really here that meant she’d likely allowed this place to fatten her up for some inexplicable reason, and Lyla felt her heart tense with worry. She was sighing in a small measure of relief, pleased to not see May in her cursory scan but now more concerned with her actual whereabouts, when Sable pushed her down into a booth, the pleather surprisingly cushiony and comfortable despite its appearance.
“No,” Lyla protested, forgetting that just moments ago she’d been the one to request a seat. “No, no I told you, I'm not eating.”
“You’re not?” Sable repeated, no hint of a true question in her tone. “Why not? Wait, wait,” Sable said, pausing Lyla's response before it began. “Wait. Let me guess. All of this is strange, isn't it? It's weird. It's gross, it's disgusting. And you’re not into it. Are you?”
Lyla shook her head, aware that this line of questioning likely wasn't working in her best interest but unsure as to why.
“So, that means you’re not hungry right now,” Sable reasoned. “Right?”
Lyla nodded quickly but immediately stopped, realizing for the first time in her stupor that she was, in fact, starving. She hadn't eaten breakfast that day, hadn't even had her morning coffee in fact, and although she wasn't sure exactly what time it was, her stomach felt like it was gnawing at itself, a deep seeded, pleading hunger that actually ached in the pit of her. She resumed her nodding but suddenly found herself unable to look away from the portion of the buffet that curved nearest to the booth where she and Sable sat, the same pizza that the ample-chested woman had been gorging herself on right before Lyla was led to her seat just feet away.
She realized that beyond the auditory experience in the room there was another; the overwhelming olfactory experience. The food at the buffet smelled terrific, better than any Sable had ever had the privilege of sniffing in her life. The scents wafted towards her almost aggressively and it was as if she could feel herself lifted out of her seat like a cartoon, the alluring aroma ready to carry her away.
She licked her lips, unable to pull her eyes from the rows and rows of pizza options.
“Right?” Sable teased again, and Lyla snapped back to attention. ‘
“Right,” she affirmed weakly, already biting her lip with the clear intention of adding to her statement.
She opened her mouth then paused, wanting nothing more than to find May and get out, but it was as if her mind was playing tricks on her. Things in this place weren't what they seemed, and as she grew more and more achingly ravenous, as the temptation of the buffet grew harder and harder to resist, Lyla could almost swear that the fattened pigs around her were growing larger in real-time, right in front of her eyes. She watched a woman's shirt split up the middle while she chugged from what appeared to be a mini trough of milkshakes, and the woman barely even paused, giving her gut a quick rub without even removing the straw from her mouth. Lyla could’ve sworn that woman wasn’t quite that large when Lyla had first been directed to this booth only moments ago, but that wasn't possible. Her mind was playing tricks on her, it had to be.
She glanced back toward the buffet then looked across the booth at Sable, suddenly acutely aware she was being observed.
“Have you,” Lyla croaked out, feeling almost weak with hunger. “Have you seen a woman named May? Long brown hair, green eyes? She would’ve come here around dinner yesterday?”
“May,” Sable mused, slowly leaning back in the booth and jostling her barely covered tits, leaving them wobbling for several distracting seconds. “May…” she repeated, seemingly deep in thought. “You know, I think there was a May here yesterday, right around dinner time.”
“There was?” Lyla gasped, thrilled to make her first progress of the situation.
“Yea, yea,” Sable confirmed. “Drove a green car, right? Green hoodie?”
“Yes, that's her!” Lyla cried, so excited she sat up more fully despite the way her strength was quickly leaching away. “Do you know where she is?”
“I’ll have someone go her,” Sable assured with a smile. “But before I go, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
Lyla swallowed, her lips dry and pinpricks of sweat breaking out on her forehead.
“I just, I-” she stammered, realizing her physical state was more serious than she’d thought. “I think I have low blood sugar or something,” she murmured. “I feel so so hungry and so weak, I can barely move and my stomach hurts so badly, I-”
She paused, suddenly aware she was rambling.
“Well, low blood sugar is pretty serious love,” Sable answered earnestly. “We don't want you passing out. Are you sure you don't want anything?”
Lyla shook her head no, feeling almost too devoid of energy to answer.
“Whatever you want, love!” Sable chirped cheerily, scooching herself out of the booth with much effort and an equal amount of jiggling. “I’ll be right back with May.”
Lyla dropped her head into her hands the second Sable stepped away, only to hear her heavy footfalls returning much more quickly than Lyla had anticipated.
“May?” she groaned, lifting her head as quickly as she could muster.
Sable had returned alone but not unaccompanied, and set an enormous platter of pizza on the table in front of Lyla, the smell enough to literally make Lyla drool.
“I don't want it,” she breathed, feeling as if she were second from a loss of consciousness.
“Of course you don't love,” Sable agreed. “Just in case.”
She waddled away again, leaving Lyla alone with the assorted pizza platter, and she’d barely turned her back before Lyla fell on the platter with animalistic veracity, snatching an oversized piece and shoving it down her gullet so quickly she barely tasted it. She grabbed another piece and another, her hunger only growing as she stuffed her face with the grease-laden triangles of cheese and dough, and she found herself licking her slick fingers after each bite, her face already shiny with grease entirely unbeknownst to her. She’d been able to hold her composure for only a fraction of a second, and the levels of dopamine that flooded her body as she ate like a madman nearly made her moan in ecstasy. She’d never done anything like this before, never once acted this way around food, but she grabbed a fourth piece without pause or questions, no longer concerned with anything that had been said to her, or signed by her, earlier in this befuddling process.
A deep burp worked its way out of her mouth, surprising her greatly, but the pressure in her middle wasn't enough to make her slow down, each slice equating to at least three average-sized pieces and dripping with so much fatty oil it was like they’d been dunked. As she demolished the 4th slice she swore she heard Sable, who’d barely had time to make it out of earshot of the table, laugh, but she couldn't be concerned with anyone or anything else in the moment.
The pizza had been exactly as good as she had hoped, and each bite was somehow more flavorful than the last. She burped again, reaching down to rub her belly like she’d seen a countless number of other patrons do. She was surprised to find her hand landed not on a slightly bloated, firm middle that she typically expected on the rare occasions she overindulged, but instead on a soft, squishy protrusion that hadn't been there just moments before.
She looked down, hoping not to visually confirm what her hands had already explored, and found that while she was in fact bloated, a plump little roll was beginning to develop on her formerly flat middle. She grabbed it in disbelief, giving it a shake, and found that the extra meat on her bones was no illusion, no mirage.
The food, she thought absently, already eyeing another slice and licking her lips. It's the food, it's making me fatter. I have to stop, I have to-
She relinquished the thought as sound as it appeared and grabbed a fifth slice despite the effect of the previous one, taking it down in just a few bites and going for more, and more, and more. She was covering herself in sauce and grease, burping nonstop as she crammed down bite after bite, but she truly couldn't control herself. She was like a woman possessed, driven only by the desire to pack her growing stomach tighter and tighter with more of the best pizza she’d ever tasted in her life.
She moaned as she started in on her 11th piece, the taste somehow still surprisingly exceptional despite her familiarity with it, and polished it off in three bites, her fewest of the binge so far. She knew what she was doing wasn't right, wasn't normal, but it was like all rationale had taken the backseat and allowed her hunger to drive. It was an all-encompassing, almost terrifying hunger, and Lyla attempted to satiate it any way she could.
She burped, dropping a hand back down to her middle, and was startled to discover that the formerly unassuming rolls developing on her lower stomach had morphed into a round, lard-swollen belly that shook at the lightest touch and protruded far into the lap. Her shirt had grown tighter much more quickly than she realized, and as she lifted it she was forced to admit that the ball-like swell wasn't just bloat, the fat already pliable and soft to the touch. She was beginning to spill over the waistband over her jeans and was startled to discover they were growing tight as well, the button now digging into her quickly plumping belly.
She burped again, hesitated for a fraction of a moment, and grabbed another piece, feeling almost drunken in her need to consume more and more and more. She ate steadily for what seemed like just a few moments, the platter of pizza slices quickly disappearing one by one, and as she gorged herself she could feel her clothes continuing to tighten around her body, feel herself swelling up with juicy new pounds of grippable, squeezable fat.
Just as she crammed down the last piece Sable returned as if by magic, sidling up to the table and giving Lyla a smirk.
“Well. Looks like somebody was hungry after all, weren't you piggy?”
Lyla looked down, ashamed, but Sable grabbed her face tightly in one hand, forcing her to look up into the nearly naked woman's plump face and cunning eyes.
“I said, it looks like someone was hungry. And what do you say?” Sable prompted.
Lyla, her hunger once again mounting with the completion of the pizza platter that amounted to at least 4 full boxes, shook her head quickly, her denial still strong enough to pretend that this would all end soon.
Sable released her face, stepped back, and smacked Lyla directly in the center of her newly fattened gut, leaving a bright red handprint on her belly that many of the other patrons were also sporting.
“I said, what do you say?” Sable corrected, running her hands across the comparatively diminutive expanse of Lyla's gut and giving her newly developed love handles a squeeze. “Use your words. Do you want more piggy?”
Lyla nodded again then held up her hands as Sable reared back to smack her once more.
“I do, I do,” she rushed, finding herself as desperately ravenous as she had been only a handful of minutes before. “I want more.”
“Good pig,” Sable praised, and she was off, Lyla watching her back and mentally hurrying her slight waddle along. Sable moved pretty quickly for a woman of her size, and she navigated through the other lumbering fatties deftly, clearly much more accustomed to the blubber coating her frame than the newly chunked-up customers who’d had no time to develop the muscle required to lug around all their extra heft.
Lyla watched as another woman became stuck in her booth, moaning, squealing like a pig, and all the while refusing to put down the literal basket of pastries she was cramming into her mouth two at a time while a team of waitresses buttered her rolls in an effort to help her slide out. As Lyla observed, unable to look away, the trapped, near immobile lump grabbed one of the sticks of butter from a team member closest to her, placed it between two chocolate eclairs like a sandwich, and devoured it in a single bite, the team member only laughing and giving the closest available roll what appeared to be a congratulatory jiggle.
“Here,” Sable announced from her left, startling her. “Time to eat.”
She set down three trays piled high with various cuisines, the first featuring orange, teriyaki, and sesame chicken on a bed of fried rice and lo mein noodles, and a veritable mountain of deep-fried egg rolls, heavy cream crab rangoons, and double butter shrimp toast points. The second was clearly a dessert tray, and an entire cake, a dozen or so doughnuts, a gallon of ice cream, 6 chocolate muffins, and what appeared to be an entire tray of brownies fought for space. The third tray didn’t contain a single plate and was instead entirely covered in creamy, buttery fettuccine alfredo, the amount of pasta enough for more than 10 servings. The pasta was topped with garlic bread so fresh that peals of steam still curled from it, and Lyla found her mouth-watering once more, the scene in front of her too much to take.
“Wait,” Sable cautioned, grabbing her hand as she reached for a loaf of the tantalizing, garlicky carb. “I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't wanna do Lyla. That wouldn't be right, now would it?”
“C’mon,” Lyla pleaded, shocking herself with the desperation in her own voice. “C’mon, please? I’m so, so hungry.”
“But you said you weren't into this, right? Disrespected Mama Vale right to her face?”
“No,” Lyla begged. “No, I didn't mean-"
“Oh, you meant it all right,” Sable interjected. “That's why I had to make all those adjustments to your collar. You were a tough nut to crack Lyla. But we broke you.”
Lyla nodded at the offensive assertion, ready to agree with anything if it meant stuffing her face with more of the addictively delicious fare on offer.
“What did I say about using your words,” Sable instructed. “I need you to tell me you want this. Tell me you want to eat until you get stuck in the booth like the rest of these pigs. Tell me you want to be my good, fat little pet piggy.”
There was a silence, and Sable gripped her by the collar once more.
“Say it, or I turn up your collar's hormone release until you can only feel full with a funnel down your throat.”
“I do,” Lyla blurted. “I do want it. I wanna eat, I wanna be your fat little pig.”
“My fat little pet pig,” Sable corrected.
“Your fat little pet pig,” Lyla repeated breathlessly. “Please, just let me eat, let me-”
Her words were muffled then dampened completely by Sable shoving an entire fist-sized muffin into Lyla's greedy mouth and she moaned, chomping it down faster than even Sable had expected.
“There you go,” she encouraged. “Good girl. I wanna see you finish all your food just like that, alright?”
Lyla crammed down another muffin then suddenly found herself in a frenzy, a muffin in both hands as she attempted to feed herself faster and faster. She wiped out the muffins and began on the doughnuts, making quick work of them, and as she swallowed the last glazed circle she dropped her hand back to the bugle of her growing belly, realizing that she could rest a hand atop it now with plenty of room to spare. Her shirt had grown skintight and her paints were now painful, cutting into her and making her feel as if she were split in half. She grabbed a fistful of cake with her bare hands and shoved it in, then gasped in relief as her belly finally burst the antagonizing button of her now undersized legwear.
“There you go piggy,” Sable praised. “You have to be up to 200 pounds now. But you can do better, can’t you?”
Lyla didn't respond, too busy using both hands to grab fistfuls of cake and cram them into her mouth, her softened face and burgeoning double chin a mess of frosting.
“You’re making a mess piggy,” Sable accused, standing and placing a hand firmly on the back of Lyla's head. “Use your face like a good pig,” she instructed as she pushed her face down into the buttercream-frosted confection.
Lyla took a massive bite, coating the remainder of the clean space on her face with frosting, then began to eat faster and faster, feeling her belly push further and further into her thickening lap as she inflated herself with fat.
“Look at you,” Sable teased. “Grunting and snorting just like a real piggy. Good pet.”
Lyla devoured the cake in a matter of moments, clearing the rest of the dessert tray soon after that, and began on the Chinese food spread, once more moaning in ecstasy at the taste of every new dish.
“You’re really swelling up fast,” Sable observed, using one finger to poke into Lyla’s fatty upper belly. “You know, I've always said the shy ones are my favorite, but I think I might just be growing fond of you defiant ones too. You only protest cause of how badly you want it. You only hold back because you know that once you lose your self-control, you’ll never regain it. People like you are thin in protest to your temptations, not out of any inherency of your nature. Break down your boundaries a bit, and bam. You pack it on faster than the seasoned fatties.”
Lyla moaned, barely listening, and continued to scarf down bite after bite, her mind devoid of any thoughts except the meal in front of her. As her body grew fatter and fatter she could hear the seams of her poor clothing beginning to snap, and ignored every ominous creak that meant her clothes were reaching their inevitable end.
Sable gave her a hearty, unexpected smack on the belly and Lyla let loose a deep burp, any sense of shame devoured alongside the tens of thousands of calories she'd put away so far.
“You’re growing so quickly, piggy,” Sable taunted. “I haven't even gotten to play any games with you yet. Let me go see what I can find before you get too fat to stand.”
Comments
BJ
Where’d part 3 go?
bentleyjet
Okay but what if this was an actual business
