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The noise was faint, but Sophia was intent on hearing the intoxicating pop pop pop of bursting thread. The seams of her shorts split in concession to her massive haunches, parting to reveal more alabaster thigh. This moment was a long-held fantasy turned reality. She wanted to stop time, relive achieving her goal again and again, savor the sweet visuals.
The red recording light on the video camera meant she could do just that. Documenting her weight gain had turned into Sophia's secondary obsession. Each time she circled her thighs with a tape measure, stepped on a scale, or sat down to a vast fast food buffet was digitized and stored away as files on her laptop. There were hours of unedited footage crowding her hard drive of her squeezing into old bras. She danced in front of the camera, talked dirty to it.
She enjoyed playing back those moments, propped up by pillows in bed and continuously snacking as she saw herself at a shrimpy 114 kilograms bending over to tie her shoes. Judging by her cute distressed grunts, it was a struggle then, and the thought that her gut prevented her from replicating this mundane task gave her a rush of guilty pleasure. She was so much larger now!
It was a pity she didn't have a scale that could handle her new mass. Knowing her exact weight sort of made it official. But Sophia reminded herself that her goal was less of an arbitrary number, it was more of a visual milestone. And she had made it- she finally had the figure of her dreams: the door frame-brushing hips and jutting ass, heavy boobs riding atop a low-slung belly. She drank in the symphony of tortured bed springs as she leaned over to free another individually wrapped cake from its box. Sophia embodied plushness and hyper-fed contentment.
Not fed enough apparently, she thought petulantly as she flung the empty box across the room.