A couch strained in a constant series of dull groans and shrill squeaks, the reinforced frame buckling under too great a weight. Once fluffy cushions had been pressed flat, springs were permanently warped, and the back and armrests were utterly pulverized. The once-expensive, spacious couch was now hardly qualifying as furniture.
That was because two residents of this home rarely stepped off the couch. Their bulks had progressively filled more of it. Their weight and size deteriorated its condition to a husk of its former splendor.
Although one figure was more responsible for the couch’s cacophony.
Zentreya held a controller in puffy hands with sausage fingers mashing buttons. She twisted thick wrists and swung arms thicker than pillows. The bare arms were nothing more than sacks of meat, skin stretched around an abundance of fat that jiggled with every move. The sagging lumps wobbled and audibly smacked against the rest of Zen’s body, but the sound hardly registered with her. She was fully focused on the fast-paced FPS game in front of her.
“Dammit…” Zen bit a thick lower lip as her puffy face twisted between emotions. Hyperfocus, agitation, quick grins of satisfaction. Somewhere under grapefruit-sized cheeks were muscles burning from these simple movements. Even the roll of her second chin and neck quivered as she grunted or murmured small curses. The swishing of her long, red hair paled in comparison to the undulations of her flab.
Such movements carried through the rest of her body, its weight torturing the couch beneath her.
Zentreya's chest heaved despite sitting still. Her breath was as labored as a marathon runner, even though she had been in the same place for hours upon hours. Each breath sent waves through the mass of her breasts. These globs of fat were each the size of a beach ball, but they were spread about like a mostly deflated sphere.
One could look and think Zentreya’s massive breasts were perky, but it was a total farce. They relied on her belly for support. Without it, the flabby mounds would sag like pancakes. With the aid of her belly, each breast had plenty of space to splay about. Her grey-and-black tank top struggled to fully contain them, too. The thinner grey material had already torn in multiple places. Supple flesh bulged through these holes like balls of rising dough. The black fabric was sturdier and held a majority of Zen’s chest. However, the hem was unable to hold the lowest fold of each boob.
Zentreya’s belly jiggled and wobbled just as the rest of her did. Though this thicker fat was more resistant. Any roll across it was slow and heavy. Most rolls ceased their movements here. There was too much thick, dense flab to carry through.
Zen’s belly was fully exposed on top of that. Every inch, every curve, and its numerous folds were on display. A pair of thick belly wings sloped to the sides. Those rested above the diving roll of her double belly. Somewhere within that middle roll was a deeply buried belly button. Currently it was unknown how deep the fold was. Considering it was beyond Zen’s arm’s reach, she hadn’t checked herself.
This outfit used to have a skirt, but it had become too restrictive. So, Zen discarded it in favor of waddling around her home in her underwear. Though even those black panties had rarely made an appearance. The waistband had slipped beneath her love handles, and her belly covered the front. The rear was similarly missing for two reasons. Zen hardly ever stood for long, and her butt cheeks often swallowed the fabric.
Zen’s mostly sedentary lifestyle hid the fact that she was not bottom heavy. Her lower body was buried in fat, but it was less than her upper half. Similarly in contrast her butt was surprisingly round. Her breasts grew outward as they thickened, but her rear had shaped itself into the perfect set of massive bubble cheeks. It was nearly a shame they hardly got shown off. Most of what was visible were the upward bulging curves from being pressed against the back of the couch. That supple roundness carried into her hips as well.
Her thighs were a slight departure. Beneath her hips and into her upper thighs was a thick roll that sagged and pressed past her knees where her lower legs puffed into oblong spheres, sagging under the weight of her entire body. Bare feet were planted against the floor, shifting in place on the carpet.
The other figure burdening the couch tried to be more still. Though her body was jostled and shaken by Zentreya’s.
Monarch was constantly flustered at how easily her body quivered. Even if she tried to focus on the TV next to Zen’s, where her separate game was displayed, she could see her chest roll in her peripheral vision. Her eyes darted from the JRPG to her breasts.
Her suit jacket did little to conceal the masses of flesh. She couldn’t get the overcoat to fit anymore, but she at least clung to the smaller blazer beneath it. That was in as much a sorry state as the couch. There was no shirt beneath, just a lacy brassiere that used to show off a tasteful amount of cleavage. That was before her breasts had grown larger than her head, filling out until they were as large and as round as beach balls. Though unlike Zentreya’s, Monarch’s were more like fully inflated (perhaps overinflated) beach balls.
Their roundness was nearly flawless, relenting only to a gentle slope, giving the perfect teardrop shape. The tightness of the bra and blazer combined with their maintained perkiness gave them a statuesque position on Monarch’s chest. Yet, their constant jostling revealed just how soft and outright bouncy they were. On Zentreya’s most intense shakes, the force carried into Monarch’s chest until they bounced to strike her extra chin.
Whenever that happened, she’d scold Zentreya briefly to little result.
Similar to her breasts, Monarch’s belly was incredibly smooth and rounded. The upper slopes were broad and protruded to just short of her arm’s length. The slope took a sharper turn now, but still stretched on until the lower belly began to curve inward again. The width was greater than her wingspan, thus giving her a luxuriously rounded gut larger than an overstuffed, jumbo-sized beanbag chair. The curves of her sides tucked above her hips. She didn’t have flabby love handles, and her sides instead curved out similarly to her stomach.
Naturally, all of this supple, pale flesh was exposed. Monarch hadn’t buttoned her jacket since she lost sight of her toes. There was too much belly fat to cover it all. Her arms were too short to wrap around her gut, and the fabric was too yielding to bridge the gap. The lack of rolls also meant an adorable belly button was visible in the center. Though not a visible pit, her belly flat formed a horizontal slit over it. Still present and deep enough to stuff a finger into.
Monarch’s obesity was unplanned, and she had yet to come to terms mentally with it. She had adjusted enough to keep gaming, though. Zentreya’s wide, flabby breasts made it feasible for her arms to rest atop it. She could then put both hands on a controller. Monarch’s chest was too round and perky for that.
The solution for that was a keyboard and mouse! A mousepad rested on her upper belly curve, and a puffy hand held a mouse. Her fingers were slightly pudgy, but clicking a few mouse buttons was easy enough. On the other side of her bulk was a full-sized keyboard. The number pad on the right perfectly slid under her left boob. That helped keep it in place despite the curve of her gut. Her fingers proved dexterous enough to click hotkeys the gamer had memorized, too.
Monarch’s forearms were puffy and thickened toward her elbows. There was no denying their cone-shaped thickness. However, she could use them with relative ease. The same couldn’t be said for her upper arms. Those were as thick as and almost shaped just like tires. Their slight lopsidedness dulled the comparison, but the thickness was accurate. The upper side near her shoulder was packed tightly enough that it rose in a taut lump.
Meanwhile, the underside sagged and cascaded over her sides. These HAD been stuffed in her blazer somehow. The fabric was tight and limited the minimal movement they had, but the fabric persisted somehow.
Monarch’s lower body was where her shape changed. Whereas Zentreya was flabbier with a strangely round and perky butt, Monarch didn’t have a bubble butt to match her smooth upper body. No, she had a flabby, sagging butt with sizable saddlebag cheeks. Her pencil skirt had gone the way of her overcoat, discarded. There was no way to wrap it around her lower abdomen, and her fat ass would have sagged freely from it.
At least her panties were more visible than Zen’s. The stretched waistband ran out from under her belly and rested atop her hips (thanks to the lack of love handles) and there was a sizable canopy over the top of her butt cheeks. It didn’t cover much, let alone a quarter of her ass, but it was more than Zen could say.
Her legs were similar to her upper arms. Her thighs were broad and doughy, the front-facing portions thinner with more densely packed fat. The rear-facing halves squished against the couch bulged in both directions, squishing in the middle and flowing out to the sides. Though one side was squished against Zentreya. Her shins were covered in a thick dome-like sheath of fat, while her calves thickened and sagged over her ankles. She used to have leggings that ran to her upper thigh, but the lumpy shape of her legs made them too difficult to slip on.
“Ugh!” Zen threw her weight back against the couch. The supports groaned again as more of the woman’s weight was foisted on them. She shifting and fidgeting didn’t help either. One hand gripped the control harshly while the other balled into a hammy fist. That fist soon started to thump against her breast. Every impact sent waves through it (and into Monarch).
Monarch tried to focus on her game, but her chest was wobbling. She paused and turned toward Zen, a soft cheek squishing against her shoulder. “Did you lose another match? I keep saying all your shaking won’t help you.”
Zen released an agitated huff. “It feels like it does something.” She murmured and started to scratch her belly. The back-and-forth movement of her arms jostled the sides of her breasts, pushing waves toward the center. Both undulated like this even after the scratching stopped.
“It does. It jiggles you, it jiggles me, it's killing the couch.” Monarch looked at herself and Zentreya. Just talking seemed enough to move their fat. It brought back her self-conscious worries. Maybe it’s time we take a break. Get on our feet for a bit.”
Zentreya looked at Monarch as if she suggested they rob a bank. Nothing else could match the absurdity. She rolled her eyes and tilted her head back. This inadvertently flaunted her thick throat, while some upper back fat cushioned her head. “Nnng, I’ll pass, ugh.” She groaned and stretched, pushing her legs out as far as they could. Even with her feet spread apart, her rolling inner thighs squished together. “Lunch will be ready soon. I’ll eat then take a nap.”
“Lunch, already?” Monarch swore breakfast had barely passed. ‘Maybe I should get moving? If I stuff my face, I’ll be stuck here until dinner.’ She thought. Her weight was the product of a vicious cycle of binging and lazing. All of her meals had been lovingly prepared by another streamer, one who took it upon herself to act overly motherly for anyone who would let her, Chacha.
‘But my game…’ Monarch looked at her screen. Zentreya’s constant shuffling hadn’t fully distracted her from the incredibly crafted JRPG. She couldn’t get up and leave it. Maybe she could save quickly and continue in her room?
Monarch reached for her mouse, but her impeccable manicured nails accidentally grazed it. The mouse slid over the slope of her belly like a bobsledder. It carried down her thigh before it hit one of Zentreya’s rolls. She watched it bounce…then vanish.
“Uh, I can use a shortcut on my keyboard.” Monarch thrust her hand out too quickly. She accidentally shoved the keyboard. It was pushed aside, but the number pad under her breasts held on!
For a second. The keyboard fell to the floor with a thump. It might have well been dropped into a bottomless pit.
“Maybe Chacha could-”
The game bluescreened.
“That sucks,” Zen murmured despite her eyes being closed.