Vanilla lived the perfect life. At noon, she sat in her suburban home. Her carpet was a lovely shade of sand, while her walls wore a whimsical hue of sky blue. She sat in an upholstered chair with a tea cup and saucer, enjoying a hot cup of black tea. She tapped her foot, but it was more than the caffeine from her black tea that excited her.

Her slender feet wore scarlet dress pumps. Beige fur lined her lithe legs. Her pink dress laid flat to the chair around her thin physique, outlining her bony knees and straight thighs. A crimson blouse clung to her toothpick waist, with short sleeves that revealed her svelte arms. She brushed locks of brown hair from her eyes.

She looked through the bay window at the front of her house onto her sunny lawn, green and freshly cut. She awaited a special delivery today, a very special delivery indeed. She had scrimped and saved, and she was finally ready to begin her weight gain journey.

Vanilla wanted to be fat. She longed to be more than portly, or even rotund. She yearned to be corpulent. She wanted to possess abundant flesh, rolls stacked upon rolls, with more pudge than anyone could fathom. Yes, more than anything, she needed fat.

Today was the most crucial step. Today's delivery would bring her five gallons of heavy cream, which she intended to consume as quickly as she was able. Vanilla did not know how fast that would be, but she set her expectations reasonably low.

A rumble murmured in the distance. Without a cloud in the sky, it couldn't be thunder. The rumble continued, only growing louder. Then, a truck appeared with a flat bed. Secured to the bed with chains was an enormous vat, roughly ten feet tall and ten feet wide. While it wasn't larger than Vanilla's house, it was certainly too large to get in a house.

She wondered if it held cement or some construction material. Vanilla had no idea who would have use for such a volume of fluid.

But that truck slowed by her house. Strangely, it turned around and backed right into her driveway. Even stranger, a fork on the truck bed hoisted the vat and lowered it into Vanilla's driveway.

Vanilla dashed outside. She ran up to the truck's driver side window. "Excuse me."

The driver, a duck with ruffled, green feathers, poked his head out of the window. "Uh huh?"

"I beg your pardon, but this is my house."

The driver grabbed a clipboard from the passenger seat. "Yup. Are you a one Vanilla Rabbit?"

Vanilla's breath hitched. She didn't understand how he knew her name. "Yes, that's right. What are you doing here?"

He thumbed towards the vat. "It's yer 5,000 gallons o' heavy cream."

She gulped. That was not the number she had expected. "Five... thousand...?"

The driver huffed. "Yeah. Have a good day now."

Dumbfounded, Vanilla stepped back.

The truck left the driveway in rumbles and exhaust, leaving her with the vat.

Some calamitous mixup had foisted thousands of gallons of cream on Vanilla. This was terrible. She had no idea what to do with all of it.

A fifty foot hose sat next to the vat in the driveway. As she knelt to pick it up, she noticed a short pipe fitting at the bottom of the vat, along with a spigot. That must have been the means to get cream out of the enormous tank. Vanilla screwed on one end of the hose. She picked up the other end. It had a silicone lip, something that looked easy and comfortable to bite on. Curious, she did just that. She placed the end of the hose in her mouth, and it fit quite nicely.

As long as the hose was set up, she decided to taste the cream. She turned the spigot lefty-loosey. A gush issued from the vat, and the hose slowly tensed. Nothing happened, though. She found a handle on the nozzle and flicked it towards her. Then, thick heavy cream hit her mouth.

The cream was cool and slightly sweet. Its sensation was largely dull, though, in a soothing sense. It carried a rich density and smooth, anodyne taste down her gullet and into her stomach. She didn't even have to swallow. The hose took care of that by forcing the liquid into her. The vat thumped as it pumped more through the hose, and her throat thumped as it swallowed more into her belly. She gulped again, stretching her esophagus wide to accommodate a packed mouthful of cream. 

Cream sloshed into her belly. In a matter of swallows, Vanilla imbibed enough fatty milk to fill her stomach. She couldn't remove the hose, though. Not when it fed her gallons of dull, comforting heft. Her hands clenched the end of the hose with an iron grip, desperate to keep it right where it was: between her lips. She would stop soon enough, but for now, she wanted to enjoy her drink.

Though her stomach was full, it did not complain. Instead, it stretched to accommodate more. The cream was so silken and weighty that it massaged her stomach walls wider from within. Her waist nudged the sides of her blouse, while her tummy poked forward into its buttons.

The hem of her shirt gently lifted off of her hips and dangled in the air. Vanilla winced as she finally felt pain in her stomach. A blunt ache throbbed in her middle. She'd stop soon, she promised her stomach, but she wanted just one more chug. Heavy cream flooded out of the hose and over her tongue. It packed her throat and sloshed viscously in her gut. Her stomach bloated ever further, and suddenly, its pain vanished. Fresh air stroked her belly. Astonished, she flicked off the nozzle's handle, immediately stopping the flow of liquid.

Vanilla gazed downward. Her white, furry belly jutted forward like a balloon. She rubbed down its length and observed its sharp curves. Her hand cradled it underneath, and she truly felt how heavy it had become. If her goal was to become fat, she was well on her way.

Despite the enormous distension of her belly, she was eager to continue. She could already feel a broad, powerful stretch in her middle. The feeling satisfied her, but she craved more of it. She thrust the hose back into her mouth and turned it back on.

As if no time had passed, heavy cream pumped directly from the hose and into her stomach. Vanilla kept one hand on the hose as she used her other hand to explore her ever changing body. She could see that, on her arm, a thin layer of pudge already padded her formerly bony bicep. She cupped a breast. This morning, it had been flat, but after drinking cream, it rounded outward with plump flesh. Her hand wandered around to her back, where she felt a divot between thin outcroppings of back fat. Just a little lower, her hand felt two healthy cheeks of pudge on her ass. She didn't need to touch her stomach to feel its changes. Soft flab descended an inch below her waistband. Within, it still bloated, but outside, fat cushioned it. She didn't need to touch her thighs, either, to appreciate their plumpness brushing together.

To her surprise, her thighs billowed further into each other. Vanilla wasn't just bloating. Her body consumed cream and converted it to fat on the spot. Her leg fat smooshed into each other. Her body cushioned itself. She felt her own lard press to itself, right between her legs and just under her nethers. The sensation sent a shiver up her spine.

And her ass grew, too. Its cheeks pushed her skirt farther and farther out. They weighed heavier by the moment, pulling down on her backside with more and more pounds of fat. The way fat gushed into them, it jiggled her ass as it rolled further down the backs of her thighs. Its curves melded with her broadening hips to blimp her southern regions. Their widening fat lifted her skirt gradually from the ground and exposed more of her chunky calves by the moment.

At her front, her plush thighs pressed forward into her underbelly. As she gulped down more cream, her body packed fat into her middle. A thick, luscious roll poured over her thighs and dangled above her knees. Her upper stomach tensed further and further from the deluge of cream. With a firm, solid curve, it blasted the lower buttons off of her blouse.

Her shirt's upper buttons tensed over her breasts. Fabric whined as pudge flooded into her tits. Her rack's rolls bunched up, gathering more fatty ammunition to overcome her puny blouse. Then, her boobs popped the buttons clean off. Her breasts finally escaped her shirt and rolled over the blimping curve of her stomach. They flowed past her elbows and pushed her chubby arms aside. Healthy sideboobs propped up her growing bicep fat.

By that point, her ass had raised her skirt's hem to her knees, unveiling thick layers of blubber that turned her calves into balloons. Moment by moment, her butt cheeks rolled lower and lower down her thighs. They billowed in dimples like mushroom clouds of lard. They brushed the backs of her knees, where her overflowing thighs met her bulbous calves.

Still, she grasped the hose in ever fattening hands. Her lips locked to its nozzle. Vanilla adored her growing form, yes, but she  cherished the thick, delectable cream pumping into her.  It filled her mouth, stretched her cheeks, and pounded her gullet. Its subdued taste and heavy weight lulled her into a divine state of pleasure and relaxation. She wanted to be as full of it as possible. Her body reflected the cream's luscious taste in its soft, heavy, expanding rolls of fat. The more she drank, the more she grew, the more she became the very substance she imbibed.

Her butt raced downward. It bounced outward with fat, then hung about her upper calves. Its weight pulled on her back and legs, testing her strength. It bounced outward with fat, then landed onto her mid calves. Her ass bulged farther to her sides than she could ever fit through her front doorway. It bounced outward with fat, then slapped her achilles heels. Her cheeks blimped behind her in two globular shelves nearly half as long as her arms. Her valiant skirt, not yet ripped, still covered the top half of her ass.

Her lower half had exploded into a stack of fat rolls, each one thicker than the one below it. Her calves sprawled a lower bulge of fat and an upper bulge of fat each. The creases between them ran deep enough to rub each calf against itself. Her thighs spilled over them in indistinguishable swells and gushes of lard. At her front, her thighs inflated over her knees. At her back, her ass covered her legs in long, bulbous drapes. Her skirt clung tight to her ample curves, pinching them.

Not to be outdone, her stomach formed a drape of its own. Her belly bounced outward with fat, then fluffed down to her mid thighs. Ever heavier, it slopped more weight that her legs struggled to support. Her belly bounced outward with fat, then flopped against her knees. Her midsection birthed a lower roll that expanded from her sides, then dipped low in her front with a thick, elongated curve. Her belly bounced outward with fat, then fell on her shins. Her upper belly protruded from her in a taut sphere, but her lower roll hung loose from it.

Of course, plenty of fat pumped into her tits. Vanilla watched as they swelled under her growing chins. They pounded outward, even beyond her elbows, so that she had an eternal shelf of blubber on her chest. They pounded outward, about as far as her arms, with swelling nipples to boot. They pounded outward, farther than she could ever hope to reach. Their bulbous ends were bigger than beach balls. Only a stomach as massive as Vanilla's could hope to support them.

Many gainers would have been satisfied with so much growth. Not Vanilla. She relished the expansion of her body. Each roll quivered with fat and brushed an adjacent roll, so that her body sang with the sensation of fat all over. She wanted to hear more of that symphony.

And her body gave it to her. Behind her, her ass touched the ground and spilled around her. Like water, it dipped to the asphalt, and as it grew more, it emanated outward in luscious ripples of lard. At her front, her feet blimped with so much flab that they snapped her shoes right off. Even her feet swam in a pool of pudge.

Her stomach's hanging roll tickled the ground in front of her feet. She cooed as she felt asphalt with her bare pelt. The thought excited her. Vanilla had to release one hand from the nozzle just so that she could satisfy her curiosity with copious handfuls of flesh. She groped at her doughy waist while its lower roll spilled to the ground. Her hands inflated, as well, and their ballooning contours ripped their gloves in loud shreds. Her bare hands had rotund palms with creases where her sausage fingers poked out. Her upper hand maintained a grip on the nozzle for now.

Though her stomach was truly massive, she could only feel it. She could not see it past the immense wall of her breasts. Yes, the very same breasts that were nearly imperceptible this morning were now so big that they obscured her own body from her sight. Thick rolls of flab swelled under her arms, far wider than her shoulders. They poured forward over her stomach and ended in massive orbs. They rose up before her like giant hills of bunny blubber.

Vanilla was truly massive. Watching her tits rise up around the hose, she wondered whether now was the time to stop. She could barely stand. Then, she thought, with a few more chugs, she wouldn't have to worry about standing. She could be so fat that her lard would prop itself up by sheer volume. She wanted to experience that. And she wanted to experience whatever was beyond that. So, she kept chugging.

As cream cascaded through her esophagus, fleshy girth cascaded into her ass. Her butt dipped to the ground and rested on it for a few feet, easing the weight on her legs. So much fat entered her legs that her calves grew into the ground and swaddled her feet on all sides. Even as her ass expanded along the ground on its own, her thighs pushed it even further out by inflating under it. At her sides, her heavy thighs peered over the edges of her calves. They approached the ground. They would meet it in due time.

Her thighs also pushed her stomach forward. Her growing stomach slumped farther to the ground. Like her ass behind her, it piled up fat in a gelatinous pool of flesh. Her pannus blanketed her calves. It flowed forward and to her sides, lowering her center of gravity by the moment. The immense heaps of fat at her lower belly cradled her ever bloating stomach. Stiff and taut, it jutted harshly into her stomach and breasts. It groaned and gurgled, tight and solid as a rock. But no one would have guessed that something so hard was encased in all of Vanilla's copious blubber.

And it was indeed encased, as Vanilla's breasts had long since hidden her upper stomach.  Her breasts slouched to her sides, off of her waist, and onto her hips. Wide but still round, they poured lower than her navel and rose higher than her scalp. By now, her tits had swollen so tight around the hose that they kept it in place. Vanilla released her fatty grip. She used what little dexterity remained in her fingers to paw at her own swelling blubber.

Vanilla swelled on every side farther than she could reach. She bore so much fat that she never had to worry about feeling anything else her entire life. She could enjoy existence as an immobile mountain of flesh. She asked herself if that was enough. And the answer was clear: no. So she chugged onward, and the valiant pump granted her more cream.

Behind her, her ass jiggled thicker and wider. Forget regular doorways--Vanilla's ass took on the proportions of a sofa, too wide for double doors. She reclined against two huge sacks of lard, pillowy and cushy, which were so heavy that she'd never have to worry about hauling them anywhere. They smothered her cotton tail in countless dimples and rolls. At her sides, they flowed into hips well beyond her reach. Not that she could reach past her tits at that point, anyway. Her calves encased her feet and parted them from the ground, while her thighs surrounded her calves. Any sign of a bipedal figure on Vanilla was buried under hundreds of pounds of adipose.

While she leaned into her butt like a colossal mass of dough, her belly spilled in front of her. It spread farther beyond her and nudged into the tank. With her breasts as humongous as they were, she had lost any reference point to gauge its size. She could only feel her flesh overtake more and more of the driveway, and that was enough to compel her onward.

If her ass was a couch, her tits were beanbag chairs. The Vanilla of that morning could have easily reclined on one for a good nap. Her boobs grew wider and higher. They blocked her view of the houses across the street. She could only feel her own fat, and as her breasts inflated, she could only see it, too. Her breasts weighed heavily into her expanding blubber, resting in her lard, but their tops felt a nice, soothing breeze.

Vanilla was lost in herself. She couldn't tell how big she was getting. And yet, every ounce she gained gave her more pleasure. It was not her size in itself that satisfied her. It was the process of growing, of gaining, of fattening. It wasn't a vain binge to change her appearance. It was a binge of solitary pleasure, wherein she would gain more curves than she could consciously recognize, each one imparting more and more euphoria to her.

As her stomach grew, she did acquire more reference points. For instance, she felt its corpulent rolls fold around the tank of cream.  She could tell her stomach was as tall as the tank, as she felt her belly purse around its top. Below, at the farthest edge of her stomach, her pelt dipped down a tiny lip. That was the end of her driveway. Her stomach had fattened so much that she had just pushed the tank of cream into the road by her house. Grass tickled her stomach on its left side and on its right side. Her gluttonous gut occupied the entire two-car driveway from side to side.

It was a good thing that her stomach was the size of a driveway, because her breasts had grown like two sedans. Before Vanilla's face, they arced high into the sky, and they sprawled several feet to her sides. Even if her arms hadn't locked themselves in layers of fat, she could have only reached a minute fraction of her boobs.

She tilted her head, trying to see past her breasts, but it was no use. She tilted left and right, and her head just mashed against her rising cheeks. She looked up, and so much fat gathered at the back of her neck that she couldn't look upward. Even under her mouth, several lardaceous crescents of flesh spilled forth under her chin.

Her ass nudged into the front of her house. Her home was a rancher, but still, it was a surprise to feel her ass mold over roofing tiles. That meant she must have buried those pretty hydrangeas she had watered so  meticulously. And her cheeks creased around either side of the house. The walls' corners bit into her ass uncomfortably, which gave her a new goal. She wanted a comfy seat.

That tank kept going and feeding her. Vanilla hoped it would hold out long enough to get her where she wanted to be.

Though she wanted her ass to grow, that didn't keep the rest of her from inflating. Fat flooded into her stomach and pushed it further into the street. Some unfortunate soul had parked on the street, and Vanilla's tubby gut mercilessly crushed it. A metal pole jabbed into the front of her stomach before she trampled it under thousands of pounds of lard. That must have been the mailbox across the street.

Her breasts grew wider and wider. Given the restraint of her blubbery chins and cheeks, she couldn't turn her head. She could literally only look at her tits. Her fantastic, heavy, fatty tits.

Behind, her house whined. It creaked. Her butt rolled over more and more of its roof. Then, wood snapped. Wall crumbled. And her ass fell right through the roof, smashing it more effectively than any wrecking ball. Her ass landed with a thud, hammering the ground like an earthquake, and her house crumbled in a cacophony of loud snaps and cracks. She demolished her own home under her own ass. After falling, her rump wobbled from the impact, sloshing her body back and forth.

About that time, the cream ran out. She released the nozzle from her lips and blew a sigh. "Oh my. That was just lovely." By then, her fingers were too fat to curl, so she couldn't even grope her own flesh. Instead, she laid back and enjoyed the nice day. Every day would be nice now that she had a wonderful home of flesh to enjoy.