Calling it "chub rub" was an understatement. Carol's furry thighs smothered each other from top to bottom, from her pelvis down to her knees. Below her knees, really, given that her thighs draped well below her joints.
A downy layer of fur wrapped the chipmunk's tubby thighs, which made their grind soft and pleasant, like nuzzling fleece. That wasn't why she enjoyed it so much, though. No, Carol relished the feeling of fat smothering her pussy. It was buried away, locked in a secret chamber of her own flesh. The sexual power of her fat gripped her much more ferociously than its mere cuddliness.
She trudged forward a step, dragging her fuzzy cankle along the polished, wood floor. With thighs thicker than they were tall, and calves that bloated in competing bulges of fat, her knee scarcely bent her calf into her thigh. There was simply too much fat in the way to meaningfully fold her leg. As a result, her step was more of a wag. She vaguely waved her broad limb forward. As her foot landed, it bore the weight of her fathomless blubber, but not without help. Pudge padded her feet and rounded them like huggable cushions. Still, her foot fell with a bassy thud that rattled the kitchen, from the cabinets to the table.
The kitchen light overhead cast her brown fur in stark light, making it gleam. She shuffled away from her chair. The extra wide seat was practically a loveseat. Carol had tried using a bench instead, but she preferred furniture's arms to hug her hips, rather than letting her fat dangle off. The hanging weight would tug at her uncomfortably. The chair sat at a circular table, which itself was a nifty piece of carpentry. The tabletop spun, so that she could access dishes across the table while remaining seated. She had just demonstrated as much, leaving several dishes on the table now. They were clean to the eye, but only because Carol had meticulously licked each one for every leftover crumb and every splotch of sauce. The aromas of sweet tomato sauce, starchy pasta, and greasy, sizzling beef hung in the air, albeit weaker than before she had gobbled their sources.
And she shuffled away, lugging a prodigious rump behind her. Her butt topped with a flat shelf, where her hips jutted in so much superfluous lard that it evened out, gravitationally speaking. That shelf sprawled wider than her arms and protruded far behind her, beyond her reach. With sharp curves, it cascaded down into two monumental cheeks. Rolling down her legs, her rump gently curved outward. Inside, her butt clapped against her calves. Outside, her rippling rump flaunted pooching dimples. At the top of her butt, those dimples appeared infrequently, delicate little surprises. Then, they accelerated farther down her butt cheeks, leading all the way down to her cankles, where they wobbled like a shimmering constellation, their composite beauty rippling on the outer edges of her bountiful blubber. As she stepped, her doughy derriere bounced and brushed the floor. One day soon, her ass would remain on the floor, never to leave it again, even standing. But, for now, Carol appreciated that her ass touched the floor at all. She smiled playfully all to herself.
Her stomach was nowhere near the floor. Its lowest roll sprawled down her legs, only flopping down an inch beyond her thighs. The underside of her pannus formed a broad, flat wall that barricaded her legs. Each step bulldozed her tubby leg into her fluffy gut. Walking wasn't easy, but the process brought her luscious weight to the front of her attention. It was one thing to laze around in her self-made cushions. It was another to press into her weight and muscle it forward. Plus, as plush and silken as her fat was, it was a pleasure to push.
After a binge like tonight's, her meal added to that weight. A huge sack of digesting food hung from her waist and bore down on her front. Its bloat burbled and groaned, moist and bassy. Her stomach's digestion crooned its own deep, seductive song, with a guttural voice more sexy than any lounge singer.
She'd crammed so much food down her gullet that her middle stretched wide, pulling her pelt stiff and thin. The pressure titillated her. A taut, glutted pussy wrought primal ecstasy in her, like a satisfying stretch that activated her muscles. It only stood to reason, then, that stretching her stomach, an even larger organ, brought its own pleasures. Perhaps it wasn't as sexually gratifying as lighting up the walls of her vagina, but there was something deceptively carnal in its distension.
Maybe it was the heft it bore down on her pelvis. Her engorged belly weighed heavy with an enormous meal. While her thighs squeezed her pussylips from beside, her stomach always pressed down on her mound from above. Her meal only made her stomach heavier, increasing that force. Unfortunately, its weight frustrated her as much as it gratified her. On one hand, the immense pressure in her middle made her stomach more sensitive, bringing sweet focus to the weight it applied to her nethers. On the other hand, there was nothing actually inside her pussy to bring her satisfaction. Her digesting binge merely teased her vagina with the prospect of fulfillment, having no way to actually bring it about.
This was the reason for her trek, of course. Now stuffed to the brim, she journeyed to her bedroom to satiate her ravenous vagina. Her damp walls writhed and ached. It grasped for a stiff length that was not there. It contorted in jealousy of her stomach, envious that something so close had more than its fill.
