Winnifred lived in a small, cozy room on the ground floor of the big doll house. This was largely out of convenience, since stairs had a tendency to leave her huffing and puffing by the time she finished climbing them. The entrance to Winnifred’s residence was a door bearing a gold plaque above it which read ‘Mrs. Sanders.” This was the title by which other dolls in the house typically addressed Winnifred out of respect, since she was a bit older than the dollhouse’s other inhabitants.

One late morning Winnifred was sitting in a (necessarily!) large armchair in front of her fireplace, humming blandly to herself and trying to think of something. She wanted to do something useful with her day, but since her head was filled with fluff, it usually took quite a bit of pondering and deliberating for her to produce anything remotely resembling an idea. “Think, think, think . . .” she murmured softly, gently tapping the side of her head with her pointer finger. Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by the chiming of her cuckoo clock, and her face brightened as her attention shifted to the intruding noise. “Oh! Ten chimes—that means that it’s time for . . . something . . . oh bother, I’ve forgotten again,” the doll pouted.

Winnifred stood up slowly from her chair, revealing her outline for the first time. She was an extremely stout doll due to her age and rather hefty appetite for freshly-baked bread and anything sweet. Although she had a soft, round belly, her bust and backside were both large enough that she maintained something between an hourglass figure and a pear shape, despite the extra stuffing she carried. Winnifred spent most of her time in the big doll house in a peculiar state of half-dress, which is to say that on her top half, she wore a simple shirt that she had outgrown long ago, and on her bottom half, she wore nothing. In the past, when she was a younger doll, she had been in possession of many outfits, but over the years they had all worn out or been lost, and since she was only a doll, her partial nudity did not seem unduly strange to herself or the other residents of the big doll house.

But back to the story at hand: the simple-minded Winnifred trundled over to her full-length mirror with a pensive expression still etched on her face. “I just can’t seem to think of anything, can you?” she inquired of her reflection. In response, she slowly shook her head back at herself. “Think . . . Think . . . THINK!” she grunted shrilly, holding her head tightly between her hands and scrunching her eyes closed in her effort to find purpose. Suddenly the doll relaxed and addressed her reflection again in excitement. “Oh yes!” she exclaimed, caressing her belly with pleasure. “It’s time for my stoutness exercises. How could I have forgotten?!”

Each morning, Winnifred would stand in front of her mirror and perform a short exercise routine. Of course, she never lost any weight as a result of her exercises. In fact, Winnifred enjoyed her morning stretches because by the time she finished just a few repetitions, the doll’s prominent stomach would have begun growling insistently, indicating that it was time for brunch. Winnifred centered herself in front of her mirror, and momentarily settled into a half-squat position, chanting with determination: “UP . . . DOWN . . . UP”

She then began reaching up as high as she could into the air, and in turn reaching as low as she could towards her toes (which required significantly greater effort due to the inhibiting bulk of her belly). As she did this, she sang a short, catchy song, accompanied by her reflection.





When I up, down, and touch the ground

It puts me in the mood!

Up, down, and touch the ground

In the mood . . . for food!





The doll paused to smack her lips in anticipation of a hearty midday meal and fondle her belly, which was already beginning to notice how empty it was. Winnifred was extremely proud of her figure, which was by far the most voluptuous of any doll in the big house. Before completing her exercise with a few more toe-touches, she turned in place, admiring the reflection of her curves and beaming with joy at her twin in the mirror.





I am stout, round, and I have found

When it comes to stuff and fluff

I enhance my appetite

When I huff and puff! –Oh!





As she approached the ground for the last time, Winnifred made a mighty final effort at touching her toes. She just managed to brush the ground with her fingertips, but as she did so, she let out a small gasp, looking up at her mirror and wearing an expression of shock. “Umm … did you feel something funny?” She asked her reflection uncertainly, still bent double with her backside in the air. She nodded back at herself wide-eyed. Still breathing heavily, the doll carefully straightened up and turned around, presenting her rump to the glass and twisting her head back as far as it would go in order to view the reflection of her posterior. A seam ran lengthwise down the center of Winnifred’s back, disappearing between her two enormous buttocks. With a coy expression, she reached back and spread her derrière open, exposing the remaining length of the seam.

Winnifred breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the sight which greeted her. “Oh,” she chuckled nervously, “Just one little stitch. No problem.” Deep in the rift between her buttocks, a single bit of thread in her stitching had popped as the tightly-stuffed doll bent double. This was not an uncommon occurrence, and closer inspection would reveal that the stitching here did not match the stitching farther up the seam, having been resewn many, many times. She let go of her buttocks, which snapped rigidly back into place due to their fullness, and turned back to her glass twin. “Everything should hold just fine back there, as long as we’re careful. Now, where was I? . . . oh!” Winnifred looked down at her belly with an expectant look, pulling her shirt back just as a strange noise began emanating forth from her gut: pitpitpitpitpitpitpitpitpitpit pit, pit, pit . . . tss-POP! Her stomach visibly shuddered and trembled as it did this.

Winnifred and her twin simultaneously looked up at each other with expressions of joy and excitement. “Oh YES!” They both exclaimed. “My tummy is rumbling at last!” The doll bid her twin a hasty goodbye as she skipped over to her cupboard and resumed singing to herself.





I am short, fat, and proud of that

And so with all my might

I up, down, up and down

To my stuffing’s great delight!





Winnifred usually like to begin her brunch with a thick slice of bread spread generously with marmalade, but this morning, her enthusiasm quickly dissipated as she retrieved the jar where marmalade should have been. “Ohhh, bother!” the hungry little doll grumbled, “Only the sticky part is left!” She stuck her fingers into the jar in an attempt to harvest the last bits of sweetness and promptly slurped up the resulting stickiness. “Oh, help and bother. Now I’m hungrier than ever.” Winnifred began tapping her head again, desperately trying to identify an alternate source of sustenance for her impatient midsection. “Now, an empty marmalade jar makes me sad,” she reasoned out loud to herself. “Sadness is another word for sorrow. And sorrow rhymes with . . . borrow! And Eleanor across the hall is always willing to let me borrow a little marmalade!” she concluded happily. Winnifred rubbed her belly with anticipation and promptly headed out the door and across the hall.





~~~





Eleanor was one of the big doll house’s younger residents, along with being Winnifred’s closest neighbor. She was a quiet young lady who valued her privacy and always kept her living quarters neat and orderly. Except, of course, when the infamous Mrs. Sanders decided to pay her a visit, which happened more often than Eleanor would like. On this morning, around half past ten, she sat slowly rocking in her chair and reading a book on quilting patterns, when there was a knock on her door. “Oh my, goodness gracious,” she murmured nervously to herself, “Who could that be? I am not expecting any guests.” She crept towards her door as a second peal of knocks rang loudly through the room. “Umm, yes? Who is it?” She asked hesitantly. “It is me, Winnifred!” came the muffled reply. Eleanor’s heart sank as she opened the door. “Mrs. Sanders! What a . . . pleasant surprise!” she said, greeting her guest through a forced smile. “What can I do for you today?”

As the door opened, the stout doll found herself facing a much thinner young female. Eleanor, being stuffed with sawdust, was naturally slim and unassuming in figure. Through the doorway, Winnifred could see a freshly set table over her neighbor’s shoulder, which gave her extra confidence that her request would be granted, and also prompted her belly to growl demandingly. “Well you see,” she began, “I was just about to sit down for my mid-morning something, when I discovered that my jar of marmalade was empty. I was just wondering if you could spare a small helping of the sweet stuff this morning.” Winnifred smiled broadly and placed both hands around her stomach, which was intruding slightly into Eleanor’s home as the presumptuous doll crept expectantly closer to the entrance.

“Actually, it’s funny you should drop by now of all times,” Eleanor replied through gritted teeth, “I was just about to sit down for brunch. Would you . . . care to join me?” In response, she was almost bowled over by Winnifred’s substantial mass as the unwelcome visitor wasted no time before inviting herself inside. “Oh, yes, please and thank you, Eleanor! Umm . . . that is, if it isn’t too much trouble of course.” “No trouble at all, I’m sure. Please, come in and sit down. Make yourself at home, and let’s not wait any longer.” Eleanor barely managed to conceal the potent sarcasm in the last of her remarks, but she felt bound by honor to be a gracious host, and so she led Winnifred into the kitchen and set an extra place at the table. As Winnifred took a seat, the great expanse of her bottom spilled over the edges of the chair, which creaked loudly in protest at the unreasonable amount of weight it was being asked to support. Winnifred chuckled with nervous embarrassment. “I’m afraid don’t quite fit in this chair . . . but that sort of thing does happen to me sometimes. I am stuffed with fluff, you know,” she said, nodding importantly at Eleanor as if that statement somehow clarified everything. “Yes, you . . . you’ve mentioned that in the past.” Eleanor said, smiling weakly as the reality of her situation began to set in. “Now, would you like honey or marmalade on your bread?”

This was the moment that Winnifred had been waiting for. “Oh, umm, both please!” she exclaimed loudly. Then, after a momentary pause during which Eleanor could only stare in shock, she continued, “But never mind the bread, thank you. Just a small helping, if you please, Eleanor.” Eleanor managed to regain her composure long enough dispense a small amount of both honey and marmalade onto a plate. “Here you are, Mrs. Sanders,” she said, smiling with false warmth. Winnifred looked at the plate for a moment and then, with obvious embarrassment, blurted out quickly, “Well, I did mean a rather larger small helping.” Eleanor, who had been about to sit down and begin enjoying her own meal, placed both jars next to her guest and said firmly, “Here you are, Mrs. Sanders. Please just . . . help yourself.”

“Oh! Thank you, Eleanor!” Winnifred needed no further invitation. She grabbed a spoon and quickly began shoveling food into her mouth, slurping and smacking her lips in an atrocious display of table manners (or lack thereof). As soon as the sweetness touched her tongue, her belly gave out a long, slow growl of relief. The famished doll couldn’t keep herself from murmuring out loud, “Ahhh, that’s better,” while she massaged her midsection under the table, spoon still clutched in her other hand. After only a few moments, she was indeed helping herself, spooning more sugary goo onto her plate with childish glee. Eleanor slowly and glumly picked at her own food, her appetite ruined by the cacophony issuing from her guest’s mouth and stomach.

When the jars of honey were about halfway depleted, Winnifred addressed her host for the first time since beginning to eat. “You know, Eleanor,” she began, pausing to giggle at some honey which had dripped onto her breasts, “I think I shall have some bread after all if you don’t mind.” “Of course not, Mrs. Sanders” Eleanor said, shoving the loaf of bread towards the other doll, who was scooping honey off her bosom and licking it from her fingers, “I am done with it myself. Have as much as you like.” Winnifred answered with a loud slurp and broke a large lump of bread off the loaf, not even bothering to cut off a neat slice with a knife.

“You will excuse my manners of course,” Winnifred said. She was breathing deeply, a process made difficult by her massive stomach, which was slowly swelling to accommodate the vast intake of food. “You see, I did my stoutness exercises right before I arrived here, and doing so always gives me an incredibly hearty appetite.” Eleanor eyed the other doll with amazement. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Sanders. I do not engage in calisthenics myself, but I understand that they can have an effect on the appetite.” Was it possible that Winnifred was even larger than she had been when the meal began? No, it had to be a trick of the light coming in through the kitchen window, Eleanor assured herself.

“Yes, what you have heard is true,” Winnifred continued, speaking between mouthfuls of food. By now, the jars of honey and marmalade were significantly depleted, and the doll of endless hunger had given up using a spoon, scooping morsels of sweetness directly into her mouth with her fingers. “And this morning I exerted myself especially hard. For a moment I thought I had ruptured a seam! It was only one stitch thankfully, so no need to visit Kayla just yet.” Kayla, for those wondering, was a doll who lived on the second floor of the big house. She was a seamstress, and therefore quite intimately acquainted with Winnifred’s backside, which she had repaired many times. “How . . . how fortunate,” said Eleanor coldly, quietly wishing that Kayla had been the one tasked with catering to Mrs. Sanders’ nonsense.

By now, Winnifred had consumed all the bread and was trying to coax the last bits of gooey goodness from the jars. “Oh bother . . . empty again” she complained to no one in particular, as she stuck her mouth into the opening of the jar and licked around the edges that were within reach. When there was nothing left, she sat for a moment, the silence broken only by the incessant gurgling of her stomach, which was satisfied at last, if only temporarily. Winnifred set the jar down regretfully and lowered her gaze to her now-enormous gut. The paunch which was normally soft and jiggly had grown tight and firm due to its state of engorgement. The fabric around her belly button was being stretched to the limit and beginning to separate in places, with a small sliver of white stuffing visible through the barely-intact seam.

“Well, I must be going now,” she finally said. “Goodbye Eleanor.” She struggled through the process of extricating herself from the chair, requiring several attempts to generate inertia sufficient to raise her bulk to its feet. Eleanor stood up slowly to escort her guest to the door. “Well, alright then, if you’re sure you won’t have any more.” Winnifred perked up instantly. “IS there any more?” she inquired hopefully, her hands massaging her paunch. Eleanor trotted to her cupboard, and after a quick inspection replied, “There is one yeast roll left. Here, I won’t take up any more of your time. Take it home with you for a snack.”

She wrapped the roll in a napkin and handed it to Winnifred. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Sanders, and do come again soon,” implored Eleanor, practically pushing her pudgy guest towards the door. “I certainly will, and thank you ever so much for the brunch,” the bulging doll replied as she waddled across the kitchen. She had to turn sideways to fit through the hallway, and as she carefully wiggled along, she stumbled and dropped her snack. “Oh dear, clumsy me,” she mused. With Eleanor standing impatiently behind her, Winnifred bent down to retrieve the precious morsel, groaning with exertion as her bloated gut fought her the whole way down. Every seam and stitch in the doll’s body creaked and groaned in protest as she stooped, and just as she finally managed to grab her prize, she felt a sharp pain in her backside accompanied by a ripping noise which echoed throughout the room.

Instantly she raised her head, her mouth agape, while her lower half remained frozen in shock. Her worst fear from that morning suddenly being realized, she stood up slowly and carefully, afraid to make any sudden movements. She reached a hand around to feel along her buttocks. Yes, it had happened again. She had ruptured the seam in her backside. “Oh, stuff and fluff!” Winnifred moaned in horrified embarrassment. Eleanor stood stark still, her delicate hands covering her mouth. “Mrs.—Mrs. Sanders!” she gasped. “Are you alright?”

Winnifred could be rather prideful, and so she feigned composure despite her great distress. “Oh yes, dear, I am quite alright. It’s only a little tear. I can take care of this myself just fine until I see Kayla. Bothersome indeed, but nothing a little twist-and-tie can’t solve. Eleanor, before I go, could I trouble you to use your looking glass?” Eleanor took the older doll by the hand and led her to the mirror. “Of course, Mrs. Sanders. Anything you need.” Although they had their differences, everyone in the big doll house really did care about Winnifred, and Eleanor was no exception. Winnifred waddled along with her hand across her rump, to prevent any stuffing from falling out along the way.

When she reached the mirror, she adopted her stance from earlier that morning, using the reflection of her twin to inspect her otherwise-invisible backside. This time, however, it was with much greater effort that she turned to look back at the glass. As she twisted around, her seams creaked with tightness, and the fabric around her hips and lower back rumpled and folded over, giving her midsection the appearance of a giant cloth-and-stuffing caterpillar. “Oh help. Oh gracious,” she stammered as she saw how bad the damage to her bottom was. It was true, the doll’s bum had completely given way under the strain of containing her overcrowded stuffing. Between her buttocks was a large oval opening, where white fluff had practically erupted forth, and it was all framed with a messy tangle of broken black threads. “Tut tut tut,” Winnifred clucked nervously. She reached back to begin cleaning up the mess and—found that she could not. The gluttonous doll had eaten so much that her short arms could no longer reach her preposterously round backside. She looked to Eleanor imploringly and asked meekly, “Could you lend a helping hand?”

“Of course, Mrs. Sanders,” Eleanor crooned comfortingly. She patted the older doll gently on her backside and said “Come over here by the table.” She proceeded to clear away the mess from their aforementioned meal while Winnifred shuffled awkwardly into position, then moved behind her patient and instructed the ripped doll with confidence. “Now, bend over the table and hold on tight.” Winnifred obeyed, her face flushed bright red with humiliation. “Are you ready?” “Yes,” replied Winnifred bashfully, desperately hoping that Eleanor could get her out of this mess. “OOF!” the unfortunate doll grunted as she felt her backside rammed roughly. She grumpily looked back to see Eleanor pushing the protruding stuffing back into its proper place. After the initial shock subsided, Winnifred breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the filling sensation of being properly stuffed once more. Now came the tricky part.

“Oof! Ooh! Ohhh help AND bother!” Winnifred protested as the younger doll began to work. Eleanor grabbed the broken stitches on the edge of each buttock and pulled them hard, causing Winnifred to scrunch her face up tightly, overwhelmed by sharp tingles in her most sensitive area. Eleanor’s goal was to cinch the opening together again and get some of the broken threads knotted together. It would not be a very sturdy repair job, but it would have to do until Kayla could attend to the situation. As the frustration and discomfort of both parties gradually escalated, Eleanor finally fumed, “Well, this all comes from eating too much!”

“I beg your pardon!” Winnifred exclaimed, groaning and moaning as Eleanor yanked on her corpulent bottom with increasing force. “This all comes—oooh!—from having too much fluff and not enough threads to keep it all in!” “Your fluff—hhhhnnnggg—was doing just fine until you gorged yourself on my food!” Eleanor released her grip on the threads and threw up her hands in despair. Winnifred took a deep breath in response to the released pressure, suddenly realizing that this was all causing a strange stirring sensation deep in her tummy which was not entirely unpleasant. “It’s just no use,” Eleanor declared. “There’s only one thing to do. I’ll go get Kayla.”