Help her make room

You've seen enough to know just what to do next.
You kneel down next to her, feeling the warmth of her overfed, flabby bulk, and place a hand on her belly, alive with movement and soft as jello. As you expected, her rotund gut is indented in the middle around her waistband, a starving beast roaring to be free.
"What... are you doing?" It comes out of her as a whisper.
"You want more?"
"...I want all of it."
"Well I'm helping you make room."
With that, she grins wider than you've seen all night and she bites her lip before looking down expectantly. You work your fingers in between the drum-tight hem of the leggings and her blobby belly that's protruding more than two feet in front of her. Briefly fingering her navel, you wriggle the hem down, down, her already massive belly swelling out bigger and bigger by the inch as you gradually unveil its true size. Its creamy, pillowy expanse is already pressing into your chin as your rounding the bottom curve.
Her expectant expression goes away for a second, then she lifts her head with her mouth agape.
"UUUUUUUuuuurp"
"Hm... that helped."
Then, at last, the last bit of fabric slips away... much to your surprise, as your fingers plunge in between her compressed, sweaty thigh fat and into a third lump in between those mounds. It's slightly fuzzy, and beyond the mere dampness of the surrounding flab, it's sopping wet.
You can't help but chuckle.
"You really love food, huh?"
"I really, really do", she drones with swimming eyes.
"Well, sorry about the mixup..."
But as you move to pull your hand away, she grabs your forearm and shoves you back in, burying your arm to the elbow in womanly fat.
"Don't be. Just finger me while I eat."
"That's..."
"I'll tell you what's clear to me. I love to eat, and you love big ole fat girls like me. Don't act like I don't know what you were up to feeding me all this good shit and then trying to feel up my belly. So let's make it more interesting for the both of us, darling."
Smiling at each other, you say to her, "Bone appetite."
And you both get to work.
You keep it slow at first, gently working the soaked nub of her clit as she gets back into the rhythm of downing hot dogs and chicken fingers. Her moans are louder, now, but with the same quality of hedonistic pleasure. She resumes eating at a truly breakneck pace, and you match her by hooking two fingers into the upper wall of her pussy, hotter than English tea and about as wet.
"Mmph, fugg!" She seizes up for a moment, mouth full of cheesy noodles, before resuming her gluttonous rampage. Your arm is growing damp from its environs, but you stroke away still.
"Tage ob my shirp, squeeb my tips!"
You look up, and with your free hand you oblige the gorging, panting, delirious Lola. Her obese pumpkin breasts flop out and slap the side of your head the instant you peel off the front of her shirt. Were they smaller before? Is she still getting fatter? But never mind that, you grasp as much as you can of one tit and squeeze with vigor.
"HMMMMMMPH! FUCK! I wanna be bigger! I need more!"
Her belly starts to jiggle to a rhythm, the same rhythm with which the cushioned vice of her thighs squeeze your arm. Feeling nothing else, you grind your finger tips into those hot, smooth walls and feel the pleasure pulse through her elephantine body, setting all of her aquiver.
Drool and bits of fry batter collect on your other arm as you clutch her squishy, wobbling teat. Lola's moans turn to whimpers, then the first shade of a cry through a mouthful of food. The heat coming off the behemoth of a woman grows more intense every second, shaking, spreading, growing,
and at last her hungry pussy convulses around your fingers and sprays. There is a moment of silence, just before all the air rushes out of her lungs in a sigh.
You look up at Lola; she's glowing a queenly red and looking down at you with a grin, and clutches your hand in hers.
"That was the best dinner I've had in a looooong time."