The Half-Ton Teacher's First Day

*This story contains a USSBBW, mobility issues, stuckage, references to immobility, gluttony, stuffing, and general fatness*
*USSBBW = ultra supersized big beautiful woman

*This is not your traditional weight-gain story.

“Okay,” I say to myself, looking out the car window as we pull into the parking lot, “You can do this.”

My stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies, my anxiety feeling like it shot up through the roof. I can’t seem to help but to clench and unclench my hands into fists, at least as best I can. One hand is raised up to my chest, resting on my chest in the open space of my new blouse. Damn, my skin is feeling clammy now, too. I can feel the cool slick skin as my fingers gently sink into the generously thick layer of softness present.

All the training, 12 years of general education, 4 years of college, 2 years of shadowing classrooms… in schools that were built for people like me, at least. All that hard work, and here I am, the only opening I can find for a teaching position is at Smallville Town University Collegiate College (or S.T.U.C.C. for short). In the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

And it’s in fucking KANSAS!

Now where am I supposed to get the ultra-thicc pan crust ultimate supreme pizza, or the Million Cal Mac ‘n Cheese bread bowl, or even the Leaning Tower of Burger?

So. Here I am, about to start my new job as a teacher, away from my favorite foods in the city, struggling to fit in, and exist as possibly the fattest teacher to join their staff. Ever.

Hi. My name is Trisha Harrinton, I am 24 years old and I’m a nearly immobile half-ton USSBBW weighing in at 987 lbs. I am the new teacher.

Shortly after we find a place to park, one of those spaces that leave room for a handicap van to unload, the van’s side door slides open. With the push of a lever and a metallic groan, the ramp holding me and the special chair designed to carry my massive frame slowly slides out and lowers down to the ground. The mobility scooter loaded into the back is retrieved, brought around by my husband John.

“There you are, Trisha. Want a hand?” John asks. I smile at him, eyeing his toned muscular physique.

“Johnny, please. You can’t even lift me anymore,” I chuckle as I shift my weight forward, getting ready to shove and pull and roll forward to my feet so I could shift over onto the scooter.

Bracing against the arms of the chair, I begin to rock back and forth, slowly. My belly, my big beautiful belly, jiggles and shifts with me, the ripples of movement reach all the way to where it touches the floor in front of my legs. My legs, thick as trees, inch a little closer together, though it’s hard to move especially because of my huge gut spilling over the top of them. Even with the handcrafted and super stretchy pants I wear to keep both decent and clothed, over 2 feet of my fat middle is exposed for the world to see. Huffing and puffing, my large beach balls I call tits begin to rock with me, shaking and rolling as well. It’s -just- enough to get my massive ass to finally begin to lift from the seat as John’s arms reach around the sides of my titanic body, and together we manage to pull my body into a standing position.

Without letting go, and while I ignore his spontaneous enjoyment poking my front, we shift over by turning roughly 45 degrees to let me “fall” into the scooter seat. More pushing and pulling, I get fully situated as I breathe hard to catch my breath, my body covered in sweat from the exertion, as the chair is swiveled back into place for me to drive.

“<huff huff> How am I <wheeze> going to do this every day? <huff huff> Damn.” I complain, more tired than annoyed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. Maybe they’ll let you teach from home after a while, like we hoped? Once they see how amazing you are, and understand your struggles…” my husband does his best to reassure me, of course, even as he jiggles my fat side roll as he says “struggles”. God bless him, the man is too horny for me.

“We can only hope. Phew, okay, I think I’m ready to make my way inside. Kissies?” I tilt my head up as John leans in and kisses me, lasting a couple seconds longer than we meant to before he pulls away.

“Alright, go on then, before I load you and this scooter back into the van so I can have my way with you. You’ll be great, alright?”

I can only laugh in response as I tilt the joystick forward to make my way to the sidewalk, then towards the school. Looking at the automatic doors, I sigh in relief at their size. I was assured wholeheartedly they were much wider than most automatic doors, and that is exactly what I’m seeing before me. It’s very amusing, that I half wonder if they have someone else who’s nearly half a ton like me. Or do they like me that much?

Not a soul to be seen inside, but I did arrive about an hour or so before morning classes. Now sure how, I love to sleep in most of the time. Especially after a big meal… damn, now I’m hungry. I rub what I can reach of my huge belly in the vain hope it’s close enough to my actual stomach to soothe the small growling sounds emitting from it. Unfortunately, it really is in vain as –

Oh, no.

My office isn’t very far, being right here on the ground floor, a relief as no one could trust the elevator to hold me. Well, me and the 400 lbs of machinery that makes up my scooter but… oh fuck. The scooter is starting to slow down, a couple seconds later I visibly cringe as the engine whirs a little louder before <poomph>… dying on me. Much like my indulgent lifestyle has done to me, my scooter is no longer mobile. Or is it… nope, pressing the start button does nothing. It’s dead.

“Oh shit,” I groan aloud at the situation, my hands and arm resting on both the scooter’s arms and my large side rolls. John isn’t here to help me and my phone… oh crap, I left my phone at home!

“Okay, okay, deep breaths, Trisha. It’s not the end of the world. Just… really really embarrassing. Yeah, embarrassing. Mortifying, really, but you’ve been through worse. You were at a Denny’s once, and this… this is not a Denny’s. You just have to… walk… twenty feet. That’s it. That’s nothing.” I do my best to reassure myself, but truth be told, I haven’t walked in years. Sure, I stand a couple times a day to move from my scooter to my bed and back. Or the van.

But walk? Not in a long long time, ever since I became essentially immobile 3 years ago.

With a few deep breaths, I scrunch my face into what I can only hope looks like determination, I slowly turn the chair to the side, towards the wall I’m closer to, my huge gut dragging along as I do so and sagging to the floor and slightly pulling me with it. Alright, I can use this to my advantage… just like we practiced, Trisha. Just rock back and forth, yep just like that. Now brace against the arms. Okay.

You got this.

1… 2… 3…!

With a loud groan, and just as slow as I feel, I can feel my legs shift and push. Almost like I’m rolling forward, using my huge gut as a counter balance, my ass slowly lifts out of the chair and my body moves forward. And forward. And… oof! I catch myself against the wall, barely, working hard to catch my breath, the cold stone pressing into my front. It takes me almost 5 minutes to turn around to face down the hall towards my office, feeling the intense pressure on my feet and knees.

“Alright, let’s do this. Twenty feet,” I reassure myself, bracing my hands against my apron of a gut as I straighten up best I can with a groan. The huge sloshing fat that makes my stomach manages to raise off the ground by only half an inch, and my barrel-wide thighs slowly push forward against it. Step by tiny step I begin the short yet long journey towards my goal, my gluttony fully being realized as it feels like it takes all my strength to propel myself forward.

Ten minutes and 5 feet pass by before I have to lean forward to rest the beanbag chair of a belly back down to let myself rest. Huffing and slightly wheezing, sweat covering my entire body and starting to soak through my clothes. How has this much time passed without anyone seeing me, or even helping me??, I think to myself, looking at a camera mounted just a short distance away. What assholes. What, am I going to eat them? That’s nuts. That’s a different story, ya weirdos.

After allowing myself a few minutes of rest, and a new sense of determination, I gather up my strength again and slowly straighten back up to start shuffling my mass forward. Pushing my legs against my large hanging fat belly, and my own weight certainly makes it a challenge, however. 45 minutes later, with several small breaks in-between, I just make it to the door. My face feels like it’s on fire, I’m drenched in sweat, my legs are shaking.

I can’t even begin to tell you how I managed to make it here, but I did.

“<huff huff huff> Phew, finally,” I breathe out, and reach to open the door only to find…

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Granted, I’m completely exhausted at this point, so it took me a few seconds to realize this fact. A-and to be fair, I didn’t realize it twenty feet ago, okay? I-I… alright fine, I wasn’t even paying attention. But how am I going to fit through this door?

Well, screw it, I made it this far. What’s a door got on me?

A lot apparently. I’m pretty round from the get go, so there’s no easy way to do this. And there’s a phone right there. On my desk, with a chair that I can only HOPE will hold me.

So, furrowing my brow again, I begin to push forward. First, I slowly ease and basically shove my massive belly through the door, ignoring the scratches it causes to my poor skin. Then, shuffling inch by inch, I start to turn and try to side-step in. Keyword being that I try, as my ass naturally decided it didn’t want to squeeze in with me.

“<huff, puff> Come on, <huff> dammit,” I curse aloud as I brace my pillowy arms against the door frame and try and push and pull myself in. It works. Kind of.

Unfortunately another 10 minutes pass when I start to tire out… and I’m only halfway through the door. AND NO ONE IS STILL AROUND. Is there a party or something I’m just not privy to?

Thankfully, though, it’s enough to juuuuuust – there! I hooked a finer on one of the cords of the phone, carefully pulling it closer. Wheezing and out of breath, I pray the number I dial is right, pulling the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?” John’s familiar voice answers, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“John, babe, I--”

“Trisha? Honey, what happened? I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour now, did something happen to your phone??” John’s worried voice tells me that he’s been in a panic, and a pang of guilt hits me for leaving my cell at home.

“I left my phone at home by accident. Listen, babe, I’m stuck and I… wait, why were you trying to call me?” I ask him, the realization of what he said only just now hitting me.

“The dean called, she realized she gave you the wrong starting date! You’re not supposed to come in until Tuesday, because they need to widen your office door--” That explains a lot, I think to myself. “--and the crew couldn’t do it until Monday.”

“Monday? What do you mean, I… wait. Babe, what day is today?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Son of a bitch. Okay, babe, I need you to come pick up the scooter, and bring a hammer with you.” I try to sound calm, despite feeling incredibly pissed off now.

“A hammer?” my husband repeats back.

“Yeah, John. I’m uh… stuck.”