Content Warning:

The following story contains multiple examples of female humiliation and body-shaming. Fair warning, it might not have been written for you. Proceed with caution.

“BOTTOMLESS HOLES”

A Serialized Tale of Shame & Humiliation

PROLOGUE: ‘Unlikely to Return’

Name: Marcy H. Age: 25 Birthday: 04/07/1996

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Eye Color: Green Hair: Blonde Piercings: None Tattoos: None

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Cup Size: 44G Height: 5 ft 3 in Weight: 162 lb Measurements: 58-34-48

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Completed Sessions: 3 Notes: Incapable of basic exercises. Emotionally volatile. Unlikely to return.

CHAPTER ONE: The Inspection

Marcy lingered outside Mr. Penn’s residence, wondering why she continued to subject herself to this humiliation; but, of course, she already knew the answer to that…

If he were standing here with her now, Mr. Penn would tell her that it’s “because, Marcy, you have no self-control. Not an iota. For the same reason why you can’t resist shovelling food into your fat face, you can’t resist showing up here to be punished for it. It’s just— your gluttonous nature. You can never get enough: food, or shame.” And he’d have been right, of course. Marcy could never seem to get enough.

This strange arrangement Marcy now found herself in began a month ago, with a chance encounter at the supermarket. Seeing Mr. Penn again, after all these years, had felt like coming face-to-face with the Ghost of Christmas Past. That night, Marcy had sobbed uncontrollably, recalling all the long-buried memories that she’d attempted to repress.

On the surface, Mr. Penn had been surprisingly affable during their meeting. He’d asked how Marcy had gotten on with her life after graduation, what she was doing with herself now, ect. The normal questions a teacher might ask an ex-student of their’s. But, Mr. Penn’s eyes had still betrayed the cruel, judgemental man she’d once known.

The entire time they’d been stood there in the aisle making small-talk, Mr. Penn’s gaze had wandered from the proportions of Marcy’s body — marvelling at the size of her breasts, frowning slightly as he counted the rolls visible through her shirt — to the contents of her overflowing shopping-cart — starring at the Oreo’s and pints of ice cream, as if seeing a smoking gun.

Before they had both said goodbye and walked down the aisle in separate directions, Mr. Penn had stopped himself to rummage through his wallet for a moment, then he withdrew a business card and presented it to Marcy with a sardonic grin. The header above his name read ‘Personal Trainer’.

“It’s never too late to make a change”, he’d said, still smirking. “First three sessions are on the house…”

After taking a deep breath, Marcy knocked on Mr. Penn’s front-door. He opened it before her heavy fist could even finish knocking, causing Marcy to awkwardly lurch forward. Once she regained her balance, Marcy stammered, embarrassed: “H-hello, M-mr. Penn.”

Mr. Penn greeted her with a levelled stare, one eyebrow twitching slightly at the corner with disapproval. “You’re late.”

Marcy grimaced inwardly, then stepped inside. She didn’t know what to say. Already, she regretted entering Mr. Penn’s house again, knowing what was in store for her. But, if that were true, why was the cramped space between Marcy’s thick thighs beginning to feel uncomfortably wet…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Penn.” The words came out of her mouth as if they were involuntary.

“I don’t care”, Mr. Penn barked. “Downstairs, go.”

Marcy carefully made her way down the narrow stairs, wobbling slightly as her feet blindly searched for the next step.

Mr. Penn walked behind her, his energy palpably impatient. This made Marcy’s cunt continue to drip steadily and uncontrollably, like some broken faucet, simply knowing his frustration with her was accumulating by the moment.

When Mr. Penn had yelled at her during their previous session — Marcy had been attempting to perform a single squat at the time, and failed to maintain her balance — it had felt like the closest thing to an orgasm she’d ever experienced. Laying on the floor of his gym, struggling for a moment to get back on her feet, like some helpless, overturned bug, that’s when it had happened. And Mr. Penn had noticed.

A short corridor followed the stairs. Both of its walls were adorned from top to bottom with medals, trophies, framed photographs, each a glimpse into a long and tumultuous athletic career. The end of the corridor featured a handful of photographs from Mr. Penn’s relatively short time at Bomphfry Highschool, where he’d been Marcy’s gym teacher for two very long years. He hadn’t been much nicer to her back then, either.

Seeing Mr. Penn’s life in totality like this, Marcy thought she understood why he’d been so bitter toward the students at Bomphfry Highschool. At the end of the corridor, in the space between the podium photographs and the ones taken of Bomphfry’s basketball team — in the undocumented gap in Mr. Penn’s history — Marcy sensed an unspoken scandal. A fall from grace, somehow. It had never occurred to her at the time, when she’d been Mr. Penn’s least favourite student, but now it seemed self-evident.

Before they reached the end of the corridor, Mr. Penn stepped in front of Marcy, making an effort to be heard sucking in his chest as he passed her. He proceeded to open the door, then quickly disappearing inside his basement gym.

Marcy followed, head bowed in shame, still asking herself the same questions — Why am I here? Why am I doing this!? — all while her cunt revealed the answer, by continuing to drip down her misshapen legs.

Mr. Penn stopped in front of an unfurled yoga mat, then turned on his heels to look at her.

Marcy swallowed. Something about that motion — the brisk way Mr. Penn just pivoted on his feet, arms held behind his back — gave her flashbacks to senior year gym classes. Most of which, Marcy spent hiding away in the girl’s bathroom, crying over some stupid remark Mr. Penn had made. Like the time he’d said she could be a great goalie by simply sitting ‘her fat ass down in front of the net’. Or when he’d— “Marcy, now…” Mr. Penn’s voice pierced her memory, as if it were a knife slicing through the thought-bubble dangling over her head. Marcy simply stood there for a long moment, feeling dazzled. She had no idea what Mr. Penn had just said to her. She’d been completely lost in thou— “Marcy. Now, on your hands and knees.” Mr. Penn snapped his fingers impatiently, then pointed to the yoga mat at his feet.

She obeyed, without thinking. But it only took Marcy a few seconds to question what she was doing for Mr. Penn. It felt… wrong. None of Marcy’s previous work-out sessions had begun this way. The weight-loss routine Mr. Penn had prepared for her was normally as rigid as it was unforgiving. Whatever was happening now, it was entirely impromptu. And that scared Marcy, as much as it excited her needy cunt.

But, if she were being honest with herself, Marcy would admit that she had been expecting something like this to happen. Something had changed between them the last time she’d been in Mr. Penn’s basement, when Marcy had stormed out, crying, legs still weak from her inexplicable and involuntary shame-orgasm. Now, he knew: deep down, Marcy craved the humiliation. And in turn, she knew: if she ever returned to his basement for another session, it wouldn’t just be only her motivations that were exposed.

Marcy knew, it would be the excuse Mr. Penn needed to treat her the way he’d always wanted to. The unconvincing character he’d played — that of a cold, but caring ex-teacher — would be gone, the mask removed. And in its place, Marcy trembled to think of who she’d meet.

“Head down”, Mr. Penn barked. “And ass up.” Marcy hesitated, before following his orders. She was now keenly aware of the way her elastic pants were stretching over her large ass, becoming as transparent as a screen-door. “Higher... Higher...” Marcy swallowed again, lifting her ass a little higher with each command. “…There”, Mr. Penn announced, sounding mildly satisfied.

An unbearable silence followed this. Marcy stared down at the yoga mat beneath her, jaw clenched, knowing Mr. Penn was now studying her ass intently. Studying the way the fabric disappeared inside her deep ass crack, the way the cottage-cheese texture showed through the elastic. Marcy held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for it to be over.

“Be still!” Marcy had felt Mr. Penn’s hand plant itself on her waist and she’d jumped slightly, startled by the sudden contact. “Don’t move an inch”, Mr. Penn continued. “Stay as you are, until I’m done.”

“I’m sorry”, Marcy blurted out. Mr. Penn didn’t respond.

She felt his finger-tips dig under the waistband of her pants, slowly pulling the fabric down over her cheeks, revealing her ass to him the way curtains reveal a stage — a very large stage.

Once her pants were bunched up around her knees, Marcy heard Mr. Penn grunt under his breath. It sounded like strange mixture of gratification and disgust. Marcy closed her eyes again, preying that he couldn’t see the wet spot on her panties.

“Jesus Christ”, Mr. Penn muttered to himself, after a long moment of silent thought. “Your ass is even fatter than I thought.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a fucking pig, Marcy. You’ve always revolted me.”

Marcy hesitated, shocked by the bluntness of his language. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Pigs don’t talk. They oink.”

Marcy didn’t know what to say to that.

“…Don’t they?”, Mr. Penn continued, expectantly.

Then, Marcy swallowed, suddenly understanding. “Oink.”

“Good piggy.”

Marcy tensed, as she felt Mr. Penn’s fingers fumbling with the hook of her sports bra. It fell to the floor, letting Marcy’s breasts hang freely, nipples skimming the yoga mat beneath her.

“Okay then, let’s inspect your udders first”, Mr. Penn decided, now kneeling beside the mat. “Arch your back.”

Marcy obeyed, lifting her heavy breasts away from the floor in the process.

Mr. Penn stood up slowly, then kicked Marcy’s sports bra out from under her. It flew towards the gym equipment on the other side of the basement, landing in front of the treadmill. Then, Mr. Penn slide his foot beneath Marcy’s heavy gut once again, this time to callously test the heft of her udders, by nudging them with his shoes. She grimaced, keeping the pain to herself.

Satisfied, Mr. Penn turned on his heels, then leaned over Marcy’s ass once again. “Now”, he said, “let’s see about those fat fuck holes of your’s.” In one motion, he grabbed hold of Marcy’s wet, tangled panties, then tore them to one side. Marcy heard the fabric rip, but somehow, the panties remained in place, the fabric now digging into the flesh of her left ass cheek.

“You wax”, Mr. Penn remarked, sounding mildly surprised. “Do you have a boyfriend, piggy?”

Marcy shock her head. She’d never had a boyfriend, ever.

“I wouldn’t think so”, Mr. Penn whispered under his breath. “You waxed after you decided to come back for another workout session, didn’t you?”

“Oink.”

Mr. Penn laughed to himself, his fingers now teasing the opening of Marcy’s pussy. A cold, cruel laugh. The kind Marcy had heard plenty times before in Mr. Penn’s gym class, every time she’d embarrassed herself in front of everyone. It was the swallow, guttural laugh of a bully.

“Are you still a virgin, piggy?”

This was the question Marcy had been dreading. She knelt there, feeling Mr. Penn’s fingers threatening to enter her, trying to summon the courage to answer him. Eventually, she managed a response: “Oink.”

For a moment, Mr. Penn said nothing. Marcy thought she could sense him silently doing the math inside his head, figuring out how long ago he’d known Marcy as the awkward, chubby nineteen year old she’d once been. He confirmed her suspicion, by muttering the answer under his breath: “a twenty-five year old virgin, huh? Christ almighty…”

“Oink.”

TO BE CONTINUED…