Where's The Beef

"That's it, I'm done, No more."

Lilly threw in the proverbial towel by un-tucking her napkin and dropping it on her still full plate. She'd tried her best, but she couldn't beat her. She'd made it past the wings, the pizza and the burgers, but the steak round had been one course too many. Her belly grumbled and groaned under the immense pressure of eating enough food to feed at least six grown men, her jeans gratefully unbuttoned, she slumped back in her seat to rest. Her opponent raised her arms in triumph, still noisily chewing a mouthful of sirloin.

The crowd in Big Al's Saloon cheered, the champion had held onto her crown for the fifth year in a row, and for the second time in a row Lilly had failed to unseat her. Her opponent, the one and only Christine. Christine's father was a beef producer of note, and of course the spoils had gone mostly to his beloved daughter Christine. Raised on an almost exclusively steak diet, she had a tolerance for meat consumption that bordered on the super human. Christine stood to bask in the glory of her victory, and Lilly could see how. Christine's pretty, chubby, sun browned face and glorious blonde hair sat atop a pair of tits you could loose a herd in. Christine wore her trademark red plaid shirt, tied in a loose knot under her heaving bosom, and a pair of worn jeans unbuttoned at the waist. The shirt emphasised her shelf like chest, leaving the source of her remarkable talent uncovered: her gut. Sticking out like a white whale trying to breastfeed, it looked uncomfortably swollen and tight, making Christine look like she'd had an unfortunate encounter with a beach inflatable. White and spherical, it emerged in a vast curve that swelled out from the space immediately under her breasts, sloping round to overhang her jeans by several inches. Her hips were wide and accommodating, her butt large and firm, the edges of a thong just visible running up over her hips. Christine hollered at the crowd, who roared back, wiping away a trace of barbeque sauce that had dripped onto her heaving girth. She wobbled her way round the table to gloat over her bested opponent. Hands akimbo, she stuck her stomach out as far as she could, a wry smile on her full red lips. Her tiny navel, alone on the ocean of stomach, sat at eye level with Lilly's face.

"Well now Lilly, guess you still ain't got what it takes to beat little old me!"

"There ain't nothing little about little old you no more Christine!"

Lilly raised a finger and gave the mountainous midsection a prod. She was surprised at how full and tight it felt, hard like a tractor tire, and very warm. A rumbling gurgle shook Christine's mammoth belly, a frown and a wince crossing her tanned complexion.

"Hey, hands to yourself, loser. You ain't got nothing on me, squirt. See for yourself, I probably got enough room in here for another three rounds of steak!"

She ran appreciative hands over her immense gut, smiling wickedly to herself. Lilly wasn't so sure

"I wouldn't be so sure if I was you, Christine. Maybe you overdid it this year."

A look of hot fury flashed across Christine's face, all the while her hands still caressing her bloated stomach.

"Well you would say that, wouldn't you? I bet you'd have liked it if I backed out and let you win, well no chance Lilly, no chance. I'm a born winner, there ain't a steak dinner on God's green earth I couldn't beat, an that's why… I'm better than you."

She smirked; hands paused halfway down the rolling flanks of her heaving midsection, before turning on her heels and making her way to Big Al and the newspaper men for her prize. Big Al waved ecstatically at her, no doubt pleased at all the attention his business had received from this year's tournament.

"Christine, congratulations, when are you due?"

He laughed and prodded Christine's bloated abdomen, which responded to his touch with an angry whine and a shiver as the contents shifted uncomfortably.

"Very funny Al, Just gimme my prize, I need to go lie down and sleep some of this off…"

Her hands massaged her aching gut. She'd never eaten this much before, she felt giddy and sick, but above all glad Lilly had stopped first. A few more bites and she might've burst.

"But of course, my prize pig, just a few words and a picture from these here journalist men."

The press pressed in around her, hounding her with a few questions. How had this years contest been? How did she prepare? What was her secret? Christine smiled and waved, sticking out her gurgling gut and smiling for the cameras. She groaned to herself, she had the worst stomach ache ever, but it was worth it to beat that little bitch Lilly. How dare she say Christine had over done things? That cow, she just wanted to win. Her belly shifted uncomfortably in her hands, gurgling and rumbling, she began to suspect she had overdone things. Oh well, if she was going to make something of herself, she had to push herself every once in a while.

"Alright gentlemen, you'll want a shot of this!"

Al produced a large rubber stamp, somewhat akin to a branding iron, dripping with red ink. Christine could just about make out the backwards writing on it: "Grade AAA Beef". She groaned. She felt quite sick; the problem with eating so fast was that it caught up with you later. Her massive belly rolled and moaned, feeling tighter and tighter by the minute. She soothed it with her hands, rubbing up and down her immensely swollen sides, breathing shallowly to avoid disturbing it.

"Let's give these boys a good picture for the news!"

Christine groaned, but arched her back and stuck out her belly for the cameras. She was a champion, and as such her bountiful belly had certain responsibilities to her adoring fans. It had swollen noticeably bigger since she had gloated over Lilly with it, now it sat hard and round on her midriff, hurting and groaning from the pressure inside. She smiled as best as she could for the cameras and Big Al brought down the stamp.

There was a bang. And a scream.

The newspapers the next day all carried the same set of photographs. In the first of the set, Big Al stands proud, stamp blurred as it arches down toward the colossal white stomach of Christine. She stands smiling proudly, gut stuck out like a great white whale, tiny navel dead centre of the picture. One of her hands is folded proudly atop her immense bulk, the other stroking the side. Her huge breasts sit gamely atop the bloated orb, nipples just visible poking through the fabric. In the next photo, the stamp collides with her stomach just above the tiny hollow of her belly button, and a huge ripple has made its way half way around the rotund circumference of her fattened belly. A look of deep pain and fear has formed on her face; her hands seem now to be clutching her gargantuan stomach, willing it not to give in. The next photos only run in a select few papers, and it shows what happens next. Over the course of three photos, deep slash marks appear along Christine's fecund flanks, the immensity of her belly beginning to split. The look of terror on her face is replaced by one of abject agony. The next photo shows the contents of her stomach forcing its way through her stomach's shredded wall, her belly all but rags of flesh at this point. The final photo shows the bloated champion, eyes rolled back, mouth agape, hands held a few inches from the ruined remains of her colossal stomach.

There's talk it may win a Pulitzer.