The Director of the Fat Farm ushered his guest into a plush, warm room, which had
been specially prepared to receive them.  
      	"Your Excellency," said the Director.  "This is Mr Hard, who takes
care of day to day matters for me.  He will be demonstrating.” 
      	Mr Hard, a stocky, thickset character in a black jumpsuit, nodded politely.  
      	"Please, do sit down," said the Director, indicating a comfortable sofa,
and perching on the edge of it, beside his guest.  
      	"Would you like any refreshment, Your Excellency?  Some tea perhaps?” 
      	His Excellency smiled but shook his head.  "You are most kind, but no. 
Throughout my journey I have been impatient to see what you have for me.  Please proceed
with the demonstration.” 
      	"Very well.  I have selected three samples to offer you, and I'm sure
you will be pleased with their quality - or quantity, I should say!  I'm sure we can
meet your requirements - I promise you, anything can be achieved.” 
      	Along one whole wall of the lounge - the wall which the sofa was facing - hung a
heavy blue curtain, or rather three sets of curtains, each concealing one of the
'samples' the Director had mentioned.  
      	Mr Hard stood by the cord of the leftmost curtain, awaiting instructions.  
      	"One at a time, I think," said the Director, and sat back more
comfortably on the couch as Mr Hard took over.  
      	As the first curtain was pulled back it revealed a painted plywood wall with a
large square cut out of the centre of it.   Positioned behind the cut-away square, and
framed by it perfectly, like a picture, was a woman's bottom.  Only her buttocks and
upper thighs could be seen, surrounding the pouting, shaven pussy which drew the eye and
formed the centrepiece of the composition.  Her legs were hidden by the screen and no
other part of her was visible.  Her back sloped away downwards, indicating that her upper
body was tied down in some fashion, but another curtain fell over her torso at waist
level, so nothing beyond it could be seen.  
      	But this wasn't just any bottom.  This was a special bottom - this was a big
bottom!  
      	The buttock cheeks were like huge inflated balloons, each one far wider than a
normal, slim woman's hips.  The thighs were huge - thick tree-trunks of flesh - and
the pussy itself, fat and swollen though it was, looked threatened to be engulfed by all
the bulging flesh around it.  
      	His Excellency the Supreme Ruler of that little wealthy independent State not many
people have heard of, shuffled slightly in his robes.  The Director cast a sidelong look
at his face, but it was impossible to tell from the ever-serene expression whether the man
was pleased or disappointed.  
      	"Next," said the Director, and Mr Hard drew back the second curtain.  
      	This one undoubtedly had even bigger buttocks and even bigger thighs, but her
waist was thicker than that of the first, so in a way she looked less shapely.  She also
had been shaved - all three of these samples had, in accordance with the customer’s
anticipated preference - and had huge, purple sex lips which gave this part of her anatomy
- along with all the rest of it - a giant-size look.  
      	His Excellency tipped his head to one side, as if considering what he saw, and
gave a little grunt, which could have meant anything, but the Director chose to take as
approval.  
      	"And last but not least -”
      	The third bottom looked impossibly big.  The fleshy buttocks drooped, virtually
obscuring the sex, and the thighs were quite lumpy.  How legs that thick at the top could
taper down to normal sized feet was a mystery!  
      	His Excellency was looking critically from one bottom to the next.  While to some,
a big bum was just a big bum, this man was an expert on the subject and had experienced
every possible variation.  There were types of big bum, distinct categories, although in
the end - and this was the joy of it – every one was slightly different.  
      	"Would you like to see the brochures again, Your Excellency?" the
Director asked.  The brochures, which were usually sent out to prospective customers in
advance of a visit, provided pages and pages of colour photographs of each Fat Farm
product, taken from every possible angle.  
      	"No thank you - I studied them carefully.  The central specimen is the one
with the huge nipples, yes?” 
      	"That's right.” 
      	His Excellency smiled at the Director.  "I am sure they're impressive
all over, but as you know, it is this end that particularly interests me.  May I inspect
them?” 
      	"Of course, please do.” 
      	And so His Excellency stood up and spent some time with each of the bottoms, which
poked through the wall into the room slightly - touching and feeling and squeezing and
prodding with expert hands.   "Excellent!" he pronounced eventually, and resumed
his seat.   "I assume you intend to show me them in motion, though?  The way they
move is always the crucial factor.” 
      	The Director nodded at Mr Hard who touched a button on an adjacent wall.  
      	The out of sight conveyor belts on which each of the female specimens was in fact
standing were smoothly activated, and the three huge pink blobs of flesh jerked
simultaneously into action.  
      	At last His Excellency's face showed some emotion.  It lit up with pleasure
and he let out an unselfconscious, contented sigh.  
      	Now, big fat bottoms in action are better seen than described, but needless to
say, the reader's imagination can conjure up a suitable picture.  As the heavy legs
thump down with each step, shock waves are transmitted through the wobbly flesh so that
every inch of it bounces and vibrates.  The buttocks shake and judder and wobble like only
fat buttocks can.  
      	But wait until that dial is turned, and the speed of the conveyors increases,
forcing the bottom owners into a fast jog!   This is the point at which the buttocks slap
and bounce against each other, and when regular ripples pass over the huge seas of soft
flesh, all of which seems to take on a life of its own as it is driven into mad, frenzied
movement.  
      	His lecherous Excellency was nodding slowly to himself.   "Very good.  Very
impressive," he said to the Director.  "A good selection.  I'm sure to take
one of them.” 
      	Mr Hard, who had adjusted the speed of the belts to the level that, in his expert
opinion, best showed off the mobility of the flab on offer, now stepped over to a small
table in one corner of the room and discretely picked up a broad leather strap.  
      	"Shall I - ?" he queried.  
      	"Your Excellency?" the Director asked.  "A little whipping display?
 Or perhaps you'd like to do it yourself?” 
      	"No, no.  I'm very happy watching from this distance.  Go ahead,
please.” 
      	Mr Hard, positioning himself carefully, so as not to obscure the customer's
view, set to on the first bottom, laying the heavy strap carefully and regularly across
both buttocks, which didn't falter in their rhythmic bouncing, but rapidly reddened
under the onslaught.  
      	The sound the strap made was spectacular, and varied slightly with each blow,
depending on exactly which bit of flesh it hit, and at what precise angle.  No sounds
could be heard from the hidden ends of the women - whose mouths were well gagged and whose
panting was muted by the second curtain - and the state-of-the-art conveyors ran smoothly
and silently, so the sound of the strap falling on bulging flesh soon came to dominate the
atmosphere of the room.  
      	Mr Hard had very well-developed arm muscles - he did this sort of thing for a
living after all - and he continued with the strapping tirelessly, swapping arms when
necessary and moving from bottom to bottom to ensure that all three got a thorough
thrashing.  
      	It was now at least half an hour since the conveyors had been switched on, but
there was no slowing or sign of fatigue in any of the juddering posteriors.  Only a slight
sheen of sweat confirmed their exertions, and perhaps just a little visible wetness of the
slit and sex lips as the constant movement and vibration had an inescapable effect on the
female arousal mechanism.  
      	But otherwise, no sign of tiredness or flagging.  These bottoms had been
well-prepared for this moment - exercised regularly in a similar manner to ensure that
they could keep displaying their superb judderability for long periods of time.  
      	The Director and his client were chatting a little now, precisely along these
lines.  
      	"Fat but fit, that's my motto," the Director was saying.  
"Flab needs to be kept moving, and while of course it can be done by machine, I think
it's best when it moves itself.” 
      	"Quite.  There's no reason why these ladies shouldn't have to make
an effort, just because they're heavy.” 
      	"Absolutely.  Of course, the ones that get exercised like this need feeding
even more, but that just adds to the fun.  You must stay with us when you next have time,
Your Excellency, and we can compare notes and discuss methods.” 
      	"Of course, I would be glad to.  Only this time, unfortunately, it can only
be a brief visit.  I was keen to re-stock, but other pressing matters draw me home.” 
      	Mr Hard was still thrashing, and all six buttocks were still bouncing wildly.