There is a bunch of east european slavic erotic folktales about fatties, of physiological and hedonistic kind. E.g.
1. The Lad and the Priest’s Daughter
There was a lad who took a fancy to a priest’s daughter. He invited her for a walk, keeping it secret from the priest and his wife. She agreed to go. She was beautiful, plump, and heavy-set, and after walking just a little way with him, she grew tired. He said to her, “Sit on my shoulders, and I’ll carry you.” The priest’s daughter replied, “Oh, come now, you won’t be able to carry me—I weigh seven poods [about 250 pounds].” He said, “That’s nothing, I’ve carried heavier.”
“But how am I supposed to climb onto you? I can’t lift myself up there,” she said. He replied, “Why should you? I’ll get under you myself.” He squatted down and said, “Come on, sit on me.” She hitched up her skirt, pulling it over her privates so her bare flesh wouldn’t press against him, and sat on his shoulders. With her perched there, he stood up from his squat and started walking.
As he walked, carrying her, her round, soft privates rubbed against him through the skirt, and he held her thighs with his hands to keep her from falling. It started to arouse her—it was both embarrassing and pleasurable—and she pressed herself tighter against him with those very lips and slit, letting out so much juice that it soaked through her skirt and wet his neck. He felt it on himself and said, “Is it sweet for you, riding me, beauty?”
She blushed and said, “Yes, it’s sweet, Vanyusha.” He replied, “Thank you. And if you rode me another way, it’d be even sweeter.” Then he began to wiggle his neck and shoulders, rubbing her privates with the back of his neck. She grew shy and said, “Vanyusha, what are you doing?” He answered, “You’ve surely seen how horses carrying heavy loads twitch their manes? Well, I’m doing the same.” She started breathing heavily and climaxed on him. He acted as if he didn’t notice a thing.
After walking about half a verst [around 500 meters], he got tired and set her down to rest. He’d jostled her belly and body so much that she felt the urge to relieve herself fully. She looked around, but there wasn’t a single tree or place to step away to. Too embarrassed to say what she needed, she said, “Vanyusha, don’t you want to walk ahead without me for a bit?” He replied, “How could I want to step away and not look at your beauty?” She was flattered but didn’t know what else to say. She stood there silently, squirming, clutching her stomach, the pressure down below so strong she could hardly bear it. Blushing as red as a poppy, she whispered to him, “Vanyushenka, I need to shit.”
He said, “Why didn’t you say so? Don’t hold it in, darling. Shit if you need to. I’ll step away if you want, or I’ll help you if you’d rather. If it were up to me, I’d feast my eyes on you.” She lowered her eyes completely and murmured even softer, “Stay, Vanyushenka. I can’t manage without you.” He understood and said, “Why should you have to sit and strain yourself? I’ll help you.”
He took off his shirt, laid it on the ground, and gently lowered her onto it on her back. He lifted her skirt, took her legs, and raised them up, so everything below was fully exposed. Lying there, she whispered, “Vanechka, you can see all my privates, and my whole ass.” He said, “I bow low to you for letting me. I could gaze at them my whole life, and if you’d allow it, I wouldn’t just look.” At that moment, she let go from both places. She whispered, “Vanya, I’ve shat.” He replied, “Good, darling, it’s good you shat well—you’ll eat better now.” He tore off the hem of his shirt and wiped her clean, spotless. She said, “Vanechka, wash me. At home, they always wash me after I go.” But there was no water anywhere. So he licked his hand and began rubbing and stroking her down there with it, and by the time he’d “washed” her like that, she came in his hand.
He hoisted her onto his shoulders again and carried her back to her house. She rode him, barely breathing, exhausted. He got so caught up in it all that he forgot he’d sneaked her out secretly. With her still on his shoulders, he knocked at her courtyard gate. The priest ran out, and the priest’s wife, a fat, round woman who could barely fit through the door, waddled out too. They said, “Oh, what’s this?”
He answered, “I was passing by and saw your daughter walking, looking worn out. So I put her on my shoulders and brought her to you. You shouldn’t let her wander off—she’s delicate.” They said, “Why’s the hem of your shirt torn?” He replied, “The shirt’s torn, but I brought your daughter back untorn!” They caught on, bit their tongues, and left him alone.
He left, and they noticed she was all sweaty. They took her to bathe her. When they spread her ass and privates, they saw she was clean as could be, like she’d just been bathed. “Where did you wash?” they asked. “I didn’t wash anywhere—Vanya washed me!” she said, and told them everything. She declared, “I won’t marry anyone but Vanya.” They called him back and said, “Well, if you hadn’t washed her privates and ass so well, you’d never have seen her again! We wouldn’t even have talked about you.”
He replied, “I didn’t wash her for talk. I’ll marry her, and I’ll wash her like that every day.” And so she married him.
