The Slowest Champion -Revisited-

[riptoryx]

Back in 2012, @flaming-hades published a nifty little story called “The Slowest Champion.” A story about weight gain and role-reversal, it is noteworthy for being not a very “nice” story. It casts weight gain in an objectively negative light. It flirts with themes of punishment, humiliation, degradation, disempowerment, failure, defeat, and shame. It lacks a traditional happy ending. Those are all things I love about it, and they are big part of why it ranks among my recent(ish) favorites in the realm of weight gain fiction.

That said, I have always regarded “The Slowest Champion” to be a bit of a diamond-in-the-rough. While powered by great ideas and a sense of energy that builds towards one of the most elegantly-simple yet crushingly-effective conclusions I’ve ever read in this genre, in other respects some parts of the story seemed to me unpolished, or simply incomplete.

With blessing from FlamingHades, what follows is my attempt to give this underappreciated gem a little TLC, to help bring out its dark inner sparkle.

Starting this weekend, and updating roughly once per week until completion, I will be posting:

  "The Slowest Champion -Revisited-"

Single-sentence summary:  “A champion high school swimmer’s figure and fortunes are undone when she succumbs to the temptations presented by her own success.”

A story…

• Written by me, Riptoryx.
• Edited by realistic dark weight gain erotica luminary (and one my personal favorite authors in this genre), Maverick.
• With creative consultation from “Ali.”
• Based on the original “The Slowest Champion” by FlamingHades.

Stay tuned…

 

Note:  If you’re keen to get updates on this story as soon as possible, I recommend watching my DeviantArt (http://riptoryx.deviantart.com/) or following my Tumblr (http://riptoryx.tumblr.com/). The latest updates will appear there first, before I get around to migrating text over to Curvage.  

Bigger Note:  The version of this story available on my DeviantArt page includes additional polish and some substantive revisions added after the text first appeared here at Curvage. Since I can't update the old Curvage forum posts, if you want to read the "best" version of the story, I recommend reading it at DeviantArt (http://riptoryx.deviantart.com/).

Edited July 9, 2017 by riptoryx
Added note re: updated version available at DA.

[Matt L.]

Looking forward to reading your story.

[riptoryx]

@Matt L. Thanks! I'm excited to begin sharing it. Opinions are welcome, and discussion encouraged. 

[shammyboy]

This is like a perfect creative storm. I'm pumped.

[riptoryx]

5 hours ago, shammyboy said:

This is like a perfect creative storm. I'm pumped.

Sweet! If you like @flaming-hades's original story, or if you enjoy @Maverick's style of stories generally, then this will probably be up your alley. Both of those folks had a big influence on the creative process, one way or another. "I stand on the shoulders of giants." 

[mahi]

Have always loved this story and your work as well @riptoryx. Plots with role reversal and weight gain and humiliation are by far my favorite kind of story. Will deffinitely stay updated! 

[riptoryx]

5 hours ago, mahi said:

Have always loved this story and your work as well @riptoryx. Plots with role reversal and weight gain and humiliation are by far my favorite kind of story. Will deffinitely stay updated! 

Thanks! Up to this point, I'm not sure I've even really done much of anything that could qualify as "work," but I'll take the compliment!

These kinds of stories are usually my favorite, too. It doesn't capture every possible variation on weight gain that I might include a list of my top fantasy turn-ons (and I'm not sure any single story reasonably could), but it manages to fold in quite a few of them. 

[xandercroft]

I'm not sure if I would like humilliation in my personal life (giving) but damn if it doesn't make for a hot story.  Looking forward to it!

[riptoryx]

1 hour ago, xandercroft said:

I'm not sure if I would like humilliation in my personal life (giving) but damn if it doesn't make for a hot story.

I agree! Some things are probably best explored and enjoyed in voyeuristic fantasy. One of the great things about Curvage and its kin is that these are places where those so-inclined can do exactly that, in the understanding company of like-minded people. 

[riptoryx]

 

Cover art for "The Slowest Champion -Revisited-"

First part of the story coming soon.

[maxymumspyder]

This is fantastic news!

[riptoryx]

8 minutes ago, maxymumspyder said:

This is fantastic news!

Thanks! The enthusiasm is much-appreciated.

[riptoryx]

THE SLOWEST CHAMPION -REVISITED-

 

Exhaustion was setting in. Through her years of practice, Kara knew the signs well. She tried to ignore them. She focused on the rhythm, hoping somehow to infuse it with will and desire—faster, smoother, harder. There were only two more lengths of the pool to go, but every stroke seemed like energy-sapping torture. “Come on!” Kara thought.

It was no use. That final straight was the worst. There was just no gas left in the tank. “This isn’t even swimming anymore,” Kara thought. It was hell. Pure hell.

Kara sighed. She couldn’t bear to watch it any longer. She stared at her knees instead, and hugged her folded-in legs tighter. This was the finals of the state sectional swimming meet. A team championship was on the line, and she was stuck in the bleachers, watching it slip away.

After what seemed an eternity, Jessie finally tapped the wall. Arms trembling, she hauled herself out the pool with difficulty, to the sound of a few tepid cheers. All the other swimmers were not only out of the water, but already heading back to sit with their teams.

“Good effort, good effort!” yelled Sarah, clapping her hands. Kara raised her head and fixed a meaningful look on the blonde girl seated next to her, eyebrow arched. “Really?” that eyebrow said.

Catching Kara’s gaze, Sarah bit her lip and stopped clapping. She gave Kara a half-hearted shrug.

Kara watched Jessie hobble back over to her team’s section of the bleachers on unsteady legs, clutching at her right side. She looked miserable.

Jessie was the weakest swimmer on the team. She really shouldn’t even have been promoted up from junior varsity, in Kara’s estimation, but losing one of their better members to a sudden family relocation out of state had left the team shorthanded midseason. She did try hard, Kara had to acknowledge, but “effort” only counted for so much. This was the varsity team, after all, and the sectional finals. To be so close to taking home a team first place and then just fall apart like that…

Jessie grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her bulky form. In addition to being the team’s weakest swimmer, Jessie was also far and away its heaviest. Jessie had full, ponderous breasts, easily twice the size of Kara’s own pert boobs. But with twice the size there came extra size everywhere else, too. Jessie had thick, jiggly thighs, a bulbous rump, and a hefty belly which rivaled her boobs for status as dominant feature. The relative incongruity of her tubby figure amongst the fit ranks of the varsity team left many of the other girls feeling empathetically uncomfortable, particularly when they were all lined up in their swimsuits. Jessie’s face was soft and cherubic, but not ugly. She might actually be kind of cute, Kara supposed—with her freckles, long red hair, and striking blue eyes—if only she weren’t so fat. It did seem like she had managed to shed a bit of that blubber since getting bumped up to varsity, though.

Just then, a collective groan went up from the team. Jessie raised her goggles and turned to look back at the scoreboard, where her time had appeared. Reluctantly, Kara followed Jessie’s gaze. It was bad. In addition to being by far the slowest split from anyone at the meet in any event, let alone in that specific heat, it was also easily the worst time Jessie had posted all season. And that was saying something. Kara squeezed her eyes shut and gently banged her forehead against her folded hands.

Shoulders slumped, Jessie started up the steps towards her seat, through a gantlet of somber teammates. She paused when she stood in front of her team captain.

“I got a cramp,” Jessie mumbled. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Kara looked up at Jessie without expression, then returned her gaze to the scoreboard. “Yeah. Obviously.”

A buzzer sounded, calling swimmers to take positions for the next heat. Kara unfolded her legs and rose to her feet in one fluid motion. With a shrug of her shoulders she shucked off the letterman jacket she had draped around herself for warmth.

“Let’s see if this is still salvageable,” Kara said to no one in particular, her tone stern. Jessie hurriedly stepped aside to clear Kara’s path to the stairs.

“Light ‘em up, Kara-sene!”

“You can do it!”

“Come on, Kara!”

“Kara-mel!” “

Go Kare-aaaaaah!”

The cheers washed over her as she made her way down through the team’s ranks. Despite her best efforts, Kara’s lips curled into small, satisfied smile.

***

“I just wish she didn’t have to be so mean about it,” Jessie sulked.

“She’s not trying to be mean. She’s just…” Sarah scratched the back of her neck, searching for words. “Kara just really wants us to win.”

Jessie watched Kara weave her way through the traffic on the narrow bleacher stairs. Her trim hips swayed with effortless seductiveness. Long, shapely thighs flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed. Ascending to a tantalizing gap at her crotch, the slightest of reverberations coursed through them with each step, culminating in the feminine shimmy of Kara’s remarkably fulsome and toned bubble butt.

“I know, I know.” Jessie shivered under her towel. “Jeez, I really screwed up.”

Prior to Jessie’s last heat, the team had been nursing a narrow lead for first place in total points, just ahead of arch rival Woosler High. Emphasis on ‘had been.’ Jessie’s sloppy performance had single-handedly dropped them into second, almost third.

“Yep,” Sarah agreed. Her characteristic lack of tact caused Jessie to cringe.

Sarah was, to put it charitably, a very ‘honest’ person. In the same way that sledgehammers tended to be honest. Nonetheless, of all the girls on the varsity team, Jessie had found her to be the most welcoming. Like Jessie, she was a sophomore. Unlike Jessie, she had been on the varsity team since her freshman year. Wiry and petite, Sarah’s small frame made an odd vessel for her bold personality.

“But hey, we’ve still got a shot,” Sarah continued. “Three more events left, and one of them’s Kara’s. And Kara is awesome.”

Kara had taken her position behind the starting block and was warming up. She reached her arms overhead. The supple definition of her biceps, triceps, and deltoids coiled beneath her skin as she as stretched them to one side, then the other. Kara’s breasts, strikingly prominent on her physique, if somewhat compacted by the form-fitting swimsuit, pressed forward proudly beneath her well-defined collarbones.

Kara bent over and grabbed her ankles, effortlessly. She held the pose for a few moments, then stood upright again. Kara reached both hands behind her back and, with a practiced flick of her fingers, adjusted the fit of her suit across her bottom. Seen in profile from Jessie’s current vantage point, the pert, sculpted roundness of Kara’s ass was even more impressive, particularly in contrast to her tapered waist and the sleek flatness of her abdomen.

“She really is,” Jessie sighed.

It was fair to say that Jessie regarded Kara with a touch of awe. Two years older than her, and captain of the varsity girls swim team, Kara had been winning events all season. She made it look easy. Not only that, she made it look good.

Her warmups complete, Kara pulled her goggles into place. Hazel eyes and long chestnut hair—the latter presently tucked carefully under her swim cap—combined with the light olive tan still holding on to her complexion from the summer to afford Kara a hint of Mediterranean exotique. With her high, smooth cheekbones, pointed, slightly upturned nose, and sharply-defined jaw, Kara’s countenance possessed a vulpine charm. Facially, some likened her to a young Neve Campbell.

A whistle alerted the swimmers to mount the starting blocks and make ready. Moments later, at the buzzer’s signal, Kara and her row of competition sliced into the water with uniformly deft precision.

“Hey, look,” Sarah said, shifting to better face Jessie. “I’ve known Kara since back when we rode the same bus to grade school. I’m probably her best friend. Trust me—she doesn’t hate you, OK? She’s just super competitive, and she’s gotten really used to winning. That’s all. I know you try hard. She’ll come around. OK?”

Jessie nodded glumly.

“Ohh-kayyyy?” Sarah persisted, smirking and slugging Jessie in the shoulder.

“OK,” Jessie conceded, finally allowing herself a slight smile.

***

“Almost,” Kara thought. “Almost there.”

This was it. The final straight. Of the event. Of all her events for the meet. Of her high school career. She gave it everything.

Kara could hear the crowd, bursts of cheers punctuated by the muffling rush of water between every stroke. “Raaaaa-“ bloooosh “-aaaaaa-“ bloooosh.

With a last surge of power, Kara closed the gap and slapped the wall. Spent, she held onto the lane rope and tried to catch her breath. As the last of the swimmers reached the finish, the crowd hushed. All eyes looked to the scoreboard.

After what felt like an interminable pause, the swimmers’ names flashed onto the screen. Kara’s was at the top. Behind it was an asterisk, signifying that she had just broken the ancient sectional record. The crowd erupted. A girl from Woosler in the adjacent lane flashed Kara a thumbs up. Her teammates poured from the bleachers and all but hoisted her out of the water before she could manage it herself. They smothered her in hugs and excited congratulations.

Returning to the bleachers, Kara snuggled back into her oversized letterman jacket, her world suffused in a warm glow. All around her, the other girls chattered, cheered, and squealed with giddy excitement. Kara merely sat quietly, resting her chin on her laced fingers, elbows on knees, and beamed. For the moment, she was numb.

At the awards ceremony, team results were announced first. With Kara’s victory and two more strong performances after it, their team edged out Woosler to take home the first place trophy. Then came the individual awards for each event. When the MC called Kara to the podium to receive her first place medal and shake the state official’s hand, she was grinning so wide it hurt. Kara’s teammates cheered for her again, and none with more enthusiasm than Jessie. The long bus ride home was glorious.

***

It was Saturday afternoon in March, three days after the sectional meet. Kara was in her room, tinkering with her Facebook profile and trying to resist the urge to check her inbox one more time for any news on her application to Stanford University.

A prestigious institution by any measure, Stanford also just happened to have one of the best NCAA Division 1 swimming programs. In recent years, it had been among the nation’s most fertile feeder schools for Olympic contenders in both swimming and diving. Kara had also submitted an application to rival Bay Area swimming powerhouse, Cal. Indeed, Cal had already extended her an offer of admission along with a sizable athletic scholarship. But Kara considered that a backup plan. Her heart longed to wear Cardinal.

In the days since the sectional meet, Kara had already uploaded to her Facebook a new studio-quality photograph of herself with the championship medal—in her swimsuit, of course, flashing a winning smile, not to mention a calculated bit of cleavage and booty, thanks to her forward-leaning, half-twist pose. She had also already forwarded a copy of the photo to the yearbook committee, as well as the student newspaper. She had a copy on her phone, too.

As if on cue, Kara’s phone chirped. She grabbed it from her desk and swiped through to view her inbox. There was a new email from Steve. Kara opened it immediately.

Kara,

The athletic committee is having a big scholarship meeting on Monday. I just talked with the head coach and wanted to let you know things are definitely looking good.

Kara kicked her feet back and forth under the desk and squealed quietly.

Steve was an assistant coach with Stanford’s women’s swimming program. Last year, Kara’s high school coach introduced her to him as promising prospective. She and Steve had been exchanging emails periodically ever since. After the sectional meet, Kara had passed along word of her triumph to Steve ASAP—even before she told her parents.

At the front of the house, the doorbell chimed. Kara ignored it. She was too engrossed. She kept reading.

Obviously I can’t speak for the committee but…informally? You should probably expect to hear some very good news from us in the near future.

P.S. Nice photo! Glad to see things are definitely looking good on your end, too. ; )

Kara allowed herself a smug chuckle at that last bit. Naturally, she’d rushed to forward a copy of her new studio portrait to Steve. Apparently it had been well-received. Kara felt her cheeks coloring slightly in spite of herself. “He is pretty cute,” she mused.

The doorbell chimed again.

“Kara!” called her mother from across the house. “Sweetie? Will you see who that is? I’m still getting ready.”

“’Kay!” she yelled back, and hopped to her feet.

Kara’s parents, Joyce and Michael, had separated when she was six years old. Kara grew up living with her mother, but the split was mostly amicable and visits with Dad had always been frequent. He lived less than an hour drive away.

Michael had remarried years ago, to a woman named Marie. Kara never liked her, but together they had a son, Sean, whom Kara absolutely loved to bits since the day she met him. He was just so cute.

Joyce hadn’t remarried. She did date occasionally, however, and her social life had picked up considerably in recent years as Kara became older and more independent. Joyce was busy primping for a date at that very moment. Kara sometimes wondered who had really been the most excited when she received her driver’s license at age 16—her, or her mom.

Kara skipped up to the front door and squinted into the peep hole. With a tickled giggle, Kara unlatched the deadbolt and threw open the door.

“Sean!” Kara exclaimed.

“Kara!” echoed her half-brother. He dashed forward to wrap her waist in a tight hug. Sean was seven years old, with blue eyes and an unruly mop of blonde hair. He was tall for his age, but at 5’7”, Kara still towered over him.

“How did you do?” Sean asked, his head pressed against Kara’s stomach, staring up past her breasts with innocent eagerness. Sean idolized his teenage sister, in the way that little brothers sometimes do. He was particularly enamored of her swimming prowess.

“You didn’t tell him yet?” Kara smirked at her father.

“I thought you should have the honor,” Michael replied. “He hasn’t stopped pumping me for info all week, though.”

Kara led them into the house.

“Well, Sean, our team won the sectional,” Kara explained, deliberately omitting her own role just to goad him on.

“Oh, man! That’s so cool, Kara!” Sean said. “But what about you?”

“Hmmm,” Kara mused, coyly tilting her head and pressing a finger to her lips. “Welllll…” Kara took out her phone, tapped it a few times, and handed it to Sean.

Sean peered at the screen, then deftly tapped and dragged the image to enlarge it. His eyes went wide.

“First place?!!” Sean bellowed, bouncing with excitement. “That’s awesome!”

“Mm hm,” Kara agreed. “I even set a new sectional record, by almost a half second.”

“Wow!! That’s so amazing! You really are the best, Kara!” He plowed into her with another hug.

“Your brother baked you a cake, you know,” Michael interjected, holding up the plastic bag he was carrying.

“He dii-iiid?” Kara asked, feigning excitement.

“I did!” Sean concurred. He grabbed the bag from his father, then proudly presented Kara with the Tupperware tub it held.

Kara popped open the lid. Inside was an awkward lump slathered in frosting and sprinkles. “Great Job Kara” was scrawled across its surface in uneven lettering. Kara laughed, delighted.

“Sean, this is wonderful. Thank you.”

“Are you gonna eat it?” he pestered, brimming with hopeful anticipation.

“Erm…OK,” Kara said, sticking out her tongue and making a goofy cross-eyed expression at Sean. They both laughed and the trio walked into the kitchen.

Kara let Sean cut her a thick slice. It was sugary sweet, almost to the point of being sickening, but Kara dutifully munched her way through it with a smile.

“So why are you guys here, anyway?” Kara asked.

“I was just picking Sean up from his Junior Sharks meet. We were in the area.”

“That’s right!” Kara remarked. “How’d your first meet go?”

“I won all five events I swam in,” Sean proclaimed, puffing out his chest.

“Holy cow!” Kara said, swallowing another bite of cake. “Sean, that’s incredible!” She bent down and gave him a peck on the cheek. Sean blushed and shuffled his feet.

“He really was quite spectacular,” Michael chimed in.

“I wanna race you some day, Kara!”

“Someday,” Kara echoed, noncommittally. “Someday.”

“Kara, who—oh!” Joyce rounded the corner into the kitchen, fussing with the fit of an earring. “Michael…Sean. Why are you here?”

“Nice to see you, too, Joyce,” Michael replied.

“I made Kara a cake!” Sean announced.

“He sure did,” Kara agreed.

Michael eyed his ex-wife’s attire. “Got a hot date?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Joyce answered, rolling her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, thank you very much. And you two boys need to scoot before he gets here.”

“Hey Sean,” Kara said, “I’ve got the medal in my room. Wanna see it real quick? I’ll even let you wear it.”

“Really?!” Sean tore off down the hallway towards Kara’s room. Kara giggled and trotted after him.

***

That evening, after Michael and Sean had gone home, and Joyce had left with her eHarmony paramour in his late-model BMW, Kara headed over to Sarah’s house. Sarah’s older brother, Tom, was back from college for fall break and hosting a big party. Or, at least “a big party” was what it had become once Sarah got involved. ‘All my friends get to come, too, or else I’ll tell Mom and Dad what actually goes on in the basement—with photos!’ Sarah had threatened. Tom accepted this sort of thing as the cost of doing business around his tenacious little sister. Notwithstanding Sarah’s threats, as far as Kara could tell, Tom and Sarah’s parents actually seemed remarkably OK with the whole arrangement. This was not the first time they had left for a “weekend excursion” and entrusted the family abode to their children with little more than well-wishes and a knowing, try-not-to-burn-the-place-down wink.

Kara left her door at fifteen minutes past eight—just late enough that she shouldn’t be among the first to arrive. Her attire was simple yet appealing, thrown together with the careless youthful confidence that comes from having a figure complimented by everything. Her feet were shod in a pair of saucy mid-calf boots, which produced a satisfying clop-crunch sound on the pavement with every step. Tucked into the boots, she had on a pair of deep indigo slim fit low-rise designer jeans. They were tight enough that extricating her phone or keys from their respective front pocket locations would be a chore. More importantly, they kept few secrets about the eye-catching, rounded contours of firm buns and sleek thighs packed snugly within. Up top, Kara wore a form-fitting white camisole, cut short, so that it exposed a thin sliver of her toned midriff—or more, if she stretched. The contrast of the wide leather belt cinched across her hips drew extra attention there. She also had on a chocolate brown suede jacket, cropped to mid-torso length, and zipped halfway. Her hair was loose; its dark waves and gently conditioned curls bounced against her back.

The walk to Sarah’s house was brief—just a few blocks from her own, tucked into a cul-de-sac. She had made the same stroll countless times over the years they’d grown up together, if a bit less often recently. Kara felt a little guilty about that. She could tell Sarah was getting frustrated by her increasing remoteness. But she was just so busy—admission applications, scholarship competition, alumni interviews. Being a senior was tough. She had to start focusing on her opportunities for the future. Sarah was just a sophomore, and not even really on track to compete for the same sort of scholarship opportunities anyway, so she probably couldn’t understand. Still, despite such rationalizations, that little kernel of guilt wouldn’t go away. Kara hoped that tonight would help.

Well before she got close enough to read the address, the herd of sloppily-parked cars surrounding Sarah’s house marked it as the scene. She rang the doorbell twice, but got no answer. The rhythmic bass thwumping coming from within was loud enough that she doubted anyone had heard. Kara tried pounding on the door instead.

A moment later, two blonde girls opened the door. “Kara! Hi!” they exclaimed, nearly in unison. They were friends with Sarah. Or maybe friends of Sarah’s friends? Kara wasn’t sure.

“Heyyyyyy!” Kara responded automatically. She vaguely recognized them as people she’d seen around school, but beyond that: nothing. This sort of thing tended to happen a lot. Despite—or perhaps because of—her good looks and accomplishments, since puberty Kara’s social life had evolved into the empty popularity of celebrity. Many knew of her and professed to like her, but few could actually be considered friends. Kara returned their grins and nodded at whatever it was they said as she waded past them into the crowded, blaring interior.

The living room seemed to be the hub of the action. All the furniture had been shoved aside to clear the center, where a throng of high schoolers—mostly girls—were dancing. Others were clustered in groups around the haphazardly relocated sofas and chairs, leaning in close to hear one another over the music. Kara surveyed the scene, hoping to find something better than a casual acquaintance.

“Kara!” a familiar voice shouted. She turned and saw Sarah scurrying out from the hallway, three large bowls of snacks balanced precariously in her grasp. “I was wondering when the hell you’d show up!”

“Sorry,” Kara smirked, once Sarah had drawn within earshot. “I got a little lost. There were so few people here; I thought must’ve gone to the wrong place.”

“Ohhh, har har.”

“Why’d you invite so many?”

“I didn’t!” Kara followed alongside Sarah as she circumnavigated the living room, depositing the full bowls and collecting empty ones. “But apparently, if you mention ‘college boys’ and ‘alcohol,’ half the school’s female population will find out and decide they need to be there.”

“That’d do it,” Kara agreed.

“We’re trying to at least keep the freshmen clean, so all the booze is going down to the basement. The last thing we need—“

A heavy crash from somewhere in the adjacent room cut Sarah off mid-sentence, along with momentarily silencing all other conversation. Kara winced.

“Jesus Christ!” Sarah howled, throwing back her head. “Here,” she said, shoving her collection of empty bowls into Kara’s arms, “take these back to the kitchen, wouldya? I’ve gotta try to stop this place from blowing up.”

“…’Kay.” Kara sighed. Sarah was already on her way to investigate, plowing through pockets of dancers.

Although the kitchen opened onto the living room, rather than fight the crowd, Kara opted to loop around the back through the hall, the way Sarah had come.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Kara saw a lone figure standing at the center island. The broad backside and red hair left no doubt it was Jessie. She was wearing a baggy hoodie and slack jeans that draped over her sneakers. By Kara’s estimation, the outfit gave her an even frumpier appearance than her tubby shape necessitated.

Jessie had parked herself in front several snack trays. Oblivious to Kara’s entrance, she gazed out into the living room and mechanically chomped her way through the dwindling contents of a veggie platter, looking bored.

Kara laid the bowls on the counter and sidled up next her, unnoticed. “Good carrots?” Kara asked.

Jessie flinched, startled. “Ohmygod! I—Kara, I didn’t see you!” she laughed, nervously.

Kara rested her elbows on the island and leaned her head onto one hand. Glancing over the selection, she plucked a ruffled potato chip from one of the trays. She raised her eyebrows to give Jessie an inquisitive look, then bit the chip in half.

“Um, yeah,” Jessie continued, trying to fill the silence. “They’re real good. The peanut butter celery is my favorite, though. I’ve had that a lot lately. I’ve been trying to diet…”

“That’s great,” Kara said, without enthusiasm. Despite her lean physique, Kara herself had never put any special thought into what she ate. Between her swimming and a naturally vigorous youthful metabolism, it just wasn’t an issue. The whole subject of diets was boring. Diets were something other people did—mostly fat people.

“Yeah, and I’m trying to get the pool every day, too. Almost, anyway.”

Kara nodded.

“Um…oh, and great job at the sectional, again. That was really amazing.”

“Haha, thanks,” Kara chuckled. “It wasn’t that big of a deal, though. The old record was actually pretty slow, I think.”

“Right…” Jessie glanced away, blushing. “Hey, how’s—“

Jessie was interrupted as a tall, sandy-haired guy in his early twenties barged into the kitchen. “Move it, Kara,” he ordered, a spare second before giving Kara a playful smack on the ass. Kara squealed in predictable fashion and jumped aside.

“Asshole,” Kara snapped, with mock indignation.

“Yup,” replied the guy as he opened the walk-in pantry.

“Jessie,” Kara scowled, “this is Tom, Sarah’s charming older brother.”

“Yo,” Tom grunted, without so much as a glance in Jessie’s direction. A moment later he emerged from the pantry carrying a large cooler.

Kara sidestepped to block Tom’s exit. “Ah-ah,” she chided, waggling a finger. Kara popped open the cooler and drew out two dripping cans of beer. “Toll,” she stated.

“Uh huh, sure” said Tom. “Why don’t you come downstairs with me and my buddies? I’ll get you the real hook up.”

“Mayyyyybe,” Kara answered, rolling her eyes. She let him pass.

“Wow,” Jessie gasped after Tom left. “Do you always have guys hit on you like that?”

“Eh,” Kara shrugged. “Tom is more of a jerk about it because he’s Sarah’s brother.”

“Still…he is pretty hot.”

“Well, personally I’m not such a big fan…buuuuut, he did get me drunk once, and we kinda hooked up.”

“Really?” Jessie gaped. “Gosh…I wish I could get guys like that.”

“I’m sure your Prince Charming will come along sooner or later,” Kara offered, trying to sound encouraging.

“Pff. I doubt it.” Jessie frowned, crossing her arms beneath her hefty breasts. “I mean, I’d probably need to lose at least thirty pounds before most guys would even look at me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I bet you can do it. And hey, if you ever need some help, just ask me or Sarah.”

“Really? You’d…work out with me?”

“Sure, why not?” Kara held out one of the beers to Jessie.

“Oh, uh, no thanks.” Jessie waved her hand. “I have to drive home.”

“Hm,” Kara shrugged, then cracked open one of the cans with a devilish grin. “I don’t!” Taking a long swig, she sauntered off in the direction Tom had gone, a can in each hand.

Jessie sighed, and then crunched into another peeled carrot. “Bye,” she mumbled to herself.

Several minutes later, Sarah stalked into the kitchen, carrying a huge, sopping wad of paper towels.

“The fish tank. They knocked over the fucking fish tank! Who does that?!” Sarah tossed the towels into the trash and slammed the lid. “God, my parents are gonna abort me.”

Jessie nodded sympathetically.

“Hey, have you seen Kara anywhere?”

“I, uh, think she might’ve gone downstairs,” Jessie answered. “With Tom.”

“Already?!” Sarah threw her hands up in exasperation. “Fuck.”

Sarah grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet. “Hey.” She turned to Jessie. “Will you help me clean up the gravel?”

“Sure,” Jessie replied, with a smile.

***

True to her word, Jessie helped Sarah clean up the worst of the disaster, then drove home at a sober and responsible 10 PM. Around that same time—no less true to his own word—Tom was introducing Kara to “the real hook up”: her first taste of marijuana. That night, Kara proceeded to finish off the remainder of a six pack, half of a pizza, and table dance for “the buddies”—first clothed, then later without her top—before finally giddily wriggling out of her pants and into Tom’s bed.

It was nearing 4:30 AM by the time Kara staggered back up the walkway to her house, blissfully drunk, stoned, sexed, and stuffed. She’d managed to get dressed before leaving, but only just. Her mascara was smudged, her shirt was crooked, and her hair was a mess. Buckling her belt had proven just too much of hassle. Both ends of it flopped loosely against her thighs. Her bra was…somewhere. Maybe on Tom’s dresser. Maybe behind his bed.

Fumbling with the door lock, Kara dropped her keys. “Shit,” Kara lamented. She stared at the keys for a moment, dumbfound, before kneeling down to retrieve them. Kara let out a discomforted grunt at the pressure this placed on her full stomach. No sooner did Kara snag the keys than she lost her balance on those treacherous heeled boots. More of a roll than a fall, Kara plopped clumsily onto her rear. She blinked twice, then burst into a fit of giggles.

Hauling herself upright with the aid of the doorknob, Kara’s second run at the lock proved much more successful. She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and was angling towards her bedroom when her eyes happened to spy Sean’s cake. It was sitting on the counter, near where her keys had landed.

“Mmmm,” Kara purred. Although she was still uncomfortably stuffed from the evening’s indulgence, her happily foggy mind could hardly have cared less. With a dopey grin, Kara grabbed the Tupperware tub and shuffled down the hall.

“Mmmmff. Ohh gawd,” Kara slurred through the final, huge, sloppy mouthful of confection. She was sprawled spread-eagle on top of her bed, in quiet ecstasy. Pants unbuttoned, shirt hitched up, her bare stomach swelled in an aching bulge under her ribs. The Tupperware tub, empty save for a few crumbs, lay discarded on the floor. What earlier seemed sickeningly sweet had now somehow become utter perfection. She hadn’t even bothered with a fork, just shoving the cake into her face one greedy chomp after another.

Left at last with nothing but a sticky residue on her hands and a scattering of crumbs across her chest, Kara let out a contented sigh. Rapidly drifting towards a deep sleep, Kara idly traced a finger across the taut arch of her glutted stomach. “Life,” she thought,” is good.”

***

[Matt L.]

I admire the detail you put into the piece, smoothly written as well. 

An excellent start.

[riptoryx]

On 12/4/2016 at 3:21 AM, Matt L. said:

I admire the detail you put into the piece, smoothly written as well. 

An excellent start.

Thanks!  There's lots more to come. 

[jewbacca]

I wanted to reply earlier, but the site was down. I'm really enjoying this! I especially like the balance you're striking between description and plot progression. The piece moves at a crisp pace, while still offering enough details to give the reader a good idea of Kara's physique. Nice work, I'm looking forward to the rest of it!

[xandercroft]

Smooth.  Hoping to see an xl gain (I just love those, for reasons>))

[riptoryx]

8 hours ago, jewbacca said:

I wanted to reply earlier, but the site was down. I'm really enjoying this! I especially like the balance you're striking between description and plot progression. The piece moves at a crisp pace, while still offering enough details to give the reader a good idea of Kara's physique. Nice work, I'm looking forward to the rest of it!

Thanks! It's a tough balance to strike, particularly in a longer work. I think it's also a point on which reasonable minds may have different tastes. I'm glad to know you're digging it so far, though. Understanding where Kara is coming from is important to fully enjoying where she's going, and the journey to get there.

7 hours ago, xandercroft said:

Smooth.  Hoping to see an xl gain (I just love those, for reasons>))

Reasons? I can't even begin to imagine what these "reasons" might be.  While I can only speculate as to what exactly you would consider an "xl gain," I do promise not to let Kara sneak out of this still being able to cram her rear into those oh-so-flattering low-rise jeans.

[riptoryx]

12 hours ago, jewbacca said:

I wanted to reply earlier, but the site was down.

Yeah, this is probably another good reason to keep tabs on my DeviantArt or Tumblr.  But I do love the discussion opportunities here in the Curvage forums!

[riptoryx]

The following week, Steve delivered on his promise of “very good news”—an invitation for an “official visit” to the check out the Stanford facilities. More important than the name would suggest, an “official visit” meant an all-expenses-paid two-day sales pitch, focused entirely on wooing a competitively-sought athlete. Costly for the offering program and strictly regulated by the NCAA, an official visit invitation was the clearest indicator of strong interest for a scholarship candidate that could be made at this stage in the recruitment dance. Kara knew all of this. She wasted no time in replying.

That Thursday evening, a slick, black town car pulled up in front of Kara’s house. It was less than a two-hour drive to the university, but the swimming program had arranged for chauffeured transit all the same. Steve was waiting to meet her curbside when she arrived, along with her student host for the visit—a tall, robust blonde girl who Steve introduced as Alissa. She was a junior on the Stanford swimming team.

With a busy schedule planned for the next few days, at Steve’s instruction, Alissa led Kara back to her dorm to get settled in. For the rest of the night, Kara peppered Alissa with a giddy barrage of questions about campus life, the swimming program, classes, the party scene—anything and everything that was buzzing through her mind.

The next morning, Kara joined Alissa for breakfast in the bustling commons dining hall. Before heading off to attend class, she led Kara over to the aquatic center, where the entire women’s coaching staff was assembled and waiting to give her a personal tour. Kara was astounded. The facilities were breathtakingly grand: two competition pools, a pair of multi-featured training pools, all of them beautifully finished, enormous audience seating areas, sparkling locker rooms, a world-class gym—it just went on and on. Everything seemed so big and new.

No less amazing was how the coaches seemed to be familiar with every detail of her accomplishments over the past year. They had nothing but the highest praise for her leadership and determination. She was, they assured her, a perfect fit for what the university seeks to nurture in its student athletes. By the time Steve walked her back to meet up with Alissa for lunch—the touch of his guiding hand at the small of her back sending a tingle up her spine—Kara was feeling like an absolute rock star.

Kara spent the remainder of the afternoon sitting in on classes, none of which held her attention. Later that evening, Alissa took her over to frat row to check out the Friday night festivities. Even at first glance, the scene quickly put to shame all the high school parties she had ever attended.

Alissa’s intent had been just to do a pass-through tour of the various happenings. However, once a stubbly, obnoxiously effusive young scholar in a Kappa Sigma shirt loudly identified Kara as, in his own words, “Alissa’s hot prospect,” that plan quickly fell apart. Professing a “solemn duty” to show prospies the best possible time, a trio of frat boys soon pressed a Solo cup into Kara’s hands and, over the futile protestations of her host, ushered the grinning high school senior into the heart of a rollicking house party.

Despite her best efforts, somewhere over the course of the evening’s party-hopping whirlwind of beer-soaked introductions and exuberant, rhythm-synched grinding, Alissa lost track of her charge. An initial voice mail urging Kara to appear for an 11 PM rendezvous mushroomed into several more, along with a series of increasingly urgent, equally unheeded texts, as the appointed hour drew near, came, and passed. Irritation morphing into genuine worry, Alissa spent what turned into half the night tromping back and forth along the row from one slowly-calming house party to the next, trying to catch scent of Kara’s trail. Finally, nearing 4 AM, when a distraught Alissa was sitting on the curb, getting ready to dial campus security to help her search, she got a reply.

Down the block, in a darkened third floor bedroom, cozily wrapped in rumpled sheets next to a lightly snoring, well-muscled sophomore lacrosse player by the name of Kenneth, a blissfully buzzed Kara squinted into the glare of her phone’s display.

“Duuuuuude,” Kara quietly snickered to herself as she scrolled through the pile of frantic text messages from Alissa. “Chill.” She tapped out a quick response.

Relax. I’m ok. Found a friend. Don’t wait up. Call me when breakfast is ready. Kthx!

 

Kara tossed the phone back onto the pile of her clothes beside the bed. She flopped over and snuggled up to Kenneth, her pert breasts pressing warmly against his back. He stirred, and reached around to give Kara’s naked ass an affectionate squeeze. Purring her approval, Kara sinuously twined a silky, toned leg between his.

On the floor, Kara’s phone chirped to announce a new text.

Fine

 

The screen briefly displayed Alissa’s terse retort to an audience of none, then faded to black.

***

Saturday morning’s schedule included sitting in on a team meeting and an off-season practice. Bleary-eyed, Kara spent two hours watching the Stanford girls churn through water, wincing at the throbbing in her head that accompanied every ring of the buzzer.

Alissa had been stand-offish when she met Kara for breakfast. Sensing some ruffled feathers, Kara had tried to defuse the situation with nonchalance, but that only seemed to make things worse. Kara really didn’t see what the big deal was. It’s not like anything bad happened. Plus, Kara thought, cringing at yet another buzzer, Alissa had clearly weathered the previous night better than she had herself; she’d done fine in all her timed sets. Regardless, Alissa had hardly spoken a word to her since.

After the practice, a panel of coaches summoned Kara for a closing interview. Despite feeling like a groggy, cotton-mouthed mess, Kara put on her game face and soldiered through. They rehashed the highlights yesterday’s tour, touted the merits of Stanford’s nationally-acclaimed program, and reiterated their praise for Kara’s abilities. Kara maintained eye-contact, smiling, nodding, and offering positive murmurs at the appropriate intervals.

Then they asked her if she had any questions for them—about the program, about the practice, or anything else that came up during the visit. For an awful, throat-clenching moment, Kara drew a complete blank. Her heart raced. Her palms felt slick and clammy against the textured armrests of her chair. Her whole life had been building to this, and she was going to blow it now?! She had to say something. After an eternity that probably amounted to all of a few seconds, Kara opened her mouth, unsure of what was going to come out.

To her relief, Kara found herself reciting a cogent—if generic—question about class selection options for student athletes. It was one of a half dozen or so that she’d been rehearsing since she got the invitation. She was pretty sure Alissa had already answered this along with all of her other questions Friday night. It didn’t matter. She needed to fill the space somehow. It’d do.

Kara coasted through the rest of the interview on auto-pilot. She rattled off a few more canned questions—holiday practice schedules, student athlete resources, travel accommodations—and let the answers wash over her with negligible attention to what was actually said. Finally, it was time to wrap things up. The coaches exchanged a few looks, shared a meaningful nod, and then had one last question for her: if the program offered her a full-tuition scholarship, would she be ready to commit to Stanford today? This time, there was no hesitation. Kara said yes.

***

Things were moving fast for Kara. The week after her official visit, Steve called to confirm the approval of Kara’s athletic scholarship and walk her through the administrative details. A formal letter of admission from Stanford University followed a few days later.

In mid-April, Kara’s high school organized a National Letter of Intent Signing Day ceremony. Kara and two boys from the varsity football team were the stars. The mandatory, all-grades student assembly had the indoor basketball court bleachers packed to capacity. Every contingent was represented, from wide-eyed first-semester freshman to the most bored and disinterested senior slackers.

In the center of the court, the three honorees sat behind a long table, a banner displaying their respective future university emblems laid out before each of them. The principal treated the students to a lengthy introductory oration about the merits of amateur athletics before handing the microphone over to the coaches for even more prolix adulation of each athlete’s individual achievements—sprinkled with generous nuggets of self-congratulation for the high school programs and coaching staff themselves. It went on for nearly an hour, but Kara could have listened to it all day.

After the speeches, the actual meat of the ceremony was comparatively brief. Each of the scholarship recipients signed a document affirming his or her commitment to a particular institution, thereby foreclosing any and all further recruitment under NCAA rules. Kara’s turn to sign came last. Struggling to quell a slight tremor of giddy excitement in her hands, she put pen to paper and inked her name with a flourish. Her reward: applause from the entire school. Maybe it was all in her head, but in that moment it seemed so loud—far more than even the max-capacity reverberant acoustics of the basketball court could explain. Before the signature had time to dry, her coach slipped a Stanford cap onto her head. To Kara, it felt like a coronation.

The next week, Steve encouraged Kara to come back for a less-structured “unofficial” visit, to attend another practice and start getting acquainted with her future teammates. As Steve reminded her, aside from the absence of a formal schedule, the other big difference that distinguished the “unofficial” visit from its “official” counterpart was that the school would not be providing her with accommodations—she would be on her own to arrange all of that. Kara assured him that would be no problem. Moments after sending her reply to Steve, Kara fired off another quick text.

Hey Kenneth. Got any plans this weekend?

 

***

Despite Kenneth’s efforts, this time Kara made it to the morning practice without the need for a wake-up call. She was also pleased to discover that sitting through the team’s drills proved much less of a drag when not hungover.

Once practice ended, Kara hurried from the bleachers to make her introductions. She was moderately surprised to learn everyone already knew her by reputation: Stanford’s “big get” for next season. After a flurry of greetings and glad-handing, Kara wound up in the aquatic center’s parking lot, chatting with team captain Mallory and several of her friends.

“You really think our chances are that good next year?” Kara asked.

Malloy leaned against the side of her car and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Oughta be. At least if these schlubs can remember half of what I taught ‘em after I’m gone.”

The small gaggle of young women groaned and raspberried in retort to Mallory’s gibe.

“And if not,” Mallory continued, giving Kara a wink, “well, that’s what Stanford’s paying you for, right?”

“Uh, if you say so, Mallory,” Kara chuckled.

“Pff. Listen to this girl,” Mallory scoffed. “’Mallory.’ That’s my dryland name. You’re one of us now. Time to learn our wet names.”

“Wet names?” Kara asked.

Mallory jabbed a thumb towards her own chest. “I’m Flutterby.”

Kara stifled a laugh.

Ignoring Kara’s amusement, Mallory pointed towards Alissa. “That’s Bama.” Alissa—or Bama—nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

“That’s Swoops, Twinkle, and Laces,” Mallory continued, pointing out each girl in turn.

“And, seeing as how you‘re now one of us,” Mallory said, turning to Kara, “you’re gonna need a wet name, too.”

Kara blinked as Mallory stroked her own chin and put on an exaggerated show of giving Kara a scrutinizing inspection. Laces and Twinkle tittered at the scene.

“Hmmm,” Mallory mused. “Yes, yes. “ She waved a hand in front of Kara’s face, tracing small circles in the air. “I hereby dub thee…Full Ride!”

“Full Ride!” the other girls exclaimed in unison—except for Alissa. Kara’s former student host rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.

“Furthermore,” Mallory said, raising a single finger into the air and waggling it, self-importantly, “furthermore, I propose that we celebrate this momentous occasion of Full Ride’s naming day with a feast at ye olde Pampas steakhouse! What say you?”

Swoops, Twinkle, and Laces cheered their hearty approval. Alissa declined, offering a terse excuse of having ‘stuff to do.’ The girls all headed toward their vehicles, and Mallory wrapped an arm around Kara’s shoulder. “You’re with me.”

 

***

“I think Alissa might not like me very much,” Kara confided as they pulled onto the main road.

“Bama,” Mallory corrected.

“…Bama,” Kara agreed.

“You mean because of how you ran off to get drunk and chase dick at a party while she spent the whole night hunting for you in an apoplectic panic?”

“Uh….” Kara swallowed, her eyes widening, “Well…”

“Yeah, she’s already whined about that to pretty much everybody who’ll listen.” Mallory shot Kara a sidelong glance. “Don’t worry.”

Kara frowned and gazed out the passenger side window.

“Bama’s Bama,” Mallory continued. “I like your spunk. You don’t have to be a stick in the mud to be good.”

“Yeah,” Kara said, and favored Mallory with a smile.

“Yeah,” Mallory repeated. “Look at it this way, Full Ride. Haters gon’ hate, you know? There are always gonna be people jealous of you and your scholarship. The funding situation is all over the place; some years the program has lots of money to dole out, some years it doesn’t. Some years there are tons of top recruits, some years hardly any. Of course some folks are gonna wind up feeling cheated by fate and resent what you got and they didn’t. But you know what?”

Mallory paused, and waited until Kara responded with a shrug and inquisitively raised brow.

“Fuck ‘em.”

Kara laughed.

“We’re all playing dice in this game of life, Full Ride. You rolled a Yahtzee this time and they didn’t. But that’s just how the rules work. You earned that scholarship, fair and square. So folks can quit whining and get ready to roll again, or go home. Sorry I’m not sorry, you know?”

“Hell yeah!” Kara agreed.

“Hell yeah!” Mallory nodded.

***

With Stanford’s admission securely under her belt, in her waning days as a high school student Kara found it increasingly difficult to focus on class work. School hours now just seemed better spent socializing—in the way that her demanding schedules had never previously permitted. She also made time for several more “unofficial visits” to Stanford, so as to better acquaint herself with all the opportunities the university offered—particularly its frats.

Kara coasted into graduation on cruise control. She even opted out of one of her AP exams in favor of having another stress-free weekend to spend at Stanford. And why not? She’d earned it. Wasn’t that the whole point?

 

***

[maxymumspyder]

Outstanding part 2! This was a fantastic read and an excellent setup of what's to come. It's pretty clear that you did your homework researching this story, so I can't wait to see what comes next. Sounds like going on cruise control is going to entail for more than skipping some AP exams.

[Matt L.]

Enjoying your story, I like how you're setting this up, and the dialogue is crisp and natural.

Superb work. 

[podracer2]

I have the strange feeling that Full Ride will end up with a hair less than that in the end and be quite full all the time. 

[watashiismyaccount]

Wow, magnificent build up you've got going here, I`m on the edge of my seat to see how it all plays out.

[Guest Plus44-44]

As others are saying, the build up here is fantastic and your character details are equally great. Thank you for posting!