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Cyril Figgis

The Superheavyweight Champion (NEW CHAPTER ADDED 3/01/2021)

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After grabbing a few select choices from craft services, Sharon made her way back to the locker room and passed by the Rodeo Twins heading in the other direction.  Molly gave her a polite nod and smile, while Carmen offered a high five and told her, “Hey, break a leg out there, Sharon.  Make sure you give it everything you’ve got.”

“I can’t do anything less,” the redhead hummed as she returned the high five and continued on to the locker room, where she found Maggie ** back sobs as she squeezed into ring gear that was far too tight for her.

Sharon nearly dropped the plates of food in her hands when she dashed over to her tag partner and asked, “Oh my god, Maggie, what’s wrong?”

The diva’s cheeks turned red with effort as she fought to get her skintight trunks up over her plump backside, but they refused to budge and left a good bit of overflow behind.  She ground her teeth with such intensity that Sharon could hear them scraping together, and she stamped her feet in frustration, causing ripples to course through her jiggly body.  Maggie all but tore the teeny trunks off and tossed them in her locker before collapsing on a bench and burying her face in her hands.

“Everything’s wrong!” she sobbed.  “Everyone hates me, I’m hungry, and I can’t fit into my stupid ring gear that cost a few hundred dollars!  I’m a fat, pathetic blob, Sharon—why did no one tell me?  Why didn’t anyone say a single word to stop me?”

The redhead bit back the obvious answer—that people had told her how she was plumping up, but she refused to listen or believe it—and sat down beside Maggie.  After pulling her close, Sharon hummed, “It’s okay, Mags, it’s okay.  I guess we were all trying to spare your feelings—we meant well.”

“Fat lot of good that does me,” the diva groaned through her tears.  Despite the revelation that she was far from the pleasantly thick she assumed she was, Maggie snatched up one plate of snacks and crammed a handful of chips in her mouth.  “I’ve got the match of my career coming up, and I’m too much of a cow to fit into my ring gear.  What am I going to do?”

In the long-term, the solution would be to stop eating so much, but Sharon was just as concerned about the match as Maggie was.  She pursed her lips as she considered their options and told her partner, “What if you wore your street clothes like this was a street fight?  I’ll see if I can get a shirt from the merch stand, and then you can just go to town.  Some of the best matches in history have been done in a pair of Levi’s, after all.”

Maggie did not really have a choice, considering how she could not get her gear on, but she wished that she had something that was at least flattering.  Wrestling in t-shirts and jeans was for old timers who no longer had bodies worth flaunting, and she refused to believe that she was in that category already.  Something needed to be done, but for the time being, she would have to make do with what she had.

“All right,” she mumbled around a mouthful of chips.

Sharon gave a soft smile to her and wiped the tear tracks from Maggie’s chubby cheeks before getting up.  “I’ll go get that shirt.  Take a few minutes, get your breath, and we’ll get you all gussied up for the match.  We’re going to go out there and put on the best damn match these people have ever seen, and we’ll be one step closer to wrestling greatness.”

The diva had a hard time believing that, but she gave a silent nod in reply, which was good enough for Sharon.  Once her partner was out of sight, Maggie looked down at the ball of pudge that oozed out onto her lap and winced.  She was ashamed that it took the Rodeo Twins’ taunting her to realize just how out of shape she had gotten, especially when it was so obvious.  All the times she had complained about the washer and dryer in her apartment not working right had just been her making excuses for her own expanding waistline.  When was the last time she had truly eaten healthily instead of grabbing something easy, like fast food or microwave meals?  It was as if she was a blind person that had been blessed with sight, and she hated what she saw.

“God, I let myself go,” she whispered, even as she shoved another handful of food in her mouth.  It had simply become second nature for Maggie to mindlessly eat; after all, no one put on as much weight as she had in just a few short months by counting calories.  “I need to start cutting back, or else I’ll look like my mom—or worse, mi prima gorda.”

After finishing the snacks on one plate, Maggie rose from the bench and brushed an avalanche of crumbs off her chest.  She slapped her cheeks and shook her hands as she told herself, “Okay, you need to get your head in the game.  Don’t let those putas get to you—you can kick their asses any day of the week, with or without Sharon.  You’re a Torres, goddammit, so act like it!”

A renewed sense of confidence filled her chest, but that did not make the task of getting dressed any easier for the doughball diva.  She had been struggling with her clothes for the last few months, but the difference was that she now knew exactly why—and she hated it.  It was her own fault that she had to hop to get her fat ass into her jeans and suck in just to close the snap in front.  Even when she did get them on, she was left with a puffy muffin top that bloated over the waistband and made itself known to the world.

Maggie winced at her reflection and squeezed at her flabby stomach, remembering just how Carmen had taunted her by wobbling her around like a water balloon.  It was going to take a lot of hard work to get back to form, but she was certain that she could make it happen.  After all, the first step was admitting she had a problem, right?  She just needed to keep at it, and before long, she would have washboard abs that she could flaunt all day long.

By the time Maggie had gotten her jeans on, Sharon popped back into the locker room with a t-shirt in hand.  The redhead readjusted her glasses and apologized, “Sorry, Mags.  I’m not really sure what your size is, so I hope that this will work.”

“It’s going to have to,” the diva grumbled as she took the shirt from her partner.  “Not like we have time to run out and pick up something else.”

The shirt that Sharon had picked out had the Wild Roses’ logo splayed across the chest, two martini glasses in the center, and the words ‘DRINK UP’ at the bottom.  Maggie flipped it open and pulled it over her head, noting that she could get her head through the collar fine but the sleeves were a little snug on her arms.  It fell to just below her belly, which meant that even a slight movement would expose a ribbon of pudge for all to see, and the designs were all stretched out.  Was it flattering?  Not even close, but it was all she had to work with.

“Okay, this is manageable,” Maggie kidded herself as she fiddled with the shirt.  “What size was this, by the way?”

Sharon bit her lip and glanced away for a moment before replying, “It was a Large.”

Maggie’s eye twitched as she struggled with the fact that she not only needed to wear a Size Large, but that even that was tight on her.  The first thing she was going to do tomorrow was take a hard look at her wardrobe, because she barely owned any Mediums, let alone Larges.  That was all a problem for Future Maggie though, as the Present Maggie had a match to get ready for.

“Can’t really sweat it now.  I’ll still make it look good,” the diva insisted.  She returned to one of the plates of snacks and took a big bite of a turkey sandwich as she continued, “Let’s keep our eyes on the prize and go over the match, okay?  I want to make sure that we give the Rodeo Twits the fight of their life, and that these people go home having seen some genuine wrestling.”

Sharon nodded and sat down beside her tag partner to map out their upcoming match.  It was not something Maggie normally prioritized when it came to their bouts; she usually went in without any plan in mind and went with the flow.  The Rodeos had to have struck a nerve if she was going to put some thought into her match, especially when she was writing off the title bout not ten minutes prior.  Still, it was good to see her so invigorated, and Sharon was eager to deliver a stellar match in turn.

“We’re going to knock them dead,” she assured her drama queen partner.

“We most certainly are,” Maggie replied with a smirk, thinking more on her opponents than the crowd.  She was going to show the Rodeo Twins just how ‘useless’ she really was…


When it came time for the title match, the Rodeo Twins were called out to the ring first, the belts wrapped around their slender waists while they waved to the audience as though they were both Queen Elizabeth.  They were showered with boos from all sides, but they paid them little heed as they sauntered into the ring.  Both Carmen and Molly looked like movie stars, with flowing locks and designer tights that they claimed cost over a hundred thousand dollars (even though the actual price was just shy of the four digit range).  The referee checked them for any foreign objects and made sure to confiscate their phones along with the belts, lest they call in any of their assistants for support.

Finally, it came time for the Wild Roses to make their entrance, their entrance music played but their march down to the ring was anything but normal.  While the music playing them down was a thumping beat fit for any dance floor, the girls were not playing up to the crowd like they normally did.  Sharon and Maggie were intensely focused on the ring, their fists balled up in anger and their eyes red with rage—a far cry from their usual, playful nature.  For Maggie’s part, it was also a necessity, as any dancing she did to the ring would only cause her shirt to ride up and expose her flabby gut for the audience to see.

Once they made it to the ring, they allowed the referee to check them for foreign objects, but their eyes never left the Rodeo Twins.  Maggie especially glared daggers through Carmen, whose insults burned like a fiery brand; just thinking about the incident earlier made the diva snorting mad.  She clutched the ring ropes until her knuckles turned white, ready to release the instant the referee finished pretending to pat her down.

The bell had barely rung when Maggie charged across the ring and caught Carmen in the neck with a clothesline, sending her rival to the mat.  Molly tried to swipe at the berserk butterball, but Maggie swatted her hand away and gave the shorter girl a kick that sent her flying off the apron.  While Molly rolled around on the mats outside the ring, the diva turned back to Carmen, who shot off the mat and glowered at her with a disdainful glare.  They stared holes in each other as they circled about the ring, daring one another to make the first move.

It was Carmen who took charge and lunged at Maggie, only for the flabby girl to duck low and catch her in the middle.  They toppled to the mat and rolled around for a bit before it became clear that Maggie had her nemesis in a vise-like grip, yanking back on her head as if she was going to tear it straight off her neck.  The diva barked at her rival, “Who’s the talented one now, huh?  Who?!”

“Not you, fatty,” Carmen gritted her teeth as she just barely got her foot onto the bottom rope.

The referee called for Maggie to release her hold on Carmen, which she did begrudgingly and with a sour look on her face.  Before the Beverly Hill bully could get back to her feet though, Sharon yanked her feet out through the ropes, catching her on the bottom rope and allowing Maggie the chance to stomp her head—or as close as she could get, even though the diva desperately want to crush the nasty girl into the mat.  They could have gone on, had Molly not come to her sister’s rescue and slapped Sharon away.

Carmen crawled to her feet, but Maggie did not give her any chance to catch her breath before kneeing her in the gut and elbowing the back of her neck.  The diva then grabbed her rival by her designer belt, wrapped her arm around her neck, and lifted Carmen up and over into a suplex that left her a crumpled heap on the mat.  It was an impressive feat of strength, but Maggie was more concerned with how her beer belly popped out of her shirt than anything else.  As she lay on the mat and caught her breath, the great gut swelled in and out like a bullfrog’s throat, and her jeans felt like they were trying to cut her in half.

“Just ignore it, just ignore it,” Maggie muttered as she got to her feet.

Unfortunately, the breather she had taken gave her opponent enough time to crawl to the corner, where Carmen weakly slapped her sister’s hand and tagged her into the match.  Molly quickly hopped over the top rope and booted Maggie in the gut, which sent the flabby girl reeling into the ropes and clutching at her stomach.  She grimaced at the shrimpy girl, who continued her assault with a flurry of punches, some of which were fake and some which were all too real.

“Don’t want this to be too easy on you,” Molly whispered before the referee pulled her away, allowing Maggie a chance to get off the ropes.

As Molly stepped back and played up to the chorus of boos from the audience, she missed Sharon sneaking behind Maggie and discretely tagging her pudgy partner out of the ring.  The shorter Rodeo Twin lashed out with a superkick to the diva’s chin, but Maggie ducked to the side and slid out of the ring so Sharon could take her place.  Her face crinkled in a wince as she rubbed her reddening stomach, aching and sore from the barrage of blows combined with her skintight jeans.  It was so tempting to pop the button on her jeans and alleviate some of the pain, but her pride would not allow her to debase herself so—not in public, at least.

Sharon and Molly continued the match, swapping blow for blow and grap for grap while their partners recovered on the outside.  Maybe it was because of the insults from before, but Maggie took the time to really watch Sharon as she fought with Molly.  Even though they had been wrestling together for the last couple years, the diva had never truly studied how her partner performed in the ring, as she was always more focused on when it was her turn to tag in.  And loathe as she was to admit it, Carmen was right—Sharon was damned good at what she did.  Every move she made in the ring was methodical and planned out, from the way she honed in on certain weak points on Molly to the way she outmaneuvered her smaller opponent.

“Goddamn,” Maggie muttered to herself, “she really is the talented one.”

The match carried on for what felt like an eternity to the girls in the ring as they battered each other and worked the crowd into a frenzy.  There were several moments where it seemed like the Wild Roses would win, only for the Rodeo Twins to kick out, and vice versa.  While they never took it easy on either girl, Carmen and Molly made the road to victory especially brutal for Maggie, as they delivered several hard blows to her that would leave bruises later on.  If they expected to see her cry about it though, they were sorely mistaken, for every blow they landed only made the diva more determined to pay them back tenfold.

Finally, it came time to bring the match to a close.  The Rodeo Twins attempted to pull off their finisher, the Ritz Blitz, on a punch-** Sharon, only for Maggie to leap clear across the ring like a fat, angry turkey and drop kick Molly out of the ring.  This left Carmen open for a walloping from the furious, flabby fighter, who slammed her face-first into the turnbuckle once, twice, three times.  When Sharon recovered, she patted Maggie on the shoulder and raised a pretend glass in a toast.

“Fuck yeah, it’s closing time,” Maggie grunted, disregarding their traditional setup.

The Wild Roses hoisted Carmen up until she was horizontal, her feet resting on the middle rope while Maggie cradled her head in her hands.  As Sharon climbed up the nearest ring post, the doughball diva whispered to her opponent, “Te veré en el infierno, vaca inútil.”

Before Carmen could reply, if she had one at all, Sharon’s elbow went straight into her back while Maggie drove her head into the mat with a DDT.  The butterball was quick to crawl atop her prone rival, and the referee delivered a three count that was echoed by all in attendance.  As soon as the bell rang, Maggie flopped onto her back and gave a weary fist pump as she caught her breath, too exhausted for much else.  In her head though, she was screaming with joy and dancing all across the ring—and distinctly slimmer than she was in reality.

Sharon quickly helped Maggie to her feet and hugged her tight, her slender figure squishing against her partner’s untoned flab, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.  She held Maggie’s hand high as the announcer declared them the winners and they were presented the tag team titles.  The crowd was on their feet applauding the new champions, and for a brief moment, Maggie felt like she was in the middle of Madison Square Garden, all lights on her.

“First step on the road to greatness, right?” Sharon asked her amid the noise of the crowd.

“Let’s savor it for tonight,” Maggie mumbled as she stared at the glistening belt in her hands.  She then turned to her tag partner and friend and told her, “Tonight, let’s just pretend we’re the biggest, baddest bitches in the whole wrestling world.”

“Like that was ever in doubt,” the redhead chuckled as she pulled Maggie in for another hug.

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2 hours ago, Batman76 said:

I'm not a bit wrestling fan, but you do a great job of having girthy but still fitish chicks fight

Thanks!  I try to make the choreography as clear as possible, as well as entertaining for people that aren't that into wrestling.

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1 hour ago, Cyril Figgis said:

Thanks!  I try to make the choreography as clear as possible, as well as entertaining for people that aren't that into wrestling.

Well, fit woman in a vain profession that demands fitness and thinness is pretty good on it's own

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3 hours ago, KerryNation said:

Now I'm curious to see how long little miss "I drink all my calories and then some" will be able to stick to her diet plans. LOL!

Spoiler alert: she won't do very well.

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The Global Wrestling Federation prided itself on having super-cards every month of the year, and January was home to one of the oldest—the Global Gauntlet.  The marquee matches were battle royals that pitted various members of the GWF roster against each other, along with surprise entrants that ranged from veterans to celebrities.  It was simple enough—30 wrestlers, each coming to the ring 3 minutes apart, and the only way to eliminate an opponent was to send them over the top rope—but to be the last wrestler standing was a grueling task for anyone.  The winners of the Gauntlets would then be given a chance to go after a title of their choosing at the Showdown Supreme in April.

Gauntlet Season was a great time for a wrestling fan, as speculation ran wild as to who would enter and win the gauntlets, but it was nerve-wracking for the talent behind the scenes.  A spot in the gauntlet was guaranteed to no one, and while some were given the chance to last the entire match, many were relegated to fleeting, ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ appearances.  This meant that if they wanted to garner attention and not become another statistic, they needed to be at the peak of their game and appearance.  As such, many flocked to the GWF performance center in Connecticut, where they had a state of the art gym to help them prepare for the upcoming gauntlets.

There was, however, one person that was not headed to the performance center to get into shape—not if her feeders had anything to say about it.  Notapig Donna had it rough over the last few months, as submitting herself to Sadie Storme’s control had opened her up to torment from some of the other members of the roster.  None of them would have dared done so when she still looked and acted like a supermodel, when she was considered equals with Sadie, but as she had been stripped of her appearance and confidence, it was open season on the diva.  She was a target of constant ridicule from people who she had bullied for the last few years, both in the locker room and among the production crew, but the worst came from three particularly sadistic performers.

Elizabeth Knox, Lora Rose, and Anzu Bonny: three women who all had an axe to grind with Notapig, and now had the permission to do it.  They were just as bad as Sadie when it came to debasing and humiliating the former bombshell, stripping her of what little self-worth she had left as they took fiendish glee in reminding her of how far she had fallen.  Notapig could do nothing to fight against them, so scared was she of Sadie blackmailing her and using her feeding sessions to ruin what little credibility she had left.  At least, that was how it was at first, but the longer she remained under their thumbs, the more she relished in the torment—she could not end it even if she wanted to.

Still, even though Sadie had fattened her past 200 pounds, she still had to maintain a pretense that Notapig was a professional, and the porker found herself visiting the performance center for the first time in months.  She had not set foot in the gym since falling under Sadie’s control, and now that she was, she felt her lardy knees knock together in fear.  It would be bad enough if it was just her and her primary feeder, but there were other people from the locker room there.  Dare she flaunt how much of a pig she had become in the last few months?

“Nervous, Notapig?” Sadie whispered as she slid up behind her pet project and pinched a thick inch of her blubbery butt.  “Why don’t you have something to take the edge off?”

The blonde bully pulled a chocolate bar from her purse and held it in front of Notapig, who tore it open and crammed it in her mouth in the blink of an eye.  While she had not been much of a foodie previously, eating had become both a sexual release and a stress reliever for her as she ballooned out of her designer wardrobe.  As her backbone withered away, she had taken to snacking throughout the day to ease her frayed nerves, to the point that she would eat anything put in front of her if it would help.  A small part of her wished that she could get things under control before it got too late for her and her waistline, but that part was growing smaller and quieter with every new pound.

“D-D-Do we have to do this, Mistress?” Notapig whimpered as she stared at the locker room door and her heart raced like a Buddy Rich solo.

“Of course, my little pet,” Sadie cooed in the same silky voice that she had used to lure this juicy fly to her web.  “I managed to get you a spot in the Women’s Gauntlet, and I need to make sure you’re in shape for the event.  Besides, your friends are all going to be there to help out!”

That was the part that she was scared of the most.  Her tormentors were far from subtle when it came to teasing her, even if they were in front of others, and Notapig feared for what they would do to her in the gym.  Would they make her squeal like a pig in front of the others who were not in on their little game?  Would they mock her loud enough for all to hear, reminding her of how pathetic she was?  Anything was it possible when it came to that trio, and while she should have been terrified of the prospect, Notapig could not control her thunder thighs as they waddled her into the locker room.

When she got into the locker room, the porcine performer was relieved to find that Sadie and she were the only ones inside.  If she hurried, she might be able to get changed and into the gym without anyone seeing her in the clothes that Sadie had picked out for her.  Sadly, fate was not on her side, and she had just shucked off her jacket and track pants when the door to the gym opened.

The distinctly Jersey voice of Kaylee Gray could be heard saying, “So I sez to King Mabel, I sez…”

When the former dancer rounded the corner with Iris Lonergan and spotted Notapig changing, she froze in place and paused midsentence.  It was impossible to ignore how much weight the Donna Twin had put on since summer, but not everyone had seen her while stripping.  The strawberry blonde had squeezed herself into a t-shirt that read ‘I ATE IT ALL AT MAXIE’S ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET’, but half the words were stretched around the globe of her belly.  Said stomach was so round and drooping that the shirt could not contain it all, leaving a thin strip of flab exposed at all times.

What was most impressive was her lower body, which had simply exploded as her hips and butt soaked up calories like a sponge.  Notapig had been prided herself on sensual curves all her life, which had gotten her modeling contracts and even music video cameos, but those curves were so wide and exaggerated now that she looked like a parody of herself.  Her hips now stuck out so far that she had trouble sitting in most chairs with arms, and thick, quivering saddlebags had sprouted along the side of her legs.  While she used to have a bouncy, pert ass, Notapig’s rump had both ballooned and deflated as it got bigger, swelling outwards while losing its perkiness and beginning to sag.  Cellulite dotted thighs that were as big as her waist used to be, and even her feet seemed plumper than they used to be.

Kaylee and Iris’s speechless reactions left Notapig turning a fine pink, and she fished out a pair of white yoga pants to clothe herself as quick as she could.  While she turned away from her coworkers, Sadie greeted them with a polite wave.  “What’s up, ladies?  You just wrapping up?”

“Yeah, just wanted to squeeze in a quick session,” Iris answered when she finally found her voice again.  “It’s Monica’s birthday, and I’m taking her out for supper in a few.”

“Same—I needed to tone up a bit for my spot in the gauntlet,” Kaylee replied with a smirk.

Notapig gulped down her fear, knowing that the smirk and the remark were both meant for her.  Kaylee was fit as a fiddle and had curves in all the right places, with any thickness being a thin layer of padding over firm muscles.  She was nimble enough to leap over the top rope of the ring and pull of gymnastics that acrobats would gawk at; if anyone needed to tone up, it was not her.  No, her remark was to remind the resident swine of just how flabby and bulbous she had become.

“I feel you,” Sadie snickered as she shucked off her shirt, revealing a firm four-pack of abs.  “It’s important we look our best out there—right, Natalie?”

“Y-Y-Yep,” Notapig fumbled, focused more on getting her skintight yoga pants up her ponderous legs.  She could not remember the last time she had clothes that fit right: Sadie would not let her go out in anything that was not at least a size too small for her, and the only way she got new clothes was if she ruined the old ones.

As the porcine wrestler concentrated on getting changed as quickly as her chubby body would allow, she could overhear whispers from the other side of the locker room.  No one was exactly subtle when talking about Notapig behind her back, and Kaylee and Iris were no different.  It started with Iris murmuring, “My god, get a load of that ass.  You could serve dinner on that thing!”

“Right?  And just get a load of her nose!  I swear, she’s going to have a corkscrew tail before the Showdown,” Kaylee chuckled under her breath.

Notapig brushed her fingers over her nose and whimpered at the truth in those words.  Thanks to Sadie making her wear nose hooks to bed every night and whenever they were alone, her button nose had been pulled upwards in a parody of a pig’s snout.  She thought back to that fateful Halloween night, when she allowed herself to fall under Sadie’s spell and took her first steps into becoming the sadistic woman’s plaything.  Back then, she had protested that she was not the pig Sadie made her out to be, and her team leader rebutted by putting the nose hooks on her for the first time.  Now, there was no way for the poor porker to deny that she was simply a sow—Sadie had seen to that.

As she laced up her sneakers, the bloated blonde gave a few quick, envious glances across the room at her coworkers.  There was a time when she had beaten Kaylee for the Best Booty in the company, but those days were long gone and buried under several layers of adipose.  Iris, fitness freak she was, was a walking advertisement for CrossFit and was even more chiseled than Sadie.  A shiver ran down Notapig’s spine as her thoughts drifted to what a powerful woman like Iris could do to a fat hog like her, and she found her thighs squirming together at the dark fantasies that filled her head.

When the duo sauntered off to the showers, Sadie sat down beside Notapig and reached around to stroke along her muffin top.  She hummed, “What’s going through that piggy head of yours, pet?”

“N-N-Nothing, Mistress,” the weak-willed girl mumbled as she wriggled in her keeper’s touch.  “C-C-Can we go, p-p-please?”

“Why, whatever for, Notapig?” asked Sadie, her eyes gleaming like a hungry tiger’s.  She ran a finger along the stretchmarks that formed along her pet project’s flanks, tracing along every inch of the once perfect skin.  “You do need to work out and tone up some of this lard if you’re going to be out there for all the world to see.”

“I…I c-c-c-can’t,” Notapig whimpered.  “I’m t-t-too fat for this.”

The resulting growl from Sadie set Notapig on edge and she squished her thighs together as hard as she could to stifle the heat that instinctively ran through her.  The former leader of the Storme Troop sank her fingers into her plaything’s jelly belly and pinched the flab tight as she hissed, “God, I love hearing you say that—it lets me know I’m doing a good job.  You’re not the same queen bee you were when you last came here, are you?  What happened to that toned tummy of yours?  Where’s that cute booty you loved to flaunt?”

Notapig squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip so hard that she feared she might draw blood, but Sadie continued to probe her pet project.  She peeled the gelatinous girl’s shirt up to her chest and pressed her hand into her belly as she coolly remarked, “Look at how much my hand sinks into your tummy, Notapig—it’s like you’re made of pizza dough!  Then again, I guess you are what you eat.”

There was some truth to that, as Sadie had forced so much pizza in her belly the night before that Notapig felt stuffed all the way to her eyeballs and the water in her body had been replaced with marinara.  The former knockout was torn on how little control she had over her body and life, knowing that for as much as she meekly protested, she would follow whatever Sadie’s orders were like a loyal dog.  If her mistress told her to waddle out into the gym naked, she would do it in a heartbeat; if she ordered her to stuff her face in front of the whole locker room, she would not hesitate.

After groping and kneading her way along the length of Notapig’s belly, Sadie leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t fatten you up so you could hide in the locker room, lardy.  You’re going to go out there and show everyone what a weak butterball you’ve become, and if you’re good, I’m going to treat you right tonight.  How does the idea of licking cheesecake off every inch of my body sound?”

It was a mouthwateringly tantalizing idea, but Notapig was not sure if it was because of the chance to pleasure Sadie or the idea of that much cheesecake.  She was brought back to the reality of her situation when her fiendish feeder sank her nails into her tender tummy and hissed, “But if you want to act like a scared little bitch, I will throw you to the Weird Sisters and make sure they stuff you until you’re one bite away from popping.  Understand?”

The pain mixed with her pleasure and left Notapig’s head swimming, and it was all she could do to nod.  When she did, Sadie released her grip on her plaything and gave her belly a gentle pat as she cooed, “Good girl.  Now, get that blubber butt of yours moving and let’s show them what an absolute chunker you’ve become.”

Notapig softly oinked in reply—the noise having become second nature to her by then—and she rocked herself to her feet.  Standing was no easy task when the large majority of the near 100 pounds she had put on were located in her lower body.  When she finally stood, she waddled past Sadie and made her way to the gym doors, only to pause when she passed by a mirror.  Even though her malicious mistress loved to show her how much she had changed, especially with before and after comparison photos, her radical new appearance never failed to stun her.

The woman in the mirror was completely unrecognizable to her, and looked more like the sort of girl Notapig would have bullied once upon a time.  Her strawberry blonde locks, once luscious and voluminous, now hung limp and wiry in a pair of ratty pigtails.  She had not been allowed to visit a tanning salon or use any lotion to give herself a glow, which left her skin pale and pasty.  While the lion’s share of her weight made its way to her hips, her face was not as slender as it used to be, with chubby cheeks giving her a permanent dimple and a double chin forming whenever she opened her mouth.  If she looked closely, she could even see the start of a couple pimples around her snout—which she had to remind herself was her nose.

Was this how Maxine had felt when she was in Sadie’s clutches?  Notapig remembered how she used to think so poorly of her gigantic teammate, wondering how someone could ever let themselves go like she had.  She found out all too late how easy it was for someone like Sadie to manipulate her into becoming whatever she wanted.  The platinum blonde princess had a way about her of pushing all the right buttons, preying on desires her victims never knew they had.  Now, she was almost 220 pounds and left with no way out, assuming she even wanted to get out.

“Sooey!” Notapig squealed when Sadie gave a sharp slap to her blubbery backside.

“You can take time to admire my handiwork later, fatty,” Sadie growled in her ear.  “We wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting, would we?”

“N-N-No, Mistress,” the whimpering piglet sniffled as she shuffled out of the locker room to a chorus of laughter from Kaylee and Iris.


Late in the day as it was, there were not too many performers left in the gym—at least, none that had a vendetta against Notapig.  The American Dragons were practicing their flips along a set of steps across the room, La Santa and Terra Carter were side by side on the treadmills, and Bastian Cage was doing squats in the power rack.  All of them were fit as can be, between the lean muscles of the American Dragons to the bulging biceps of Bastian Cage, and they put Notapig to shame as she waddled into view.  None of them seemed to pay her any mind as she waddled in, and they likely would have continued had Elizabeth not called out to the pair.

“Yoohoo, dearies!  Over here!” the bratty Brit shouted from a weight bench.

Notapig glanced over to her trio of tormentors and gave a meek wave as she trudged towards them.  Each was built differently and came from wildly different backgrounds, but they all had something in common—a deep-seated resentment against the former bombshell.  Elizabeth Knox was a more than capable wrestler from across the pond but was never given a chance to grab the brass ring, unlike Notapig, who had once been given several title opportunities without the talent to back them up.  Lora Rose had once been a close friend of the dominated diva, but after finding out that her now ex-boyfriend had slept with Notapig while she was out of the country, she had turned into a bitter enemy.

Those grievances paled in comparison to Anzu Bonny, who had suffered directly under Notapig’s hand.  Back when the blonde still had a lick of confidence in her, she had tormented the Japanese wrestler—taunting her for her accent and pronunciation, pulling pranks on her, and spreading salacious rumors about her in the training school.  It had taken upper management putting their foot down to end things, and while Notapig moved on without a second thought, Anzu had borne a grudge for the last few years.  Now that she had an outlet for it, she planned to make the former Natalie Donna suffer for all the indignities she had heaped on her when they trained together.

“I hope you’re ready, Notapig,” Anzu chuckled as the porker waddled in.  “We’re going to work your fat ass harder than it has in months…”

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((Happy 400 pages!))


Notapig never liked going to the gym, even before she put on seventy-odd pounds.  Back when she was a drop-dead diva, she did the bare minimum to maintain her svelte physique; she did not want to sweat like a pig or have unsightly amounts of muscle.  This was reflected in her workout gear, which was all designer and placed style over function but managed to make sure she turned heads whenever she walked into the performance center.  While her sister worked her tail off and practiced new moves in the ring, Notapig would be off to the side, flirting with one of the attendants or making catty remarks with Lora Rose—and that was enough.

Now, the former model was a shell of herself and wished she could curl up under a rock rather than be in the GWF Performance Center.  While she was far from the heaviest person to ever grace the gym, she was probably the most out of shape, especially in comparison to the others on the floor.  All around her were cut, rock hard bodies and wrestlers that were in peak physical condition, and then there was Notapig, who could not run a quarter of a mile without running out of breath.

Of course, her feeders knew exactly how unfit she had become, as they had seen to it that the only exercise she got over the last several months was stuffing her mouth and thrashing on her bed.  A shiver ran down Notapig’s spine when she thought of what awaited her, for each machine in the gym looked like torture devices to her.  Would they run her ragged on the treadmill, or humiliate her with the chest press?  Maybe they would take her into the ring for a few minutes and show everyone just how weak she had allowed herself to become—the possibilities were endless.

“You look so cute today, darling!  You must tell me where you got that adorable shirt,” Elizabeth remarked, even though she could not have cared less where Notapig got her clothes.

“T-T-T-Target,” the pudgy porker mumbled as she cringed under the judgmental gaze of the Brit. Elizabeth was rather homely, at least by the narrow standards of GWF management, but what she lacked in starlet looked, she made up for in sheer physicality.  She was built like an old school wrestler and fought as hard as one too, which had earned her hardcore accolades across the pond.

“Did y’all get your hair done?  I’m so jealous of how it shines,” Lora giggled as she ran her fingers through one of her plaything’s pigtails.

“It’s nothing s-s-sp-special,” Notapig meekly replied, knowing that Lora’s compliment was all backhand.  Sadie had not let her wash her hair for a few days—punishment for being disobedient during a stuffing session—and her tormentors knew any shine was grease.  It did not help that Lora had all the makings of a pinup model, and if she had been born a few generations prior, she would have been painted on fighter jets.

The only one to not hide her contempt with flowery words was Anzu, although she masked it with a smile and a hug.  She told her former bully, “Anata wa nante futokute iyana butana nodeshou.  Dono yō ni anata jishin to issho ni sunde imasu ka?  Anata ga watashi o hazukashimeta no to onajiyōni, watashi wa anata o hazukashimemasu.  Awarena.”

Notapig had no idea what Anzu was telling her, but she knew it could not be anything good.  All she could do was bow her head and whimper, “Buu-buu.”

It was Sadie who broke up the party by clapping her hands and telling the other tormentors, “Ladies, thank you so much for coming out today.  As you know, the Gauntlet is just around the corner, and we need to get my tag partner here in shape for her lucky #27 spot!  Natty’s going to have all eyes on her, so it’s important she looks her best.”

It was considered good luck to enter the Global Gauntlet in the 27th spot, as several wrestlers had either won the match from that point or gone on to great success.  Notapig knew that neither was likely for her, as she had only been given the spot thanks to some meddling from Sadie—and even then, it was all meant to be a joke.  She knew that everyone would laugh at how she was the 27th entrant and joke about how maybe she really had a chance of winning, even though she had a snowball’s chance in Hell of coming out on top.

“Well, what are we waiting for?  Let’s you and me get some time on the treadmill, Natty,” Lora giddily suggested as she took Notapig by the wrist and tugged her towards the line of treadmills.  “Nothin’ like a good run to clear the head and get the heart pumping, right?”

“R-R-Right,” Notapig mumbled as she waddled along after Lora.

As they neared the treadmills, Lora glanced to the only other ones using the machines and asked, “Y’all mind if we join you for a minute?”

“All yours,” Terra Carter replied, barely registering Lora but focusing on Notapig, who shrank back at her withering stare.  A smirk crossed the Canadian’s lips as she told the former diva, “I know you’re going to be the belle of the ball at the Gauntlet, Natty.”

“O la cerda de la pocigla,” La Santa snickered.

Notapig gulped and waddled up onto the treadmill beside Terra, doing her best not to look at her reflection in the mirror.  If she did, she would see that one of her thighs was almost as big around as her neighbor’s waist, and where Terra had a stomach that could grate cheese, Notapig looked like she was smuggling marshmallows under her shirt.  It hurt what was left of her pride, and she wondered if she would ever be that tight and tiny again.

She did not have long to think about it though, as Lora turned on the treadmill and forced Notapig to start plodding along.  The Appalachian refugee explained, “Now, y’all are gonna need to be quick on your feet out there, Natty, especially when you’re running down the entrance ramp.  Let’s see if we can’t get those legs pumping!”

The only thing pumping was Notapig’s heart, as she was red in the face mere moments into the power walk that Lora had her doing.  Her jaw hung open dumbly as she gasped for air, even though she was moving at a fraction of the speed of Terra and La Santa.  The off-brand, tacky shirt she wore was slipping up the swell of her belly, revealing a good few inches of stretchmark-riddled flesh that bobbled and shook with each ponderous step.  Her thighs felt like they were on fire, but not from effort; rather, the slabs of lard were grinding together that she felt the friction would tear her tights apart.

“You’re doing great, Natty, just great!” Lora cheered from the sides, knowing full well that Natalie looked ready to collapse.  “Why don’t we pick up the pace though?”

“Wuh-huh?” Notapig wheezed before forcing her legs into a plodding jog as the treadmill grew faster beneath her.  It had been so long since she had been on a proper jog that even if she was not as slovenly fat, her gait would have been all wrong.  As it was, she looked less like a professional athlete and more like a toddler that still had not gotten the grasp of walking.  Her clumsy thighs slapped against each other and her flabby backside bounced around like a basketball, which was humiliating enough, but Lora was not going to let her get off with that alone.

“Atta girl, Natty, atta girl!  Work those buns!” the snide brunette crowed from the sidelines.  “Just picture a big, juicy burger—shucks, I mean belt!”

She might not have thought it possible, but Notapig’s cheeks turned even pinker when her neighbors burst into a giggling fit.  The saddest part was that Lora was right: if there was a steaming hot burger sitting in front of her, the porker might have run even faster, if only to bury some her anxiety underneath a mountain of calories.  Yes, a big burger with three patties, heaps of bacon, and cheese melting down the sides…crispy onion straws, fried jalapenos and pickles…thick globs of aioli…

“Oh my god, Eva, she’s actually drooling,” Terra whispered to La Santa, knowing full well that Notapig could still hear her.

The pitiful, plump performer turned her eyes to Lora and pleaded in between gasps for air, “L-L-Lora, please…c-c-can’t…g’wan…”

“Aw, shucks, Natty, y’all only been at it about seven minutes!  Can’t say that’s much of a workout, can ya?” Lora teased her pathetic plaything, only for Elizabeth to turn off the treadmill.

“Come now, Lora dear, it’s not all about cardio,” the British bully told her partner in crime.  “Our darling Natty also needs to get a little lift in, I think.”

Notapig was all too eager to find something less strenuous, especially since her legs now felt like how they looked—like jelly.  Both her body and her balance wobbled as she walked over to an available weight machine, too exhausted and humiliated to realize how much she leaned against Elizabeth on the trek over.  When she sat down, the former knockout squirmed around in a fruitless effort to get comfortable, as the seat was too small for her mammoth booty.

“Now, you’ll want to replenish some electrolytes before you get started, so drink up,” Elizabeth told Notapig as she handed her a black water bottle.

Of course, the Brit had no intention of actually helping her, and the porker knew that.  She knew that the bottle was not full of water or even a sports drink, but pure soda—the exact opposite of what a growing girl needs.  Still, she was willing to drink anything that would help cool her down, so Notapig guzzled half the bottle without question. 

Elizabeth pulled the bottle away before she could have much more, causing the porker to whimper and reach out for her drink like a baby with its milk.  She mumbled, “M-more…still thirsty.”

“You’ll get plenty more soon enough, darling,” the muscular girl replied with a patronizing pat on Notapig’s head.  “First, let’s do a few reps, yeah?”

“Kay,” the doughball diva murmured.

Maybe she was not as strong as she used to be, but Notapig was sure it would not be that hard to use the machine—the pulleys did half the work anyway.  It would be simple for her to bust out a few presses and show the others that she was not so weak as they thought.  With a flicker of determination brimming inside her, Natalie grabbed hold of the handles and pushed out…at least she tried to.  She gritted her teeth and sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled to make the handles budge, but no matter how much effort she gave, they would not move an inch.

“What’s wrong, Natty?  Too much weight?” asked Elizabeth.  “Can’t be that bad—it’s only a hundred pounds.  Isn’t that what your record used to be?”

It was, and that realization crushed any hope that Notapig had left in her flabby chest.  Her arms slumped to the side and she asked, “C-C-Could you lower the weight…p-p-please?”

“Of course, love—just a tick,” her tormentor hummed before disappearing behind her to change the weights on the machine.

While she waited, Notapig glanced across to another weight bench and spied Bastian Cage doing some curls with a dumbbells the size of bicycle tires.  The man known as The Behemoth lived up to his name: he stood at a towering 6’9” and weighed 320 pounds, all of it bulging muscle; he had biceps as big as Notapig’s head, pecs as wide as dinner plates, and so many popped veins that he looked like a human road map.  Back when she was a hopeless flirt, Notapig had shacked up with the meathead on a few occasions, but they had not had much interaction since he got drafted to Tuesday Night Madhouse. 

A lot had changed in the year since their last hookup, between her complete and utter downfall and his growing a mohawk.  She gave a small nervous wave to Bastian, who returned it with a smile and a nod, both of which were more intimidating than he likely meant as veins bulged in his forehead.  At the same time, he seemed to be sizing her up from a distance, and Notapig could not help wondering if he was disappointed in what had become of her.

“All right, I set it on a more manageable weight, Natty,” Elizabeth said, breaking the porker from her thoughts.  “Go on and give it a push.”

When Notapig tried the bars again, she found them to be a lot lighter, and a grin spread across her lips as she did several reps in a row.  She turned to look over her shoulder at Elizabeth and remarked, “I…I’m d-d-doing it!  Wh-Wh-What’s it set at?”

“Something a little easier to handle,” the brunette answered before leaning in close and whispering, “5 pounds…the lowest this thing goes without adding any weight at all.  My niece can lift more than that, and she’s four years old.”

That realization made Notapig’s heart sink and she slowed down her reps as she realized this was just one more way for her tormentors to get under her skin.  The sad part was that even with the lessened weight, her atrophied muscles still ached from lack of use and she had to stop well before she used to.  She let her arms flop down after her 20th rep and she sighed, “I’m f-f-finished.”

“Not bad!  Maybe you’re built more for power than speed,” Elizabeth chuckled, knowing that Notapig was built for neither.  “Go ahead and refuel, and then we’ll see Anzu in the ring.”

Knowing that Anzu was waiting for her in the ring should have made Notapig slow her drinking in order to delay the inevitable, but she could not control her craving and drank the rest of the bottle in two gulps.  She handed the empty bottle back to Elizabeth and felt her stomach bubble up from the carbonation, and though she tried to hold it back, she could not help but let out an unladylike belch.  Terra and La Santa did not even try to hide their laughter, and even the American Dragons off to the side snickered at the blushing pig on the chair; Bastian chuckled as well, but his was the laugh of a frat boy who found it legitimately amusing.

“Not bad, Natty—I give that an 8 outta 10,” the musclehead joked.

Notapig wished that the floor would open up beneath her, but fate would not be so kind to her.  Instead, Elizabeth helped her to her feet and tugged her over to the ring, where Anzu Bonny waited in a black sports bra and spandex shorts that clung to her firm thighs.  Of all her tormentors, Notapig was the most afraid of Anzu in a physical sense.  The woman was lean and wiry but had the muscles of a mixed martial artist, a carryover from her days in Japanese dojos.  It was said that she knew a hundred different ways to kill a man, and given how creative she was in ravaging Notapig, there was merit there.

“Climb in, Natty,” Anzu beckoned her plaything.  “I want to brush up on your holds.”

Notapig could have argued that she did not need to work on submission moves, since the goal of the Gauntlet was to get her opponent over the top rope, but she did not have it in her.  Instead, she plodded up the steps into the ring and waddled over to Anzu, who patted her on the shoulder and smiled before driving her into the mat with a clothesline.  She quickly flipped Notapig onto her back, sat down on her, and tucked the girl’s arms under her knees before wrenching her head up by the chin.

“This is your basic camel clutch—tried and true,” Anzu explained to the pinned Notapig, who squealed pitifully in her grasp and wriggled about on the mat.  “It’s a classic, but maybe you want something that looks a bit more painful, yeah?  How about a good crossface?”

The sadistic woman let Notapig flop to the mat, but before she could escape, the porker found herself caught up again.  This time, Anzu wrapped her knees around one of Notapig’s arms and locked her hands in front of the doughball’s face, muffling her piggish squeals of pain while her free hand waved around wildly.  Anzu sneered, “Very effective, very painful.  Makes you want to tap, doesn’t it?  Oh, but we’re just getting started—I want to reintroduce you to an old friend.”

Hot tears streamed down Notapig’s cheeks and she blubbered an incoherent response to Anzu, but she received no answer.  Instead, Anzu wrapped her plaything’s arms under her armpits before flipping over until she was staring at the ceiling, locking Notapig in the cattle mutilation once again.  The porcine performer could do nothing but squeal as she pleaded for the pain to stop, and it was only through Sadie clapping her hands that she was released.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Anzu—ease up!  We don’t want to hurt Natty before her big day,” the blonde instigator insisted.  She slid effortlessly into the ring and continued, “I think that’s going to do it for today, but I’m so glad you girls could join us.”

“The pleasure’s all ours, Sadie,” Elizabeth insisted, Lora nodding in agreement.

“Same time tomorrow?” asked Anzu, who glowered down at Notapig and wished that she could continue wrenching the woman around in all the holds she knew.

Notapig gulped down her fear as she realized this was not going to end any time soon—she still had two weeks to go before the Gauntlet, and who knew what else the fiendish foursome had in store for her?  More than that, she wondered just how much more she could take before she broke for good…

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1 hour ago, KerryNation said:

Poor Notapig. But then again, you know what they say...mess with the Storm, get the E-NORM, right? 

Unfortunately for her, there's no shelter from this storm...

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