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Cyril Figgis

The Superheavyweight Champion (NEW CHAPTER ADDED 4/2/2021)

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Mickey_Exponential.thumb.jpg.e20ba1f70abbdd9c50277330a80e8976.jpg (Art by ExponentialMass)


It was the night of the Showdown Supreme, when all the top names in the Global Wrestling Federation came together in a battle for the ages.  Title belts were placed on the line, friendships were made and ended, and bitter rivalries came to blows.  The losers were sent home packing, while the winners had their names etched into the halls of history.  And on the night of the thirty-fifth showdown, there was no greater winner than Mickey Ramone.

Yet she was depressed.

The end of the evening, teetering on 1 AM, found her soaking her aching body in a tub of ice.  In the last six hours, she had defended her Women’s Intercontinental Belt against the lithe but brutal Shinobu Misawa, reclaimed the Women’s Tag Team Belts from the Strong Baddies with the help of her partner, KC Sky, and won the Women’s World Championship from her eternal rival, the conniving Sadie Storme.  On top of that, she had to face off against the Storme Troop, Sadie’s goons who regularly ran interference on their matches.  This meant having to fight off four other women, one of whom was a head taller than her and fifty pounds heavier.  It was a hard-fought match that sapped every ounce of strength left in her body, but it was worth it to walk away with the Triple Crown of the GWF.

Mickey rolled her head forward and glanced down at her battered frame wrapped in sapphire spandex.  There were bruises all over, especially a nasty one near her ribs, which she swore had been broken by the hard-hitting Shinobu.  Her toned stomach and powerful legs appeared warped by the water and ice, and a tired chuckle escaped her lips.  She could almost make out her face, where a nice shiner rested on her right eye and tape had gone over her nose to keep it from busting much more.  At the very least, she could count her blessings that Sadie had not broken her neck with one of her infamous piledrivers.

“Checking out your battle scars?” asked the man in the chair beside her.

Raymundo Valdez was her manager and boyfriend, and the two had worked together ever since meeting in a small Georgia promotion ten years ago.  He was a modest man just a hair or two shorter than her and a doughy body that belied his behind-the-scenes activity.  Unlike some managers, who were more in it for the act and often got into the ring themselves, Ray chose to focus on his promo skills and making sure Mickey got the best.  For being a shorter man in a big man’s world, he had no problem butting heads with creative whenever he felt that his girlfriend was not getting the work she deserved.  It was that tenacity that made him a valuable asset in her career; Mickey could not imagine getting to Showdown without his help.

“Just keeping track of the damage,” she grunted as she shifted around in the tub. “I want to make sure I pay back that punta, Sadie, in full tomorrow night.”

Ray shook his head at that.  There was no stopping Mickey and Sadie whenever their never-ending feud sparked up; you had a better chance of breaking up a cobra and a mongoose.  He glanced over the young woman’s tan, bruised body, and sighed, “Just promise me you won’t sucker punch her with a roll of nickels in your fist again, okay?”

“Only if you can make sure she doesn’t come to the ring with a scalpel again,” Mickey scowled, her fingers instinctively going to the gnarly scar on her forehead.  Just thinking about that sneaky taint got her blood boiling, which her boyfriend helped cool by adding a fresh bag of ice to the tub.

Their privacy was interrupted by a knock on the door.  Mickey lolled her head over and called out, “Come on in!”

In walked one of the backstage technicians, specifically the man who helped change out the plates on the title belts.  He walked over to the duo and presented three large belts to the Latina wrestler, who gestured for him to hand them to Ray.  Drew, always a polite man, glanced over to Mickey and smiled. “Great job out there, Mickey.  Been a long time since I’ve had the privilege of setting up a Triple Crown of belts.”

“Thanks, Drew,” she replied with a tired smile.

As the man left the room, Ray flashed the golden beauties to his lovely lady.  They were all roughly the same design, but they each had their own features: the Intercontinental featured two wrestlers grappling with each other, the Tag Team had those same two wrestlers back to back, and the World Championship had the company logo etched in the center.  Framing the center of the belts were black discs that displayed the letter M in barbed wire, which was part of Mickey’s logo.

“Says it right there in big, bold letters,” her eager manager remarked as he looked over the belts. “’MICKEY RAMONE’ looks right at home on them, don’t you think?”

When he peeked over for an answer, Mickey was not even looking at the belts.  Instead, her gaze was fixed on a mirror across the room.  Ray shouldered the hefty belts and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, Mick…you okay?”

This shook her from her daze, and her focus returned to the belts, albeit with much less interest than he had anticipated. “Oh, yeah, awesome.  New belts, yay.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Something wrong?”

The punk girl sighed and covered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ray; I don’t mean to come off as a coño.  I’m just really tired of this.”

“Hey, I get it.  You’ve had a long night, and you just want to get to the hotel and rest up.”

“No, no, it’s not just tonight,” she groaned. “It’s every night.  We’ve been doing this for so long and I’ve gotten so many titles in that time, and I don’t know why, but I’m so tired of it all.”

That was something he never expected to hear from Mickey.  As long as Ray had known her, she always had this fantastic love for the business that simply could not be matched.  Of course, she would not be the first person to lose interest in the game, but why now, so suddenly?  She must have read his mind, because when she turned to meet his eyes, she shook her head.

“I’m not saying I’m retiring or anything; you couldn’t drag me away from the ring.  No, I’m just tired of winning the same sorts of titles over and over again, with the same gimmick.  I’m the punk who defies the authority and meets any challenge because she doesn’t care if she lives or dies.”

He nodded and remarked, “Yeah, and the crowd love it.”

“For now, but if I’m bored of it, how long will it take until they turn on it too?”

“So what were you thinking?”

Mickey’s gaze returned to the mirror and she let her hand fall to her chin. “I’ve been thinking about my grandfather.”

Her grandfather was ‘Hog Wild’ Lou Ramone, a legend in the industry for a few reasons.  First, he had a timeless look, wearing wrestling trunks under overalls and nothing else; second, he was one of the toughest S.O.B.s back in the day; third and most remarkable, he was close to six hundred and fifty pounds in his peak.  Lou had been a blimp of a man who made up for zero agility by focusing on powerful blows and drops that seemed to make the arenas shake.  He was literally one of the biggest men in the history of the business, let alone the GWF, and when he passed away just a year after Mickey was born, everyone in the company poured out for the funeral.

“What about him?” asked Ray.

She turned back to face him, the ice shifting around her powerful body, and replied, “I have won so many variations of the same belts: world titles, tag titles, intercontinental, cruiserweight, hardcore, and so on.  I’m proud of my accomplishments, but I need something new to aspire to; I need to be a groundbreaker like my grandfather.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“The Superheavyweight Championship,” she answered with a grin.

When she was met with a confused look, she sighed and reached for her phone.  Once in hand, she dug through her photos until she pulled up a picture of an old belt encased in glass.  It was nowhere near as big as the belts of today, looking more like a tool belt than anything else, and it featured an embossed eagle with arrows in one claw and holly in the other.

“My grandfather regularly competed for this belt back in the day,” Mickey explained. “It was a special belt for a special category of wrestler: only those who weighed upwards of four hundred pounds could qualify.  Lou held this title three times in his life and was the last man to win it before it was discontinued; this here is the original, still sitting on a shelf in our home.”

“So what, you want to bring the Superheavyweight Division back?” he asked, still not getting the picture.

Mickey shook her head. “I don’t just want to bring back the Superheavyweight Division: I want to be their champion!”

If it were anyone suggesting this, Ray would have laughed at how ridiculous it was.  This was Mickey Ramone talking though, the same woman who once demanded she take a bump through a flaming table covered in barbed wire; after the C4 match at Fright Night 12, he knew she was deathly serious about stuff like this.

The flustered manager clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. “Okay, voice of reason time, mi princesa violenta.  You’re talking about reviving a division that’s been dead for over forty years.  You want to be the champion of said division, despite there being no other women wrestlers that come close to that weight class, including yourself.  Hog Wild was over six hundred pounds in his prime; you’re about a fifth of that.  Even if you could get corporate to sign off on this, you’d be taking a huge risk on this.”

As she languished in the tub with closed eyes, she murmured, “Thirty-five.”

“Come again?” Ray asked.

“That’s how many times you’ve told me that, Raymundo.  Thirty-five times, you’ve told me I’d be taking a huge risk.  And how often does it work out for me?”

He could not do the math, but he knew that she was more often right than wrong.  Mickey was a risk-taker, but she did everything in her power to make things turn out in her favor.

“Ray, look at me,” she told him.  When he looked to her bruised face, he swore that she had never looked so determined in her life. “This is what I want to do.  I don’t care what anyone says, but I am going to be the Superheavyweight Champion.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.  There was no talking her out of this, not when she got into one of her moods; arguing with the creative department was easier than getting Mickey to change her mind.

“Fine, fine,” he relented. “I’ll get us a meeting with the boss and see what we can do for you.  But I’ll tell you right now, Mick: Dave is going to say…”


“Not a chance in hell!”

It was the day after the Showdown, a few hours before Monday Night War.  Mickey, who now wore a white tank-top, leather jacket, and torn jeans, and Ray, who wore a casual suit, sat on the other side of a table in Dave Ericson’s hotel room.  Mr. Ericson was the owner of the whole GWF and had been for the last forty years, and it showed.  He was closing in on seventy-five years old, his eyes were often bloodshot from working twenty-hour days, and his face was wrinkling like a raisin.  At the same time, Dave had been on the juice for a good few years back in the day and still regularly worked out, which meant that he was still a tough man.  On this day, the day after his most successful event of the year, he wore a dark suit that fit him like a glove.

“Let me tell you both something right now,” he grumbled as he carved up his steak and eggs. “I have heard some crazy ideas come my way; hell, I’ve even made up a few myself.  This has got to take the cake though.”

“Is this really any crazier than the time you tried to run an incest angle involving yourself and your daughter?” asked Mickey with a sarcastic smirk.

Dave scowled at her, but Ray intervened before words could be exchanged. “Dave, we’ve got this figured out in a way that will allow us to make this happen; we spent all night planning this.”

“Then pretend I’m a mark and sell me on it,” the boss said to the manager.

Ray brought out a notepad that he had been scribbling on since that conversation in the early dawn. “First, we write Mickey off TV tonight with some injury, like a broken tail bone or quad; after last night’s beating, people will buy it and we can forfeit the titles.  Next, we’ll have Mickey on a rigorous schedule that will balance out her gaining with exercise so that she’s not just getting fat; she’ll be getting strong too, like John Henry.  The way we’ve got her schedule planned out now, we should have her up to about three hundred pounds by next year’s Beach Brawl, where she can make her big comeback and start building up to the title belt at Showdown the following spring.”

Dave sighed and put on his readers so he could look over the notepad.  He perused the scribbles, nodding here and shaking his head there, and when he finally put it down, his frown remained. “So what I’m getting is that you want to keep our top name in the Women’s Division on the bench for two years?”

“That’s about how long it would take us to get to the appropriate weight for the belt,” Ray explained.

“We’re not doing that,” the owner disapproved. “The only reason I’d let that happen is if you had a legit injury, but I’m not keeping you off TV for two years.”

Ray was about to make another attempt, but Mickey stepped in. “Dave, I totally get where you’re coming from: you don’t want to lose a hot commodity and all the merch that comes with it, especially for so long.  But I am going to do this with or without the GWF.  Believe you me, I am sure that there are a lot of promotions that would eat up something like this.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll bring take it to the BCW in Osaka, the HCW in London, or, Heaven help you, TNW.”

If there was one thing Dave hated, it was losing talent to other promotions, particularly Total Nonstop Wrestling.  He furrowed his brow at the pair across from him before sliding the notepad back to them. “All right, you can do the Superheavyweight angle, but you will follow my conditions.”

He raised his fingers one by one as he fired off the terms. “First, when you come back, I will be booking you against the men; they’re the only ones I’ve got over three-hundred pounds, and I’m not about to fatten up anyone else in your division.  Second, you will legitimately win every match; submissions or pinfalls, but no interference.  Lastly, you will gain the appropriate weight by next Showdown; you get that big in a year, or I will send you back down to developmental until you’re back to your billing weight now.”

Ray’s jaw dropped as he struggled to put together the numbers in his head.  There was no way Mickey could gain that much weight so fast; it was physically impossible.  Yet the punk princess only looked to Mr. Ericson with that same determination she had the night before.  She was not going to run from such rigid challenges, not when she had her foot in the door.

“Deal,” she agreed as she reached out to shake her boss’s hand.  Dave returned the favor with a smirk of his own, though whether it was cockiness or admiration, no one could say.

“Now, do we have any other business, or can I get back to my breakfast?” the owner asked the duo.

Mickey looked down at the decadent dish on the table.  There was a hearty tease of steak, a small pile of scrambled eggs, a foot’s worth of sausage links, and what seemed like a whole potato in hash.  She looked back up to her boss and grinned.

“Just one last question—how fast can room service get here?”

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Mickey deserved an award for how she sold her injuries to the crowd that Monday night.  When she came out, she struggled to make it to the ring; Raymundo had to carry her belts for her.  She talked about how thankful she was for getting the chance to compete on the biggest stage of all, and how if she had to, she would wreck herself all over again.  But the medical staff in the GWE had deemed her unable to compete and defend her championships; she would need to take time off for lengthy surgeries and physical therapy.  Then, and only then, would she walk back out and reclaim her titles.

It was all scripted, of course, but only a few people backstage were privy to the truth; even the locker room was convinced.  La Princesa Violenta was showered with well wishes, apologies, and praise for being so tough.  The girls were especially compassionate, right down to the normally stoic Shinobu, who broke into tears when she thought she had gone overboard; Mickey almost let the truth out just so the poor girl would not feel so bad.  Only one woman in the locker room brushed her off, and that was Sadie Storme.

This was to be expected: the two had been engaged in an on-off feud for years, ever since they were in developmental, and unlike most feuds, which were just an act, their heat was very real.  It all stemmed from one of their earliest matches together, when the ever-stiff Sadie had broken two of Mickey’s ribs without so much as an apology; in return, when she came back, the punk returned the favor by legitimately breaking the brawler’s ankle in a folding chair.  Ever since those fateful bouts, the two had constantly tried to beat the holy hell out of each other, as if they were living in a cat and mouse cartoon.

“Admit it, Sado,” Mickey called out to the blonde brute, “you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”

Sadie turned her nose up as she laced her sky blue boots. “I’ll only miss getting the chance to killing you on live TV.  So, in that case, get well soon or whatever.”

“Love you too, bitch.”

As soon as she bid farewell to everyone, Mickey hobbled along as if going out to her car, but once Ray and she were far enough away, they made for an office in the stadium.  Standing in the room were the Ericsons: Dave; his son, Lane; his daughter, Amanda; her husband, Triple Threat.  The top physician on staff, Dr. Nancy du Pont, was at the head of the pack.

Nancy, an older woman in her fifties, waved to Mickey as the young athlete strode into the office. “Hey there, Mickey.  Heck of a performance out there; I haven’t seen that many sad fans since Blade had to retire early.”

“That’s just what I do,” the former champion shrugged. “And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t get the piss kicked out of me.”

“Well, not for a year now.  We’ll get some base measurements so we have something to go off of, and then we’ll discuss some diet and exercise plans you can follow.  Hop up on the scale and we’ll get started.”

Mickey shed her boots, leather jacket, and studded belt before stepping onto the digital scale.  The numbers flickered for a moment before solidifying into a very visible ‘125 lbs’.

After plugging the numbers into a tablet, Nancy told the eager wrestler, “All righty, Mick, that’s good.  Let’s get your height checked out now.”

The two walked over to a measuring stick by the wall while the onlookers conversed among themselves.  Amanda Ericson turned to Ray and remarked in a stern voice, “I seriously can’t believe you two are going ahead with this plan.  Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to my Women’s Division?”

“It’ll give some of your other ladies a chance to shine,” Ray answered with barely a passing glance to his boss.  Amanda was the commissioner of War, the GWF’s Monday night program, and for all her talk of doing what was best for business, it was clear that she had her favorites.  Sadie Storme was one of the biggest bullies behind the scenes and stiffest workers, but because she sucked up to management, she was a perennial golden girl.  Were it not for Mickey's ability to draw in a crowd, his girlfriend would likely never have made it.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope that your little experiment pays off,” Triple Threat grunted as he furrowed his brow.  Once a major player in the company, Levi Hunter was now a part-time wrestler, full-time manager of the War brand, which meant he still got plenty of time on TV.  The burly brute towered over almost everyone in the room and wore a suit that barely contained his hulking muscles.  He cut the most imposing figure in meetings, considering that any other retired wrestler still with the company was older and out of shape.

The Latino manager narrowed his gaze at Triple Threat, knowing full well all the dirty tricks the man kept in his pocket.  There was a reason why fans believed Levi had a golden shovel in his office, and it was not because he had used it to break ground.  Ray turned his attention back to Mickey and replied, “So long as you don’t bury her right out of the gate, we’ll be aces.”

Nancy interrupted the conversation with her announcement of Mickey's height. “Right now, Mickey is at a solid five feet, seven inches.”

“All bad-ass,” the punk girl quipped as she stepped away from the wall. “Now for the boring stuff, right?”

“It’ll only take a moment,” the physician reassured her. “I can’t do everything I need here, so for now, we’ll just check your blood pressure, draw some blood; all the stuff that doesn’t come up on your billing.”

Mickey walked over to a bench to get the technical work over with, and the conversing resumed.  The only positive voice was Lane Ericson, Amanda’s older brother and commissioner of Tuesday Night Madhouse.  He was just a couple years into his fifties and remained quite fit for someone who did not actively wrestle, but he already had a full head of gray hair.  On top of that, outside of Mickey and Nancy, he was the only one not dressed up; he opted for a polo shirt, a pair of decent jeans, and some basketball shoes.

“Hey, I think it’s a great idea,” the fatherly man remarked. “I still remember one of the earliest shows I ever attended, where ‘Hog Wild’ Ramone went up against King Hank for the Superheavyweight title.  It was amazing as a kid to see these behemoths go up against each other, like a rhino and a hippo having a stand-off.”

His father grunted as he crossed his arms. “It was a mockery of the sport, and the first thing to go when I took charge of the company.”

Lane rolled his eyes before continuing. “If you guys weren’t already signed to War, I’d have brought you over to Madhouse in a heartbeat.”

“You might just get her when this is over,” Amanda huffed. “When this experiment falls apart and she has to go back to developmental, I’ll be damned if I have her on my show again.  Assuming she ever manages to lose all the weight she gains, that is.”

“Kind of a negative attitude you’ve got there, boss lady; you’re acting like I’ve already thrown in the towel.  Not very inspirational,” Mickey remarked as she walked over to the group, a fresh bandage on her arm from where Nancy had drawn blood.

Ray clapped his hands to try and keep the two from going at it as they had done in the past. “All right, it’s been a long night, but we’re almost done.  Now we just need to get some ‘before’ photos and we’ll officially start this whole crazy year!”

While Amanda gave the stink-eye to her least favorite employee, the group adjusted so they were facing the far wall of the room, where a make-shift photo shoot was set up.  Ray went behind the camera and beckoned for Mickey to step out in front of the white sheet.  The punk princess strut out in front of the group and composed herself.

For this last show before her break began, the all-star wrestler wore a pair of blue and black tights and a matching sports bra; she completed the look by lacing up her boots and strapping on her spiked belt.  She threw her black hair back and shook it out into a wilder look rather than the tidied appearance she had for her announcement.

“All right, princesa, just do your thing,” the stout manager said as he started snapping pictures.

Mickey smirked as she knelt to one side and flexed, flaunting biceps that were tight and powerful.  She chuckled as she remarked, “Can’t wait to see these pythons go to pot.  I’m gonna have the biggest arms in wrestling, ‘cept for the fact they’ll be big ol’ bingo wings.”

The jokes earned at least one audible groan from Amanda, while the rest shook their heads in disgust and, in Lane’s part, mirth.  And there were more to come, as every pose seemed to elicit some quip from Mickey about how her gain would impact it.

“When we bring back the belt, Dave, you’re going to want it extra-wide; something tells me the normal belts won’t fit around my hips by then.”

“I might have to work on my leg drops for my return, because I’m picturing them being big as my waist right about now.  Can you imagine me coming down on someone with that much power?”

“Guess I’ll need to upgrade my wardrobe too, because I’m pretty sure this stuff will tear the second I try and slide it on.”

Dave coughed as he stepped up to Ray and grunted, “Are we about done with this farce?  I’ve got to make plans for tomorrow, and they don’t include throwing away good talent.”

“Just need to get a couple more pictures, and we’ll be good to go,” the cameraman replied.

Mickey looked out to the group and said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea.  How about we get the last couple with me and Amanda?  Get a little comparison going on between the two of us.”

All eyes fell on the Little Rich Girl, who shrugged her shoulders and shucked off her jacket. “I’d love to, if only so I can make a point of how stupid this is.”

When she sauntered out in front of the white screen, arms bare and ample cleavage exposed, Ray returned to snapping pictures.  Amanda was a few years past forty and not a wrestler, but she could have fooled anyone with her physique; she looked like she could easily go for a while in the squared circle.  Her flexed biceps were even thicker than Mickey’s and, though her skirt hid them, she had powerful legs befitting one of the top women in the industry.  She also had sizeable breasts that were not entirely natural, but no one was going to say that to her face.

As they posed for the camera with a flex-off and standing back to back, the boss whispered to Mickey, “I can’t emphasize how much I think this is worthless.”

“Pretty sure you’ve made that quite clear, but enlighten me,” the punk retorted with a roll of her eyes.

“We’ve set you on top of the world, and you’re going to throw that away just to be, what, a gimmick act?  You must have hit your head harder than I thought, because you’re not that stupid.”

Mickey sneered as they turned to face each other, with the wrestler having to look up into her boss’s eyes, thanks to Amanda’s staggering heels. “The only thing that’s stupid is sitting on something that could net you a new audience and some increased exposure.”

“You know why we did away with the Superheavyweight Championship?” asked Amanda as she tried her best to assert her authority over the punk. “The same reason we did away with midget wrestling, mud wrestling, and sumo wrestling: no one wants to watch it; all the audience sees is a joke, a comedy act.  We finally have a respectable business, and you trying to do this only jeopardizes everything we’ve worked for.”

The comment made Mickey’s eye twitch, as it was just like management to blame any faults in the company on the wrestlers.  She stood up to her boss and furrowed her brow as she replied, “The only reason those were perceived as a joke is because you wrote them as such.  You want people to take this stuff seriously?  Give the same care and attention you do to the rest of your roster, and the audience will come.”

The two continued to have a stare-off until Ray announced he was finished, at which point both ladies donned their jackets and rejoined their significant others.  An awkward silence hung between the group until Lane broke it by saying, “Well, it’s been a long night, and I think we should all break.”

“Agreed,” Dave nodded as he adjusted his suit.  He looked to Mickey with a stern gaze and told her, “Remember, I want weekly updates and quarterly check-ins; the second you slip, we’re squashing this angle.”

“You got it, chief,” the punk girl replied with a mock salute.

As he left the room, Amanda and Triple Threat made their goodbyes.  The Little Rich Girl fixed her eyes on Mickey and told her, “Remember what I said, Ramone.  Think about what you’re going to do to this company.”

“I’ll reconsider this as soon as you stop feeding prospective talent to your husband,” was Mickey’s retort.

The power couple left with hateful glares, and right behind them was Nancy.  She watched as they left and shook her head. “Some people just can’t be civil.”

“Eh, I’m used to it from them,” Mickey shrugged.  She pat the physician on the shoulder and told her, “Thanks for everything tonight, Nance.”

Nancy smiled and said, “You’re welcome, Mickey.  And just between you and me, I think this sounds like a cool angle.  I’ll be looking forward to working with you on it.”

When she left the room with her tools, it left Lane with Team Ramone.  The fatherly man cracked his neck from side to side before asking, “So, who wants to get something to eat?  I know a great all-night diner not too far from here.”

Ray and Mickey shared a look before the wrestler nodded eagerly. “Lead the way, Lane.”


The end of the night found the duo sitting in a booth at a retro-styled diner with checker-pattern floors, shiny wood furnishings all over, and a refurbished jukebox spewing golden oldies.  Lane had to leave almost as soon as they arrived; something about tomorrow night’s Madhouse.  He apologized but promised to pay for their dinner, as well as visit them next time he were heading out to New Mexico.

As she listened to Nat King Cole croon, Mickey dipped a steak fry into the last of her chocolate milkshake and took a big bite out of it.  She let out a warm sigh of content as she leaned back in her seat and rubbed her stomach.  The punk girl looked to her boyfriend and told him, “I can’t think of the last time I was able to eat like this, especially after a show.  And I get to eat like this for an entire year?  God, I should have pitched them this idea ages ago!”

“It’s not all going to be meals on the boss’s dime, babe,” Ray reminded the girl. “We’re going to do a lot of cooking from home; don’t worry, I’ve been looking up some new recipes.  On top of that, we’re going to have to follow a strict schedule so we’ll be able to meet your goal weight in time.  Put simply, you won’t be eating for pleasure or sustenance; it’s going to be a challenge, just like exercising.”

She waved off the naysaying with another steak fry, this one doused in ketchup. “We can worry about that tomorrow; tonight, we’re going to celebrate the first night of our new routine.”

He looked down at his own meal, a modest chicken sandwich with coleslaw on the side, and chuckled, “Yeah, I guess we should just take it easy.”

“Exactly!  So let’s worry about all the work it’s going to take some other time,” Mickey grinned as she reached her foot out under the table and rubbed Ray’s shin. “Because after we get back to the hotel, I am going to show you how grateful I am for making this happen…”

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5 minutes ago, Gabbo said:

This is going to be...


I'd insert a picture of Bobby Roode doing his thing, but it comes out looking like it's meant for ants.  So instead I'll say WOO!  Thanks for liking the story so far!

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Mickey had known that the prep for her return was not going to be easy, but it was even more of a work-out than she had imagined.  It was one thing to eat a full meal, another to binge, and still another to eat almost the entire day.  Ray had her eating from the minute she woke up to the moment she went to bed: big breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, with plenty of snacks thrown in between each.  She had never been so stuffed in her life as she was that first day, and two weeks in, things were only marginally easier; this was mostly due to how much her belly was stretching out than anything else.

On the sixteenth day of prep, she woke up groggy and somewhat bloated; a midnight meal had done her in.  She rolled over in bed and found her lover nowhere to be found, but the smell of hash down the hall told her where he was.  A groan rattled out of her lips as she briefly considered staying in bed, only to ultimately choose against it; she did not want to get used to breakfast in bed.  Mickey willed herself into action, and she managed to get herself into a sitting position at the edge of the mattress. In a less sleepy state, she might have acknowledged how such an act was beginning to feel awkward, but she could barely remember what day it was at that moment.

Finally, she rose to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom, her eyes clouded with drowsiness.  As soon as she reached the sink, the faucet activated and she cupped some water to splash in her face.  The sudden burst of cold helped her come to her senses; a final yawn escaping her throat was the last of her tiredness leaving her.

The Punk Princess took the moment to make a cursory study of her changing body.  Two weeks and some change had done a number on her, which was to be expected; she had to average out at a pound a day.  She was thickening up all over: her arms were fast losing their definition, her legs had a slight wobble to them, and even her face seemed puffy, though that could be attributed to sleeping wrong.  Most impressive of all was her stomach, which was actually starting to stick out now; she was actually having trouble sucking it in.  Her body seemed only bigger when she was clad in her silky shorts and top, which were feeling much tighter than before.

“Looking good, sugar,” she greeted herself as she smiled at her reflection.  Mickey reached down beside the sink and poured herself a glass of water to go with her medicine.  GWF was strict when it came to substances, to the point that they had suspended wrestlers who were using doctor-mandated prescriptions, but she had been given the okay to use this particular brand of appetite enhancers.  They helped boost her not insignificant appetite to new levels, which, when combined with the weight gain shakes she had throughout the day, were helping her reach her goal.

After she washed her daily dose down, she sauntered over to the digital scale across the room and stepped on top.  It took the computer a moment to finish its reading, and when it did, the screen read ‘142 lbs.’ An impressive gain for such a short time, but she was still far off from her goal; her current weight was still below the heaviest woman in the division.

She cracked her neck from side to side as she walked out of the bathroom and said, “Well, won’t get anywhere by standing around.  Let’s get to it, belly.”

A quick trip to the closet later and she strut down the hall of her apartment in the baby blue robe her mother got her last Christmas.  It was still quite roomy on her, but she could not wait for the day when she could no longer tie it around her girth.  Mickey’s lips turned into a grin as she grew giddy thinking about where she was going to be at the end of the year.

Ray was slaving over a hot stove as he finished the last of his lover’s breakfast.  Mickey paused by the far counter and grinned as she watched him work in the old ‘Frankie Says Relax’ shirt that fit him about fifteen pounds ago.  Now it clung to his tubby body like a second skin, and if he so much as moved the wrong way too fast, it would roll up to reveal a good strip of pudge.  As delicious as her man looked, the spread he had prepared looked even better.

Their modest table had been cleared of all the accumulated clutter to make room for the Violent Princess’s extravagant meals.  The morning saw a stack of flapjacks at her placemat, a plate of sausage and eggs over hard beside it, yogurt with dark chocolate shavings mixed in, and two glasses behind everything.  One was filled with orange juice, and the other was a tall, creamy shake purposefully designed to help Mickey along.  It was a banana-flavored protein powder mixed with some peanut butter and whole milk to create a terrific taste.  Unfortunately, given how sedentary she was aiming to be at the moment, any good the shake had was turned into calories for her growing body.

“Babe, you missed you calling in life,” she remarked as she sauntered over to the table. “You could have been one hell of a cook.”

The manager chuckled at that and told her, “I am an amazing cook, but I am an even better manager.”

“Ain’t going to deny that,” Mickey laughed as she sat down.  No sooner had she picked her fork up than Ray brought over a steaming, sizzling plate of hash fried to golden perfection.  She was about to ask for something else, but Ray was quick to bring over the ketchup bottle she had in mind.

“You know me too well.”

“All part of the job,” he replied cheekily as he sat across from her with his usual bowl of cereal and grapefruit.

The couple ate at their own paces: Ray took his sweet time while he talked about what was going on in the business; Mickey was so focused on cleaning her plate that she only really managed a muffled reply now and then.  Despite having wildly disproportionate meals, they finished at about the same time, with the punk wrestler patting her stomach.

“That was top notch as always,” she hummed in contentment as she massaged her growing belly. “My compliments to the chef.”

“Well, don’t compliment me just yet,” he replied as he cleared the plates. “After all, you still need to eat some more.”

Mickey looked up with a raised eyebrow and asked, “Really?  Because I just ate enough for three people, Ray.  I’m stuffed.”

Her partner shook his head. “I don’t think so, mi princesa.  See, by now you’ve gotten used to larger meals, so you think you’re stuffed despite having some more room.  It’s time we think about upgrading your meals a bit; can’t stay at the same level forever.”

The logic made sense, or so she told herself, and the stubborn woman nodded. “All right then, let’s see what you’ve got.  You want me to eat, I’ll eat, but it better be good.”

“Oh, it will,” Ray retorted at the challenge. 

At that moment, the timer on the oven rang, and he went back into the kitchen, leaving Mickey to herself.  If she really asked herself, she knew that she had not eaten her fill just yet, but there was trouble in admitting that.  They were barely two weeks into this program and she was eating enough for a small family.  And this was only April; her head swam at how much she would be gorging on when the big eating months rolled around.

Her manager returned from the kitchen carrying a modest pizza; modest in size, at least.  The sauce was biscuit gravy, the cheese was quite thick, and chopped up sausage and eggs littered the top.  When Ray put a slice in front of her, it made her mouth water and her eyes go wide.

“Eat up, my dear,” he told her with a soft shoulder rub. “I’m going to clean the dishes, so let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”

As he turned to leave, Mickey reached out and tapped his wrist. “I could really use a fork…and some of that spicy salsa.”

“You got it,” the stout man replied with a grin.

Left to her own devices with the pizza, the wrestler stared down the dish and gave it a sneer. “You ain’t shit, breakfast pizza.  I eat pieces of trash like you for…ah, screw it.”

With that threat, she picked up the slice in front of her and bit it in half.  And thus, her breakfast continued unabated.


When she finished off the last bit of crust with a dollop of salsa, Mickey slouched in her chair and groaned.  She gazed down at her plate, head swimming a bit, and pumped her fists lazily into the air.  Somehow, she had managed to fit the entire ten-inch pizza in, as well as a nice serving bowl of salsa.

“Suck it, breakfast!  I just whupped your ass!” she exclaimed before flipping the empty dish off.

Ray walked back in with a grin and remarked, “You sure showed that food who’s boss.”

The precocious punk cocked her lips in a smirk. “But of course.  Was there ever any doubt?”

“Besides the bellyaching you were doing before you ate it?  None,” he answered tauntingly.  As he collected the empty dish, he looked to her and asked, “Want to take a few minutes to digest before we get to exercising?”

“God, please,” she groaned as she rubbed the bump in her stomach.  All she wanted to do was wait a spell for her food baby to break up before she got to work.

The manager leaned in to kiss her warm forehead before turning to leave the room. “I’ll go ahead and pack up your bag.”

“You’re the best, Ray!”

“I know.”

Mickey was feeling more able and willing after about twenty minutes, so she went into the bedroom to change.  She opted for a black sports bra underneath a baggy t-shirt and some navy yoga pants, plus some fingerless gloves.  Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, though she left some strands loose to give her a wild look.  It was amazing how these clothes still fit her after piling on so much weight so soon; she would have to find the person who invented spandex and shake their hand.

Team Ramone lived not that far from a gym that had everything a wrestler could need, including a ring; there was even a section for extreme weightlifters which included tires for flipping.  That was Mickey’s destination, for she needed to build up a solid core and upper body as part of her new in-ring performance.  Gone would be the days where she could do frog splashes and moonsaults from the top rope; it was time to focus on power moves.

“So, you’ve got the routine down?” asked Ray as he walked in beside her.  He was wearing a muscle shirt that hardly flattered his body and some basketball shorts.  While Mickey would go off to do her own thing, he would not be far off; he wanted to be her spotter for when she got into the heavy lifting.

The Violent Princess rolled her eyes at her lover. “Yes, Ray, I know the routine; we’ve only been over this a dozen times already.”

“Just making sure,” he replied with a wave of the hands. “I’m going to hit the cycle for a bit, so you just come get me when you need back-up.”

“Yes, Mom,” she retorted with a stuck-out tongue.

As the two parted ways, Mickey made her way past the treadmills and stationary bikes with nose held high.  She would work on them after she had worn out her upper body; they were of little importance to her now.  As time went on, she would use them more to make sure her legs were strong enough to help her run around the ring.  For now though, she was to drop them like a bad habit.

First came a set of uppers: chin-ups, push-ups, and sit-ups; these would help to strengthen her core before she became too bulky to do them properly.  She already had a strong core to begin with, as evidenced by her many bouts in the ring and recordings on Instafram, but the stronger her core was, the less likely it would be to vanish when she grew blubbery.

After that, she took a few gulps of water and a healthy dose of her special shake.  Mickey was bringing one with her every time she worked out, which was about the only time it was ever put to its intended use.  Most of the time, it sat at her side when she lounged around the house.

Following her short reprieve, she moved on to an empty space around the weights and scooped up some 25-lb. dumbbells.  She worked on squats and lunges to continue working on her core, but the purpose was more to work her arms; get a good sweat going from her biceps and triceps.  When she finished with those, she moved onto a leg lift so that she could give her lats and quads some burn.

When she finally finished with all the equipment she could use on her own, she flagged down Ray, who had one eye on her at all times.  He nodded to her, hopped off the cycle, and toweled off as he met up with his lover.  The manager asked, “Ready?”

“Always,” the punk grinned as she crossed over to a free bench.

Mickey first prepared the bar with about fifty pounds on both sides and laid out on the cushioned bench.  She knew that a hundred pounds was far from her heaviest, but she was not aiming to break any records, at least not today.  All she wanted was to wrap up her routine so she could get home and relax her tired limbs; the only consolation was that this was a far cry from practicing moves in her spare time.

“All right, princesa, let’s see what you’ve got,” Ray said, sounding like a starting gun to her ears.

She hefted the bar up and down with relative ease, raising and dropping it at an even clip.  It was so easy for her that she was able to hold up a conversation as she worked.  Her eyes glanced over to Ray as she asked, “So, what’re you thinking?”

“Just that we’ve got about fifty more weeks to go,” he answered as he watched her. “I’m actually surprised you’ve been doing so well with this; most people wouldn’t be able to jump in at a moment’s notice.”

“You really think I was running into this all blind?” the punk asked with a sly grin. “Please give me some credit, Raymundo: I’ve been planning this for a while; Dave bumping up the schedule did little to change the plans.”

This made him raise an eyebrow.  Ray knew that Mickey had done some prep work before all this; she had to if she wanted to make a compelling case.  The way she put it, it sounded like a lot more than just a few weeks. “Exactly how long have you been figuring this out?”

“Probably since Fall Free for All,” she answered with a slight grunt as she hefted the bar up over her head. “That was when I started looking into what it would take to pile on weight quickly, from foods to medicine to alternative methods.  After that, all I needed was to figure out how to spin it into a good angle, and that was where you came in.”

That made a lot of sense, and the explanation left Ray shaking his head.  Of course Mickey did all the research before bringing it up to him; he was lucky she even brought it up at all before deciding to go ahead with the gimmick.  As much as he was her ‘manager’, the punk wrestler was quite capable of getting stuff done with her own bullheadedness.

“Okay, chief, little help here,” Mickey huffed as she held the bar over her head with trembling arms.  Ray was quick to hop up and relieve her, at which point she let her arms flop to her sides like wet noodles. “Christ, I don’t know how John Henry can do that.”

“Hey, he’s got to do something to be able to swing two sledgehammers like they were whiffle bats,” the stout manager shrugged. “How you feeling?”

“Like I need a shower and an afternoon on the couch,” she groaned as she managed to lift herself from the bench. “And I’m really hoping you’ll join me.”

“For which part?” he asked with a grin.

Mickey met his question with a sly wink and a light slap to the arm. “What do you think?  I want to get a very personal opinion on how I’ve been developing.”

“Then the shower it is,” Ray chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Mickey’s softening waist.

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Guest Jakgrag

Great story so far.  I can't wait to read more.

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“Oh, come on, KC; you can do better than this!”

Mickey flopped back on her leather couch as she watched GWE’s May pay-per-view, Retribution, with a bowl of chips in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.  Even though she had benched herself for the year and distanced herself from the ring, she still kept on top of all the goings-on in the squared circle.  Her absence had left quite a hole on War, as there were three belts that needed to be vacated and reclaimed.  In the near two months since the Showdown, the Tag Team titles had been claimed by the Storme Troop and the Intercontinental belt was taken by Sadie Storme through some conniving.  All that was left was the Women’s Championship, which was up for grabs in a battle royal at Retribution.

There was much rejoicing when all of the members of the Storme Troop were taken out, but the tides had changed and Sadie had dominated the ring.  Though she took out anyone that came at her, she had KC Sky in her sights; she had been gunning for her old tag partner ever since the acrobatic young woman flipped into the match.  KC held her ground and did her best to fight back against the relentless assault, but it was clear that she was fading fast.  That was what made Sadie one of the top names in the women’s division: she was a force of nature and could not be contained; the best anyone could hope for was to direct her elsewhere.

When backed into the corner, KC spun around and tried to hit Sadie with a high kick, only for the brawler to catch her leg and chop it.  The Sky Queen cried out and Mickey winced along with her; Sadie had been targeting KC’s legs throughout the whole bout in order to keep her from doing her usual flippy shit.  The Violent Princess held out hope for her friend and former partner, but it was becoming clear that KC was faltering.

“Pizza’s on,” Ray announced as he waltzed into the room with a large meat lover’s pie on a platter.  He set it down on the table in front of Mickey, whose mood was immediately lifted at the sight of the glorious creation.

“Come to Mama,” the punk grinned as she reached for a slice.  It took her a second to reach the pizza, but she managed to serve up a thick slice onto a plate.

The reason she had some initial difficulty was obvious: nearly two months into this prep, working to average a pound a day, had done a number on Mickey’s figure.  She had packed on forty-seven pounds so far, which set her at a considerable 172 on the scale.  Her belly jutted out a good inch or two from her body, and it actually managed to peek out from her handful breasts.  Below the belt, if she could even wear her belts anymore, her legs had thickened up considerably and now touched midway to her knee.  Her rump had swollen up into a nice cushion behind her, which made sitting comfier but finding pants that fit a nightmare.  Thankfully, despite her rapid gain, her exercise helped ensure that she did not jiggle around too much; her body was thick and powerful, not flabby and weak.

Ray shook his head and grinned, amazed at what a difference a month and a half had made.  Mickey looked less like a professional wrestler and more like a stereotypical wrestling fan; it did not help that she was wearing a stretched-out Missile Gang shirt and shorts that were struggling to hold her in.  He joined her on the couch with a slice of pizza himself, following his tradition of cheating on his diet for a pay-per-view.

“So I’m guessing from all the shouting that KC isn’t doing so hot tonight,” he remarked.

Mickey sighed and took a good-sized bite out of her slice. “No, she’s not.  Poor girl’s giving it her all, but she’s been hit a lot and—oh!”

The couple sat on the edge of their seat as KC climbed the ropes until she reached the top turnbuckle and turned to face Sadie.  She leaped for her opponent, but because of her weakened legs, she botched the move and fell shy of Storme.  Sadie laughed in devilish delight as she picked up the pained KC by the hair and hurled her to the ropes.  The acrobat hit them like a limp noodle, and one final push from Sadie sent her clear over and onto the mats below.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” Mickey groaned as she stuffed pizza into her mouth in a vain effort to wash the taste of that defeat out of her mouth. “KC totally deserves the belt; she was robbed!”

Ray nodded along with his partner. “Agreed.  Poor girl can’t catch a break ever since we left.”

The punk looked over to her manager and asked through a mouthful of dough and spicy meat, “You’ve got to head in there and see what you can do about getting her better booking; she shouldn’t have to job to Sadie like this.”

“I’ll see what I can do next time we meet,” he replied, referring to the many booking agents in the GWE.  Mickey might have been able to lay low in her apartment, but Ray still had a job to do when it came to the company.  On top of that, he just liked being able to stay in the loop of things while they took their sabbatical.

“Thanks, babe,” Mickey hummed as she returned her attention to the TV.  She felt bad for KC, who was getting a good push by being a tag partner with her, only to see that push stop when Mickey left.  Were it not for the need to keep things under wraps, she would have reached out to her, but there were strict rules about this prep work; namely, no one could know about it.

They continued to watch the battle royal until it came down to just two ladies left in the ring: Sadie Storme and Shinobu Misawa, both known for being indomitable brawlers and stiff workers.  Shinobu had the benefit of being a late, fresh entrant into the match, but Sadie had not slowed down once since coming in at the start.

“Let’s go, Shinobu!” Mickey cheered, muffled though it was by pizza.

The two competitors circled each other like wildcats waiting for their enemy to strike.  Finally, Sadie charged Shinobu, who ducked out of the way and spun around in time to be met with a clothesline from the force of nature.  The Osakan hit the canvas with a loud thud, but she did not stay there long before Sadie grabbed her by the hair and hurled her to the ropes like KC.  Shinobu crashed into the ropes and propped herself against them as her opponent came at her again, ready to whip her over the top.  She countered Sadie with a high kick to the woman’s chin, which sent the Intercontinental Champ reeling to the middle of the ring.  With a wild howl, the Japanese superstar dashed forward and knocked Sadie to the floor with a vicious spear to the stomach.

Ray and Mickey hooted and hollered from their spot on the couch, though the punk wrestler made sure to not knock her snacks over.  She was getting so involved in the match that she missed the fact that she was wolfing down food like it was air; she had already torn through more than half of the pizza and most of the chips and cookies.  Yet she paid no mind to her rapidly filling belly, so focused was she on the battle on-screen.

By the time Sadie had climbed to her feet, Shinobu had climbed to the top turnbuckle across from her and stood tall and proud for the Philadelphia crowd.  She beat her chest and roared to the rafters before glaring at her staggering opponent as Sadie propped herself up against the far corner.  Finally, she leaped clear across the ring and crashed feet-first into the One-Woman Storm, where she banged her head against the turnbuckle.

“Transpacific Takedown!” Team Ramone cheered.

Shinobu scrambled back to her feet and glowered at the crumpled heap that was Sadie Storme, who finally had the wind taken out of her.  The lithe wrestler picked up her battered opponent by the scruff of her neck, marched over to the side of the ring, and tossed her out like yesterday’s garbage.  It was finally over: the GWE had found its new Women’s Champion, and no one could have been happier, least of all Team Ramone.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mickey shouted as she pumped her fists in the air, which made her meaty arms wobble ever so much. “I can’t believe it!  She actually did it; Shinobu beat that pedazo de mierda!”

“That’s how you do it!” Ray applauded while the audience at the arena lit up with excitement.

The couple settled back down against the couch as the initial rush passed, though they were no less proud of Shinobu.  They watched with delight as the referee brought her the title belt, though, strangely enough, she had a sad, far-away look in her eyes.  It was not until she called for a microphone that it became clear why.

“This is not my belt,” the champion declared in her thick accent. “I won this because the owner had to give it up; I have no doubt that if she could still compete, she would be holding it tonight.  But because of me, she had to walk away from the title she earned through being the very best.”

Mickey was speechless as Shinobu turned to face the hard camera and held the belt aloft. “Mickey Ramone, this is still your belt; you are still the Women’s Champion in my eye.  So until you can compete again, I will be holding onto it.  I don’t care if it takes months or even years; no one is going to take this from me until I can return it to you.”

While the announcers talked about the break in Shinobu’s detached, cold character, Mickey cupped her hands over her mouth and felt tears sting at her eyes.  She knew that the poor girl felt terrible about what had happened two months prior, and she wanted to tell her so badly; for her plan to work though, she needed everyone to believe that she was legit injured.  That did not stop her from looking to Ray with pleading eyes, only to be met with a sad shake of the head.

“I’m sorry, princesa, but we can’t let anyone know; you said so yourself.”

“I know, I know,” Mickey sighed as she quelled her feelings with more pizza. “I just wish we could let a couple people know, just to ease their minds.  Look at Shinny—she’s practically tearing herself apart over this!  I’ve tried to message her and let her know there was no harm done, but that’s not enough.”

Ray reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I know, Mick.  Tell you what, I’ve got something to cheer you up.  Grab the pizza and what’s left of the snacks and meet me in the kitchen.”

Curious, Mickey raised an eyebrow but licked her lips in anticipation; whenever Ray had something to cheer her up these days, it usually involved food.  She braced her hands on the couch and rocked herself to her feet before gathering up the last of the food and sauntering into the kitchen.  There, on the counter, were twenty plates with different treats on each; one had a slice of cake, one had a piece of pie, and one had a bulky brownie, and the list went on.  The sight brought the sparkle back in the wrestler’s eye as she looked up to her lover with eager glee.

“What’s all this?” she asked with a grin on her face.

“I figured that we might as well have our own battle royal tonight,” he chuckled as he gestured to the spread. “Twenty different desserts, and you’ve got to eat them all.  I’m going to give you three minutes to eat a dish, and then I’ll add another one to the table; whatever goes on the table, you have to finish.  That means that even if you throw in the towel, if you’ve still got food in front of you, you’ve got to eat it.”

Mickey set the pizza and snacks down on the table and cracked her knuckles.  She was not particularly hungry; she had been grazing all throughout the pay-per-view.  When faced with such a challenge though, she was not going to back down, even if it meant winding up beached in her chair again.

“And what happens if I win?  Do I become Kitchen Champion?” she teased as she took a seat.

Ray shook his head and brought over a glass of water.  He kissed his princess before pulling away and replying, “If you can eat through everything, and I do mean everything, I’ll take you to bed and give you your favorite.”

“The Finger Poke of Doom?” the punk asked giddily.

“The Finger Poke of Doom,” he answered with a nod.

Mickey clapped her hands together and bounced up and down in her chair.  The promise of getting Ray’s magic touch after all this was enough of an incentive for her.  She glanced up to her loving manager and told him, “Ready when you are!”

“Okay, you’ve got three minutes to finish the chips and cookies,” the stout man explained as he set his tablet up. “Starting…now!”


Far up northeast, Monday Night War has come to a wrap and all the wrestlers were getting cleaned up in their respective locker rooms.  The women’s was buzzing with activity, from gossip to travel plans to hitting up a club later; Sadie Storme was inviting most everyone to a party in her hotel room.  One of the few that did not get involved in all the chit-chat was Shinobu, who was taking her sweet time in the shower.  The cold water soothed her fevered body and calmed her mind as it cascaded down her toned body.

Osaka’s Finest was one of the shorter wrestlers in the women’s division, standing a hair or two over five feet, but made up for it by being a fighting machine.  A fine layer of soft skin covered powerful muscles that could easily take out most people.  Her hair was cut short and spiky, and dyed dazzling purple.  She might have been small, but it had not stopped her from becoming a multi-time champion.

There came a knock on the wall outside, and a voice as smooth as silk asked, “Shin-chan, you almost done in there?”

Shinobu pulled back the curtain on the shower stall and saw KC Sky standing there in a towel and nothing else.  The ebony wrestler was on the taller side, easily dwarfing the Japanese wrestler by nearly a foot, and she was covered in ropy muscles from head to toe.  She had a wrap around her leg, the one that Sadie had been working all night long; Shinobu was glad to see it was not broken.

“Yes, I’m almost finished,” the diminutive woman answered with a nod. “Did you need something?”

KC smiled softly as she said, “I just wanted to let you know that I was really touched by what you said about the title tonight.  I’m sure Mickey was watching at home; I’ll bet you she was honored.”

If that was meant to help Shinobu, it did not.  She cast her head down in shame and squeezed the shower curtain tight. “I meant every word of it; I did not deserve the title.  Mickey has told me time and again that she does not blame me nor hate me, but I simply could not take her title in good conscience.”

The acrobatic wrestler could tell that her friend was tearing herself apart over this whole debacle, and despite constant messages from her ‘victim’, it was clear that she was not moving on anytime soon.  This called for some drastic measures, ones that would require a ‘forgiveness first, permission second’ attitude.

“Tell you what,” KC explained to the downtrodden woman, “we’ve got a show in Albuquerque next month.  When we head out there, let’s drop in and give Mickey a little surprise visit.  It’s been almost two months now; I’m sure that we’ll see her fit as a fiddle and dying to get back into the ring.  Does that sound good to you?”

It took Shinobu a moment to reply, but when she did, she had a hint of a smile on her lips; it was the first one KC had seen in a while.  The acrobat left her to finish showering, only now, the water felt a touch warmer on her skin.  She was going to get the chance to see Mickey again and ease her spirit once and for all.  And as the water rained down on her, she imagined what her rival was doing to recover now; no doubt she was getting as much exercise as possible.


Mickey let out a shrill scream of pleasure as the Finger Poke of Doom sent her over the edge but good.  Spent utterly, she collapsed on her back and groaned in an orgasmic daze and glutted stupor.  Somehow or another, she had managed to finish everything that Ray set in front of her, though it had not been easy; falling behind on one meant having to play an incredible amount of catch up.  She pushed herself to the limit and managed to cram everything into her overtaxed belly, which now looked like a boulder stuck to her waist and weighed as much.

“God, Ray, that was…that was incredible,” she puffed, the words struggling to come out. “But I…oh, I’m so stuffed.  I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“At least until the morning,” her lover chuckled as he lay beside her, a hand massaging her swollen belly.  She lazily reached out and placed her hand on his before drifting off to a stuffed slumber.

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198 lbs.  One hundred and ninety-eight pounds, and Mickey could feel every bit of them.

On that late June morning, the large Latina was as giddy as a kid on Christmas day.  She was just on the verge of the big 2-0-0, her first major milestone in her gaining prep.  Somehow, in the span of two and a half months, she had managed to pack on almost seventy-five pounds of thick fat on her modest frame.  The gain had come so fast, she felt like a balloon; some days, she could almost see where each new pound had settled.  At that moment, it did not matter where her fat was distributed; she was rotund all over.

First, there was her face, which was growing softer in the cheeks and slowly developing a second chin.  Then there were her arms, which had enough blubber to hide the considerable muscles she was building.  Breasts that were once petite handfuls were now big enough that they filled Ray’s whole hand, which he reminded her of in bed.  They still rested nicely atop her belly, which had grown to the point that it was encroaching on her lap.  That lap had fattened up into a good cushion, thanks to her thighs that touched all the way to her knee.  Last was her rump, which was starting to look something like a shelf; Ray joked that they could start using it as a small spice rack by the next month.  The tease made her chuckle, but also gave her more than one warm feeling inside.

“Where’s my big girl?” asked her lover from down the hall.

Mickey giggled and strut out to their bedroom, clad in a pair of stretchy shorts and training bra, one of the few things that could keep up with her ever-expanding body.  Thanks to her diligent exercise routine, she hardly jiggled whenever she walked; her bulk was packed in tight so that she looked less roly-poly and more bulbous.  When she reached the bedroom, she propped herself up against the wall so that her gut and breasts were thrust out prominently, something she knew would excite Ray immensely.

Sure enough, when he walked in with a big box in his hands, the stout man’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.  Even though he got to wake up next to her every morning, it was still amazing to see how the former cruiserweight had blossomed into such a voluptuous vixen.  And this was just the tail end of June; by the time they reached next April, his princess was going to be enormous.

“Got something for me, Ray-Ray?” the punk asked with a light song in her voice.

The manager was snapped back to his senses and he grinned at his wide wrestler.  He nodded and said, “Yes, actually.  I’ve got a special treat for breakfast; take a look.”

When he opened the box, Mickey let out a piggish squeal of delight.  Inside were not one, but two dozen glazed donuts, and not just any donuts.  They were Britt’s Donuts, the best donuts in the state; she had been asking for them for a while when she got a sudden craving for them.  Now they were right in front of her: warm, fluffy, rich rings of fried perfection.

“You remembered!” she exclaimed as she received the box with barely contained delight.

“I got there as soon as they opened up this morning,” Ray replied with a nod. “Shall we take this to the dining room?”

The Violent Princess glanced back to their comfy bed and turned back with a smile on her face. “Actually, I think I’d like to take my breakfast in bed today.”

“Then lead the way,” the manager said with a grin.  He pinched at Mickey’s plush hips, which elicited a squeak of glee as she spun about and sashayed back to the bed.  It was amazing to see how her backside rolled with every movement like two soccer balls bouncing up and down.  Ray was tempted to reach out and grab a handful, but he refrained, knowing that he would get more than a sampling today.

Mickey sat down on the bed and rolled herself into a lounging position, like a pampered house cat.  Ray was about to slide in beside her but he was stopped when she held up her hand.  She told him, “Why don’t you take that shirt off?  Wouldn’t want to get glaze all over it.”

Her boyfriend laughed at that, yet still shucked off the t-shirt he was wearing.  Underneath, it became clear that his girlfriend was not the only one going through some serious changes.  Ray had always been a portly man, but in the last few months, he had started to slim down and tone up.  While he was no bodybuilder, his middle was not nearly as doughy as it once was and his chest was tightening up into pecs.  He still had a ways to go, but he was a far cry from his flabby physique that once earned him the nickname ‘Rotundo’.

“Like what you see, baby?” he asked as he flexed, a slight hint of his bicep showing.

“You know I do,” Mickey answered with a lick of her greedy lips. “Now, put those pythons to bed and bring me my donuts.”

“As you wish.”

The manager crawled into bed and took his spot beside his lover, her plump body resting against him.  He pulled a glazed ring from the box and lowered it down to her mouth.  Mickey reached out and took a big, slow bite; a moan of delight filled her cheeks.  She looked to Ray with half-closed eyes and opened her mouth for another bite in no time at all.

“I cannot believe you’ve managed to do this, but you did, Mick; you’ve gotten so fat in just a couple months,” the stout man remarked in a dusky, smoky voice. “When you signed up for this, you were a slip of a thing, and now, you look like we stuck a hose in your mouth and started pumping air in.  Kind of makes me wonder if you’ll pop before this is all over.”

The punk woman felt shivers up and down her back, and she tore through her next donut like it was nothing.  Ray continued, “There’s almost two hundred pounds of you on this bed.  Could you ever have imagined getting this big?  Maybe you always did, and you were looking for an excuse to fatten up all this time.”

Mickey blushed a fine pink and lazily stroked at her bare belly as he teased her along. “Mmm…so good at this.”

“Glad you think so,” her boyfriend chuckled. “I’m just trying to keep up with my spoiled princess; she’s got quite the appetite on her.  If I had known she loved getting so fat, I would pitched this angle a long time ago, just so I could get the chance to do this all day long.  And now, we’ve got a full year of this: one year to make you as fat as we can; one year of all the stuffing, feeding, and loving we could want.”

The thought made the wrestler’s head swim, which allowed her to focus on the fried goodness being fed into her mouth.  She was so big already, and they were not even a fourth of the way through the year; she could not even imagine what the rest of the year would hold for her.  All she hoped was that it was full of moments like this, of being pampered, fed sweetly, and treated like a queen.  And good food.  Lots of good food.


By the time she had finished all the donuts, Mickey was feeling stuffed and somewhat bloated.  Damn Ray and his way with words, getting her all worked up and eating as fast as she could; what should have taken her almost an hour, she had managed to finish in just under half an hour.  All she could do was lay on her back, hands rubbing her gut to relieve some of the pressure and swollen feeling.  These beached feelings were becoming less and less frequent as her appetite and capacity increased; that was why it always came as a surprise when she found herself unable to move easily.

“Here you go, Mickey,” Ray said softly as he left a glass of water with two dissolving tablets by her bedside. “Take that and you should be feeling better in a little bit.”

She groaned, took the water, and downed it in just a few gulps.  A hand wiped her lips and she glanced over to her boyfriend, clad in sweatpants and muscle shirt that was fitting better every single day. “Where are you going?”

“The gym.  I’ve got time to kill before your lunch is ready, so I thought I’d get a work-out in.”

“Hang on, let me come with,” Mickey grunted as she tried rocking to her side.  Ray placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down, however.

“Not today, princesa,” he told her with a shaking head. “You need to rest that tummy of yours.  Just think of this as a cheat day.”

The notion brought a smirk to her lips as she reminded her boyfriend, “Every day is a cheat day.”

“True enough,” the manager chuckled. “We can go tomorrow, unless I decide to get more donuts.”

“Meany,” Mickey muttered as she stuck out her tongue.

Raymundo laughed again and gave his girlfriend a peck on the forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.  Just take it nice and easy, and then we can celebrate the rest of the day, okay?”

“Okay, Ray-Ray.”

As he left, the bloated brawler slipped into a blissful food coma, her hands resting peacefully on her gut.  When she woke, her stomach had settled a good amount, which meant it was time to eat some more; it was her new biological clock.  Mickey walked into the kitchen and set about making herself one of those weight gain shakes she had come to enjoy.  When she first started drinking them, one was enough to floor her, but she had steadily worked her way up to two in one sitting; pretty soon, she would be able to drink them all day long.

Once she had a tall, delectable glass ready, she sauntered over to the couch to catch up on her shows, only for the doorbell to ring.  An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she set her drink down on the side table.  It was probably Mr. Heckles from downstairs, claiming she was making too much noise, or Crazy Sigourney looking for someone to have some extra soup she always seemed to be brewing.

“I’m coming!” she pleasantly called out, though she found herself wishing whichever one of her pesky neighbors it was would leave her in peace.  When she threw open her apartment door, however, she found it was two people she never would have expected.

There in her doorway were KC Sky and Shinobu Misawa, as fit as they ever were.  The lanky cruiserweight was clad in a pair of white jean shorts, matching cowboy boots, and a flowy top, all of which exposed her tight, dark body.  The Japanese champion, meanwhile, wore a long, navy skirt and matching shirt, black penny loafers, and a sarashi wrapped around her modest chest.  Both women shared the same shocked expression: jaws dropped, eyes wide, and a pink tint to their cheeks.

A pregnant silence filled the air, with no one mustering up the courage to speak, until finally, Shinobu broke the quiet.  She looked Mickey up and down and muttered, “Kanojo wa futtota-desu.”

The Violent Princess managed to collect herself and wished she had put on more clothes before answering the door.  She glanced between the two and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“We’ve got a show in town and wanted to come see you,” KC explained, the words coming out slowly as her brain processed what she was seeing. “I wanted to help pick Shinobu up, show her you were doing all right.  I guess I should have warned you.”

Mickey groaned as she pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.  They had managed to keep things a secret for so long, and now the cat was finally out of the bag.  There was no way she could cover this up or make some kind of excuse; she was standing in front of two coworkers with her fat body almost completely exposed.

“Okay, come on in,” the wrestler sighed. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Her guests moseyed on in, with Shinobu still mumbling, “Kanojo wa futtota-desu.”

“So,” KC started as she looked around, “is Ray around?”

“He’s out at the gym, and then picking up some lunch,” Mickey explained.  She led the way through the apartment, knowing full well that her friends were staring at her accumulated bulk with appraising eyes.  A quick glance over her shoulder affirmed that, as KC and Shinobu swiftly turned their heads away.

Her coworkers situated themselves in the living room, and after getting some refreshments together and a shirt on, Mickey joined them.  She sat across from them in a lavender t-shirt that did little to hide her curves; in fact, it was getting rather tight in some places.  The punk fidgeted in the seat, her hand finding its way to her shirt and pulling it down to try and cover the sliver of belly that popped out.

Mickey sipped from her shake before kicking things off. “So, I suppose I owe you both an explanation.”

This was met with quick, eager nods, so the third-generation Ramone shared everything: her family’s history, the plan, and what she was doing to prepare.  She tried to gauge them for a reaction, but so far, the two were politely attentive; it was some small comfort that they did not seem angry or upset.

“That’s about the size of it,” Mickey finished, sitting back in her chair and wetting her lips with some more milkshake. “What do you think?”

It took a moment for the two to process it all, but when they did, Shinobu was the first to reply.  Her cheeks had grown increasingly pink throughout the explanation, but now, a warm grin joined them and a light laugh escaped her lips.  She put a hand to her mouth to try and stifle her giggling as she answered, “I think I am a…what does Sadie say?  A simple mark; I bought it, ah, hook, line, and sinker.”

KC, while not as mirthful, still had a smile on her lips. “That’s got to be one of the craziest ideas I’ve ever heard.  I love it.”

The pudgy punk let out a relieved sigh and took a hearty gulp from her shake.  Out of all the reactions she could have gotten, this was probably the best one; she had feared that Shinobu, who had been so broken up, would have gotten furious having been played so well.  Now that she had cleared the air, she felt a great weight off her shoulder, leaving just the increasing heft of her chest behind.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you two say that,” Mickey told her friends. “I wanted to tell you both so many times, especially you, Shinobu; I damn near spilled the beans when you gave that speech at Retribution.”

The Osakan waved off the concern with a sweet smile. “Please.  Now that I know why you hid, I am sorry I spoiled the surprise; I wish I had waited a little longer, even.”

“I can only imagine what everyone’s going to be thinking when they see the new you,” KC chuckled. “It’ll be even better when you get in the ring and kick all kinds of ass.”

“Damn straight,” the Violent Princess boasted with puffed up chest.  She glanced at the clock on the wall and asked, “Would you girls like to stay for lunch?  Ray and I are going to have quite the spread.”

“We don’t want to impose, Mick,” the acrobatic woman replied, and Shinobu nodded in agreement.

Mickey gave a playful pout. “Aw, come on.  Today’s a special day; I’ll be cresting two hundred pounds.”

That made her guests raise their eyebrows and exchange quick glances.  The Japanese champion decided, “I would love to see that happen, if you would have me.”

“Well, not like I can leave without her,” KC joked. “Count me in.”

“All right then, I’ll let Ray know we’re having company,” the hefty host said as she left to grab her phone. “You’re going to love his cooking; I know I do.”

As their fatty friend left the room, KC and Shinobu wondered just what the rest of the day held for them.  They did not, or could not say, but they were fascinated by how much Mickey had grown and how much she had left to go.  It made the idea of lunch and even dinner, if the Ramones were generous enough, oddly appealing, and they found themselves waiting with bated breath for Ray to get back.

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5 hours ago, Gabbo said:

Well, KC & Shinobu are in on it now, they might as well follow Mickey & start ''training'' for the same division.

They'll definitely be involved with the start of the new division, don't you worry.  And they won't be the only ones, for that matter!

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Thanks to Mickey’s timely message, Ray was not so surprised when he returned to the apartment with an armful of bags.  He made his way into the living room, where the girls were still chatting and catching up with one another.  At his arrival, Shinobu and KC turned to greet him, with the ebony entertainer offering to take some of the bags off his hands.

“I got it, but thanks,” he answered with a grin. “This counts as weightlifting, after all.”

“And you must be doing a lot of it, because those pythons are firming up,” KC snickered as she looked down at Ray’s bicep.  The last time Shinobu and she had seen the man, he was rather portly and soft; now, he looked like he was training for GWE’s developmental program.  Looking at Mickey, it became clear where those lost pounds went.

The manager’s grin grew bigger and a light pink crossed his cheeks. “I picked up some stuff for you girls as well.  Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have all lunch ready.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, babe,” Mickey told him from the couch. “I feel like I’m wasting away here!”

“Then I’ll whip up a quick shake to tide you over,” Ray retorted before departing for the kitchen.

Shinobu glanced down at the empty glass on the table and cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to have another?  I felt full just tasting it!”

Her Latina friend chuckled at the disbelief. “Believe you me, it grows on you as you grow from it.  One of those used to be an entire meal, but now, I can easily do two and still have room for more.”

“Dang, girl,” KC said with a low whistle. “I can see how you got so big in just a couple months.  God, seventy-five pounds…you must be setting some kind of record for fastest gain or something.”

“Nah,” Mickey replied with a shake of her head. “There’s some gainers I follow online that have absolutely ballooned while I’ve been doing this; ain’t no way I can keep up with them.”

“Well, I’m dying to see how this all goes,” her tag partner decided as she slouched in her chair. “You’ve got to send us some updates now and then.  Right, Shinobu?”

The Japanese brawler nodded, but her focus was clearly elsewhere; specifically, Mickey’s blossoming curves.  It was no secret that Shinobu preferred the company of women; there were more than a few people in the roster and crew that had some dalliances with her.  She had never really pursued Mickey, partly because she did not want to interrupt what Team Ramone had going for them, but also because the Violent Princess had always been a little too lean for her tastes.  Shinobu’s girls usually had some meat on them, even if it was just a slight layer of fat over hard muscles.  Now that her on-screen rival had turned into a plump parody of herself, the Osakan could not tear her eyes away.

It was not long before Ray called out from the kitchen and announced that lunch was ready.  The visitors got up from their chairs easily while Mickey had to rock herself up to her feet, the act of which left her slightly winded and Shinobu blushing.  When they went into the dining room, they sat on either side of their hefty hostess, who took her usual place at the head of the table like a queen.

“So, to celebrate Mickey’s crossing the two-hundred-pound milestone, I decided to do a little something special,” the manager remarked as he strode into the room with a tray full of food.

He set down a fish sandwich in front of Shinobu and a chicken salad for KC before delivering two quarter-pound cheeseburgers to his pride and joy. “Today, we’re going to have a two-on-one handicap gauntlet: Mickey, you’re going to eat two of everything I give you; you need to make it through everything, otherwise you’ll forfeit and won’t get your grand prize tonight.”

“No Alabama Slam?” the corpulent champion asked with wide eyes.

The girls snickered at that, which brought Ray’s blush back. “No Alabama Slam.”

“Then bring it on!” Mickey declared as she picked up one burger and tore off a big bite.

With the challenge accepted and the pudgy punk mowing through her first dish, her lover looked to their guests and said, “KC, Shinobu, feel free to help yourselves to anything out here; if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Will do!” KC replied, Shinobu nodding along.

As they ate their meals, they kept an eye on their friend as she made short work of the cheeseburgers.  Seeing her eat so voraciously made them pick up their own pace, and Shinobu reached out for the bowl of chips that sat across from her.  Suddenly, they were feeling a lot hungrier than when they first arrived.


“Babe, I’m back!” Levi Hunter announced as he made his way into his hotel room to be greeted by the muffled voice of his wife in the bathroom.

“Thank God!  Bring it in.”

Adjusting the pharmacy bag in his hand, he opened the door and found his wife in a less than picturesque form.  Amanda Ericson was sitting on the floor in a complimentary bathrobe, her hair disheveled and make-up unapplied, and cheeks flushed from effort.  She looked a sorry state, and her doting husband knelt down to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

“You okay?”

The rich woman groaned as she slumped into his embrace. “I swear I hacked up some intestine this time.  I’m just praying it was some bad food from last night or a flu; I don’t think I could handle the alternative.”

“Well, just in case, I got what you asked for,” Triple Threat told her as he fished through the bag and retrieved a pregnancy test. “Here you go.”

Amanda accepted the box and rolled it around in her hand with disdain.  It was not that she completely hated the idea that she was pregnant again; she just assumed that at forty-three years of age, she was done with it.  With her work schedule as it was, she also did not like the idea of traveling cross-country while heavy with child.

“Okay, give me a minute and I’ll be out,” she sighed as she cracked the seal on the box.

Levi kissed his wife on the temple. “Take all the time you need.”

The burly man let his love alone and sat on the bed after retrieving his tablet from the side table.  A quick log-in and he was right back to where he left off before heading to sleep the night before; lots of business to go over for that night’s show.  All that could wait, however, as a quick notification let him know of an update he was keeping his eye on.

“All right, it’s up!” he quietly cheered as he went to his browser and pulled up Voluptuous.org’s forums.  His favorite story had just been updated, and he was dying to see how Melody was adjusting to her life with a feeder roommate, girlfriend, and boss.

No one, not even Amanda, knew about Triple Threat’s preferences, largely because he had only figured them out himself a couple years ago.  One his buddies in Blue Mountain Wrestling had sent him a message with a link to a plus-size model’s webcam site as a joke; everyone knew what a gym rat Levi was.  What his friend could not have known was that the twelve-time champion would be morbidly curious about the site and peruse some of the archived videos, which led him down a rabbit hole that seemed to have no end.  Now, some two years since, Levi was leading a secret life as Helmzley, an avid fat admirer and patron to a good few models, artists, and writers.

“No way,” he remarked softly as he read through the story before him. “Now her old roommate wants to fatten her up to?  Goddamn, this girl is going to balloon.”

He left an appreciative comment on the posting before closing the tab when Amanda came out of the bathroom.  She seemed somewhat brighter than when he last saw her, and her lips were curling up and down, unsure if they should smile or frown.  Levi slid off the bed and crossed over to put his hands around her waist.

“What is it, Amanda?”

She sniffled once or twice as she showed him the test.  It was a clear positive.  The Little Rich Girl managed to compose herself enough to say, “Guess we need to break out the crib again.”

With that, the tired and nauseous woman fell into his chest and let her husband embrace her.  Levi rested his head on her shoulder, his thoughts running a mile a minute.  It had been years since their last kid; Grace was already eight years old, and their oldest, Nicole, was ten.  On top of that, neither he nor Amanda were spring chickens anymore; by the time this kid graduated high school, the two of them would be in their sixties.  It was a frightening prospect, but the idea of welcoming another child into the family made him happy beyond measure.

All he knew was that they would take it one step at a time, whatever might happen.  And maybe this time, Amanda won’t hit the gym so much.  That prospect brought a smile to his face, as he imagined, for the first time, what his fitness freak of a wife would look like with the stereotypical mom bod.  One step at a time though, he had to remind himself.  One step at a time.


Back in New Mexico, lunch had taken an interesting turn at Mickey and Ray’s place.  The Violent Princess had done a number on the tag teams of food, but after a good hour of eating, it was clear that she was starting to falter.  She was still devouring everything, but no longer with gusto or grazing between dishes; she could not afford to give up room for snacks and side dishes.  This meant that there was more for her guests to pick at, and KC and Shinobu did just that.

When they arrived, they had no intention of staying for lunch, but now, they seemed to have caught some kind of fever, because they were eating like they had not for days.  Shinobu had devoured her fish sandwich in no time at all and KC wolfed down her salad like some kind of starving rabbit.  Their hands were constantly refilling their plates with chips, fries, rolls, fruit, cheese, and all other accoutrements that lined the table.  It was as if they recognized Mickey’s gluttony as a personal challenge, and they aspired to meet it with aplomb.

Of course, neither woman could hope to match the finely-tuned eating machine that was Mickey Ramone.  The Latina wrestler had managed to pack away more food than they had ever seen, and she still managed to go on even as she slowly reached her limit.  Her gut, impressive regardless, had swollen nice and full with food, and it had grown into a caramel globe, a testament to her gluttony.

“I don’t know how you’re managing this, Mick,” KC remarked as she dipped two steak fries in ketchup. “You’ve eaten enough to feed a whole family, I bet you.”

Shinobu hummed in agreement, not quite willing to stop eating as yet.  She dropped a skinned chicken bone to the plate, where it joined a small pile of its brethren.  Spicy Buffalo sauce covered her lips but she did not clean them just yet; there were still a few more wings to be had.

“I’ve been practicing, KC,” the punk replied with a huff as she finished a pair of pizza slices.  One hand reached for her whole milk while the other reached down to caress her stuffed stomach. “The night I went on sabbatical, Lane took us out to a diner and I got a giant burger, fries, and shake; that one meal almost floored me for the evening.  Now, I could probably three of those meals.”

The curvaceous cruiserweight shook her head, amazed at how much her friend had changed in the last couple of months.  She was still the same Mickey as ever, but no one could have imagined that this woman who had won countless titles throughout her career would want to trade that for ballooning up to a superheavyweight class.  Still, KC had not seen the Violent Princess so excited over an angle; Mickey really was putting everything she had into it, and how could she not respect that?

Ray returned to clear Mickey’s plate and replace it with two chicken sandwiches with biscuits instead of the usual bun.  He spared a quick glance to KC and Shinobu, stunned at how these two women were trying to keep pace with his lover.  Being around Mickey always seemed to make performers work harder; that still held true even outside the ring, apparently.

“Can I get you girls anything else?” he asked, noticing that the snacks were running rather low.

KC shook her head and gave an overdramatic groan. “I really shouldn’t; I need to be able to perform tonight, after all.”

Shinobu, on the other hand, nodded. “Yes, please.  Can I have milk and some of that pizza?”

“We’ve only got whole milk, is that okay?”

“Oh, yes.  Whole milk is good, thank you.”

KC’s eyes went wide as she realized that not only did her companion intend to keep eating, but that she was moving up to much more filling options.  That was insane, yet at the same time, she knew that she still had some room left as well.  Everything had been so good, and with her budget, she likely would not eat this good again in a while; it only made sense to splurge.

“You know what?  I think I’ll have some more too,” the ebony aerialist decided. “I’ll take some of that pizza too, and a soda, please.”

Ray replied with a grin. “It’d be my pleasure.”

When he left to go fill up the plates, KC looked around the table to survey the damage they’d done.  Almost all the snacks and side dishes were gone, and that could not be blamed on Mickey; she had only eaten those for a bit before focusing on her tag team meals.  No, the rest had been eaten by herself and Shinobu, and they were still hungry for more.  How was that possible?  She would have to worry about that later, as Ray came back with the pizza and drinks, and it all smelled delicious.


“Are you throwing in the towel?”

Nearly two hours after starting lunch, everyone at the table was stuffed to the gills.  KC and Shinobu had managed to get through four slices of pizza between them before they had to call it quits, but Mickey kept going.  Even she had her limits though, and she stared at the donut in front of her with appropriately glazed-over eyes.  She lifted her hand to pick it up but felt gravity take a hold of her, so she dropped her hand back down to her side and groaned.  One last donut, one measly donut, was all that stood between her and a night of explosive sex and cooling comfort.  Yet she had no more energy left in her body; it took all her effort to just stay awake.

“No…hell no,” she grunted as she tried to rock forward, only to be stopped by her boulder-like belly. “I don’t back down from nothing, least of all some tiny little donut.”

“Maybe you just need a little encouragement,” Ray chuckled as he walked around to Mickey’s side of the table.  He kneeled down next to her, placed a warm hand on her taut stomach, and gently massaged the swollen mass of pudge.  The small bit of relief made the weighty wrestler sigh in comfort and she felt a second wind come on.

Meanwhile, Shinobu, who was caressing her own food baby, looked on the event with tired envy.  Throughout the entire meal, she had watched in delight as Mickey’s belly grew to the point that she had to let it free from her shorts.  Nothing would have pleased her more than to have her hands on that blubbery mound, and she felt a pang of jealousy as Ray received that honor.

Mickey, oblivious to the effect this had on her guest, rubbed the other side of her gut before she managed to reach out and grasp the donut.  She brought it up with a trembling hand and took one bite after another, slow but deliberate; there was no way she could wolf this down.  When she finally finished, the Violent Princess slumped down in her chair but pumped one fist into the air.

“Who deserves the belt?” she asked before stifling a burp with her fist.

“Only you, Mick,” KC chuckled weakly from her spot at the table.

“A real champion,” Shinobu agreed.

Mickey opened her bleary eyes and saw how much damage the three of them had done to the plethora of food.  The sight of the cuisine carnage and how stuffed her friends were brought an impish grin to her face.  Before she fell into a food coma, she murmured, “Let’s do this again soon, ladies.”

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While Mickey was entertaining her guests, the Storme Troop had just landed in town and were making their way through the airport.  Sadie led the gang, her blonde locks bobbing with every sultry step she took and her tight clothes leaving little to the imagination.  Behind her were the strawberry-blonde Donna Twins, Natalie and Katherine, who dressed in matching outfits in opposite colors; the day found Natalie wearing yellow and Kaitlyn in purple.  At the rear of the group was the giant of the Women’s Division, Maxine Kuhn, better known to the GWF as Typhoon, the Storme Troop’s tough as nails enforcer.

“All right, ladies, you know the drill,” Sadie told her posse as they walked out to the food court. “Nat, Kat, you two check in at the hotel; Max and I will rally the troops so we can have a good time before the show tomorrow.”

“You got it, Sadie,” they agreed before sauntering off, leaving the blonde bruiser and her gigantic goon behind.

When they were assuredly alone, Maxine put a hand to her doughy stomach and grimaced.  She had managed to control herself on the way over, but now, she was starving and in desperate need of something to eat.

Sadie caught the expression and smirked at the brunette brawler. “Something wrong, porkchop?  You can’t be hungry again; I stuffed you good at the diner back in Austin!”

Maxine blushed and seemed much smaller than the six foot-three she stood at. “Yeah, but I didn’t have any snacks on the way here, and I really wanted something at the last food court.”

“Greedy guts,” the ringleader teased with a shake of her head. “Can’t go more than a couple hours without something to munch on.  How did I wind up with such a piggy?”

“It’s not my fault I’m hungry!” the meaty Maxine contested. “If someone didn’t keep stuffing me to the gills, my stomach wouldn’t have stretched out so much; that’s a scientific fact, by the way.”

A quick poke to the doughy wrestler’s gut was enough to silence her complaints. “Don’t be like that, porky.  It’s not like I’ve got a gun to your head; you can stop eating whenever you want.  I certainly wouldn’t want to make my big girl do anything she wouldn’t want to.”

Sadie’s hand gently and subtly massaged Maxine’s tubby tummy, which made her melt in the woman’s arms.  When had Sadie Storme gotten such a hold of her?  It all traced back to a year and half ago, when the massive woman had first entered the GWF proper and stuck out like a sore thumb.  No one wanted to give her the time of day; no one, that is, except her blonde beau, who took her under the wing and showed her the ropes.  In time, Maxine earned respect from the rest of the locker room and Sadie pitched to have the two of them together in a tag team that soon grew into the stable known as the Storme Troop.

While they were working on their in-ring skills, Sadie was teaching Maxine all sorts of things she never knew; namely, the joys of a full stomach and what a good eater received.  The blonde had taken her brunette apprentice to a steak restaurant one night and coerced her into eating a dinner meant for two people, plus a dessert for three.  Maxine had never felt so full, but Sadie’s sensual touch at the end of the night made it all worthwhile.

That one meal was followed by another, and another, and another, until it became a regular thing for them.  Whenever they hit up a new town, they would eat out or get delivery for every meal, and each meal was bigger than the last.  All these gorges had a serious effect on the large wrestler, and though she was no lightweight to begin with, she was easily becoming the heaviest in the women’s division.

The last time Sadie had weighed her, Maxine had clocked in at an impressive two hundred and twenty pounds, and she felt every single ounce.  When she looked in the mirror, she saw a woman who was larger than life but definitely not a contender for a Singles Title.  Her gut, stuffed with fried chicken, oozed out over her panties like a blob of caramel; her thick thighs touched down to her knees; her backside was forming a decent shelf behind her.  What really stung were how her breasts had barely developed at all, staying steady at a modest B-cup despite the seventy-some pounds she had packed on in the last couple of years.

She wondered from time to time if she was getting too hefty, but those fears were constantly put to rest by Sadie in some form or another.  Sometimes, the beautiful blonde would speak softly and caress Maxine, reminding her that she was gorgeous no matter what size she was; other times, the bouncing bully would deny her of any pleasure until she got back to eating again.  It was during one such season of cold shouldering that the ample amazon realized that the more she ate, the more attention her lovely lady would give her, so she set about eating as much as she could to get into Sadie’s graces again.

Yes, Maxine was addicted to ‘Storme chasing’, and she was unsure if she could ever give it up.  Again and again, she would tell herself that today would be the day where she puts her foot down and starts a diet, but then her silky seductress would find some way to break that resolve.  Thoughts of ending this arrangement became fleeting, eventually settling in the back of her mind.  This was fine for now, she would assure herself; she could still leave whenever she wanted.

“Can we get some pizza?” the tubby titan asked with a lick of her lips.

Sadie chuckled as she gave Maxine’s gut a pat. “Of course, piggy, but I get to pick how much you have.  And if you’re still hungry after what we ate for breakfast, then I’ll have to make sure you’re full enough to last until dinner.”

“I, ah,” the meek woman stammered, “I’m not that hungry; I just need a snack to fill up the tank.”

“You sure about that?” her girlfriend asked condescendingly.  She poked a finger into Maxine’s squishy stomach and hummed. “Seems like you have a lot more room than you think.  I can’t have my baby going hungry now, can I?  So let’s get you well and truly full until you can barely move.”

A light whimper of anxiety and excitement passed through the giantess’s lips as she let Sadie lead her by the hand into the food court.  She was feeling rather hungry, yes, but she was not sure she could handle a gut-busting meal; all she really wanted was a snack for the road.  Her beautiful beau knew her appetite better than herself though, so she trusted Sadie to help with this problem.  Besides, if Maxine could eat enough that she needed help standing up, the blonde bully would reward her handsomely when they got back to the hotel.  So yes, maybe she had a bit more room than she imagined.


When they had the strength to leave their chairs, KC and Shinobu had to help Mickey to her feet and over to the scale, which Ray moved from the bathroom to a few feet from the table.  It took some great willpower from La Princesa Violenta but she managed to make it there with a little help from her friends.  The scale calculated for a moment before delivering the results in blinking numbers:

200 lbs.

She had surpassed her first milestone, and everyone cheered for her, though it barely registered to her; the poor punk was drifting into a food coma.  After getting several pats on the back from her friends and boyfriend, Mickey was guided to the couch, where she promptly plopped down and passed out.  KC had a giggle over the sight, while Shinobu could not tear her eyes away from the impressive globe of her friend’s gut.  It was so tempting to reach out and rub it like a Buddha statue, but she managed to restrain herself.

“Thanks again for staying over, ladies,” Ray said as the trio made their way to the door. “Mickey’s been holding up really well in solidarity, but she was really jonesing for some company; I know she really appreciated having you over.”

“Anytime, Ray,” KC replied. “Sorry we spoiled the surprise; I can’t imagine how crazy it would be to see her at her final weight.”

Shinobu nodded, the mental image already forming in her head. “Make sure she doesn’t pop, okay?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the manager chuckled, “But you know Mickey: once she gets going, you can’t stop her no matter how much you try.”

The three bid farewell and Ray returned to clean up the dishes while the guests went back to their motel.  As they were driving back, Shinobu seemed distant as her eyes drifted down to her stomach, which was slowly feeling less over time.  KC knew her to be generally quiet, but this time, the Osaka Warrior seemed like she was weighing something over in her mind.

“Whatcha thinking, Shin-chan?” asked the ebony empress.

Shinobu hesitated in answering before she murmured, “I think I should get fat too.”

The answer earned a good double-take from KC, who almost slammed on the brakes at the reply.  She looked her friend over as if to make sure Shinobu was not going crazy or replaced by a doppelganger. “Did you eat some bad food or something, Bu?  Because I know you wouldn’t be talking crazy like that otherwise.”

“I am not crazy,” the Japanese woman shook her head. “I think that I should get fat like Mickey; it would make sense.”

“Okay, humor me,” KC sighed as she glanced over at her friend. “Why on Earth does it make sense for you to get fat too?”

Shinobu straightened up in her chair and turned to face the driver with a stolid expression on her face. “Two reasons, one for story and one for business.  When Mickey comes back, the company is going to be pitting her all alone against the biggest of the company; if she has someone to help watch her back, it will make her look strong.  And she’s going to be the, what is it?  Talk of the town!  People will be watching her and talking about her, so it makes sense for me to be beside her when that happens.”

KC rolled the ideas around in her head.  They certainly made sense, but there were so many other things to consider. “What are you going to do about your in-ring style?  Mickey’s going to have to change everything about how she wrestles.”

“I have never had too many acrobatic moves, so I can just cut out the few that I have and alter things from there,” was her answer.

“Okay, but what about protection from management?  Mickey was able to agree to this by signing a contract and all; I don’t see them extending that to you and me.”

Shinobu shrugged. “I won’t be gaining as much as Mickey; just enough that I could be considered ‘fat’.  I also don’t have to do it so fast; I can take my time with it, ease my way into the heavy weights.”

“Okay, but what are you going to do about the folks backstage?  You know people are going to be nasty, especially Sadie Storme.”

“She can, ah, how you say, kiss my ass,” the stoic woman replied with arms crossed.  KC should have realized that would be Shinobu’s answer; the girl was more than capable of standing up for herself when push came to shove.

A rattling sigh came from the acrobatic woman’s lips as she realized that trying to talk Shinobu out of this would be like talking to Mickey; there was nothing doing.  The best she could do was try and direct her friend so that she could give this new idea her all.  Besides, if Shinobu really wanted to get fat, that was her prerogative; it was not as though KC needed to join her.

“Okay, fine,” she relented. “When we get back to the motel, let’s talk about this more so we can plan how to put this all together.  Mickey’s not going in half-assed, so neither can we; we’re going to fatten you up right.  Sound good?”

Shinobu nodded. “Yes, very good.  Thank you, KC.”

“Sure thing, Shin-chan.”

As the driver returned her attention to the road, the passenger let her thoughts drift back to Team Ramone’s apartment and Mickey’s big belly.  She imagined caressing and fondling it as though the punk were heavy with child, not blubber, but other fantasies flittered through her head.  First, she found herself at that same dining room table, gorging herself until she surpassed the biggest sumo wrestlers.  Then came visions of fat and flabby Mickey feeding her and Shinobu returning the favor.  Lastly, a chunky KC was joining them to feast on what seemed like a never-ending meal.  The three of them grew fatter, fatter, and fatter, until they were too big for the chairs they were perched on.

“So fat,” the petite wrestler murmured as her eyes cast down to her firm stomach, imagining it with good roll or three.


Back at hers and Maxine’s hotel room, Sadie had finished showering, the weariness of air travel washed down the train, and was getting dressed in a casual, flirty number.  Black jeans that enhanced the curve of her backside and hips, wedge sandals that cost more than some people make in a month, and a lacy top that bared her toned arms and stomach to the world.  Her blonde hair was flowing and bounced with the slightest movement, and her make-up game was on point as ever.

“Six-star rating,” she told herself in the mirror before glancing back over her shoulder at her roommate.

The same rating could not be given to poor Maxine, who looked and felt like a beached whale on the bed.  Her clothes lay crumpled on the floor, the top stained with pizza sauce and the pants split down the middle.  Sauce and melted cheese ringed her panting lips, and a glazed, distant look covered her eyes.  The dome that was her belly stuck out like a hill of flesh, stuffed to the point that not an inch of it quivered.  Her thick arms and legs lay spread out, useless and drained of strength.  It was hard to believe that she was a juggernaut in the ring.

Sadie smirked at the sight of her stuffed pig, who had just barely finished three whole pizzas at the restaurant; the other three were saved for when they were in the privacy of their hotel room.  It never amazed her how easy it was to get Maxine to stuff her gullet with food, or perhaps it was just that she herself was too good of a fiddler.  Either way, she could not argue with the rotund results.

Her musings were interrupted by the humming of her phone.  The notification came from the Pheedee app, a dating program designed for feeders to seek out feedees and vice-versa.  Sadie looked at the message and saw that one VaVaVaVenus was down to meet at a local pub for some heavy ale and all the greasy, fried food she could stomach.  Her profile showed a pear-shaped girl with a decent starter belly and soft breasts that looked much too big for the bra she had on.

“I’ll see if I can’t pop that for her,” Sadie mumbled as she texted back that she would be there in five minutes.  Once sent, she strut over to Maxine, who continued to gasp for air and seemed to focus only on not bursting.

“Okay, piggy, if you can hear me, I’m going out for a while,” the blonde chirped as she brushed some damp strands of hair from the giantess’s face. “If you get hungry while I’m out, you can get some room service; I left you a menu.  Don’t spoil your appetite though, because I’m definitely coming back with plenty of food for you.  After all, you’ll need something to occupy yourself when the rest of us go clubbing later.”

The only response was a groan and stifled burp, which brought a grin to Sadie’s lips.  She had no idea how she had lucked into this porkchop, but now that she had, she was not going to rest until Maxine was as wide as she was tall.  Given how much food she could pack away in one sitting, the blubbery woman was well on her way.

As she left her room, Sadie left a message for Levi and Amanda. “Hey guys, got your message earlier and wanted to let you know that Maxine and I talked it over.  She’s still not that confident about a big push, so let’s give her a little more time between the ropes.  Less time on the mic too; she needs a lot of practice on the promos.  Okay, ciao!”

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((To make up for the shitshow that was Backlash 2018, enjoy a new chapter, hot off the presses!))


It was the middle of July, almost four weeks since the big feast, and Mickey’s growth had continued unabated.  She ate like there was no tomorrow, stuffing as much as she could in her maw close to four or five times a day.  Ray managed to keep things interesting by mixing up his recipes; every day presented a chance to make something new.  One day, he made her hearty flapjacks, and on another, he made her a thick beef stew.  Over Fourth of July Weekend, he was able to grill up some dynamite burgers and spectacular ribs.  His princess liked to tease him about being the next Julia Child, which always gave him a chuckle.

One morning, as the manager lay sleeping in bed, he was woken up by the smell of something cooking in the kitchen.  He groggily sat up, arms stretching above him while he yawned like a lion.  A glance to his side showed that Mickey was not there, which meant that she was cooking.  If she was cooking, that meant he had slept in.  Sure enough, the clock by the bed flashed ‘9:01’ at him, which shook out any cobwebs left in his head.

“Crapcrapcrap,” Ray muttered as he slid out of bed.  He hastily threw on an undershirt and a pair of pajama pants as he hustled out of the room.  When he reached the kitchen, he all but slid into the room like Bob Seger was playing.

Greeting him was a beautiful sight, one he had not expected to wake up to.  There was his princesa at the counter, hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail, apron wrapped around her meaty waist, and nothing else.  All of her beautiful, bountiful blubber was on display, and it made the stout man bite his lip in restraint; it would not do to be so frisky first thing in the morning.  That did not stop him from sneaking over and grabbing a handful of her thick rump, which made her bounce on the balls of her feet.

“Sneaky little polla,” Mickey giggled as she turned to give her man a playful punch on the arm. “Like you didn’t have enough last night.”

“What can I say?  I see something so big and soft, I can’t help but give it a squeeze,” Ray chuckled as he kissed her on the cheek.  He glanced down at the spread she was putting together and let out a low whistle. “Did you put all this together?”

La Princesa Violenta snorted at that. “Are you kidding?  I could burn a bowl of cereal; God help me if I try to make an omelette.  No, I just decided to order out for the morning, plus heat up any goodies we have in the freezer.”

“Sorry about that, babe,” the manager apologized as he set to work fixing his own breakfast. “I guess I was just more tired than I realized.”

“Well, I did give you a good workout after you fed me that big bowl of pudding last night,” Mickey retorted before sticking her tongue out coyly.

Ray chuckled at that as he put together a bowl of oatmeal. “Yeah, you sure did.  I have no idea how you could possibly have so much stamina in you after eating so much; I’d have thought you would pass out with the spoon in your mouth.”

“What can I say?  I’ve been practicing,” the wrestler giggled as she started moving plate after plate to the table.  As she came back around, Mickey paused and tapped her chin as if in deep thought.

Her boyfriend caught the curious glance and gave a smile. “See something you like?”

“Something like that,” Mickey grinned as she walked over to Ray and took the bottom of his shirt in hand.  She gave it a gentle tug and found that it was actually loose on him. “Just as I suspected: you’ve been slimming down!”

“You’re just now noticing?” the manager laughed with a roll of the eyes. “Exactly how many times have you seen me naked?”

He got another light jab for his sarcasm.  Mickey crossed her arms and told him, “I mean, this is the first time I’ve noticed your clothes looking loose on you.  I loved how it clung to your tummy like you were a dressed-up teddy bear, but I think I love this new look too.  Give me a look under the hood, please?”

Ray smirked as he set his bowl in the microwave, turned to Mickey, and pulled his shirt up so that it sat just under his pecs.  Sure enough, he was no longer sporting the flabby belly developed from years of sitting around behind the scenes, subsiding on a steady diet of fast, cheap food.  While he was certainly no bodybuilding champion, he had built up muscle underneath his fluff, so that he now looked proper thick.  The punk performer tested this by poking at his stomach, and where a year ago, there would have been a great deal of give, now she could barely make a dent.

“Damn, boy, you’re getting tight,” his girlfriend remarked with a low, appreciative whistle.

“I’m actually think that I need to update my wardrobe.  There’s a few things that are getting a little too loose for my taste,” the man replied as he lowered his shirt and pulled the drawstring on his pants tighter.

“Maybe I’ll come with; I need to get some new clothes as well,” Mickey told him as she sauntered back to the table with more food in her hand. “Can you believe that some of the stretchy stuff we got a few months back doesn’t fit anymore?”

Ray laughed at that as he pulled his oatmeal from the microwave and mixed in some cinnamon and brown sugar. “Are you saying that you’re getting too fat for elastic?”

“I’ll show you when we get back to the room,” the princess teased as she sat down to her hearty meal that could have fed three people easily.  Ray shook his head at the sight, amazed at how Mickey had gone from eating light until just a few months ago.

“Can’t wait,” he quipped back as he felt his libido getting the better of him.  One quick tussle in the bed would be all right; he could write it off as exercise.


When they both finished their breakfasts, they made good on their promise and retreated to the bedroom.  Part of it was just necessity; they still needed to get to the gym, after all.  At the same time, they were both quite curious to see how well their workout clothes were fitting these days.  Ray was slowly but surely losing weight, while Mickey was rapidly filling with fat and muscle, a perfect combination for reaching her goal weight faster.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got, hot stuff,” the punk girl told her boyfriend.

Ray walked out of the bathroom in a tank top that, while still tight, was much more flattering on him than before.  The simple garment used to make him look like a slob, but now, he looked like he was getting ready to go lift weights.  At the same time, the sweatpants he had on were hiding his legs well, but those were firming up even more than his arms; reasonable, considering that his main exercises at the gym had been about cardio.

“Got tickets, ma’am?” he asked with a swagger in his voice.  He immediately started flexing as he added, “Tickets to the gun show?”

Mickey cackled as she watched her manager pose like so many of the tough guys she worked with in the company.  While he was nowhere close to having the most powerful biceps, there was actual definition there now.

“All right, your turn,” he grinned as he whipped the tank top off.

As his girlfriend trotted past him, Ray could not help but give her a playful swat on the rump.  It made her hop like a bunny, not helped by how she wiggled her tush for him before shutting the door.  The meaty man sat back on the bed and passed the time thinking of recipes he could put together for dinner.  A pot pie, perhaps, or maybe a casserole.  All thoughts of cooking were shaken from his head when Mickey emerged from the bathroom in an old outfit of his choosing.

There she stood, a pair of black yoga pants straining around her massive lower body and a t-shirt that left a good bit of belly on display.  When Mickey turned to around, he could see that the yoga pants were doing their best to hang on, but it was clear they were putting up a losing fight.  Likewise, almost everything about the shirt was tight: it hugged her squishy stomach, helped elevate her blubbery breasts, and made her arms look like dough oozing from a container.  Yet somehow, his princess looked absolutely fine in the outfit.

“Oh, poo,” she pouted as she put a hand on her hip and caressed the pudge she found there. “This used to be my favorite gear, and now I can hardly fit in it.  Why, if I make so much as a wrong move, I might just burst right out of it!”

“No kidding,” Ray taunted with his arms crossed. “That’s forty pounds of ass in thirty pound ass-capacity pants.  You try working out in the gym like that and I guarantee you’ll pop out of them before you’re done with your first rep.”

Mickey rolled her eyes as she fidgeted out of the extra-tight top and threw it at her boyfriend’s face. “Okay, Mister Fitness, let’s see you try on the next outfit I left for you.”

“Gladly,” the man chuckled as he rose from the bed and sauntered into the bathroom, making sure to dodge away from her attempt to goose him.

When she was left to her own devices, Mickey worked to shuck off the yoga pants that were all but painted on her caramel skin.  She knew, going in, that they were tight, but she had no idea that they had gotten this tight; there was hardly any room to stick a fingertip inside the waistband.  Maybe she really would have to pop them the old fashioned way.  That could wait, however, as the door opened and out strode Ray in his new outfit as chosen by herself, and he actually looked almost embarrassed, despite no one else being in the apartment.

“You’ve got a twisted sense of humor, woman,” the beefy man chuckled as he stood in the doorway.  Mickey had chosen some clothes that had been hardly flattering for him before he started working out, and while he still could not entirely pull it off, few people could.  Ray wore an old t-shirt that had been cut to the point that the hem sat just below his pecs and a pair of jeans that were missing most of the material, leaving his bulky legs in plain view for everyone.  At least they fit better on him than when they had used it for a promo video last summer.

“What?  I think they look almost retro,” the punk princess smirked as she licked her lips at the sight of so much of her man on display.

“All I need are some neon headbands and leggings,” Ray retorted as he sucked in a bit, bringing his gut in ever so slightly. “This would actually get us kicked out of the gym if I showed up there; they might just call the cops on me for indecent exposure.”

Mickey got a good laugh out of that, which earned her tickling from her boyfriend.  When she finally managed to weasel away from him, she raced to the bathroom and shut the door on him, leaving the big man to change out of his ridiculous clothing.  He only hoped that she looked half as good in the piece he chose for her as he thought she would.

Ray was not disappointed.  When Mickey emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing a swimsuit that fit her last year; now, it was hanging on by a thread.  The straps of her top dug into her soft shoulder, the cups could do nothing to contain her bountiful breasts, and each step made them jiggle a little closer to freedom.  Down below, the ties for the bottom had been wrapped up in the tiniest knot possible, flab oozing over and under them.  Her thick thighs were squeezed out like stuffed sausages, while her bulbous backside ate up the rest of the material in the back.

“If I’m twisted, you are pure evil,” Mickey told her lover, her tone soft and cheeks blushed.  If Ray did not know any better, he would almost believe that she was embarrassed.  After getting this far though, he knew full well that it was only because it was too much for the wide woman to take; she was so pent up, she could do little else but simmer quietly.

“Oh, really?” he teased as he beckoned her closer to him.  As she took slow, heavy steps towards him, he told her, “After all, I’ve just been doing what you asked me; if you want to blame anyone for getting too fat for your old bikini, take a look in the mirror.”

He stood up and turned her so they could gaze at their reflections, and it was amazing how much they had changed since the spring.  They had once been such a mismatch on a physical level, but now, they seemed so much closer to each other in size.  There stood a couple of big, beautiful people, both well over two hundred pounds, one aiming higher and one lower.

“I’ve gotten so fat,” she whispered as she rested her hands on her belly, rubbing and caressing the gelatinous mound.  Even though she looked in the mirror every day and had worn plenty of tight clothes before, nothing had been quite like this.  For the first time, she thought she looked like a balloon, the only difference being that she looked like she was full of pudding rather than air.

“Damn right you have,” Ray replied as he ran his hands over her thick body.  Every so often, he would stop to pinch an inch of her soft body, which elicited a steamy hiss from his princess. “We’ve turned you into a real butterball in such a short time.”

Her next words were stuck in her throat and she struggled to retort, “It’s your cooking; you’re too fucking good at it.  And you know that everything you put in front of me, I have to eat; I don’t think I can stop anymore.”

“As if you have a choice,” he grunted as his hands found the swell of her belly and wobbled it around. “You brought this on yourself, fatty: it was you that wanted to bring back the Superheavyweight Title; you who wanted to be its first new holder.  So now, you have to gain enough weight to be the biggest, heaviest, and fattest wrestler out there.”

The princess squirmed in his hands, biting back a moan of pleasure.  Ray continued his heated taunting as he slid lower and lightly slapped her thighs, sending them into a jiggling frenzy. “It’s been four months since you started; four months of stuffing your face.  What do you even weigh now, piggy?”

“Two…two hundred-twenty five pounds,” she murmured, resting her plush body against his firm chest. “That’s a hundred, and it’s only July.  I’m going to be a complete blob by the end, aren’t I?”

“Like a walking dollop of jelly,” her lover retorted, hands digging into her juicy rump. “And I’m going to help you get there: I’ll feed you until you can’t stuff another bite down your throat; until you pop like a balloon full of food; until you’re as wide as you are tall.  Even then, I won’t stop, because I know that it won’t be enough for you, you greedy sow.”

At that remark, she could take no more: Mickey spun around and latched her lips onto Ray’s, and she pushed him back to the bed.  Her eyes were lit with a fire that was only reserved for all-you-can-eat buffets, and she licked her lips like a cat ready to pounce. “Then you better keep up with me, big boy, because I have one hell of an appetite.”


By the time they were finished, half the morning had flown by and their bed was in shambles.  Ray had one arm resting above his head while the other was wrapped around Mickey’s shoulders; in turn, the punk girl had one hand on her boyfriend’s heaving chest while the other played with his hair.  They lay there gasping for air, exhausted and spent, but content beyond words.

“If this is going to be a new part of the daily routine, I approve,” the manager groaned as he squeezed Mickey closer to him.

As her lover planted a kiss on her forehead, the Violent Princess smirked and shook her head. “Don’t count on it: sweet as this is, I don’t think we could make this an everyday thing; it wouldn’t be so special otherwise.”

“Yeah, probably right,” he retorted before reaching over to his nightstand and pulling open the drawer. “Shame, really; this would have been the perfect time to do it.”

Mickey tried to see what Ray was fishing around for in the drawer, and when he pulled it out, her eyes lit up.  There in his hands were two tickets for Empress Cruises, which made her cup her hands over her mouth to stifle the squeal of delight.  Her boyfriend caught that and flashed a lazy grin up at her.

“Two weeks at sea, traveling through the Bahamas, and a twenty-four hour kitchen,” Ray told her as he sat up for a kiss on her cheek. “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

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((Eat your prayers and say your vitamins, Mickamaniacs, because it's time for a hot new chapter!))


While Mickey and Ray were celebrating their anniversary, things were not so sunny in Philadelphia, where Monday Night War was filming live.  What had started as a standard show of little note had immediately become newsworthy for all the wrong reasons.  Actual paramedics had to be called in to cart off a wrestler after a horribly botched move, one that would have ended most careers.  And it all began with a heated discussion over dinner.

The night before, when all the crew and roster had arrived in town, KC Skye and Shinobu were unpacking in their hotel room.  Ever since the meet-up with Mickey the month before, the two had become closer, to the point that Creative was making plans to bring them together as a tag team.  Everyone assumed they were working together due to their mutual friend, but it was much more than that; if only they knew what the two were planning.

“All right, gotcha some snacks from the lobby,” KC announced as she walked into the room with an armful of goodies. “Just remember to spread them out; I don’t want you getting sick like the other week.”

“I will try,” Shinobu replied while accepting the snacks and dropping them onto her bed, “but I cannot help it if they are so good.”

The acrobatic wrestler shook her head and smirked. “Just because you’re trying to fatten up doesn’t mean you need to eat yourself sick.  You’ve got plenty of time until Mickey comes back; you can afford to take it slow, especially since you’ve already started puffing up.”

A quick poke to the Osakan’s midsection elicited a squeak of surprise and proof that what KC said was true.  In the last month, Shinobu had managed to put on about ten pounds, which was not nearly enough to have an impact on her performance, she had begun to look puffy or bloated throughout the day.  No one seemed to especially notice, or if they did, they did not make a big deal out of it; it was a testament to her talent that the fans focused more on her moves than her waistline.

The Yankee girl unwrapped a chocolate bar and bit off a large chunk of it as she replied to her friend. “I know that I do not to eat or gain so fast, but it is just so hard to slow down.  If I had known how all this junk food was so tasty, I think I might have become Superheavyweight years ago.”

“Well, just try not to eat until you pop; that’s going to be really hard to explain to management,” KC chuckled as she set about stripping out of her travel clothes and into something much more fashionable. 

This afforded Shinobu the chance to sneak a peak at her roommate’s physique, which never failed to impress her.  There was not a single trace of fat on the aerialist’s body; she was a lean, mean, flippy machine.  Try as she might, the Japanese girl could not resist glancing at KC’s chest, which was the most modest of anyone in the Women’s Division, so much so that a former writer had pitched the idea of her being a trans woman.  Thankfully, cooler heads (and KC’s knee to said writer’s crotch) scrapped the gimmick, along with a suggestion that she get implants; that went to the infamously bizarre Goldar, but that was neither here nor there.

Shinobu turned away to avoid being caught, and she took another big bite from her candy to stifle the heat rising to her cheeks.  Though she would never say it, all sorts of thoughts about KC had been drifting into her head over the last several weeks.  While she always found the woman attractive on some level, all this time spent together really allowed her the chance to appreciate every inch of the gymnast’s ropy build.  It drove her crazy sometimes, which in turn inspired her to eat more, which meant KC would bring her more snacks, perpetuating a vicious, delicious cycle.

“You going to change, girl?” asked KC as she slipped into a pair of acid-washed jeans and a rhinestone-studded top. “Unless you feel like going out in your sweats.”

Shinobu looked down and realized that between snacking and watching her roommate, she had not changed out of her travel clothes.  After wolfing down the rest of her chocolate bar, she shucked off her shirt and nodded. “Yes, I mean no.  No, I will change; I just need a minute.”

“Take your time, Shin-chan,” the ebony enchantress replied as she took out her phone and checked her messages. “Not like we’re meeting anyone.”


In a different hotel, Sadie and Maxine were getting cozy in their fine accommodations; only the finest for the self-proclaimed Queen of Wrestling.  After setting their bags down, the blonde bruiser instructed her giantess girlfriend to sit on the end of the bed.  When Maxine did as she was told, Sadie whipped out her cell phone and aimed it at the growing girl, who was now much more bashful thanks to the privacy.  She asked, “Um, Sadie?  Are we really doing this?”

“Of course, my sweet dumpling!” the shorter seductress affirmed as she hit record. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your head out of frame; the most anyone will see is that cute double chin of yours.”

“Okay,” Maxine sighed as she leaned back.  She had been reluctant when Sadie suggested this, but after some convincing (and getting a good gallon or two of ice cream funnel-fed to her), the rotund woman agreed.  Ever since that morning, she had been wearing a light hoodie despite the summer heat; it was all to hide what she wore underneath.  Shedding the sweatshirt revealed a white button-up blouse, one she had bought not a few months prior due to how well it fit.  Now, it struggled to contain her tan, tubby body: buttons were hanging on by a hair’s breadth, seams were being tested all over, and she felt ready to burst out any moment.

Sadie counted down with her fingers, growing silent before the end. “And three…two…”

The pudgy professional swallowed her fear as she rested her hands on her stuffed stomach. “Hi, everyone: it’s Munchy Mandy with another update for you.  You see this top?  It was so cute and fit perfectly just a few months ago but look at what I’ve done to it.  I’ve gotten so big and fat that it’s coming apart!  God, if I keep this up, I might not be able to find clothes that will fit my thick, flabby body, but I just can’t stop stuffing my face; I’m such a hopeless piggy.”

These self-deprecating remarks were punctuated by a jiggle of her belly roll that poked out from the bottom of the blouse.  Maxine never quite felt comfortable saying those things, but she could see how much of a reaction they inspired in Sadie.  The blonde was biting her lip in excitement, eager for more, and who was she to deny her girlfriend that?

“Since I’ll never be able to fit this thing anymore, I think it’s time I put it out to pasture,” the wide wrestler told the camera as she leaned back, allowing her gut to rise even more. “Let’s see how many buttons I can pop on this bad boy.”

She took a deep breath, filled her diaphragm, and was rewarded with a soft rip and a ping as the lowest button burst free.  Maxine let go of the breath and glanced up to Sadie, who eagerly waved for more.  Another deep breath and the second lowest button went flying across the room, almost hitting the camerawoman in the leg.  Winded, the jiggly giant puffed, “I guess I was fatter than I thought; I didn’t expect two go off so easily.  God, I really am a butterball.”

Her next attempt rewarded her with a third button, but the fourth took a considerable bit of effort on her part.  The stubborn button went flying and left Maxine gasping, which was impressive, considering how much she could work a ring.  When the fifth button proved too stuck on there, she sighed, “Well, that looks like all I can get off for now.  If I keep acting like a piggy though, I’m sure these last ones will pop in no time.  See you then, guys!”

As soon as she stopped recording, Sadie let out a sigh of contentment and fanned herself. “Oh man, Maxie, you have no idea how hot that was.  I didn’t think you’d be able to pop four buttons off; I’ve been feeding you pretty well.”

“Yeah, you have,” the giantess nodded with a small smile, embarrassed by the spectacle but happy that her girlfriend was happy. “I can’t wait to do another one.”

“And if we keep this up, I think we’ll be able to do that very soon,” the blonde told her beau. “But it’s about time I got going; I’m meeting the twins for dinner.”

Maxine bowed her head as she removed the worthless blouse.  It was the same for every town they visited: Sadie would have her holed up in the hotel room while she went out and partied with the rest of the roster; that left the lardy lady with nothing to do but eat and watch TV.  If she ever tried to argue and go out, Sadie would use her wiles and seduce her into stuffing her gut until the poor woman could barely move a muscle.  After a few of those nights, Maxine had gotten the picture; she would stay in while her girlfriend went out.

“I’ll bring you back something good,” the devilish woman told her lady, “so try not to load up on snacks.  Maybe even get a little work-out in, just so you have your appetite; I want you absolutely voracious when I get back.”

“Okay, Sadie,” Maxine meekly replied as she heaved her bulk off the bed.

The blonde brushed her hair over her shoulder and beamed at her whale of a girlfriend.  She bent down and gave the butterball a kiss so heated that it melted away any of Maxine’s mounting concerns.  With that, Sadie all but skipped out the door, leaving the poor porker to her own devices yet again.


“So she’s staying in so she can work out?” asked a curious Nat when the trio of her, her sister, and Sadie arrived at the Thai restaurant. “Good for her; girl’s been looking a little pudgy lately, even for her.”

Kat nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’s going to want to be careful; if she gets much bigger, they might send her back down to developmental until she can lose a few pounds.  Sadie, you’re with her all the time; can’t you get her to cut back a little bit?”

“Hardly,” the woman sighed as she slid her phone into her purse. “Maxine does what she wants when she wants, and there’s no force can control her.  I’ve told her again and again to ease up and put down that fork, but she doesn’t want to listen.”

At the same time, KC and Shinobu were sitting at a table not too far from the group, but as their backs were turned, they hardly noticed.  The acrobat had a chicken salad in a peanut dressing while the brawler worked on a massive portion of chicken in yellow curry, all after two hearty appetizers.  They had eaten in peace well up to this point, but that would come to an end when Sadie spotted Shinobu’s dyed hair from across the room.

“Look who we have here,” the blonde bully announced as she sauntered over to the table. “Ms. Big and the Shrimp, all by themselves.  What’s the matter, couldn’t find anyone to join you two losers?”

KC scowled as she looked up to Sadie. “You’re one to talk; this doesn’t exactly look like an entourage to me.”

“We’ll be meeting up with everyone else at a club after this,” the attractive antagonist huffed. “I’d invite you, but we don’t want any jobbers ruining our fun.”

“Is that any way to talk to the champion?” asked the ebony woman as she nodded to Shinobu, who had paused in her meal. “Jealousy is so unbecoming but so like you, Sadie.  Now why don’t you go get your usual dinner of vodka and blow?”

Sadie glared down at KC before spinning and shooting the same seething look at the twins.  She hissed at the aerialist, “Watch what you say, Skye; I’ll take you out of the scene just like I got rid of Ramone.  We’ll see how big you’re talking when you’re hiding at home, too scared to ever step foot back in a ring again.”

Shinobu was about to make a retort but was silenced when KC held up her finger.  The woman calmly wiped a drop of dressing from her cheek before pushing her chair back, standing from the table, and then whipping her hand right across Sadie’s cheek.  Her slap sent the blonde bully staggering, only for KC to grab her by the arm and yank her back up straight.  Another slap rang across her other cheek, and this one sent her to the floor.  The Intercontinental Champion looked up with tears of pain in her eyes and cheeks red with anger and ache.

“Get up and say that again,” KC commanded in a voice as cold as ice. “Get up and say one more thing about Mickey.  I dare you, bitch; I dare you.”

Nat and Kat were about to make a move on the gymnast when Shinobu, quick as a bullet, shot out of her seat and stood by her side.  She clenched her hands into fists and growled at the Donnas, “Try it.  See what happens.”

Instead of picking a fight, the duo reached down and helped their leader to her feet, at which point Sadie pushed the two of them away.  She reached up to wipe away her tears before glaring daggers into KC.  Her voice, quavering though it was, was deathly as she told her enemy, “You’re going to pay for that, you fucking whore.”

“Go back to your hotel and put some ice on those cheeks, Sadie,” KC instructed as she stood her ground. “I know you want to look pretty for the show tonight.”

Sadie opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words never came out.  Instead, she spat at KC’s feet before storming out of the restaurant with the twins hot on her heels.  KC shook her head at the cowardly move and glanced over to a nearby waiter, who had watched the whole thing while frozen in place.

“Sorry, but can we get some to-go boxes and the check?” she asked politely, as if nothing had happened.


Maxine was just cleaning up from her brief work-out in the gym when she heard the door slam open and shut.  Her eyebrows raised when she saw that Sadie had come back earlier than expected and with an armful of fast food bags.  She knew why the grub, but she had no idea why her girlfriend looked the way she did, particularly the reddened cheeks.

“Babe, is everything all—”

Before she could finish her question, Sadie had whipped out a cheeseburger and shoved it into Maxine’s mouth.  The blimp instinctively chewed on the gag but gasped in surprise when the blonde shoved her down on the bed.  Her lady love straddled her growing gut as she leaned in close and whispered, “Listen up, pig: you’re going to eat all of this fucking food, and you’re going to do what I tell you to on tonight’s show.  You got that?”

When Maxine nodded fearfully, eyes wide, Sadie sneered, “Good.  Now, here’s what you’re going to do during your match with KC tonight…”


Sadie got her revenge in just a few short hours.  During her match with the aerialist, Maxine was supposed to catch KC as she flew from the top turnbuckle for a big boot, but she rolled to the side at the last second.  This caused the gymnast to crash down on her left leg in the worst way: her calve snapped clean in half; were it not for her boot, the audience would have seen her shattered tibia piercing through her skin.  Her howls of pain could be heard clearly throughout the arena, and the audience was whipped into a state of concerned panic.

It was chaos backstage when the medics took her away.  People kept clear of her as she was escorted out to an ambulance while staff raced to figure out how to keep the show rolling.  There was a thick divide between everyone as to how much Maxine was to blame, but they eventually settled on it being a very unfortunate botch.  It could have happened to anyone, or so Dave had told the giantess as she went to a back room for some peace and solace, only to find Sadie waiting with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“What did they say?” the blonde asked smugly.

Maxine, now in privacy, felt her nerves coming undone as her voice warbled, “They, um…they said that they’ll have to fit a steel rod in her leg t-to set the bones right.  And KC, she’s…she won’t be able to compete for at least the rest of the year, if that.”

“Excellent,” Sadie hissed as she slunk up to her blubbering girlfriend. “I am so proud of you, my little piglet.  Let’s go back and I’ll show you how much this means to me…”

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((Like Brock Lesnar, I return to suplex the Story Forum with a new chapter before vanishing away again.  Enjoy!))

In the build-up to their cruise at the start of August, Mickey and Ray stepped up their respective weight gain and loss so they could have their “beach bods” ready for the trip.  The manager was increasing his routine at the gym, resulting in a body that was growing firmer almost by the day.  The wrestler, on the other hand, seemed to focus solely on growing fatter, so much so that she actually skipped a few gym days here and there.  Not that it was entirely intentional, mind you; she was just too stuffed at the end of most meals.  Her days were often spent in a stuffed stupor of hers or Ray’s own making, and it became increasingly common to see her on the couch.

“It’s just for this last bit before vacation,” she told her boyfriend when he asked. “When we get back, I’ll make sure to hit the weights again.”

“Do you really have to?  I’m kind of liking how much you’re jiggling right now; it’s like you’re made of jelly,” Ray teased as he patted Mickey’s belly, sending a ripple through the flab.

“Yeah, well, jelly don’t win titles,” she replied with a stuck-out tongue.

When the day finally came for them to disembark, Ray and Mickey walked up the gangplank like different people.  The meaty man wore a pair of khaki shorts, sandals, and a polo shirt that emphasized his barrel chest and showed off beefy arms.  The widened wrestler, meanwhile, wore a sundress that stretched tight around her chunky curves; she had meant for it to be tight, but this was more than she had imagined.  From tip to toe, she was fat: her blubbery breasts quivered with each step and threatened to pop free should she make one false move; her tummy stretched the front of the dress to the point that her belly button could be made out through the material; every inch of her butt could be seen through the painted-on dress.

Mickey blushed at how much she wobbled when she walked, so used to being packed tight like a ball of dough.  Perhaps her indulgence these last couple of weeks had gone a little overboard; exercising on the ship’s gym would probably be a good idea.  Ray seemed to read her mind, for her snaked an arm around her thick waist and squeezed a love handle in his fingers.

“Something on your mind, princesa?” her lover asked in a husky whisper.

“Just that I might have taken my relaxing a little too far,” she answered with goosebumps sprouting on her arm. “I should have gone to the gym more; everything jiggles so much now, and it’s barely been two weeks.  Makes me think I can’t afford to relax as much as I thought I would.”

Ray pinched her love handle, which elicited a mousey squeak from Mickey.  He told the flabby girl, “Aw, come on, babe.  We’re here to have some fun, not worry about counting calories or getting exercise.  Just unwind for now, and we’ll worry about getting you back in fighting shape when we’re back home.”

She scoffed at this and poked him in his firmer bicep, which barely had any give to it these days. Used to be there was a time when there was hardly any muscle there, but these days, her lover had muscles all over.  They were still coated with a layer of pudge, of course, but there was a solid foundation underneath it all.

“You’re just saying that because you’re turning into a real beefcake.  If you were sitting on your ass as much as I am, you wouldn’t be so cocksure,” she retorted.

“Like I’m the one who told you to sit on your culo gordo,” her manager chuckled as his hand slipped lower and patted her fat rump. “Or to stuff yourself until you had trouble breathing.”

“That only happened once,” Mickey meekly replied, wiggling at his touch.  As much as she was regretting getting so lazy these last few weeks, she could not deny the effect it had on her and Ray.  It seemed that the fatter she got, regardless of whether she worked out or not, her man got friskier; he was much more proactive than he used to be.  And the more they went at it, the more sensitive she got, to the point that his touch sent shivers down her spine regardless of the situation.

“So far, you mean,” the beefy man corrected with an impish grin on his face.

When they finally got to their room, the two of them were so revved up that they barely shut the door before jumping each other’s bones.  Mickey was swelling faster than Ray could keep up, so even his stronger body could not quite lift her as yet.  Instead, he all but threw her up against a wall and smirked when he realized how much her cushioned body spread out in such a way.  One of his hands went down to the hem of her sundress and pulled it up until it rested atop her globular gut, and the other pulled the tight straps from her shoulders, where they had left indents.

“You know what I think, gordita?” he asked in between steamy kisses with his fattened beauty.

“What’s that, amor?” Mickey groaned

“I think I have a goal for you these next two weeks: feeding you until this dress can’t fit your fat ass anymore,” he whispered before slapping her belly, sending it into a jiggling frenzy and her into a moaning mess.

The two of them were so caught up in themselves that they missed the staff member traveling door to door.  When the poor girl heard the passionate fucking inside, she opted not to knock and slid a flyer inside before moving on in a hurry.  When they finished, one of them would notice that the gym was closed due to a burst pipe flooding the room and that the directors were happy to reimburse everyone who paid for a gym pass.  A shame that the reimbursement was a coupon off any eatery on the ship.


Back in the States, Levi and Amanda were waiting to get her first sonogram in a sterile, pristine doctor’s office.  They had made for quite the picture when they had been in the lobby: the former wrestler trying to sit in one of the tiny chairs, suit straining around his muscles; the current manager in a business suit that made her seem ready for a board meeting than a doctor’s appointment.  Despite the airs they put on of being too busy for this, the couple had butterflies in their stomachs. It had been eight years since their last kid; they fretted that they would not be able to handle all of this, regardless of raising two beautiful children already.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity for them, the doctor walked into the room and took a seat in front of the couple.  He was a beefy man in his late 30s, barrel-chested, and had a scruffy beard that belonged on a mountain man more than an obstetrician.  The burly man shook Amanda and Levi’s hands and greeted them, “Hi, folks.  I’m Dr. Williams, and I’ll be helping you out this time around.”

“A pleasure,” Triple Threat replied while his wife nodded curtly.

“So, I understand this is your third go around?” Williams asked as he looked over the information provided by the nurses. “Then I’m sure a lot of this is going to sound old hat by now.  Before we get started, are there any questions you might have?”

The expecting couple glanced to each other and had a silent conversation that consisted of: Amanda saying she could handle this, Levi telling her to ask, and then Amanda ultimately acquiescing.  She spoke in a much softer voice than she used while on TV, a sign of just how spooked this whole situation had her.

“Well, there have been some changes I’ve noticed this time around,” she explained. “I know how it all goes: morning sickness, feeling tired all the time, and swelling breasts; I’ve had it all.  This time feels different though, like I’m much more exhausted to the point that I can barely function in the day.”

Williams scratched his beard as he pondered over her statement. “Everyone handles pregnancy a little differently; one woman might never have morning sickness while another spends virtually half the day with her head near the toilet.  That said, we can set you up with some lab tests to make sure everything’s all right.  It’s good that we catch this stuff before you go much further; who knows what you could be feeling if you let this go until the second trimester?”

 The idea that anything could be wrong sent shivers down Amanda’s spine and made her feel like a kid again, when she was watching her father get slammed through a flaming table on live TV.  She felt scared and unsure of what was to come, and for a woman who prided herself on being the most powerful in the business, that made it all the worse.  Thankfully, Levi was there to squeeze her shoulder and hug her close, something that always made her feel a little better.

“But enough about that!” the doctor declared with a clap of his hands. “Let’s get you your ultrasound!”


After they had thoroughly christened their room, Mickey had noticed the flyer on the floor while she made her way to the bathroom.  The news that she would be unable to work out at all, minus some walking while sight-seeing, made her have a tiny meltdown that was stopped only by the calming hands of her lover.  Ray suggested that they go up top to get some sun in and not worry about food or exercise for a while, which she accepted reluctantly.  It seemed that she was going to have her work cut out for her by the time they got back home.

When they walked up to the stern pool deck, the couple came out in their new swimsuits, which some would call less than flattering.  They had picked each other’s swimsuit for that exact reason, knowing that they both got hot and bothered by the idea of flaunting what they had.  Mickey had gotten Ray a pair of square cut swim trunks that looked like a second skin, while the manager had gotten his widened wrestler a slingkini that could barely contain all of her tan flab.  The two of them wobbled their way to a pair of seats under an umbrella, a primo spot before the crowd rushed in.

“I’m going to go get us some refreshments, babe,” the beefy man told his girlfriend. “Want me to get you anything?”

“Maybe a daquiri,” she replied before biting her lip. “But Ray, please: no food.  I’m not going to turn this trip into a two-week eating spree.”

“Of course, mi princesa,” Ray chuckled as he kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

While her manager boyfriend went off to the concessions, Mickey decided to people-watch as the pool deck filled up.  There were folks of all kind: elderly couples that clearly spent too much time in the sun; harried parents with young kids that were screaming their heads off; partying college kids who hooted and hollered like monkeys.  Yet among all of them, only one caught her eye, and that was a redhead who was fatter than Mickey was by a good country mile.

The woman had on a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and a strapless one-piece that looked ready to give out at any given moment.  Her fiery red hair was done up like a classic movie star’s, and she completed the look by lounging on her pool chair like it was a fancy chez.  Pale thighs that looked like cottage cheese rose up to the sky as she rested on her side, and her belly was so big that it actually inched over the side of the chair.  Flabby arms that were as thick as a chubby girl’s thigh delivered bonbons to ruby lips set on chubby chipmunk cheeks.  The slightest movement made her massive chest jiggle, which was no surprise, seeing as how her titanic tits actually reached out past her belly.

“Why does she look so familiar?” Mickey asked herself as she studied the woman intently.  She felt that underneath all that padding there was a recognizable face, but she could not place it for the life of her.  So focused was she that she missed how long it was taking Ray to get back, and how he slipped the staffer a fifty-dollar bill while pointing out his girlfriend.  Only when he pressed a cold glass to her cheek did she snap back to attention.

“Hijo de perra!” the Violent Princess grumbled as she smacked Ray in the thigh. “Don’t scare me like that, cabrón.”

“Sorry, sorry, Mick,” the man chuckled, very much unapologetic as he sat down. “I saw you staring off into the distance and I couldn’t help myself.  What were you looking at anyway?”

She pointed to the woman across the way while she sipped her drink. “I have no idea why, but I feel like I know her from somewhere.  You recognize her?  I think she might be a movie star or something.”

Ray took a good look at the obese woman but could not place it. “I don’t know.  I can’t place it either, but you’re right; she does look familiar.”

Before they could muse much more, one of the attendants arrived with a basket of nacho chips. “Would you folks care for some chips?  Complementary, as a way of saying thanks for choosing Empress!”

“Oh, that’s so nice, but we couldn’t—”

“Thanks, man!” Ray interrupted his reticent girlfriend as he took the basket and set it between them. “Much obliged!”

When the attendant walked off to help another guest, Mickey glanced down at the chips and then back at her boyfriend. “Ray, that’s really nice of them, but I shouldn’t be eating these!  I’m serious about that diet!”

“Then don’t eat them,” Ray shrugged as he munched on a chip. “More for me anyway.”

While she drank and watched her boyfriend slowly eat through the chips, Mickey felt her stomach grumble.  She put a hand to one of her stomach rolls that oozed out of her swimsuit and grimaced.  Despite her misgivings, she was so hungry and those nacho chips looked so good; besides, it would be rude to not eat them, she figured.  So it was that she scooped up one cheesy chip, took a bite, and swooned.  Maybe she could have a few after all, so long as she kept her appetite in check.

Unfortunately, binging these last five months had upped her desire for food on a subconscious level, and one chip became two, then three, then four, and before long she had eaten through the basket.  Ray had only eaten a couple, which was more than fine by him; that was the whole point of this, after all.  When Mickey down the last of her drink to help with the salty, savory chips, another attendant came by with a new daquiri and a basket of even more chips, this time with bacon bits on top.

“Care for some more chips?” the woman asked as she set the basket down and all but put the drink in Mickey’s hand.

“Maybe just a little more,” Mickey mumbled even as she stuffed two in her mouth at once.

That was how the morning went for them: every time Mickey finished a basket of chips, another, bigger one would take its place; before long, the nachos were covered in jalapenos, sour cream, guacamole, and more.  At the same time, her drinks were replenished the second her glass was empty, to the point that she barely even realized she had finished one glass or another.  Ray cut her off at a certain point, but only by the time she had lost any inhibitions on snacking.  The Violent Princess was quite a sight in this state, with cheese and other toppings ringing her greedy lips and fingers.

“Oh…oh diosh mio,” she moaned as she finished her tenth basket, which had been big enough to feed three people.  Mickey burped and lay her hands on her aching belly, stroking it slothfully in an attempt to ease her rumbling stomach but only succeeding in making a mess of herself. “Ray, that wash sho mush food…I dunno if I could eat nudder bite.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and get a little sleep, my piggy princess,” Ray whispered as he wiped her gut clean.  He kissed her on the forehead before telling her, “I’ll wake you up when it’s time for lunch.”


As Amanda tried to relax with the ultrasound wand inside her, she watched the screen along with her anxious husband.  Poor Levi looked almost like a nervous rabbit as opposed to the 14-time World Champion he portrayed on screen, and it helped to know that he was just as nervous as she was.  Dr. Williams offered the occasional joke or chummy remark, but neither husband nor wife was interested in that; they only wanted to know the results.

“Okay, looks like we have a picture coming up right now,” the bulky doctor remarked as he studied the screen.  Sure enough a developing fetus came into view, which prompted a wave of relief throughout the room. “Hey-hey, she’s coming along nicely!”

“Another girl,” Amanda whispered happily as Levi stroked her hand. “We’re going to have another girl.”

“Girls, actually,” Dr. Williams corrected to their shock. “Congratulations: you’re having triplets!”

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((As we get ready for another glorified house show, here's a fresh chapter!  Enjoy!))

Despite her best efforts, Mickey never went on that diet nor did she do much more than laze about on either the pool deck or her bed.  The ship was full of too many delectable options, from smaller, more particular kitchens to the massive banquet hall that served all sorts of cuisines; she had even come to know all the various concession stands aboard.  On top of that, Ray might have been the one to get her going that first day, but the wrestler had stayed drunk throughout most of the trip.  Most of the time, they were fruity, sugary cocktails that were like Kool-Aid with liquor mixed in, but she imbibed plenty of beer at lunch and dinner.

Being stuffed and drunk for most of the day meant that the punk princess never had the energy to so much as wade about in the pool.  This meant that not only was she hardly exploring the ship, but she was also missing out on visiting the locales at every stop.  While it helped that her boyfriend staid aboard with her, Mickey could not help but be a little disappointed that their entire vacation was spent on the boat.

“For what it’s worth, babe, I’m having a great time,” Ray told his lover while he fed her a bowl of raspberry dark chocolate mousse.  His firm hand rubbed her belly through the thin fabric of her cover-up, alternating between the plump flesh of the lower half and the stuffed stomach of the top. “I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you aren’t spending half the day in a stupor,” Mickey crooned as she slurped down another spoonful.

The manager shook his head and chuckled, “You can’t honestly say you’re having a bad time, Mick; I know you too well for that, gordita bella.”

If the blobby beauty was honest with herself, she was having the time of her life.  Mickey had to stay on a fairly strict regiment when she was at home, where she had to be careful with how much she ate versus how much she worked out.  Here on the high seas, she was free to do what she pleased for two whole weeks, consequences be damned.  She was in her own personal hog heaven, and she had never been more grateful for faulty plumbing.

There was, however, one thing she did during the trip outside of eating and drinking herself to a new pant size: she just had to find out who the voluptuous redhead was; the fact that she seemed so familiar was driving Mickey crazy.  Unfortunately, because she was often too stuffed or plastered to approach the woman during the day, she never got the chance to talk with her.  The wrestler had become determined to find out who she was before they got back to the States, or else the mystery would drive her insane.

Ten days into the cruise, with just a few days to go before they got back home, Mickey and Ray were enjoying a buffet breakfast with all the fixings.  The beefy manager was tucking into a hearty serving of mangu con los tres golpes while his butterball beauty was working through a stack of pancakes slathered in butter and syrup.  He watched with delight as she tore into the fluffy treats despite how they were her third dish of the morning; she had already gone through a fully-loaded omelet and oven-baked French toast.

“God, I never would have thought cruise food could taste so good,” the wrestler moaned after downing some coffee that was mostly cream and sugar. “They really know how to put together a breakfast.”

“I should say so,” her boyfriend chuckled as he reached over to wipe away some syrup on her cheek. “You’re loving it so much, you’re wearing it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mickey huffed playfully. “At least it shows I’m having a good time; what about you?  I don’t think you’ve let loose once this entire trip.  Where’s the indulgence, the decadence?”

Ray smirked while his hand slipped under the table and squeezed at his girlfriend’s thunder thighs, which had grown thick and wide enough to roll over the sides of the chair. “That’s your department; one of us has to stay in shape, after all.  So you eat and drink as much as you want, go whole hog, and we can worry about the consequences when we get home.”

Mickey shivered at her lover’s touch, how Ray slid his fingers up her leg and squeezed the tender pudge on her inner thigh.  She felt like she would start moaning any second, so she stuffed her mouth full of pancake in order to stifle herself.  Whoever first wrote off their weight gain as ‘more to love’ had not been wrong; the more pounds she put on, the fatter she got, Mickey felt increasingly sensitive to Ray’s ministrations.  Not to say that she was a cold fish, but after packing on all this weight, with more to come, the violent princess had never felt sensations like this.  Just a touch was enough to make her melt like ice cream in the heat, and she loved it.

“Finished, princesa?” asked her manager.

When she realized she had spaced out, Mickey looked down and saw that she had finished up her stack of pancakes in a heartbeat.  It never ceased to amaze her how much she was able to put away now; even beyond the odd eating challenge, she was eating a little more every single day.  She wondered how much it would take to sustain her by the end of the year, a thought that made her equal parts excited and intimidated.

“Want me to get your next plate?” Ray offered as he started to stand up.

“No, I’ll get it,” she answered as she hefted her bulk out of the chair, “I’ve got to get at least a little exercise while I’m here.”

“I suppose walking fifteen feet to the buffet counts,” he teased. “I’m going to get some more juice; I’ll grab you another coffee while I’m up.”

“You’re the best, babe.”

Mickey made her way over to the buffet for her fourth plate, studying the crowds as she had done throughout the trip; not much else she could do when she was too stuffed to move.  While she was definitely an outlier on the ship, she was delighted to know that she was not the only one overindulging.  There were some who took the opportunity to drink like a fish, who spent so much time tanning that they either looked like a cooked lobster or fine leather, and even a few fellow gluttonous gourmands like her.  Were it not for people like them, she might have felt self-conscious about her hedonist behavior, but thankfully, she was in good company.

When she got to the buffet, the widened wrestler had trouble deciding on just what to get.  That was the downside of having such a wide variety: there were too many options to choose from, and all of them looked so delicious.  Mickey rubbed her stomach through her t-shirt as she scanned the different stations for her next course, the tan pudge squishing in at her touch.

“Might I suggest the quiche?  It’s simply to die for,” a dusky voice recommended behind her.

Mickey turned to see who it was and found it to be none other than the woman she had been checking out the entire week.  The redhead was wearing her hair in a messy ponytail and her heart-shaped sunglasses tucked into the neckline of her overtaxed blouse.  She wore a pair of black pants that strained around the curve of her hips and rump, and a black belt with a red heart buckle completed the look.

“Hey, thanks,” the wrestler replied with a grin as she served herself a thick slice of the rich quiche. “I had my eye on it before, but it’s good to know it’s actually worth it.”

“More than,” the mystery woman smirked as she filled up her plate with biscuits and gravy. “If we’re going to blow up like blimps, we might as well do it with good food.”

The remark made the punk blush.  She had not expected this woman to be quite so forward: it was one thing to call herself fat, but to hear it from some perfect stranger was something else entirely.  Mickey chuckled nervously before looking back at the woman, who was taller than she had realized; she easily had a good few inches on the wrestler.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she grinned before extending her hand out to the woman. “I’m Mickey.”

The redhead laughed this time as she shook the Latina’s hand. “Oh, I know you very well, Miss Ramone.”

La Princesa Violenta nearly dropped her plate in surprise.  She had done such a good job of being incognito on this cruise, her first big trip out into public since this whole experiment started.  Now, in just an instant, she had been recognized; the thought of the consequences made her face flush with panic.

As if reading Mickey’s mind, the woman raised her hand and waved away the concerns.  She told the anxious wrestler, “Sweetie, don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me.  After all, we’ve got to keep kayfabe alive, right?”

“Right,” the punk answered with a curt nod. “Now, if you don’t mind my asking, just who are you?  I would swear I’ve seen your face before, and you know what kayfabe is.”

The woman sighed as she started to fill her plate with food again. “I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me.  After all, it’s been about fifteen years since we last met.  I still remember you breaking into tears when you came to me for an autograph.”

Those words made Mickey remember exactly who this mystery woman was: Theresa Hartley, better known to the GWF as Queen Heart, a five-time Women’s Champion, three-time Tag Team Champion, and more importantly, her favorite women’s wrestler of all time.  When she got the chance to meet Theresa as a pre-teen, the poor punk could not control her emotions and burst into tears before her icon gave her a warm hug to calm her down.  Mickey had always hoped that she would get the chance to wrestle with Theresa, but unfortunately, the champion had dropped off the wrestling grid some seven years ago.  Now, she was right in front of her in the abundant flesh.

“Oh my God, Queen!” Mickey gasped, trying to find the words.

“Long time, no see, kid,” Theresa chuckled as she pulled her younger fan into a great big hug. “Looks like you’ve made quite the name for yourself since then.”

Mickey nodded into the former wrestler’s soft shoulder, her body sinking into Queen Heart’s blubbery body.  It was amazing to think that this was once the same woman who had the best physique in the company: Theresa looked like she had not set foot in a gym, much less a ring in all that time since she left GWF; in fact, she might not have left the couch that much.  What was once a toned stomach with a solid four-pack of abs had bloated out into a billowing belly that stuck out well in front of her.  Perky, well-rounded breasts had swollen up to the size of watermelons.  And legs that had once leaped from the top of a 15-foot steel cage were now blanketed with flab.

“What’ve you been up to?” asked the stunned wrestler. “When you left GWF, you must have left the business entirely; I haven’t seen you pop up in any other promotion.”

Theresa shrugged after letting go of Mickey.  She answered, “That’s because I haven’t wrestled in seven years.  After I left the company to have my son, I realized that I was sick to death of the whole affair: all the travel, all the pain, and most of all, having to keep up the persona of Queen Heart.”

That was the common complaint among wrestlers, especially the ones in the big leagues.  It was a demanding job and required so much commitment from those who entered the ring; as they get old, that commitment only gets bigger.  Mickey understood all that and then some, and she replied, “I hear you.  They’ve changed a few things here and there to be more accommodating, but it’s still pretty brutal.”

“Amen to that,” the former professional retorted.  She looked her fan over and grinned. “You know, I was wondering what had happened after the Showdown; I didn’t think you had been injured enough to take such a hiatus.  Now I see why.”

“You still watch the program?” Mickey asked, curious as to what her inspiration had to say and hoping for the better.

Theresa nodded, her chubby chins bunching up, and answered, “Every week and every pay-per-view.  Let me just say, you have been killing it; I haven’t seen someone with your level of talent in a long while.”

Such a compliment from her childhood hero made the punk’s heart leap with joy, and while she tried to contain that glee, Mickey could not help the dopey grin that sprouted on her face.  Never in her life did she think she would get the chance to meet Theresa on a professional level, much less be praised by the woman.  She chuckled anxiously, “Well, I’m still a long way away from being as good as you, Queen.”

“Mickey, you’re well past me at this point,” the redhead retorted with a pat to her fan’s shoulder. “I only wish I had done as much as you have.  You know how many hardcore matches they let me compete in?  Zero!  And then I see you smashing through tables, taking flaming two-by-fours to the back, and I realize that I was robbed.”

The two women shared a laugh at the insanity that was their profession.  When they got that out of their system, Mickey asked, “Would you like to join me and my boyfriend?  I’d love to chat some more.”

“It’d be my pleasure, sweetie,” Theresa answered with a warm smile, same as when they first met all those years ago.


After waiting two weeks for the test results to come in, Levi and Amanda drove out to see Dr. Williams once more.  The last several days had been spent in almost a daze, and not the usual kind of trying to balance out running Monday Night War and their personal lives.  They were still trying to wrap their heads around the idea that Amanda was going to have not just one child, but three.  Of course they were going to keep them; that was never on the table.  The biggest concerns were making sure they had everything squared away, seeing as they had not had a kid in eight years.

In between all the other worries, Levi had different questions running through his head, all of them regarding his newfound kink.  Would this be the pregnancy where Amanda put on more than a few pounds?  How big would she get by the time she delivered?  Maybe her cravings would be different this time around; she might want fattier food than ever before, or so he hoped.  Whenever he watched his wife strut by, pacing a hole in their floor, the musclebound man could only imagine what her ass would look like when it got too big for her skirts.  Perhaps her tits that she was so proud of would be too big for anything but custom bras.  And her belly would get big, certainly, but hopefully with more than just their new children.

Those were all bridges to cross as he came by them.  Now, Levi had to focus on the test results for Amanda, and judging by Williams’ reaction, they were not exactly optimal.  The wrestler leaned forward in his chair and asked, “Something wrong, doc?”

“A few things, Mr. Hunter,” the bearded OBGYN answered.  He showed the couple Amanda’s chart, which showed more than its share of low numbers. “We’re looking at a lot of vitamin deficiencies and a chemical imbalance from your pituitary gland.  Your work schedule is no doubt a part of that, but this is absolutely going to run you ragged.”

“Is it something to be concerned about?” asked Amanda, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“Going forward with your pregnancy, most definitely.  It’s going to be hard enough on you anyway, but then you factor the three b**s you’re growing and we’re looking at some serious damage to your body,” Williams explained.  Before the expecting parents could freak out, he raised his hand and told them, “However, I do have a solution.  There’s a new medication that should help moderate what’s going on in your body, and I have some vitamins that will help get you back on track.”

Levi and Amanda shared a look as if asking whether this was too good to be true.  The wrestler asked, “Would there be any side effects?  It’s not like those pills you see on TV, right?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, nothing like that.  The most common side effects would be your typical allergic reaction: bloating, rash, trouble breathing, that sort of thing.  There might be some drowsiness, and there’s always a chance of nausea; then again, you’ll be feeling that anyway when it comes to your pregnancy.”

Levi nodded along but took immediate interest when Williams added, “Oh, you might also experience an increase in appetite and some weight gain, but that’s a slim chance at best; nothing to be concerned about.”

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1 hour ago, Gabbo said:

Amanda may very well end up in the women's super heavyweight division?

I don't want to spoil anything, but the Magic 8-Ball says, "Don't Count on It".

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