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Cyril Figgis

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

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((All right, we're back in business!  Really sorry this one took so long to get out; I'd make excuses, but you don't want to hear that.  Let's not waste any more time--on with the story!  Enjoy!))


Theresa Hartley was stirred from her uneasy sleep by a kiss on her chipmunk cheek.  She cracked one eye open and saw her husband, Noah, leaning over her and stroking her pale skin.  Some words came from her mouth that sounded like “good morning”, but it was hard to tell.  There was no need to look at the time: she knew that it was far too late in the morning, given how her lean man was dressed for the office and she could not hear the kids running around.

“You drop the boys off?” she mumbled blearily to Noah.

“And made sure they had a good breakfast too,” he added with a soft smile.

When that did not elicit anything more than a hum from Theresa, the skinny man sighed and stood back up.  His wife of eight years had been in a funk for the last year and a half; not even a cruise and spending time with Mickey Ramone had helped shake it.  Noah wished there was something more he could do but they had already tried everything, and no amount of medication or therapy visits had helped turn things around.  The woman who had once been a champion in the world of wrestling now had to fight just to get out of bed—in more ways than one.

In the time since the Queen of Hearts had left the Global Wrestling Federation, she had managed to balloon to nearly four hundred pounds of lethargic lard.  It started when she was pregnant and fresh out of the company; Noah and her friends had encouraged her to relax and let go while she was carrying Owen.  That soon spiraled into months and years of pampering and lazing about, eating as much as she pleased and not caring how big she got.  Eventually, the other shoe came down and Theresa realized just how big she had gotten, but her habits were set by that point; glutting herself was like second nature.  Now, she ate almost like she had no other choice to and had resigned herself to her immense girth.

Noah brushed a lock of scarlet hair behind her ear and gave it a tickle before pulling his hand away.  He leaned in once more and asked, “Do you still want to try going out with Carolyn today?  You sounded really excited when you talked about going to the gym the other day.”

Theresa grunted and pulled the sheets further up on her bloated body, making her seem like a small mountain under the covers.  The week prior, one of her friends in the neighborhood had asked her to come with her to try out a new gym in the area; Carolyn, being rather plump and overfed herself, did not want to go by her lonesome.  In a rare moment of determination, the former wrestler had accepted and the two of them were to go in an hour or two, if for no other reason than to scout the place out.  As was often the case though, Theresa’s mood had swung right back around to where she could no longer muster the will to climb out of bed.

“Tessie, sweetie, you only have to give it a look,” Noah encouraged her while he gently stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to use any of the equipment or join a class—you don’t even need to stay more than ten minutes.  Just please, give it a try for Carolyn’s sake, if nothing else.”

Finally, the redhead opened her eyes entirely and pouted at her husband.  She hated that she needed this much coaxing for what had once been an easy decision and she resolved to do something about it; whether or not that resolve managed to last remained to be seen.  With a small yawn, she replied, “Fine…I’ll go, but just for a few minutes.”

“Atta girl,” the lean man said with a warm smile.

After being helped out of bed—a necessity, given her enormous girth—Theresa stood on tiptoes and gave Noah a kiss with her plump lips.  They exchanged one more before he left for work, and she used the warmth from their moment to fuel herself onward with her day.  The Queen of Hearts waddled to her wardrobe and fished around for anything that would be close to appropriate; so many clothes had given up on her as her body ballooned into the largest of sizes.  The chic clothes she had brought with her to the cruise were far too small for her—not that they had been loose to begin with.  Finally, she came away with a pair of sweatpants that would have fit an ordinary woman in one leg and a t-shirt that could have been used as a dress for slimmer ladies.

“Okay, you can do this,” Theresa huffed as she laid out her gym clothes on the bed.  In addition to the sweats and t-shirt were her undergarments: a pair of panties that could double as a parachute and a bra with cups deep enough to serve salad in.  The redhead stared down at her obscenely large outfit, clenched her teeth, and yanked her pajamas off.  Getting changed into proper clothing was handled much like removing a bandage; she had to do it quick to make things as painless as possible.

The entire process went much quicker than normal, save for the moment when Theresa had trouble getting her training bra around her massive chest.  She had jiggled like gelatin throughout the entire ordeal and sweat like a pig, but she finally managed to shimmy her pants on over her enormous backside.  When the former wrestler finished, she took a look in the mirror and felt her confidence leave her like a deflating balloon.  Everything clung to her in just the worst way: her sweatpants were so tight that she could almost make out her fat-slathered knees; her t-shirt cut into her arms to the point they looked like dough being squeezed from a tube; her tits were so bulbous that they managed to overflow her bra and peek from her neckline.

What made the whole image so much more soul-crushing for the wrestler was that not only was she the fattest woman she knew—she had gotten so fat that she had shrunk.  One reason Theresa had left wrestling was backpain, but it got worse and worse as the years went on until it got so that laying on her mattress felt like resting on concrete.  After a much-needed trip to the doctor, the redhead finally had her answer—all her years in the business had compressed her spine, and piling on a couple hundred pounds of fat had not helped.  In her prime, the Queen of Hearts had been a comfortable 5’7”; now, she was just shy of 5’4”.  She would have sprung for corrective surgery then and there, but she needed to lose weight for the procedure, and that was not going to happen.

Before she slipped back into a spiral of self-loathing, the former champion slapped her cheeks, which sent ripples through her flabby physique.  Theresa scowled at her reflection and reminded herself, “You’re not going to stay for long: you just need to go in, help Carolyn sign up, and then walk around the place; no one is going to recognize you.  You can’t spend all day in bed; you’ve got to be responsible for a change.”

The rotund redhead held onto that conviction for all of five minutes, as she waddled into the kitchen and immediately set about fixing herself a sizable breakfast.  She knew that she did not need to eat a Denver omelet, a stack of toast swimming in butter and jelly, and Pop-Tarts coated in enough Nutella to hide the frosting on top.  Restraint had long since been thrown out the window for the woman as she focused more on the quick fix that comfort food would give her—never mind how she would come crashing down later.

By the time Carolyn arrived, Theresa was wiping up the last of the butter with a remnant of strawberry Pop-Tart.  She absentmindedly wiped her greasy fingers on her sweatpants before snatching up her bag and waddling out the door.  Her flabby friend waved to her from the front seat of a maroon minivan, one that was perpetually full of sports gear, kids, or groceries—sometimes a mix of all three.  It took the wobbly wrestler a moment to shuffle to the car, and when she did, she was panting like a dog that had been laying in the sun.

“Hey…hey, Carolyn,” the Queen of Hearts puffed as she squeezed her bulk into the passenger seat.  It was comforting and concerning to know that her pal had preemptively adjusted the seat so Theresa could fit; the last time she had carpooled with the blonde, they needed an extra set of hands to wrench her free.

“Hey, Tess!” the bubbly blonde cheerily greeted her corpulent companion.

Carolyn Brown was a few years younger and a hundred-odd pounds lighter than Theresa, but they had been close friends since the former wrestler settled into the neighborhood.  Her golden locks were cut into a wavy bob that framed her chubby cheeks, and she always looked half-asleep even when she was wide awake.  Where her redheaded friend carried the bulk of her weight in her upper body, the soccer mom was rather bell-shaped in her proportions.  Her chest was certainly chubby, but a good deal of pudge went to her belly, which rested cozily on her lap like a lazy cat; below the waist, her ample hips filled her seat to max capacity.  All her generous curves were cultivated over a lifetime of indulging her sweet tooth and fast food, and her meager attempts at exercise could not hope to curtail her gain.

“Got a water bottle for ya,” the driver told her friend as she reached behind her seat, belly poking out from underneath her shirt in the process.  She quickly returned and passed it to Theresa, who greedily guzzled it down in a moment’s time.

“Thanks, Carolyn,” the redhead replied with a nod, “for this and for getting me out of the house.  I really needed it; I don’t know if I’ve left the house in the last few days.”

The blonde waved off the remark. “Perish the thought!  You’re honestly helping me—I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb at this place.”

“Then I guess we’ll just stick out together,” Theresa retorted with a slight chuckle.


The gym, Genelle’s, was not too far from the Hartley household, and the two chubettes marveled at the size of the building.  It was three stories tall and housed anything any fitness freak or average joe could need: an indoor track, basketball and tennis courts, and a well-stocked weight room; a pool, a spa, and several small classrooms for yoga, martial arts, and so much more.  They were not ashamed to say they were more than a little star-struck when they walked up to the front desk and signed in as guests.

As Theresa fished around in her purse for the entrance fee, Carolyn stopped her and asked, “I’ve got this covered, Tess—why don’t you get use a couple drinks from the vending machine?”

“Sure, and thanks,” the redhead nodded before wobbling over to the vending machine, which she noticed served only sports drinks, juice, and water—not a drop of soda to be had.  The sight made Theresa feel somewhat better about the place; if she came here more often, she could avoid some of the temptations she filled herself with on a regular basis.  Of course, she told herself similar things all the time: how she would only get diet food at the grocery store, start that new workout routine the day after tomorrow, or promise she still had willpower.

Retrieving the drinks had taken much more effort than she cared to admit; her breasts weighed her down like boulders in a baby carrier.  When she finally stood back up straight, Carolyn was waiting by her side with a snowy white towel, which she practically shoved in Theresa’s face.  The blonde giggled, “Have you ever felt a towel that fluffy?  It’s like something out of a hotel!”

“It sure is, but I don’t think we need these, Carolyn,” the former wrestler told her friend. “We’re not going to be doing anything but look around!”

“Sure, sure, but the lady at the desk insisted.  Besides, what’s the harm?”

Theresa sighed and slung the towel over her shoulder.  The bubbly woman had a point: there was no harm in carrying it with her; it did not mean she had to exercise in front of all these people.  Fear bubbled inside her like magma, but she managed to push it back down with the reminder that they were not going to stay long.  Yes…just a few minutes, and then they were out.

“So, where do we start?” asked the rotund redhead as she looked over the directory on the wall.

Carolyn pointed to one of the upper floors and answered, “What about the third floor?  I hear they do birthday parties here, and Jessy would love to have a basketball court all to herself and her friends.”

With that settled, the doughy duo waddled to the elevator, knowing full well that neither of the two porkers would be able to get up the stairs in a hurry.  The walls of the elevator were a two-way mirror, which gave Theresa no small amount of comfort; no one would be able to see that she was too fat to use the stairs like everybody else.  Her drink might not have been more sugar than beverage, but it helped to keep her nerves together at the very least.

When they got out, Carolyn glanced around as she searched for the basketball courts before snapping her fingers and remarking, “Shucks, I must have gotten the wrong floor.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we didn’t walk up here for nothing,” her redheaded companion sighed. “Come on, let’s see if it’s the next floor down.”

Before Theresa could wobble back into the elevator, her friend took her by the hand and gently pulled her along. “We’re not in any rush!  Let’s check this floor out and see what we can find.”

A shrug of her softened shoulders later, the Queen of Hearts was waddling behind her friend as they examined some of the amenities Genelle’s had to offer.  They had only been scouting for a moment or two before Theresa stopped dead in her tracks when a familiar noise hit her ears.  It was so ingrained in her mind that there was no way she could forget it—the sound of a body being slammed into the canvas.

“They have a ring?” she whispered to herself as she waddled faster than she had all morning.  This gym had a lot to offer, but there was no way it had a wrestling ring on site.

Yet there it was when she entered one of the side rooms.  It was square in the center of a gym within a gym, clearly meant for boxers and martial artists as well; judging by the look of it, the ring was brand new like everything else in the building.  The two friends waddled in just in time to see a girl take an Irish whip to the outside of the ring, where she landed awkwardly on the blue mats.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” asked Carolyn as she approached the dark-haired girl like the matron that she was.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, dude,” the floored amateur grunted as she took a hand from the blonde. “Nothin’ hurt but my pride.”

Theresa glanced from the dark-haired girl rubbing the back of her head to her partner in the ring—a spry, pink-haired young woman that could not have weighed more than 110 pounds dripping wet.  The two were dressed more like they were ready for a run than anything else, and they both sported GWF tank-tops.  No doubt they were a couple of fans trying to replicate what they saw on TV, all to disastrous results if that fall was any indication.

“Not too shabby,” the redhead remarked to both young women, “but you both need a little work.  You with the pink hair—what’s your name?”

“Nina Neverland,” the pixie answered with arms crossed.

“Okay, Nina: when you threw her into that whip, you looked like you were about to yank her arm out of her socket; you need to work with her like it’s a dance,” Theresa explained before turning to the dark-haired girl, who was climbing back into the ring. “And you—”

The girl interrupted, “Jamie Jacobs, ma’am.”

“—JJ, you were stiff as a board when you went flying over the top rope.  You’ve got to loosen up, and rather than go over the rope, work on running into them first—better yet, bounce off them so Nina can set you up with a clothesline.”

The two young wrestlers glanced to each other, shrugged, and went at it again while Carolyn and Theresa took a step back.  As they locked their hands around each other’s wrists, the Queen of Hearts told them, “Now, yank back like it’s Thanksgiving and you’ve got the wishbone.  Get low to the ground—lower, lower…that’s it!  Okay, on ‘three’, pop back up: one…two…three!”

As the improved whip played out, Carolyn glanced over and smiled at her friend.  It had been ages since she had seen Theresa this enthusiastic about anything, much less chatting with perfect strangers like this.  The plan she had made with Noah was going off without a hitch then: hide the fact that the gym allowed wrestlers to train, coax Tess into coming along, and then get her back in her element.  If she could get her portly pal to come back a second time, they might be able to shake this funk yet.

“Nice job, ladies!” the rotund redhead applauded. “Sorry about interrupting—have a good day!”

Before the friends could leave, Jamie called out to Theresa, “Hey, dude?  If you want, we’re part of a wrestling school; we’ve actually got a class here on Thursday night.  Want to come check it out?”

Much to her surprise, the Queen of Hearts answered for the first time in forever, “I’d love to!”

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((Boy, a month sure does fly by, doesn't it?  But fret not, all you Mickamaniacs--I have returned with a new chapter just for you!  So sit back, eat your prayers, and say your vitamins, because it's time for more Superheavyweight Champion!  Enjoy!))

When Noah Hartley got home that evening, he was surprised to see his wife up on her feet and showing more energy than she had in months.  More than that, she was actually using the yoga DVD that an old friend had given her the year prior; the box had been gathering dust for the longest time until now.  Theresa awkwardly followed along with the very basics, which were incredibly difficult for a woman of her stature, but given the look on her face, she did not seem to care.  It was more than enough to see her exercising again; the gangly man was afraid he would find her passed out on the couch again, chip bags surrounding her.

“Oh, hey babe!” the rotund redhead greeted her husband excitedly as she stood back up after an unsuccessful attempt to touch her toes.  With so much cleavage and belly in her way, the poor woman could barely reach her knees, let alone her feet.

“Hey there, sugar bear,” Noah replied with a grin on his face.  Theresa waltzed up and planted a kiss on his cheek, which made his grin grow even bigger. “I take it that you had a good day today?”

“Best day I’ve had in ages,” the Queen of Hearts answered as she returned to the DVD.  She still wore the ill-fitting clothes she picked out that morning, but in the privacy of her own home, she did not have to worry about showing a bit of skin.  Case in point: when she reached one arm up in the air and leaned to the side, her shirt rose up and exposed a good amount of pale, creamy flab, yet the former wrestler did not attempt to fix it.

As her husband went to the closet to put away his coat and bag, the redhead told Noah all about the trip to the gym, sparing no details when it came to meeting the young neophytes in the wrestling ring.  She was gushing so much about Jamie and Nina, the brief bit of coaching, and the promise to attend their wrestling class a few days later, that she ignored how much her weak, overtaxed muscles strained at the warm-up routine.  It was strange: even though she had only spent a few minutes with the girls, Theresa felt wired and ready to go like never before.

“So I guess my diabolical plan worked out after all?” asked Noah as he sauntered back into the room while he undid his tie.

“Yes, and thank you for being such an evil genius,” the massive matron chortled.  She reached her hands out in front to try and lock her fingers, only to fall short thanks to the sheer immensity of her bosom. “You’re coming with me next time though; what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

The lanky man laughed and leaned in to plant a kiss on his wife’s soft lips.  He gazed at her and smiled warmly while he said, “I’m just glad to see you so happy and excited.”

“Well, let’s hope it takes this time,” Theresa murmured as she felt the creeping sensation of her anxiety again.  She had managed to push it down throughout the day, but it still lingered, waiting for the chance to take hold again.  It had taken hold not long after she got back from the cruise, and it waited for the chance to spring up again when she was least expecting it.

“If it does, then we find something else,” Noah promised as he wrapped his arms around her expansive waist, fingers sinking into her rolls while he held her. “We’ll kick this depression’s ass, babe—I just know it.”

Theresa returned the favor and rested her head against her husband’s chest as they stood for a moment, the only noise being the DVD playing in the background.  After a moment, they parted with another kiss between them, happier to have each other than was possible to put into words.  As Noah let go of her waist, his wife reached down and gently squeezed his fingers in her meaty mitts.

“Give me a few minutes of this, and then I’ll get started on dinner,” she told her husband. “I’m feeling in such a good mood, I might just make my famous casserole!”

“I can’t wait,” the lean man chuckled as he gave her one more squeeze. “And I’ll have the take-out menus ready in case the usual happens.”

The remark was met with a pillow to the face, but both laughed as if they were newlyweds again.  These moments were few and far between these days, so when they got the chance, the couple relished them as much as they could.  The evening would continue with a lovely dinner of Chinese food (after Theresa’s casserole burnt to a crisp, as it was most famous for), TV with the kids, and then cuddling in their extra-large bathtub with a bottle of wine between them.  It was bliss, and they hoped that things would continue like this from that day onward…


When Thursday night finally came, Theresa waddled into the gym with Carolyn at her side; unlike the last visit, she led the way inside.  She had spent the day prior getting new work-out gear for the occasion, not wanting to make a scene with an accidental wardrobe malfunction.  It was tough finding clothes for a woman of her size—at least nothing that clung like a second skin—but the two chunky companions had managed to get the four hundred-pounder something decent.  Her new outfit was a silky tracksuit done in scarlet with black along the fringe and a pink tank-top that managed to cover most of her bulbous bosom.  It was not high fashion, but it was a far cry from the sweatpants she had worn two days earlier.

After getting a confirmation that the class was still on for the night, the meaty matrons made their way over to the elevator, only for the redhead to stop and look to the steps.  She glanced from the imposing stairwell, took a deep breath, and steadied her shoulders.

“I’m going to do it,” the Queen of Hearts told her friend.

“Atta girl!” the always perky blonde replied excitedly.  She clapped Theresa on the back, which made the woman ripple like a stone-struck pond. “Want to race up there?”

The redhead shook her head and smirked as she answered, “I’m feeling great, but there’s no way in hell I’m winning a race between us.”

It was a good thing she did not take the bet, as the once-champion waddled up the steps with all the speed and grace of a tranquilized elephant.  She was panting for breath only halfway up the first flight of steps, and she still had three more to go.  With every plodding step, she became acutely aware of how much she sloshed like a water balloon from head to toe; she feared that even her chin fat was jiggling about.  Her weakened, atrophied knees protested this endeavor every inch of the way, but she ignored them as she had since the last visit to the gym.  As the old saying goes, the spirit was willing, but the flesh was lazy and pampered.

“Come on, Queenie, come on,” she muttered to herself as she trudged up little by little, “you can do it.  You’ve given birth and took a bump on a ladder—this is nothing.”

By the time she got to the third floor, Carolyn was patiently leaning against one of the vending machines and sipping from a bottle of water.  Theresa paused at the top of the staircase to catch her breath as if she had finished running a marathon; she was too exhausted to be embarrassed about being gassed after four flights up steps.  Mercifully, her friend was quick to bring her a drink of her own, which the redhead unapologetically chugged down like a frat boy to beer.  She stifled a thunderous belch before patting her blonde buddy on the back.

“Thanks, Carolyn,” she huffed as her breathing steadied out once more. “Haven’t had a work-out like that in I don’t know how long.”

“No sweat,” the soccer mom punned, noting the beads of sweat on the Queen of Heart’s chubby, crimson cheeks. “Come on, sounds like they’re just getting ready.”

Theresa straightened out her back, took one last deep breath, and proceeded to waddle to the classroom, her struggle on the stairs promptly forgotten.  If her “pupils” were in, she wanted to be sure to come off as her best; it would not do to walk in a sweaty, bloated mess.  Thankfully, by the time she reached the classroom, she had recovered most of the grace and poise she had when she walked into the gym that night.

“Dude, you made it!” JJ greeted the doughy duo when she glanced over at the door.  She was dressed much the same as she was the other day, as was Nina, who sat beside her and scanned her phone disinterestedly. “Like, come on in—we’re still waiting for Coach to get here.”

“Good to see you girls again,” Theresa told the pair as she waddled over.  When JJ opened her arms lazily, the redhead returned the favor and pulled the brunette in for what was assuredly the squishiest hug she ever had.

When the neophyte let go, she chuckled dazedly and asked, “Dude, like, anyone ever tell you that you’re like a big marshmallow?  Like, all we needs is some chocolate and graham crackers.”

“Oh my god, Jamie,” Nina groaned as she rolled her eyes.  She finally stood from her seat in order to gently yank her partner away from the blushing matron. “You don’t just go around saying stuff like that—you have any idea how embarrassing that is?”

The brunette shrugged. “Like, why would it be embarrassing?  Everybody loves marshmallows.”

The pink-haired girl put her face in her palm and shook her head.  When she looked back up at Theresa, she apologized, “Sorry about her—the only filter Jamie has is in her bong.”

“That’s all right,” the redhead replied with a slight smile, “I’ve known more than a few people like her in my time.”

While girls all got reacquainted, Carolyn looked around the room at the other trainees milling about.  They were women of all sorts: the class ranged from a lone high schooler to a woman not much younger than Theresa and her, from stick-thin to bulky bodybuilders, and a mix of races to keep things heterogenous.  The softened soccer mom was amazed at all these girls with dreams of making it in the squared circle; she imagined a much younger and lighter Tessie in such a group.  It was impressive for the outsider, to say the least.

“Quite the class you’ve got here,” she remarked to JJ and Nina.

The sharper of the two grinned and retorted, “Best class in town.  We’ve even got a veteran coaching us—someone with literal decades under her belt.”

Before Theresa could even ask who the coach could be, a raspy, familiar voice barked, “Atten-shun!”

Instinctively, the redhead spun to face the door and was greeted with the sight of her old mentor, “Sergeant” Rose Manson.  Much like her protégé, time had not been kind to the retired wrestler: her face was a mess of wrinkles, her hair was thinning to the point of baldness, and she was stooping after spending most of her life in the ring.  Once upon a time, the tough-as-nails instructor had been a looker on par with the blonde bombshells of Hollywood; she could have easily passed for Jayne Mansfield in her prime.  While the persona still remained, the beauty had long since faded, much like her namesake flower.

“Back in my day, if we showed up before the teacher, we were warming up so we’d be ready to go,” the elderly woman grunted as she set her bag down and shuffled out to her students. “What do I find when I get here?  Buncha lollygaggers, that’s what!  All of you on your damn phones, chatting about this and twitting about that—you’ll never get a belt with that attitude.”

“Yes ma’am!” they all shouted in unison, much to Carolyn’s amazement.  Theresa knew exactly the power “Sarge” had over others, hence why she remained at attention.

The gray-haired woman snorted and stared at her class, working her way down the line until she spotted the two visitors off to the side.  Rose squinted at the butterballs before snorting once more and turning to her students once more.  In a voice seasoned with black coffee, cigarettes, and whiskey, the veteran threw up her hands and demanded, “What are you waiting for, Chinese New Year?  Get going!  All the usual reps, and make it double for wasting time!”

“Yes ma’am!” the class shouted before running to the mats and falling into their usual routine.

While they worked out with all the intensity of a Crossfit class, Rose hobbled over to Theresa and Carolyn and studied them like an art connoisseur.  She squinted up at both, tapped her fuzzy chin, and snapped a boney finger when realization hit her.  With that same finger, she pointed between the pudgy pair and declared, “I coached one of you porkers, didn’t I?”

The blonde matron was rather shocked by the bold remark, but her redheaded companion was all too familiar with it.  She stepped forward and answered, “That’d be me, Sarge.  Long time no see.”

“Hartley,” the pint-sized woman said as she put a name to a face. “Yes, it has been—long enough for you to turn into a blimp.”

Blushing fierce, the former wrestler shuffled her feet and retorted, “Yeah, well, I’ve had two kids and I’ve bene having back problems.”

Rose snorted in derision and crossed her spindly arms. “Excuses—always the excuses with you kids these days.  I had seven kids and broke damn near every bone in my body, but I ain’t so round that you could roll me.  You look like you haven’t done anything but eat since I last saw you, and you want to make excuses?  I trained you better than that.”

Carolyn furrowed her brow and stepped forward in defense of her friend, saying, “Hey, that’s—”

“I ain’t talking to you, blondie,” the veteran sniped before the soccer mom could get a word in edgewise.  She nodded to the class and told Carolyn, “Do me a favor: since you’re clearly not here to work out and I got no cake and pizza, keep an eye on these lazy bums while I talk with Big Bertha here.”

The blonde’s jaw hung open in shock and furious silence, a state Theresa had not seen since Vanessa Grimes had threatened to kick her out of the local Bunco group.  Before she could erupt on the tiny woman, the Queen of Hearts stepped between her friend and Rose.  She glanced behind her and whispered, “Keep cool, and I’ll make it up to you.”

Leaving Carolyn to huff in frustration, the former wrestler waddled after her mentor as the elderly drill sergeant exited the room.  Despite the fact that Rose suffered from chronic lumbago, she still managed to outpace the rotund redhead, which only humiliated the matron further.  She felt like a little girl again, training in Sarge’s basement with other young hopefuls in what had been more grueling than anything she ever faced in the ring.

“So, you want to tell me where all this came from?” asked the trainer as she reached out and grabbed a handful of Theresa’s stomach.  She jiggled it with enough intensity that the jacket and tank-top rode up on her, revealing her porcine underbelly, which Rose pinched as well, eliciting a shocked squeal from her former student.

“I…I got depressed,” the Queen of Hearts admitted as she reached down to covered the ribbon of flab her teacher had exposed. “I let myself go while I was retired, and before I knew it, I was pushing four hundred pounds.”

The drill sergeant squinted up at her protégé and sneered, “I always knew that you would let yourself get soft if you weren’t careful.  Now look at you: you got more thunder than thighs, a gut with its own zip code, and I’ve seen cows with udders smaller than yours.  Why did you come here tonight, Hartley?”

Theresa swallowed the lump in her throat and gazed down at the pint-sized coach, stunned at how such a small woman could make her feel so tiny.  Resolution bubbling up in her globular gut, the redhead answered, “I gave a couple of your students some help, and they offered to let me watch.”

“So why’d you come?” asked Rose again, wrinkled arms crossed.

“Because I wanted to see what else they could and maybe give them some more help,” the Queen of Hearts explained.

“Why?  They’ve already got a coach,” the elderly woman retorted as she gestured to herself with a boney thumb. “What good is a fat nobody going to do these girls?”

Unable to take anymore, Theresa stomped her foot and declared, “Because I missed it!  I missed everything about the business: the lights, the pageantry, and the action; the glamor, the thrills, and the fans!  I missed it so bad that it hurt, and I want to get back in it—even for just a little bit.  So what if I’m big as a house now?  I can still teach them things only a champion would know!”

Rose narrowed her gaze again and asked in her raspy, gravely voice, “Are you sure?”

Theresa puffed up her chest with fury, pride, and a fire that had been missing for years as she answered, “Damn sure.  I want to get back in the game, Sarge—whatever it takes.”

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((To shake off those Post-WrestleMania Blues, here's a new chapter of the hottest free agent in the WG world!  As always, enjoy!))

When Theresa reentered the room, Carolyn turned to look and was stunned by her friend’s change in attitude.  She had come to the gym with eager anxiousness, but after a minute or two alone with her old coach, there was a spark in the redhead’s eyes that her fellow soccer mom had never seen before.  The way she carried herself—head high and massive chest puffed out—looked much more in line with the way she walked down to the ring back in the day.  This was not Theresa Hartley, Depressed Mother; it was the Queen of Hearts in all her glory.

“All right, ya buncha maggots, line up!” Rose barked at her class.

Everyone, even the bubbly blonde who was there as a guest, snapped to attention and lined up in front of the curmudgeonly old woman.  Sarge coughed like a cat hacking up a hairball before furrowing her brow at the assemblage and told them, “We’ve got a new student starting tonight—one of those ‘superstars’ you think you can be.  She’s been out of the biz for a few years, but she used to be one of the best.”

Theresa took a step forward and addressed the girls, “My name is Theresa Hartley—some of you might remember me as the Queen of Hearts.  I’ve changed a lot since I was last in the ring: I got married, had a couple kids, and put on more than a few pounds; more importantly, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for the last few years.  Tonight, that all changes: I’m done making excuses and doing nothing all day long; that’s not who I’m supposed to be.  I am a professional wrestler, and I belong in a ring with the audience cheering my name—just like all of you.”

Carolyn was shocked by the confidence in Tess’s voice.  The last time she had heard her friend talk like that was when their book club meeting in January had taken a turn for the worse.  There was a swagger in the tone that was normally so slothful and weary; she sounded like she believed every word she was saying.  She wished she had gotten out her phone to record this so they might watch it back on the ride home.

As the rotund redhead continued to talk, she felt more and more of her old self returning. “I went through utter hell to get to where I was, and I’m prepared to do it again.  I may never be as slim as I used to be, but I will be damned if I let myself get any bigger than this.  And it’s not just me that’s going to make a change: you’re all going to go from beginners to pros by the time we’re through; you will be unstoppable in the ring.”

The gaggle of girls conversed excitedly among themselves at the prospect of training alongside another veteran of the business.  The only one who seemed disinterested was Nina Neverland, who rolled her eyes at the notion that the landbound whale could teach her anything.  She already got enough guff from the pint-sized drill sergeant; she did not need a sideshow escapee telling her how to wrestle.

Her sentiments must have been quite apparent, because the next thing she knew, Rose was in her face.  At least, as much as a woman of her stature could be; the tiny tyrant stood a good head and shoulder below her.  The gruff coach growled, “Got something you want to say, Nevinger?”

The bratty girl looked down at her instructor and scoffed, “I just don’t see what I can learn from a fat slob.  If she really was as good as she says, she wouldn’t have let herself get fatter than a hippo; hell, I’ve seen hippos smaller than her.”

“Dude, not cool,” JJ whispered to her friend, who bore her no mind.

Rose curled her wrinkled fingers into fists and got red as a tomato, but she was held back by a pudgy hand on her shoulder.  Theresa knew the sort of fury the elderly woman could unleash at such disrespect, and judging by how Nina seemed not to care, the punk had never seen it.  Much as she wanted to see the girl torn to shreds, she understood too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of such a tirade.

“I’ve got this, coach,” the redhead assured her instructor before taking her place in front of the rebellious student.  The Queen of Hearts could not get as close to the punk, what with a good few inches of flab keeping them apart, but she made sure to invade as much space as possible.  When she puffed her colossal chest up, she looked not unlike a particularly busty pufferfish.

“So, you don’t think you can learn anything from me, princess?  You weren’t saying that the other day when I showed you how to do an Irish whip properly,” Theresa reminded Nina, who crossed her arms and looked away, only for the former wrestler to tell her, “Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you.  You think you’re hot stuff, huh?  Let me tell you something: I’ve seen jobbers that could make your head spin; you make them look like world champions!”

Before Nina could respond, the massive matron bumped the young woman back with her swollen chest. “I may have a couple hundred pounds on you, but you know what that means?  It means that I’m literally twice the woman you will ever be.  I don’t need to be in my prime to put you in your place; my seven-year-old could outwrestle you.  If you want to talk shit to the queen, you’d better be ready to lose your head.”

The pink-haired punk glared at Theresa as if the redhead had slapped her across the face, which earned a few words of approval from the other students.  Rose’s class had only been together for a short while, but in that time, Nina had managed to assert herself as the alpha among the group.  Next to the drill sergeant coach, she demanded respect; anyone who didn’t listen to her was in for a rough time of it.  To see this woman, who was likely three times bigger than the bratty girl, dress Nina down was like Christmas came early.

With a cool sneer, the young wannabe scoffed and flipped her rosy locks over her shoulder. “Those are some big words, Big Bertha.  You want to back them up in the ring, assuming you can waddle your way up there?”

“Lead the way, Polly Punk-et,” Theresa answered, gesturing to the squared circle with a pudgy hand.

As the class followed Nina to the ring, Carolyn dashed up beside her friend and held her shoulder.  The bloated blonde was as concerned as if it was one of her kids getting into a fight, except this likely would not end with just some scuffed knees and bloody noses.  She asked, “Tessie, are you sure this is a good idea?  You haven’t worked out in years, let alone wrestled a match.  She may be new, but she looks like a CrossFit champion!”

Rose joined the doughy duo and assured the concerned companion, “She’ll be fine.  A wrestler can get rusty, but the best never forget the ropes.  Besides, no one who’s made it through my bootcamp could ever lose a match.”

“Damn straight,” Theresa replied to her old teacher as she gave her a high-five.  She put a warm hand on Carolyn’s and assured her, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  Just make sure you’ve got some Pocari Sport ready for me—at least three bottles.”

As the soccer mom ran off to fetch her friend’s drinks, the Queen of Hearts waddled down to the ring with a fire in her eyes.  If anyone had asked her to get into a ring a week prior, she would have immediately shut them down and scurried away, yet here she was, ready to kick ass or get her ass kicked.  The confidence she was feeling the last couple of days was giving way to a desire to impress her old mentor and to teach Nina Neverland a lesson she would not soon forget.

While her younger, thinner opponent slid under the bottom rope like a pink serpent, the massive mother of two took the stairs; she was not about to humiliate herself attempting any sort of cool entrance.  JJ offered a hand up the steps, but Theresa was not so ungainly that she needed help navigating three stairs, though she did shoot the bespectacled brunette a wink of appreciation.  The most difficult part came in the form of squeezing her bulk through the ring ropes—flexible though they were, it was still a rather comical sight to see the redhead ooze out like cookie dough squeezed from a tube.

While the matron cracked the joints in her neck, she tried to hide the fact that she was breathing heavier than she would have liked for such a short trip.  Seeing as how Nina said nothing, she must not have noticed; sure enough, she was checking her phone one last time, another sign of disrespect that needed to be nipped in the bud.  Rose shuffled up to the ring and pointed a bony finger at the two as she explained, “This is just a sparring match, so I don’t want to see nothing fancy from either of you; the minute I see one of ya getting stiff with the other, you’re out of my class for good.  First one of ya to tap loses.”

“Fine with me, coach,” Theresa replied with a nod of her fat chin.

“Whatever,” Nina retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with so I can show everyone what a real wrestler is like.”

Rose grit her teeth and gave a raspy growl before ringing the bell at ringside.  Immediately, the younger of the two opponents dashed out with a wild haymaker, hoping to take out the busty behemoth with a single blow.  Theresa, however, saw the girl coming from a mile away and shuffled to the side, sending Nina stumbling into the ring post.  As her opponent recovered, the redhead wagged a finger at her and scoffed, “Next time, keep your arm in tight and go for a charging forearm—your opponent won’t be as quick to get away.”

“Shut up, you whale!” the punk growled as she charged at the Queen of Hearts once more.  This time, she aimed to spear the mother right in her flabby middle in the hopes of knocking her off her feet.  There was no way a heifer like her would be able to get back up again if she was looking at the ceiling; it would be like an obese turtle trying to flip over.

Unfortunately, it was a case of the best laid plans of mice and men, as Theresa had propped herself up against the ring ropes.  The impact of having a 130-pound missile smack into her belly hurt, yes, but at least she was able to stay on her feet.  More than that, she was able to wrap Nina up in a bear hug, smothering the younger girl with her titanic tits and girthy gut.  The rotund redhead allowed her opponent to squirm for a moment or two before releasing the punk so she might catch her breath.

“You call that a spear?” the Queen of Hearts taunted the winded Neverland. “I’ve seen pickles that were better spears than that!”

Once again, Nina lunged at Theresa in another attempt at a spear, the difference being that she kept her head low this time.  As a result, she rammed into the redhead’s bulbous belly like a pink locomotive; had the former wrestler not been propped up against the ropes, she would have had her socks knocked off.  While it was certainly more impressive than before, it was not enough to take the woman down, and she returned the spear by wrapping one meaty arm around her opponent’s waspy waist.  Though the bratty girl struggled to get free, the veteran had her locked in tight and would not let go for anything.

Theresa looked out to the rest of the class and explained, “If you can get a lock on your opponent like this, you have quite a few options—you could set them up for a piledriver, a powerbomb, and even a face buster.  Now, I’m obviously in no condition to do any of those, so this is a good opportunity to wear Nina down with some forearms to the back.  It won’t hurt too bad, but the clapping sound it makes really helps sell the move to the crowd.”

To demonstrate, the rotund woman raised a meaty forearm that was as wide around as her biceps used to be and proceeded to slam it down on Nina’s back over and over.  The slap of skin on skin resonated throughout the room, but every strike was glancing at best; much as she wanted to truly lay into the brat, Tess knew better than to push Rose’s buttons.  Eventually, she released her pink-haired opposition, who staggered back to one of the ring posts, offering a view of her reddened back.  Rosy stripes lined her like a tiger and made Nina look more like she had been lashed than struck with a forearm.

If she were in any better condition, Theresa would have used the opportunity to hurl herself at the pink-haired punk in a flying press; it had been an old crowd pleaser in her heyday, and she could think of no better way to impress the class.  Of course, that was a good two hundred-fifty pounds ago, and any attempt at jumping would likely end with her knees crumbling into dust.  Since Nina was in no hurry to move though, the redhead took her time waddling over and wrapping the brat in another bear hug that saw her squishing her opponent in her pillowy curves.

“You need to know how to adapt to any situation,” the Queen of Hearts told the students as they flocked around the ring. “You get your ankle hurt?  Cut the acrobatics and break out the submissions.  Tore a bicep or pec?  Get your legs into gear and do what you can to finish the match quick.  Put on some pounds?  Use that to your advantage, like so.”

Nina writhed and thrashed in her opponent’s arms, and even attempted to toss Theresa to the side, but nothing was going to move the massive mother.  When she realized that the rotund redhead could very likely suffocate her with her titanic tits, the pink-haired punk quickly slapped the former wrestler’s gelatinous bicep for release.  Immediately, the Queen of Hearts let her younger rival go, and the brat was sent stumbling back with gasping breaths and a reddened face.

“And that’s how it’s done,” the veteran of the ring announced to the applause of the class.  She looked around and saw Rose nodding in approval, Carolyn looking on with awe, and JJ beaming with stars in her dopey eyes.  Her attention then stopped at the crestfallen Nina, and she offered a hand to the punkette, saying, “You’ve got potential, Nina—you just need to refine it is all.”

The brat glanced from Theresa’s hand to her eyes and back again before smirking and accepting the shake.  She retorted, “And when I do, I’m coming after you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” the Queen of Hearts replied with a cocky grin of her own.

As Nina held the ropes open for her and Theresa lumbered her way down the steps, Rose took command of the room once more with a clap of her gnarled hands. “All right, that’s enough action for one night.  If you jabroni wannabes take away anything from that match, it’s that not one of you is ready to step in the ring with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.  Get back to your drills, pronto!”

The steely-eyed sergeant fixed a glare at her most rebellious student and told her, “Nevinger, you’re doing double-duty tonight; I don’t care if you nearly suffocated.”

“Whatever you say, coach,” the punk said with a roll of her eyes.  Nevertheless, she waltzed over to JJ and got into her typical reps, albeit with more pep in her step than the last few weeks.

As Theresa watched in admiration, Carolyn placed a bottle in her hand and squealed, “Oh my gawd, Tessie, you’ve still got it!”

The redhead chugged half the drink before replying with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t call that ‘still got it’—the old me would probably freak if she knew that was all I could do.  I’m just like all the other wrestlers that let themselves go, and I’m lucky that kid wasn’t more skilled than she was.”

“Hogwash,” Rose spat as she joined the chunky companions. “I’ve seen plenty of retirees over the years, and there are plenty that would never even make it up those ring steps.  You’ve still got good grace and a knack for this stuff; don’t you dare sell yourself short on that.”

“Thanks, coach,” Theresa said, blushing at the respect from her old mentor.  It made her seriously consider the idea Mickey and Ray had pitched her during the cruise, of being a manager in the GWF.  First thing in the morning, she was going to reach out to old Dave and get that job, come hell or high water.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Hartley,” the elderly woman snipped at her protégé. “You won a single match, if you can even call it that.  From now on, you two are coming here three times a week, and I’m going to knead you two into something resembling fit.  Now get out there and give me twenty!”

“Yes ma’am!” the redhead replied with a salute before chugging the rest of her drink, grabbing another bottle, and waddling off to one of the free mats.  Carolyn tried to argue that she was not actually part of the class, but realized it was pointless to argue and left to join her bosom buddy.

While the class went on, JJ nudged Nina and whispered, “So, how was it, dude?”

“How was what, J?” the punk gasped as she hefted a medicine ball into the air.

“Being held by her, dude,” the bespectacled girl giggled dazedly. “I’ll bet it was just like being hugged by a giant marshmallow.”

Nina shook her head and chuckled through her grunting. “You’re so weird, JJ.”

“What?  I like marshmallows,” JJ snorted as she glanced at Tessie’s quivering form and blushed.

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((With just a few weeks to go before Money in the Bank, I've come to cash in a new chapter of Superheavyweight Champion!  Break out your ladders, briefcases, and title contracts, and enjoy!!))

Amanda Ericson used to be an early bird: get up at the crack of dawn for a five-mile run, come back to a healthy, modest breakfast, and luxuriate in her shower; dress to the nines, spend an inordinate amount of time on her make-up, and prepare whatever she needed for meeting with the production staff.  All this was done without a single drop of coffee, and the tycoon pitied people who relied on that teeth-staining gunk.  It was a routine she maintained even while out on the road, where so many slept through their alarms, ate whatever crap they could find, and dressed like absolute slobs.  The mother of three, soon to be six, used to be the definition of ‘morning person’.

The keywords being ‘used to be’, as her pregnancy had thrown the expectant woman completely out of whack; her new medication had done nothing to help in that sense.  It was becoming more and more common for Amanda to sleep in (though she defined sleeping in as waking at 6:30 AM instead of 4), and she no longer had the energy to walk a mile, much less run five.  Her breakfasts, much like the rest of her meals, were becoming more and more lavish, to the point that a single slice of avocado toast and a hardboiled egg could not satisfy her.  And she was fast growing out of her stylish, chic clothes; in just four months, she had gotten as big as she had with her other daughters in nine.

On one chilly morning in early October, the Little Rich Girl was wrapped up in her warm blankets, enjoying having so much to herself; Levi’s role in the GWF would have him in and out of the house for the next month.  It made the nights lonesome at times, but the mornings were never dull, especially not on the weekends.  Case in point, the brunette billionaire was woken from a blissful sleep by her youngest daughter, Grace.

“Mom!  Mom, wake up!” the pint-sized child squealed as she jumped onto the bed and shook her mother’s shoulder.

Amanda grunted at the rude awakening, but she was thankfully relieved by her eldest, Nicole.  The tomboy of the trio wrenched her baby sister away as she apologized, “Sorry, Mom!  I tried to stop her, but—”

“It’s okay, Nicole,” the matron grunted as she slowly crawled out from her blanket cocoon. “Mama needs to get up anyway.  What time is it?”

Before she could answer, the oldest was interrupted by the youngest as Grace exclaimed, “Cartoon time!  Power Puppies is starting soon; we’re gonna miss it!”

Power Puppies…Grace’s latest obsession.  Every Saturday morning, she would sit and watch the show with her youngest and Josie, her middle child; it was a ritual they had been following for the last year or so, but especially since Amanda settled into the house full-time.  It was a silly, harmless cartoon that would have the girls out of her hair for an hour, which she normally used to get some paperwork done.  Now that she was officially on maternity leave though, the expectant mother had no choice but to sit and watch the show, though she often distracted herself with her phone.

“Right, right…can’t miss Power Puppies,” the brunette yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I’ll be down in a minute, sweetie—you go ahead and start without me.”

Grace giddily raced out of the bedroom, her sister hot on her heels in a vain effort to get her to stop running.  This gave Amanda a moment of peace to properly wake up and get her thoughts together, like how Grace’s cartoons started at 8; if Power Puppies was almost on, that meant the expectant mother had managed to sleep longer than she had in years.  That was not a good sign, and neither was the sight of herself as she tossed the covers aside.

The first thing that caught her eye was her belly—round, gravid, and creeping out onto her lap—and how it poked out from beneath her pajama shirt.  It was amazing to think that she was this far along so soon into her fourth pregnancy; she worried just how big she would be by springtime.  What made the situation worse was the fact that not all of this curvage belonged to her baby bump, as a fine layer of pudge covered her tummy.  The matron grimaced when she realized that her fingers could actually pinch an inch of flab before getting to the hard swell of her triplets.  Despite her best efforts, she had managed to pack on thirty pounds already—more than she had gained in any other pregnancy.

“You girls are ruining Mama’s diet,” Amanda grumbled while running her fingers over her stomach.  A few months prior, the billionaire would have been stunned speechless by how heavy she had grown, but the new medication had numbed her somewhat.  Now, she begrudgingly accepted her plumping up, knowing that she could lose the weight anytime she wanted once the b**s came.

Getting out of bed had never been so much of a struggle, not even when the Little Rich Girl used to party all night with the talent.  The bulbous brunette grunted as she awkwardly rolled herself around until her legs swung off the bed and she was sitting up straight.  After taking a steadying breath, she finished the trying task by rocking once, twice, three times until she was standing on her feet.  While she was pleased with how she could still do that on her own, the matron winced as she realized it could not be much longer before she needed help getting up.

“Levi can’t get here soon enough,” she mused as she glanced wistfully to the empty half of the bed.

It was funny: when they first got together, it was all for the sake of a story; neither one knew it would lead to a wonderful marriage, beautiful children, and sixteen of the happiest years of her life.  Amanda remembered being unimpressed when she first met Levi, whose gimmick in the 90s had been a foppish art-snob that looked down on everyone—an attitude that also carried into the locker room.  In the wild world of kayfabe, they came together because he wanted to worm his way into the Ericson fortune and control the GWF; some fans still believed that to be the case, despite how their on-screen relationship had evolved.  While they bickered, fought, and backstabbed each other while the cameras rolled, things were very different backstage.

Just as his gimmick of Leonard Lloyd Sondheim had changed from poncy showman to broke madman to all-powerful businessman, so had his affections towards Amanda.  He slowly grew into a caring, compassionate man, at least when it came to his on-screen partner; to the rest of the locker room, he was still very much a self-serving egoist.  But as the two of them worked together to make their gimmick relationship more entertaining, they managed to find a connection which blossomed into something real.  After making it official, the two worked their way up the ranks until they became two of the most powerful people in the company.

Before Amanda could reminisce any longer, she heard Grace calling up to her, “Mama, you’re going to miss the show!”

“Coming, Gracie,” the matron hollered back before adding, “and no shouting in the house!”

Amanda sighed and began the arduous journey to the entertainment room—a trek that used to take no time at all, but was now more trying than an hour-long iron man match.  Being encumbered with three growing infants would have made it difficult enough, but her waddling thighs did her no favors either.  The Little Rich Girl was used to the awkward shuffle from her last three pregnancies; it was the same uncomfortable walk that came with lugging something heavy around.  She had not expected her thighs to be touching as much as they were, certainly not in the first trimester, yet here she was.

While she was no gym rat like her husband, the matron kept herself in good shape for a woman her age; it came with being one of the faces of GWF and wanting to keep herself from bloating up like so many of her friends and peers.  She was shocked at how her friends were plumping up as the years went by, going from cheerleaders, dancers, and beauty queens to flabby, doughy, and overfed porkers.  After seeing one of her sorority sisters with a gut that rivaled the kegs they used to chug from back in the day, Amanda vowed she would not let herself become just another fat housewife, but it seemed fate had other plans for her.

After what felt like forever to the billionaire, she reached the entertainment room and shooed Josie from the recliner so she could put her feet up.  Amanda felt a twinge of shame at how a flight of steps and a few paces was enough to make her legs ache and ankles swell, but any shame was packed away when she saw Grace eagerly waiting, remote control in hand.  Now was not the time to feel sorry for herself—she could just relax and spend time with her daughters while the mindless cartoon played in the background.

“Good morning, Ms. Ericson!” a jolly voice greeted the brunette as she sank into the recliner.

Amanda craned her head to the side and was met with the family caretaker, Heidi Gati, a heavyset woman who looked ten years younger than she really was.  The Hungarian woman normally took care of the girls whenever Levi or herself were on the road, but with the Little Rich Girl’s increasing dependency, she was hired on full-time to take care of everyone in the house.  While her always chipper attitude could be grating at times, there was no denying that the girls liked her and she was good at her job.  She especially excelled in the kitchen, able to cook seemingly anything; Heidi could take garbage and turn it into five-star cooking.

“Morning, Heidi,” the mother yawned in reply. “Sorry for not being up sooner; my bed has been feeling a lot more comfortable lately, I guess.”

The caretaker chuckled, “Not a problem, Ms. Ericson.  You need all the rest you can get; the little ones can tire you out.  I have just the thing to help with that!”

Amanda needed just a whiff to know what the older woman had in mind—food, and lots of it.  Sure enough, Heidi brought out a tray and propped it up in front of her employer so that it rested above the swell of her belly.  Once that was set, she brought out a steaming plate of huevos rancheros with con frijoles, sausage patties, and perfectly-cooked bacon, followed by a tall glass of milk and honey and an equally large glass of strawberry slush.  Despite her earlier reservations about her weight, the billionaire could not help but salivate at the sight and scent of the delectable delights.

“Honestly, Heidi, you really out-do yourself every single meal,” the brunette hummed through a mouthful of egg and bacon. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I come from a long line of cooks, ma’am—cooks who never stopped learning,” the older woman replied pleasantly. “I am so happy you like it though, as I have plenty more where that came from!”

Before Amanda could say anything, a plate of apple pancakes were set beside her other dish, and the matron could not help but squeak in surprise and delight.  Apple anything was her favorite, and this was no exception; they were perfect circles with just the right amount of syrup and cinnamon butter on each doughy disc.  She dug in without hesitation, cutting herself a thick slice of all three and dabbing up extra syrup and butter that pooled on the bottom of the plate.

The Little Rich Girl rolled her eyes back in bliss as the flavors filled her mouth and lit up her taste buds.  Moaning in contentment, she remarked, “These are heavenly!  How do you manage to make them taste so good?”

“Ancient Hungarian secret,” Heidi answered with a wink and a tap of the nose.

The brunette billionaire shared a chuckle with her employee before stifling another groan of delight. “Really though, as delicious as everything is, you don’t need to go all out like this for me; I’m sure the girls haven’t eaten yet.”

“We have, Mama,” Josie replied without turning her gaze from the TV. “Heidi made us smiley-face pancakes!”

“And mango smoothies!” Gracie chimed in.

Heidi smiled and placed a gentle hand on Amanda’s shoulder as she told the matron, “Don’t you worry about anything; you know I’ll always make sure the little angels are taken care of.  You need your strength though—those b**s aren’t going to feed themselves!”

“Yes, I…I suppose you’re right,” the brunette mused as she tucked back into her meal.

A few months prior, she would have argued the point that there were plenty other options for her that were not quite as fattening as the dishes for her, nor did she need such big portions.  The Amanda Ericson of a year prior would have balked at the idea of eating so much in a single meal; she never indulged, not even during the holidays.  Now, thanks to the medication she took every morning, she was much more accepting of everything in her life, not just her caretaker’s old-world way of thinking.  Do the b**s need more nutrients?  Pile her plate higher.  Should she get some rest?  Of course—she’s taken a thousand steps today.  It seemed like someone else’s life, and Amanda was living it.

Before she knew it, the billionaire’s fork hit nothing but plate, which woke her from her food-filled daze.  There was nothing on either plate but trace remnants of syrup; not even a single crumb had survived the pregnant woman’s attack.  Amanda gazed blearily at the empty plates, unable to believe that she both managed to devour a breakfast that would even fill her husband up and still want more.  Her medication did include “enhanced appetite” as a side-effect, but she had not expected it to be quite so potent.

“Looks like you really enjoyed it,” Heidi hummed as she took the plates away. “Would you like anything else while I’m up?”

Amanda groaned, her belly feeling packed solid with b**s and breakfast, and answered, “I really shouldn’t—I’ve been eating so much lately.”

“Nonsense!  My granddaughter could eat twice as much, and she’s Grace’s age,” the chef laughed, her free hand going to her plump stomach. “Let me get you another batch of pancakes, and I’ll make up a banana smoothie for you.  How does that sound?”

The bulbous brunette was packed so full, she could barely get a word out, which Heidi took as an affirmative.  While the caretaker bustled her way to the kitchen, Amanda let out soft moans of discomfort as her sizable meal weighed her down and made her feel even more sluggish than when she woke up.  A post-breakfast nap was imminent, and only the aroma of more apple pancakes was enough to keep her bleary eyes from shutting.


Sure enough, the Not So Little Rich Girl had passed out in a food coma after eating four more pancakes and choking down a peanut butter-banana shake that was almost thick enough to be ice cream.  As she dozed peacefully on the recliner, her fair hands found their way to her aching belly and rubbed at the thick mass in a vain effort to ease the fullness in her baby bump.  Just as it had during the night, her pajama shirt crept up the expanse of her gut, revealing a thick ribbon of flesh that was more pudge than preggers.  The syrup that ringed her lips completed the picture of a woman who had stuffed herself into a foggy haze—not so much a pregnant mother but a glutton in training.

“My, you managed to eat it all before the hour was up,” Heidi murmured as she gently wiped the syrup from her employer’s puffy cheeks. “My nagymama would be so proud.”

When the caretaker had learned that Ms. Ericson was pregnant again, she was both overjoyed and concerned for the woman.  Amanda was a strong woman, certainly, but being pregnant and on the wrong side of 40 years-old was risky to her and her b**s, especially when she found out she was having triplets.  That was why Heidi was doting on her much more than she used to: to ensure that both mother and children made it through happy and healthy—well, that and a bit of “mother knows best”.

The Hungarian grandmother had her moments of old-world thinking, and much of that was focused on Amanda’s physique.  When she met the Hunter-Ericsons many years ago, she was amazed that her brunette boss was a mother—mostly because she looked nothing like how a mother should.  She was lean and trim; the only thing plump about her were her silicone-enhanced breasts.  Where Heidi came from, the only women that thin were the sick and infirmed; everyone else ranged from plump to enormous.  Still, she knew that things were different over in the States, so she held her tongue even after Amanda had Baby #2 and #3 and always slimmed back down as soon as possible.

Now that she had the perfect opportunity, the dark-haired woman planned on leading the billionaire to the perfect matronly form.  There were already signs of improvement: her breasts were filling with milk and fat, fighting the forced perkiness of her implants; her hips grew wider little by little every day; even her cheeks were on their way to a more cherubic state.  Most impressive of all was her belly, how it filled out more and more like yeast rising in a pan.  Amanda was well on her way to being the picture-perfect mother, and she still had six months to go.

“Just you wait, Ms. Ericson,” Heidi murmured. “We’ll make a mother out of you yet!”

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((After a pretty solid Money in the Bank and a great turnaround for Bayley, it's only appropriate we start Maxine's comeback arc!  Hope you all enjoy the new chapter--as always, let me know what you think!  Enjoy!))

Like so many giant enterprises, the Global Wrestling Federation was never satisfied; Dave Ericson wanted all the top performers and every promotion worth its salt.  What had once been a regional company had expanded into an unstoppable juggernaut in the sports entertainment field—a beast that crushed whatever it could not acquire.  As a result, there were numerous developmental territories that answered to the GWF around the world, from North America to Britain to Japan and everything in between.  The term “developmental” was something of a misnomer though, as the competitors in these promotions often had a good few years of experience under their belt; they had simply never worked under the biggest brand’s banner.

Youngblood Wrestling, which operated out of Philadelphia, was one such promotion that fed into the GWF machine.  While not the most popular of the developmental territories, it was host to one of the most fervent fanbases; they could always guarantee a packed house from the Philly fanatics.  The promotion was a revamp of a hardcore organization from the 90s, Bloodbath Wrestling, and though the violence had long since been scaled back, YBW still delivered hardcore matches that whipped the audience into a fever.  Because of this, the brand was often considered a baptism by fire for the GWF—if anyone could survive a stint in YBW, they could make it anywhere.

That was the hope for Princess Tiger Lily anyway.  A member of the Shawnee tribe, she had been working the independent circuit for the last two years before being scouted for Youngblood back in September.  Getting signed so quickly had seemed like a dream come true for the up-and-comer, but the young woman soon found herself feeling like a fish out of water among the myriad personalities that made up YBW.  While she had no trouble holding her own in the ring, she was fast becoming a wallflower in the roster, and that made her an easy target for those with sharper claws.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, squaw?”

It was just an hour before a show at the 2300 Arena, and Tiger Lily had been getting ready when she was confronted by the trio of Mandy Aconite, Iris Blaze, and Farrah Fuchsia—the Poison Sisters.  Mandy, the leader of the bunch, was as vile as a person could be, but because her father was one of the higher-ups in GWF, she walked around without any impunity.  The bleach-blonde bundle of bile made everyone’s lives miserable, especially the only Indigenous member on the roster.  In her eyes, there was no reason for the stocky woman to be anywhere near talent and beauty like hers; she was a blight on Youngblood, and if no one would get rid of her, she would.

“I’m just changing into my gear,” Tiger Lily murmured as she focused on lacing up her boots and ignoring the blonde bully. “I’ll be out of your way in a second.”

Mandy stamped her foot down beside the Shawnee girl and sneered. “You don’t have a second, Red—move your shit right now.  This is our space, and we don’t want you anywhere near it.  Besides, after last week’s botch, you’re changing in the public restrooms for the next month.”

“I can’t do that—people will see me!” the soft-spoken girl meekly argued.

“Tough shit,” retorted her blue-clad rival. “Girls, get her crap out of here; it’s stinking up my personal space.”

Before Tiger Lily had a chance to stop them, Iris snatched up her duffel bag while Farrah grabbed her paint kit from her side.  The Native sprang up in retaliation, only to be stopped by Mandy, who pinned her against the lockers with enough force to make the whole row shake.  Despite there being other women around, no one lifted a finger to stop the Poison Sisters, so scared were they of their vile retribution.  No one was going to risk their neck for a rookie like Tiger Lily—not if they wanted a shot at the GWF.  There was, however, one woman who did not give a damn, and thankfully for the Native girl, she walked in at that very moment.

The petite Iris had turned to laugh and scoff at her friend’s victim, which caused her to run into a wall—a very cushiony wall.  When she looked at what she hit, she came face to face with Maxine Kuhn, who towered over her by a good foot and some change.  So shocked was she by the sudden appearance of the giantess that the former GWF competitor tore Tiger Lily’s bag from her tiny hands, and was then promptly shoved off to the side like so much trash.

The Maxine that stormed into the locker room seemed like a completely different woman than the one that first joined Youngblood a month prior.  In spite of her short time with the promotion, the time spent out from under Sadie’s thumb had done wonders for her physique and confidence; she had not felt so good in years.  There was a swagger in her step no matter where she went, as opposed to being reserved for the ring or promos, and she had a whole new wardrobe of clothes that not only fit her properly—they were much chicer and more stylish than the duds her ex convinced her to wear.  Most surprising of all was her weight, though she had not slimmed down much since moving out east.

Ever since the giantess had been booted down the ladder, she made it a mission to earn her way back into the GWF proper, and that started with reclaiming what she had lost—her body.  The brunette brawler had never been one for all the feeding games and stuffing sessions that Sadie had put her through; it was always just to please her lover.  Since she no longer had the promise of good loving after a full meal, Maxine found it shockingly easy to rein her appetite in, despite some early hunger pangs from her stomach that had grown so used to gut-busting feasts.  After that, the widened wrestler spent much of her day in the YBW gym in order to hone her body back into the fighting machine it once was.

First came her face, no longer bloated from all the salt and grease that Sadie regularly shoveled down her throat—her double chin was fast receding, and any signs of a budding triple chin were gone.  Her breasts had once lost their perkiness and became little more than sacks of lard; with a little exercise and some muscle behind them, they had sprung back to life.  Definition had returned to her arms, and while her biceps were still hidden under a pillow of flab, they were no longer as soft to the touch as they used to be.  Thanks to more squats than she could count and plenty of leg day, Maxine’s lower body had lost much of its jiggle in favor of doughy firmness.  Finally, her belly, most hated of all her problem areas, was slowly shrinking to a manageable layer of pudge that no longer drooped onto her thighs.

“Seriously, Mandy—stealing people’s shit again?  This ain’t the fifth grade, and you ain’t ten, no matter how you act,” the massive woman chided the backstage bully and her cronies. “Besides, I thought you learned your lesson last time I kicked your ass around the ring.”

“Piss off, you overgrown hog; you think I’m scared of you?” asked Mandy, whose sneer hid her growing terror of the giantess.

Maxine smirked and walked towards the platinum blonde, stopping only for an instant to take Tiger Lily’s paint kit from a very anxious Farrah.  After passing the bag and kit back to their rightful owner, the bulbous bruiser strode up to the woman and pushed her back with her impressive girth until Mandy was stuck between the wall and a fat place.  Given the difference in height between the two women, the bully found herself wedged in the brunette’s ample cleavage; some people would have killed for that position, but Mandy was not one of them.

“You’re not afraid of me?  You better be,” the giant woman hissed as she squished the tormentor against the wall, “or would you like me to do to you what I did to KC Skye?”

The blonde’s eyes went wide as she squeaked, “Y-y-you can’t hurt me!  My daddy will sue!  I have i-i-immunity!”

“Maybe, but this is rasslin’, and accidents happen all the time,” Maxine reminded the blue-eyed bully. “You get in the ring with me, we fight, and maybe you break an arm, get your eye knocked out, or break your neck.  I get a fine, maybe I get fired, but that’s business, sweetheart.  So, I want you to think about that the next time you start shit in this or any locker room in this business—all it takes is one little misstep to end your pathetic excuse of a career.”

As the color drained from Mandy’s spray-tan face, the massive wrestler let her go, and she slumped to her knees.  Farrah and Iris rushed over to help her up, but no one in the trio had any words for the intimidating giantess.  Instead, the brunette looked down on them like mere pissants and told them, “Out of the way.  We both need to change—I need my gear, and you need a fresh pair of panties.”

The Poison Sisters did not need to be told twice; they were gone so fast, they seemed to leave a dust cloud behind them.  Tiger Lily was stupefied at how her luck had changed in the blink of an eye, from yet another day of harassment from the locker room bully to being saved by a fellow newbie.  Not that she could compare herself to Maxine; only one of them had been on the main roster, and it was not the girl from the Rez.  While some looked down on the giantess (in a metaphorical sense, of course) for being kicked off Monday Night War, the Shawnee wrestler admired the brunette bruiser.  Seeing a woman of her stature and build on TV had been an inspiration for the thick, portly girl, even if it had wound up a dud.

“Thank you, Maxine,” the diminutive woman murmured as she fumbled with her gear.

“Anytime, princess,” her savior replied while setting down her gym bag beside Tiger Lily. “I’ve had more than my share of bitchy blondes in this business, especially ones as bad as that brat.”

Maxine would never admit it to the girls in the locker room, but she only saw Sadie every time she ran into one of the Poison Sisters or any other bleached blonde that got too big for their britches.  They had that same infuriating smirk, cocky mannerisms, and snide look in their eyes, as if they judged everyone beneath them.  It had taken everything in the brawler’s power to not smash Mandy into one of the bathroom mirrors and then do the same to her cohorts; for all her talk, she knew she was walking on thin ice with the company.  She took several deep, calming breaths to collect herself and focused on her match later that evening, where she could vent her frustrations in the ring and on the mic.

After regaining her composure, the giantess took her gear from her bag and got to changing for the evening.  Tiger Lily busied herself with lacing up her boots and applying her face paint, but she occasionally glanced Maxine’s way to get a view of the massive woman and the change she had gone through.  When the former A-lister had shown up in Philly, she jiggled like gelatin and was gassed well before a match could get hot; she could not even be counted on to pull off a quick squash match convincingly.  Now, thanks to a strict regiment and diet, the woman had transformed herself into a whole new wrestler in just a month.  When anyone looked at her, they did not see an overweight slob—they saw a brickhouse of a woman.

“Like what you see, princess?” the bulky brawler asked, a coy grin on her face.

Caught red-handed, the Shawnee girl fumbled for words until Maxine chuckled, “I’m kidding, Lily, only kidding.  Seriously though, can you give me a hand with something?”

“Of course, Maxine!” Tiger Lily squeaked, glad her peeping had not been revealed—or if it had, that her coworker played it off. “What do you need?”

Her question was answered by the brunette tossing her phone to the young wrestler. “Mind snapping a couple pics for my timeline?  I’m making a log of my weight loss as I work my way back up to the main roster; everyone’s going to see what I’m capable of when I cut loose.”

The meaning of ‘cut loose’ was lost on the Native girl, who eagerly aimed the phone at Maxine as she went through the motions.  She made for quite the sight: her unitard had only been pulled up to her hips; everything from the waist up was left exposed for the viewer to see, save for her zaftig zeppelins.  The tan lump of flab that was her stomach looked like a boulder of pure blubber, yet it did not quiver so much while its owner shifted around.  Likewise, while her tits had once been spilling out of her overtaxed bra, they were now fitted comfortably into their cozy confines.  Even her thick arms were slowly firming up into something respectable; seeing the brunette flex was more impressive than laughable at this point.

“All right, I think that’ll do it—wait, one more,” Maxine insisted before getting into position.  She puffed up her prodigious chest and managed to suck in her belly by a hair or two, which was more than she could do for the last year, as she interlocked her hands and flexed.  Tiger Lily blushed at the way those tremendous tits were pushed close to the brunette’s soft chin but managed to take the picture all the same.

“Thanks for the help, princess,” the giantess hummed in approval as she took her phone back and swiped through the pictures. “These look great!  You’ve got an eye for this.”

The Shawnee girl blushed at the compliment and replied, “Photography has always been a hobby of mine; just a little something I picked up back in school.”

“Well, you’ve definitely got a knack for it, and I know who to come to when I need a new profile pic,” Maxine remarked with a grin that split her soft cheeks.  An idea came to her then, as she snapped her fingers and suggested, “Maybe you could help me with a photo shoot!  I’ve been thinking of ways to spice up my fitness log, and your pictures could be a big help—much more so than the company promo photos.  What do you say?  I’d be more than happy to pay you for your time.”

Tiger Lily was stunned speechless at the offer before eagerly nodding in approval. “I’d love to!  And you don’t have to pay me a dime; you’ve done more than enough for me by getting Mandy off my back here and there.”

“Hey, we’ve got to look out for each other in this business,” the massive woman told her fan as she put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Ain’t anybody going to do it for us.”

“I hear that,” the portly wrestler retorted before looking up to her inspiration. “So, I make you look good and you’ll help me with the Poisons?”

“I’ll do you one better, princess: you help me with my blog, and I’ll make sure you’ve got what it takes to make it up to the main roster by this time next year.  Deal?” asked Maxine as she offered a hand to her new protégé.

Tiger Lily did not need to be asked twice as she took hold and answered, “Deal.”


Meanwhile, down in Memphis, Tennessee, the Donna Twins were getting settled into their motel room when Kat received a notification on her phone.  Her eyes went wide when she saw the new pictures Maxine had sent her, and she could not have been happier for her former stable mate.  Natalie and she had gone to visit the brunette as she moved out to Philadelphia, and though they did not have a chance to get back out there since, they had all kept in touch—especially Katty.  They had never been close before, but after the meltdown the month prior, the twin had grown very close with the giantess and developed a fast friendship.  If only she could remember her dreams, she would know what all these interactions really meant to her.

“Damn, Maxie’s getting trim,” the strawberry-blonde remarked to her twin. “Take a look.”

She passed her phone to her sister, who quickly canceled out of something on her computer in case Kat should get as curious as her namesake.  Natalie studied the photos, shrugged, and returned the phone with an emphatic, “Eh.  She’s still got a ways to go before she’s back to how she used to be.”

“Yeah, but she’s really come a long way from where she used to be,” the other Donna replied.  She studied the pictures once more, gazed at her former partner’s thick curves, and quickly put her phone away.  No sense in letting Natalie get the wrong idea; she was simply impressed with Maxine’s ongoing transformation, nothing more.

Likewise, the lounging twin opened up the page she had been reading and found her eyes glued to the screen.  Ever since the sisters had spied on Sadie a few weeks ago, Natalie had not been able to get the idea of fat girls, teasing, and teasing fat girls out of her head; in her quiet moments, she could still hear her stable leader calling that porcine woman a pig.  The blonde could not help but dig a little deeper and see what she could find out, and her search had led her to several sites devoted to gainers and fat appreciation.  Most of it was still very odd to her, like how someone could actually want to be four hundred pounds, but the humiliation aspect stuck with her; something about it made her heart race in ways that few things could.

At that moment, as both sisters relaxed, their stomachs growled in unison.  They blushed a fine shade of pink before Natty noted, “Guess traveling out here really works up an appetite.”

“Guess so,” Kat mumbled. “You want to go get something to eat?”

“I mean, only if you do,” her sister quickly answered. “Just a quick bite though—something light before the show.”

“Of course,” the petite blonde hummed, even as thoughts of fried green tomatoes and peanut butter-banana sandwiches filled her head. “Just a light supper…”

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((Hey everyone!  Sorry for the long wait between chapters--been getting settled in with a new job.  After the shitshow that was the Super Showdown though, I just had to finish the new chapter, if only to get that taste out of my mouth.  As always, I hope you enjoy the new addition!))


As the month of October rolled on and autumn arrived in full force, Shinobu made another visit out to Little Rock to see her best friend in the business.  The last visit was pleasant enough, but with KC still cooped up and forced to cool her heels, there was not much the two girls could do together besides catch up on TV and movies they had missed out on with their hectic schedules.  Now that the former aerialist had recovered enough to move around, she had invited her former tag partner out for an annual festival to celebrate the changing seasons.  Even if it was just another couple days of staying inside, the Japanese woman would have leapt on the first plane out east, but her hostess promised the finest food trucks and vendors in all of Arkansas.  How could she refuse?

On the morning of her guest’s arrival, KC was propped up on crutches in front of the mirror, studying herself and sighing in disappointment at what she saw.  Years of hard work, training, and discipline had been undone by a mere two months of rest and recuperation; the same body she had maintained since college had been replaced with one much flabbier and more pampered.  Even though it was a smaller gain than Mickey’s or even Shinobu’s, all this new pudge felt alien to her, as if it was no longer her own body.

The ebony wrestler was thankful for two small miracles in these near fifty pounds she had put on since her injury: her face, while soft in the cheek, had been left mostly untouched, and her stomach, which limited itself to a small paunch that clung to her middle like a squishy fanny pack.  Unfortunately, those were the slimmest parts of her bloated body; everything else had ballooned thanks to her medication and weeks of inactivity and glutting.  Her once lean and ropy arms had grown thick and wobbly like tubes of custard, and her breasts, as if making up for lost time, had blown up to the size of softballs.  Below the belt, her narrow, if fluffy, waist exploded into hips that made her look like she was wearing a pair of permanent jodhpurs with basketballs shoved down the back.

“This isn’t that bad,” she assured herself as she looked at her reflection. “It isn’t that much weight; you can shed it in no time.  Soon as you can get back at it, you’ll be a lean, mean, Sadie-Storme-killing machine.”

Her baleful gaze turned to her leg, or rather, the metal rod inside her leg—the only thing keeping her bones together.  The sharp pains had dulled down to a tight, constricting feeling up and down her limb, but it did not matter what level it was; she would power through all of it.  It helped, in a morbid way, to imagine all the horrific things she would do to the blonde that had instigated this horrific accident.  Rest assured: KC Skye would get her revenge; the only question was how to go about it.  Breaking a leg in return, hurling her from the lighting, or crushing her windpipe in a folding chair was all too good for Sadie.  Whatever she did, whenever she pulled it off, the aerialist’s revenge would be glorious.

Thoughts of payback and how much of a bitch it is were cast aside as Agatha knocked on her door and told her, “Cassie, Shinobu’s here!  You just about ready?”

“Yeah—give me just one more second,” KC replied as she took one last look in the mirror, focusing less on her body and more on her wardrobe for the day.  Her thunder thighs were encased in a rust-red skirt that fell almost to her ankles and her bountiful breasts caused her creamy blouse to ride up, exposing a ribbon of tummy pudge.  The only things that still fit right were her shoes (the one she could wear on her good foot, at least) and the hat that perched atop her head, which was another small miracle—at least her head could not fatten up with the rest of her body.

“Tranquilo,” the former aerialist murmured to herself in an effort to calm her frazzled, agitated nerves. “Tranquilo.”

After taking a moment to prepare herself, KC hobbled her way out the door, down the hall, and into the living room where her friend was waiting.  Any concerns about her life went out the window when she caught Shinobu Misawa’s beaming, dimpled smile across the room; it was so bright, the wounded wrestler needed sunglasses to see.  It was hard to believe that such an adorable woman could be a terror in the ring, but that was the beauty of their profession; without the face-paint and anime-inspired outfits, the stout Osakan was as threatening as a plump, overfed housecat.

In the few months since her weight gain experiment had begun, the young woman had grown quite stout and fluffy, and with Mickey out with her “injuries” and Maxine down in developmental, she was the fattest girl on the roster.  Her gain was, in some ways, the opposite of KC’s: her face had blossomed and rounded out with a soft double chin and chipmunk cheeks; her breasts and backside, while still bigger than they were at the start of the year, were not as big as her Amazonian friend’s; her biggest feature was her stomach, which had become a substantial potbelly more appropriate for a dancer than a wrestler.  Her gain would have been impressive regardless, but her diminutive stature only served to make her appear even more rotund.



Shinobu all but skipped across the room and wrapped her friend in the squishiest hug the two had ever shared.  They had both expected the Osakan would plump up, but they had never imagined that the former aerialist would join in gaining weight herself.  Not that the stout woman minded—in fact, she marveled at how the once slender KC had filled out like an hourglass full of jelly.  Seeing how the skirt bit into the ebony woman’s hips and the top stretched across her chunky chest sent goosebumps up the wrestler’s arm.  She had not been that excited since she first embarked on this journey to pack on the pounds, inspired as she was by Mickey’s enormity.

“You look good!” the Japanese woman remarked, and she would have meant it even if KC had not gotten so chubby. “How does it feel to be out of the chair?”

“Well, crutches are never fun, and they’re tearing holes in my shirts,” the taller of the pair answered, “but at least it gives me a little more exercise than just sitting around and loafing.  But you, you look so cute!”

Shinobu’s chubby cheeks turned a rosy red and she gave a little spin, even though she was not wearing a skirt.  Up top, she wore a royal blue sweater that fit comfortably over all except her middle, where it had to stretch to accommodate the sack of flab that was her stomach.  Below that was a pair of khaki short shorts that were partly covered by her tummy and partly by her bubbly rump, and below that was a pair of black tights with white diamonds running up the outside of the leg.  Of course, the portly woman’s thighs were so thick that the diamonds were stretched almost to the point of becoming ovaloid.

“Thank you!” the chunky champion beamed as she came to a stop and put her hands behind her back. “I get so used to wearing my costumes, it feels weird to be in anything normal, no?”

“I hear you,” KC answered with a knowing nod. “And when you’re traveling on the road, the last thing you want is to be fussing with something nice; you just want something easy to throw on.”

Shinobu chuckled as she thought of her myriad costumes, each of which reflected some form of Japanese entertainment, from a bodysuit reminiscent of Gorenger to a look that could best be described as “Punk Rock Sailor Moon”.  She replied, “It is fun to dress up like a superhero, but sometimes, you want to be a normal person.”

“Amen to that,” the aerialist agreed. “But hey, I know you didn’t come here so we could talk clothes—let’s go check out the Fall Fairsteval!”

“Let’s!” Shinobu exclaimed as she walked her friend to the door.  She had no idea what sort of festival this would turn out to be, but she hoped it was half as fun as some of the ones back home.  One thing was for sure though—no one, not a single person, would have Momiji tempura.


Getting to the festival itself had presented a bit of a challenge for the pair, mostly in how tricky it was to get KC in and out of the van.  Not only did they have to contend with her leg, which was as flexible as a metal rod wrapped in a cast could be, but there was also the problem of squeezing her flabby hips in and out of the chairs.  Shinobu would never admit that seeing her companion wiggle and squirm sent shivers down her back, especially when there was an audible uncorking sound when the voluptuous vixen succeeded.

Thankfully, things only picked up once they arrived at the fairgrounds.  It was bustling with visitors from all walks of life: young and old, tall and small, friends and family; it seemed like half of Little Rock was out for the festival.  Agatha, not one for crowds, dropped the girls off as close to the entrance as she could, and despite her best efforts, acquiesced and let KC go without a wheelchair.  Still, she made Shinobu promise that if her cousin got tired, they would take a break; left unchecked, the former aerialist would power through the pain and inadvertently hurt herself even more.

“So, what shall we do first?” the ebony woman asked her guest. “We’ve got food, games, food, music, food, rides, and more food.  Take your pick.”

“I vote ‘food’,” Shinobu answered with a cheeky grin.

“Then take your pick—we’ve got it all here,” KC told the Osakan with a wave of her hand.

The stout woman craned her head around as she spied the various food vendors littering the festival.  True to her friend’s word, there were so many options for food that she did not even know where to begin.  There was the standard grilled foods, fried foods, and baked goods; pizza, ice cream, and sandwiches; too much food for Shinobu to comprehend.  Just before her head started spinning, the wrestler caught the distinct whiff of something she never thought she would find in the states.

“Fukano,” she mumbled to herself as she trotted towards the source of the delectable aroma. “Fukano!”

KC hobbled after the Japanese native as fast as she could, and they soon found themselves outside a small stand representing Musashi, a restaurant in the heart of downtown.  It did not have as long a line as other vendors, likely because they did not have chocolate-dipped fried butter on a stick, but what it made up for in caloric quantity, it made up for in quality.  The signs on the front advertised tempura of all kinds, including one that looked like a maple leaf.

“Must be keeping in theme with the festival,” the tall woman mused before realizing how wrong she was.

By the time she made it to the stand, Shinobu had already been given her order—a basketful of fried maple leaves.  While she had seen plenty of things weirder than that in her line of work, KC had to admit that seeing someone gleefully eat leaves like potato chips was a first.  Yet there was no denying that her friend was gaga for them, given how quickly she was scarfing them down; anyone would have thought it was manna from heaven.

“Well, that’s a first,” she remarked as her chubby companion rejoined her. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that stuff before.”

“I did not think I would find it anywhere outside of Japan, let alone Arkansas,” Shinobu chirped happily in reply.

Ignoring how her fattening friend pronounced it ‘ar-kan-zus’, KC picked up one of the fried leaves and popped it in her mouth.  The batter had a slight sweetness to it, but in the end, there was no way to hide the fact that it was just a maple leaf covered in batter.  The grounded aerialist hummed, “Must be an acquired taste.”

“The best Momiji tempura comes from Minoh City, but you can find it all over Osaka,” the widening woman explained expertly. “They put the leaves in salt barrels for a year, and then prepare them after that.  You can’t visit Minoh without having some; it is almost a custom.”

“Tell you what—next time I go to Japan, you can treat me.  We’ll make a date out of it,” the hippy woman said with a grin as she wandered ahead. “Come on, let’s go see if we can find something to wash those down.”

Shinobu nearly gagged on a leaf when she heard that, but followed after KC all the same.  That was not a word she tossed around so easily—a ‘date’.  Despite the persona she had in the ring and on screen, the young woman was still very innocent and meek when it came to such matters; she would get quite flustered when she was younger and she thought someone was asking her out or flirting with her.  She had since grown up enough to have the occasional fling and one-night stand, but when it came to dates and romantic outings, the Osakan turned into a bundle of nerves.

“She doesn’t mean a ‘date’ date,” the stout girl assured herself as she walked along and crammed tempura down her gullet to calm herself. “Just an expression, that’s all.  Nothing more.”

Yet she could not help imagining if it was something more than that.  The wrestler stole a glance at her companion’s backside as it bounced and quaked with every heavy landing from her crutches, and her cheeks turned a porcine pink.  It was so easy to picture that same rump jiggling in a bunny girl leotard or a schoolgirl uniform—maybe even a pair of athletic bloomers.  The thought of the ubiquitous shorts riding up KC’s generous behind made Shinobu’s blush grow from pink to tomato red, and she could feel herself overheating like a tea kettle.

Speaking of, her bulbous friend offered her a bottle and said, “Some iced tea with lemon—just what the doctor ordered.  You need to sit down, Shin-chan?  You’re looking a little red.”

“No, no,” the Osakan quickly assured KC as she accepted the bottle and chugged it down in a few bare gulps.  She caught her breath and explained, “Just needed something to clear my throat, that is all.”

“If you say so,” the ebony woman replied with a shrug, or as much of a shrug as she could manage with her crutches under her. “Want to go do a little window-shopping?  You never know what you’ll find here, and I’d like to get Agatha something for driving us out here and picking us up.”

“That sounds fun,” Shinobu answered with another dimple-sprouting smile. “Lead the way.”

As KC pivoted and hobbled forward once more, she swore that she could feel her companion’s eyes running all over her backside.  It was not like she was unaware of the Japanese native’s preferences; one does not travel hundreds of miles with somebody without getting to know what revs them up, after all.  While she was tickled by how easy it was to read Shinobu, there was a part of the attention that made her uneasy.  Not so much that it was coming from the Osakan, since the Amazonian aerialist was more than guilty of checking her out in the past, but because it reminded her of her rising weight.

Shinobu had dalliances with all sorts of lovely ladies, but spending so much time with her had told KC that what really got the wrestler going were women of a thicker variety—much thicker.  If the eyes drinking her up were the same ones that were ogling that thick pear of a waitress back in Anaheim, then the wounded warrior knew she was in trouble.  The last time she had weighed herself, she was 187, and that number was only going to get higher before she finally got to walking and exercising again.  How big would she be by the time they put her in a boot or when the next Showdown came around?  And how much would her Japanese companion be gawking at her then?

The more she dwelt on the topic, the more her thoughts turned away from panic about her escalating poundage to what Shinobu must think of her.  When they used to discuss the Osakan’s secret kink, the ebony wrestler had never given it much thought; the only thing she concerned herself with was making sure her portly pal gained the right way, not unlike Raymundo did for Mickey.  Now that KC was fast approaching 200 pounds, she looked at fat from both sides now—the side of the gainer, and the side of the fat admirer.  While she was still acclimating to her bulbous body, she had to admit that the thought of her chubby chum wanting her made things a little easier to take.

Then there was the matter of what she thought of Shinobu’s body.  As she watched the girl slowly round out on TV and the monthly visit, the former aerialist could not deny a growing fixation on the belly that jutted out from the wrestler’s waist.  It was mesmerizing in how it jiggled and wobbled with every step, and how the portly woman had to adjust her sweater every now and then again to make sure the doughy mound stayed covered.  KC absentmindedly licked her lips as she watched a strip of pale flab escaped its cashmere confines, and quickly glanced away when Shinobu turned her head.

“Say, how about I treat you to some barbeque?” asked the aerialist, her stomach leading more than her brain. “That’ll fill you up more than a pile of leaves.”

Shinobu blushed at the idea, but nodded and replied, “That sounds delicious!”

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((All right, Mickamaniacs, here's the new chapter!  Remember to say your vitamins, eat your prayers, and enjoy!))

Getting around the busy festival was no easy feat with KC’s leg, but the former aerialist was simply happy to be out and about on her feet again.  It helped to have Shinobu distracting her with tales from backstage: So-and-so was sleeping with What’s-His-Face, this guy pulled a prank on that guy, which led to a fight in the locker room, and management still had no idea what to do with their tag divisions.  While there were several in the backstage that she did not miss, the towering woman wished for that general sense of camaraderie that could only be found among pro wrestlers.

“…and then Mr. Ericson jumps out from behind the curtain and tries to tackle Curtis, but Curtis grabs him in mid-air, turns him, and pins him to the floor of the plane,” the Osakan giggled as she thought back to a plane ride from a couple weeks prior.

“I swear, I have no idea how they haven’t managed to crash that thing in all these years,” the ebony woman replied, shaking her head in disbelief at the myriad antics the GWF roster and crew got into on a regular basis.  Things had slowed down some since the halcyon days of the late 90s, when madness reigned supreme and the wrestlers acted like the worst kinds of rock stars, but tales of debauchery were still being written each week.

As they approached their destination, Shinobu picked up the tangy scent of barbeque sauce and made a beeline for the stand as though she was a cartoon character being carried by the aroma.  KC chuckled at her friend’s foodie side, how unabashed the stout woman had become in displaying her love of good eats.  If someone had told her that this same woman, whose onscreen persona had a kink for kendo sticks, was looking for the chance to go hog wild, the aerialist would have called them crazy.  Yet here she was, following her chunky companion’s bubbly backside as they made their way through the line.

“What looks good, Bu?” the hostess asked her gluttonous guest.

“Everything,” the Japanese woman cooed as she gazed over the menu.

“I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of time and money,” KC answered with a smirk. “How about I surprise you?”

Receiving an enthusiastic nod in reply, the wounded wrestler hobbled up to the register and told the clerk, “Can I get two burnt end baskets, one with onion rings and the other with sweet potato fries, a large Coke, and a large Sprite?”

While Shinobu was open to most any food these days, her nose crinkled at the name of this new concoction. ‘Burnt ends’ hardly sounded appetizing; why anyone would purposefully order burnt food was beyond the girl.  Sensing her friend’s disgust, the aerialist glanced to the tubby girl and explained, “It’s not like they’re burned all the way through, Shin-chan; you know I wouldn’t just serve you charcoal.  Besides, you’re the one who was eating leaves a few minutes ago, remember?”

“Yes, but that is a delicacy,” the Osakan huffed as she crossed her arms, making her look very much like a pouty child denied candy.

“And so’s this!  You haven’t lived until you’ve tried some good burnt ends—trust me,” KC smirked as she leaned in and gave a wobble to her friend’s gelatinous belly.  While it sloshed around underneath its blue confines, the tall woman hummed, “It’s tender, smoky, and fattier than the meat it comes from; I think your tummy is going to like that very much.”

Shinobu let out a soft squeak of surprise before yanking her sweater down to cover the ribbon of flab that had been exposed.  She had not expected her friend to tease her in such a way; while there was the occasional good-natured ribbing, KC had not made a big deal out of her gain.  It was nothing more than a playful pat to her pale, pudgy stomach, but it was the most anyone had made mention of her gut since she first started gaining.

Likewise, said belly-teaser glanced away to hide the blush that sprouted on her cheeks.  The former aerialist had no idea why she had toyed with Shinobu in such a way, but seeing the way the girl’s creamy gut jiggled reminded her of the answer.  Something had changed inside her: what she once viewed with curiosity, she now looked on with desire; when she saw the Osakan’s belly jostle around under her sweater, KC wanted to give it an extra jiggle or three.  She had no idea when the other girl’s porky build had begun enticing her so, but she was not complaining.  There were far worse things to be attracted to than a short-stacked Japanese girl, after all.

It did not take long for their orders to be filled, and in that time, the two fidgeted in place, trying to find something to talk about besides how big they were both getting.  When their trays were brought over, the widening wrestlers made their way to a nearby table and plopped down on the wooden benches, which creaked in protest of the 350 pounds added to it.  KC tried to write it off as the benches being old or heavily-used, but Shinobu, blushing a fine, porcine pink, knew the answer—they were getting too big for the overtaxed wood.  Such a revelation made the squishy woman squirm in her seat, imagining how the bench would hold up at the next festival.

 “Itadakimasu,” the wrestler murmured.  She clapped her hands together, bowed slightly, and picked up one of the charred cubes to better study it.  It was blackened, yes, but not burnt to a cinder, which had been her biggest fear; it also had that tangy sauce she smelled from afar, and barbeque sauce helped cover many a sin.  Finally, she took the plunge and popped the burnt end in her mouth, and…

“Mmm!” Shinobu happily cooed as succulent, savory flavors filled her mouth.  It tasted like beef brisket, but in all her years, she had never had such rich meat; no other barbeque could compare.  The little morsels were so good that she popped another three in, making her cheeks puff up like a greedy chipmunk’s.

KC chortled at her friend’s behavior and reached across the table to wipe away a splotch of burgundy sauce. She asked rhetorically, “I take it you like them?”

“Very much so!” was the Osakan’s giddy reply. “They are so tender and juicy, like little pieces of steak; I could eat them all day long!”

“We can always go get some more, but there’s a whole festival to check out!  You eat up, and we’ll go see what else we can find,” the aerialist suggested with a grin.

After that, the two tucked into their meals and immersed in the rich flavors of the burnt ends and fried goodies that accompanied them.  While the dishes were decent portions, neither woman felt full by the end; in their eyes, the baskets had barely constituted a morning snack.  Both women had their own way of approaching their food: Shinobu ate quickly, her appetite fueling her more than anything else; KC took her time, preferring to savor the taste rather than scarf everything down.  In the end, it did not matter how they ate—they just knew that they were hungry for more, so rather than go shopping, they opted for dessert instead.

“Wait, wait, wait—chocolate-covered pumpkin pie on a stick?” asked a bewildered Shinobu as she beheld the majestic treat in her hands. “Shut the front up!”

“It’s ‘front door’, Bu, and if you think this is impressive, you ain’t seen nuh-nuh-nuh-nothing yet,” KC said with a smirk as she took a big bite of her decadent dessert. 

Once upon a time, the ebony woman scoffed at the crazy concoctions that popped up at state fairs and county festivals—all the fried food, cholesterol-crazy concoctions, and the legions that lapped it up.  Never would she have thought that she would be one of the heavy-set heifers that indulged in such greasy goodies, yet here she was, eating something that should not exist, let alone be served on a stick.  The craziest part was that she did not care; she was going to partake in these plumping treats, figure be damned.  Not like her ass was going to get smaller anytime soon, after all.

Speaking of, it was a surreal feeling to be so plump and pudgy after being lean and limber for all these years.  Every step made her tits wobble like gelatin, every thud of her crutches made her ass bounce like giant water balloons full of pudding, and every sensation made goosebumps sprout on her pillowy arms.  They were not bad sensations necessarily—just odd ones that left her feeling conflicted and confused about what she wanted.  Without Mickey on hand to consult, she was left with Shinobu for guidance, and one glance at the chunky girl was all she needed to know how the girl felt about her newfound flab.

The Osakan was on Cloud Nine as she happily munched on her dessert, chubby cheeks being dotted by chocolate and pumpkin cream.  Her free hand, which was softening up with the rest of her body, rested on her belly and gently stroked the great globule of gelatinous goo.  Any random observer would be mistaken for thinking that the purple-haired woman was pregnant, but closer inspection would reveal the truth—her tummy was the product of food, glorious food.  Though Shinobu had only embarked on this gaining adventure recently, she had taken to it like a fish to a fryer and threw herself headfirst into fatness.

Naturally, the more gluttonous of the two finished first, and she punctuated her victory with a burp that made her middle quiver like flan.  She flushed with embarrassment, only to be vindicated when KC winked at her and let out her own little belch.  The former aerialist pat her softening stomach and remarked, “That’s the fun of a county fair, Bu—we get to pig out a little.”

“If that is what a fair is all about, then I love fairs,” the stout girl replied with a dimple-forming grin. “What should we do next?”

“Well, we could take a break from food and go shopping around for stuff, but I’ve got a better idea,” the ebony woman answered as a smirk crossed her lips.  She leaned over and prodded Shinobu’s sweater-covered stomach as she continued, “Since you can’t seem to stop thinking about food, let’s see how much we can pack in this fat little sucker?”

Neither woman knew where that had come from, but the Osakan replied by squeaking in surprise and fiddling with her sweater once more.  Shivers ran down her spine at the remark about her stomach and how piggish she had been so far.  Testing the waters, she whispered, “Y-You have had just as much as me, you know.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one wolfing down her food like there’s no tomorrow,” KC retorted.

Inspired by her burst of boldness, the towering woman reached out and pinched at the hint of love handle that oozed out from under the sweater.  She hummed, “You’ve been eating well, Bu…I didn’t expect you to get so fat so fast.  If you’re not careful, I’ll be rolling you down to the ring this time next year.”

The notion made Osaka’s Finest squeal softly and squish her mattress thighs together in the vain hope of containing herself.  While she had never pictured her best friend in this role, she had plenty of fantasies of a similar scenario—one where somebody pointed out how much she had let herself go and how porky she was going to get.  How she wished they were in the sanctity of KC’s home so that she could show just how much she approved of these playful taunts.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do,” the wounded wrestler explained with a sly wink. “You and I are going shopping—clothes, art, the works.  While I shop around, you’re going to be eating anything I buy for you; I want to see if I can hit every stall before you have to throw in the towel.”

Shinobu glanced around the festival grounds and marveled at how much there was to see and do nearby.  She bit her lip and remarked, “That…is a lot of stalls.”

“I think a growing girl like you can handle it,” KC teased, punctuating the taunt with a playful pat to her porky pal’s stomach. “Now, come on—you’re going to love this place that does amazing things with fried chicken.”


True to her word, the hostess kept her growing guest well-fed throughout their trek across the fairgrounds: hotdogs wrapped in pizza slices; a cheeseburger with two grilled cheese sandwiches for buns; deep-fried Oreos with deep-fried ice cream on the side; all that and more found its way into Shinobu’s pot belly.  After the first few dishes, the Osakan finally slowed her pace, if only to be able to contain all the food she was cramming into her belly.  Walking around should have helped, but considering that every stop necessitated a new dish, she had next to no time to rest.  It would have been torturous if the food was not so delicious and the whole experience made her so hot and bothered.

“All right, I think we’ve had a pretty successful haul,” KC remarked as she plopped her chunky caboose down on a bench.

“That…that is good,” Shinobu huffed as she gingerly sat down beside her companion. “I think I have eaten more today than I ate last year.”

“You certainly look it,” her companion snickered.  Just as she had predicted, the sweater was slowly creeping up the wrestler’s belly until half of it was out in the open and tickled by the cool autumn air.  No amount of tugging was able to get the material any further, which meant the brawler had to walk around with a cool tummy. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you stuffed a pumpkin up your sweater.”

The purple-haired woman groaned, “Please…after that pumpkin spice latte on a stick, I do not ever want to hear the word ‘pumpkin’ again.”

“Well, that’s a shame—the pumpkin pie-eating contest should be starting soon, and I thought you make enjoy that,” KC remarked, which earned her a playful punch to the arm.

“I do not think I will be eating for the rest of my stay,” the Osakan groaned as her hands worked in gentle ministrations around her globular gut.

“Not until after you try my cousin’s chicken potpie tonight,” the hostess chortled.  She hesitated an instant before reaching her own hand across and slowly rubbing circles in the pale skin. “But seriously though, I had no idea you could pack so much in here.”

Shinobu hummed blissfully and let her hands fall to her side, allowing KC full access to her stomach for much-needed belly rubs.  Her head lolled around sleepily as she replied, “I did not either.  I never knew how much I loved food, eating, and eating food until this year.”

The two were quiet for a spell after that, the only noise between them being Shinobu’s purrs of contentment as the ache was slowly released from her stomach.  Finally, her friend broke the silence by asking, “When did you first realize you liked this?  Being fat and fat girls, I mean.  I know that it didn’t just start when you saw Mickey back in June.”

It was a question that gave Shinobu some thought before she could finally answer. “It was back in high school: there was a girl in my class who was very cute and outgoing; the kind of person that could be friends with anyone.  I knew that I liked girls back then, so I already had a crush on her—and then she started to gain weight.  It was a little bit here, a little bit there, but she always kept growing and growing, until she weight almost 250 pounds at the start of our final year.

“Most were shocked by her weight gain, but I was more than shocked—I was fascinated at how much she had changed.  Her uniforms no longer fit, she filled up her desk a little more each week, and yet she still kept eating.  I wondered why she would let herself get so fat, but then I actually watched her eating and figured it out.  The look of pure bliss on her face as she filled her stomach told me that she got that big by loving food and the feel of getting bigger.  It was no surprise to me that she was well over 300 when we all graduated; my only surprise was that she was not 400 by then.”

“Why didn’t you start fattening up then?” asked KC as she stroked the underside of her flabby friend’s belly.

The wrestler sighed and replied, “I was just getting into puroresu in that last year of high school; I could not afford to indulge myself then.  As I continued to rise and make my way, I put that fascination to the side and limited myself to enjoying plump girls on their own.  Seeing Mickey earlier this year brought everything back to the front, and I decided that I had finally reached a place where I could test this curiosity of mine.”

“That’s awesome, Bu,” the ebony woman hummed as she slowed her tummy massage and looked her friend in the eyes. “I’m proud of you for finally setting your mind to this.  You know that I’ve got your back, so you ever want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

“Thank you, KC-chi,” Shinobu yawned. “Right now, though, I think I need a nap; I am feeling one of those, um…food comas.”

The Amazonian wrestler released her friend’s stomach and offered a hand up. “Then how about we take it somewhere else?  We’ll go take a hayride and sip on some cider—sound good?”

“Sounds heavenly,” the porcine woman replied sleepily. “Lead the way, KC-chi.”

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((And here we go, a brand new chapter just for you!  Well, it's also on FantasyFeeder and Dimensions Forums, but you get the idea.  Sorry for the wait, but I'm back with a new chapter about Maggie, Sharon, and yes, Mickey Ramone.  Enjoy!!))


It was well over a month since Maggie Torres and Sharon Goode, the Wild Roses, had joined up with Dare-Devil Wrestling, and they were taking quite nicely to their new home.  The tag team worked regular shows all around New Mexico, occasionally venturing into the Four Corners, and put on quality matches everywhere they went.  Though the venues were small, the fans they had were fervent and cheered them on everywhere they went.  Part of it was seeing two bombshells working together, but more importantly, they won the crowds over with their enthusiasm and faux-drunken antics.  Maggie never went a match without shotgunning at least one beer, while Sharon always made sure a bottle of bubbly was on hand after each victory.

Outside the ring, the bespectacled Sharon was much more reserved than her sensual appearance would suggest, but her lush friend made up for that by doubling down on her gimmick as a booze hound.  Mickey Ramone’s cousin might have been named ‘Margarita’, but after a show, there was nothing she liked more than to knock back a beer or five.  Lately, her favorite poison was, appropriately enough, a lager called Snake Venom—a Scottish beverage made from peat malt, whiskey, beer, and champagne.  It was everything Maggie could have wanted in a drink, apart from one little flaw: it was 2700 calories per bottle, and she knocked back at least 2 a night.

Because of this indulgence, it should come as no surprise what happened on one October morning.  The young wrestler silenced her alarm by bashing her alarm clock, groggily slid out from underneath the covers, and all but rolled to the floor, where a pile of laundry awaited her.  Her hands explored the pile and retrieved a pair of tan shorts—decent enough for going out to lunch with her cousin.  After rising to her feet, she yanked the shorts up her legs, where she met a little resistance around her thighs, but not enough to bother her.  There was, however, an issue when she tried to button them.

“The hell?” she murmured blearily before glancing down at the problem.  There was a gap between where the button was and where the button was supposed to be.

“The hell,” Maggie grumbled as she straightened up and tried once more.  Still, the minute distance proved insurmountable for the button.

“The hell!” she growled as she attempted to suck her gut in, but even that proved impossible for the bleach-blonde beauty.  No matter how much she tried to contract her stomach, it still pooled over the waistband like a dollop of cream.

What followed was a string of near incomprehensible curses mixed with grunts and groans as the drunkard struggled in vain to get her shorts to button up.  This attracted the attention of her redhead roommate, who poked her head in the bedroom door.  Sharon ogled at how much her friend had to fight with her clothes; they had been in actual matches that took less effort.  Seeing the Latina bounce up and down in a vain effort to make her clothing work made the wrestler bite her lip and blush.

“Something wrong?” she asked softly as she announced her presence.

Maggie let the flaps fall from her hands and grunted, “Yeah, something’s wrong: the washers and dryers in this pedazo de mierda!  The cosa sin valor keeps shrinking my clothes!  You know that cute t-shirt I have—the one with the red panda on it?  I can’t wear it anymore, since that secadora estúpida shrank it so much that my sobrina de cinco años couldn’t wear it!  Now I’m going to be late for lunch with Mickey, and I don’t have anything to wear!”

The bespectacled redhead rolled her eyes at her partner’s dramatics.  They still had plenty of time and Maggie had plenty more options to wear out, but the diva would rather bellyache than do anything productive.  If she really thought about it, the Latina would know exactly why her clothes were not fitting—it was the fault of the beer belly sprouting from her midsection.  While the rest of her body had gained a thin layer of plush cushioning over the last month, it was the young woman’s tubby tummy that took the brunt of the caloric onslaught.  Where there once was a soft abdomen that hid firm muscles, now was a balloon slowly and steadily filling with pudge.

“What about those capris you like—the ones with the stretchy waistband?” Sharon suggested.

“But those are my ‘fat pants’,” Maggie answered as she pouted childishly. “I can’t be seen in those today!”

Her tag partner shrugged her shoulders. “Unless you want to go fishing through your entire wardrobe and completely miss lunch, just get the capris; we’ll go shopping later.”

Defeated, the Latina sighed and grumbled, “Fine…but make a mental note to call our super and have him take a look at the dryer, would you?”

“Will do,” the redhead lied.  She would not bring out the superintendent just because Maggie was so far in denial that she ought to be called Egypt.  If she was too dim to see what her unchecked gluttony was doing to her, then Sharon was going to let the lush drink herself into a whole new wardrobe.

That thought made the bespectacled wrestler tremble with excitement, and she walked back to her room while biting down on her finger.  Once in the sanctity of her chambers, she let out a hum of delight at the idea of her friend gorging and glutting herself into double digit sizes.  Seeing Maggie packing on the pounds so fast had been a curiosity at first, but that curiosity quickly gave way to desires Sharon never knew she had.  Every time the Latina’s tummy peeked out made the redhead blush; every time she watched it bloat from a post-match feast made her shiver.  Part of her wanted to tell her tag partner to slow it down, but another, greater part of her wanted to see just how long they could go on this way.

“I’ll figure it out another time,” Sharon assured herself as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. “One when her belly isn’t rolling over her waistband like a flood of pudding…”


By the time the Wild Roses left, they were running late due to Maggie’s wardrobe difficulties.  She reluctantly settled on the stretchy capris, which just barely managed to button despite their elastic waistband, but she could not find a single top that had not “shrunk” with the rest of her clothes.  In the end, she settled for borrowing one of Sharon’s blouses, which were a size up due to the redhead’s impressive chest.  Despite the extra fabric, the Latina still found herself having to tug it down every few minutes, or else a ribbon of caramel pudge would be on display.

When they arrived at the diner, the tag team were waved over to their table by Mickey Ramone, though she did not need to wave; it was near impossible to miss the near 350-lb. woman.  Sharon was certain that one reason Maggie was able to brush off her weight gain so easily was because her cousin was well over twice her size, and so long as La Princesa Violenta remained elephantine, the Latina Lush would be able to ignore her rapidly escalating poundage.  The fact that Mickey had to work to get herself to her feet alone probably set Maggie up for another three weeks of denial.

“There she is!  There’s my cute little primita,” the obese wrestler giggled as she wrapped her arms around her potbellied cousin.  When she pulled away, she glanced down and saw that Maggie’s shirt had ridden up yet again. “Well, maybe ‘little’ isn’t the best word to use anymore.”

“Ah, shut up,” the drunkard grumbled as she tugged the blouse down for what felt like the hundredth time since leaving the apartment. “You’ve got no right to point out anyone’s weight, Mick.  Besides, even if I have gained weight—which I haven’t—I’m still nowhere near as fat as you.”

“Well yeah, but that’s only cuz I’ve got a head-start on you, Mags,” Mickey chortled as she pat her mammoth stomach.

The punk wrestler had more than a head-start on her cousin; she was doing laps the girl on her way to 340 pounds.  She was fast approaching a weight where a few extra pounds were barely noticeable on her frame, as it all amounted to a little more lard on a mountain of the stuff.  Every inch of her body was fat now; even her hands and feet were plump and thick to the touch.  Perhaps the biggest change in her most recent gains was that she was starting to widen outwards, as evidenced by how much she overflowed her chair when she sat back down.  Regardless of where her gain went, there was undeniable fact about Mickey Ramone—she was not going to stop fattening any time soon.

It was hard finding outfits that worked at her weight, but even though she was no fashionista, the former champion was determined to look good.  The warm October morning found Mickey in a flowing, sleeveless black top that allowed her meaty arms, which were as thick as her thighs once were, room to breathe; and a pair of jeans that folded her belly into two distinct, flabby rolls.  Both clothes would have been massive on a woman of Sharon’s size, but on La Princesa, they were comfortably snug and helped enhance her fattened figure.

At the same time, her permanent paramour, Raymundo, was wearing an old soccer jersey—his old jersey, to be specific—and a pair of casual khakis he had not worn for years.  Ever since his weight loss began, the thick manager had been looking forward to getting back to some of his favorite clothes from days gone by, particularly his old jersey.  An unfortunate injury had ended a modest career in college, and since the end of his playing days, the man had ballooned in weight (though Mickey had long since passed his heaviest).  While he was never ashamed of his weight, Ray would be lying if he said that he did feel good as he slimmed down.

“Bad traffic getting here?” the beefy man asked the new arrivals as they sat down.

“Just a little trouble around the apartment,” Sharon fibbed, not wanting to give away the actual, laughable reason for their lateness.

“Our stupid dryer ruined all my clothes!” Maggie whined, which caused everyone at the table to roll their eyes. “I swear, I don’t know why I haven’t pushed that thing down a flight of stairs; it’s taken all my cute outfits from me!”

Mickey, used to her ditz of a cousin avoiding the truth, took a swig of orange juice and asked, “Are you sure it’s just your machine, Maggie--because I see a tummy that’s saying otherwise.”

 “¡Cállate, carajo!” the Latina squeaked in frustration, tugging on her blouse despite the fact that her stomach was hidden by the table.

Ray shook his head at the two cousins and settled matters by grabbing a handful of Mickey’s lardy love handles and pinching tight.  As she squirmed from his touch, he told his lover, “Be nice, cerdita.”

The punk squealed and turned a faint pink before swatting her manager’s playful hands away and composing herself. “Lo siento, prima—just can’t help myself sometimes.”

Her cousin furrowed her brow and puffed up her lips like a brat and replied, “Buy me breakfast and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal,” Mickey agreed with a grin. “So, tell me about DDW—a little Texan birdy told me that you two were going after the tag titles…”

The topic quickly shifted from Maggie’s weight woes to her burgeoning career in Dare-Devil Wrestling, and after a few minutes, any thoughts of whether she was or was not fattening up were cast aside.  Both cousins lived and breathed the business ever since they had been children and seen their parents and relatives wrestle; in fact, it was Mickey that taught Maggie her first moves.  While they wrestled here and there in unofficial matches, the two dreamed of having matches on the biggest stages, right up to the Showdown Supreme.  Though Maggie was still far away from such a lofty role, she was sure that she was on her way; all she needed to do was keep doing what she did best.

After a spell, a waiter came to the table to refill everyone’s drinks.  He glanced between the gang and asked, “So, what’re we thinking for today?”

“I’ll take a southwest omelet with toast and a side of fruit,” Ray requested.

“Could I have the fruit salad and a side of scrambled eggs, please?” Sharon politely asked.

“I’mma do the never-ending stack of pancakes,” Mickey greedily declared as she licked her lips.

Maggie’s ears perked up at the order. “Never-ending stack of pancakes?  I didn’t see that on the menu…”

“It’s a little ‘secret menu’ kind of thing we do here,” the waiter explained. “You get to have as many pancakes as you want—but you have to eat at least 12, or else you pay an extra charge for anything left uneaten.”

The Latina had planned on getting a decent stack of pancakes anyway, but the thought of having all the pancakes she could want overrode her original choice.  She mimicked her cousin in licking her hungry chops and saying, “That’s what I’ll have too—gimme all the pancakes.”

“Maggie, are you sure?  That’s an awful lot,” Sharon whispered to her partner.

“Relax, Share.  Nobody—not even my cousin—likes pancakes more than me,” Maggie boasted to her redheaded roommate.

Mickey crossed her arms under her chunky chest and asked, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you asking for a challenge?”

“Maybe I am, perdedora más grande,” Maggie answered with a smirk. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“How about you put your money where your boca grande y gorda is?” her punk cousin retorted as she leaned into the table. “If you manage to eat at least to the plate tax, I’ll cover your meals for the next month—and yes, that includes your precious Snake Venom.  But if you don’t, then you’ve got to come to a party with Ray and me.”

The party-girl raised an eyebrow at the odd punishment; she assumed her cousin would come up with something more taxing on her wallet. “It’s not some Eyes Wide Shut shit, is it?  Because you know you don’t have to pull my leg to get me to go to a party.”

“Just place your bet,” Mickey replied, ignoring the question.

“Fine, whatever,” Maggie said with a roll of her eyes. “Better let your bank know in advance, because I might just eat you out of house and home.”


It was a boast easier made than followed through, as Maggie was flagging halfway through her meal.  All the fluffy pancakes, butter, and syrup were taking its toll on the young glutton, whose appetite for food had not caught up with her thirst for booze.  While she started out strong, wolfing the American flapjacks down with ease, the Latina soon realized what a bad idea that was, as her stomach was bloating worse than a four Snake Venom night.  It was bad by the time she reached the third plate, but when she got to the fourth, she felt like she could barely lift her arms.

“Classic rookie mistake,” Mickey chuckled victoriously as she ate through her pancakes at a steady clip. “Always trying to get them down fast before their stomach catches up with them.”

“Not everyone’s as good at eating as you are, babe,” Ray reminded his lover as he surreptitiously rubbed her belly beneath the table.

Sharon, meanwhile, was fighting a losing battle in cheering on her tag partner. “Come on, Maggie, you can do it—just a couple more to go!”

“I don’t want to eat another pancake for as long as I live,” the Latina grunted as she slumped into her seat.  From the slouch, her bespectacled roommate could see that all that fluff had bloated Maggie’s belly like a balloon, so much so that the waistband of the capris was actively cutting into her.

“On second thought, maybe you should cool off,” the redhead wisely recommended.

The rest of the meal was spent with Maggie caressing her stomach to ease some of the pain, Mickey eating her way to a small tower of empty plates, Ray making small talk, and Sharon alternating between talking and tending to her partner.  When La Princesa finally finished and the group rose to part ways, the pressure from Maggie bending forward caused her button to give up the ghost and bounce off the bottom of the table.  While the displayed brought a giggle to Mickey’s chubby cheeks, her food drunk cousin could only groan at the small relief it presented.

“It was so good to see you three,” the punk wrestler hummed as she reached out and patted Maggie’s exposed belly. “Make sure you get a costume for the party—it’s Halloween, after all!”

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((Following on the heels of a pretty damn good Extreme Rules, I bring you the first part of the "Halloween Party Arc".  And at the rate I work, it will probably finish by the time Halloween actually rolls around!  Either way, I hope you all enjoy the new chapter!))

Halloween Week was always a fun time in the GWF: the weekly shows were much lighter than normal, everyone got to wear costumes, and there were parties galore both on and off-camera.  Each year, the backstage segments for War and Madhouse became big costume parties, which were a chance for the wrestlers to take it easy and have some fun in between matches, plus it gave them a chance to try new things for their gimmicks.  The parties were among the most well-received segments each year, hence why the company revisited them annually, and this year was proving no different.  Speculation ran rampant as to who would have the most elaborate costumes, or who would dress the most scandalously; whatever happened, the audience was in for a good time.

One person that was not in for a good time was the commissioner of Monday Night War—Amanda Ericson.  Under normal circumstances, her pregnancy would have inhibited her from attending; though her medication was helping to adjust her chemical imbalance, her doctor cautioned her against flying or long travel.  Thankfully, this year’s Halloween show would take place in downtown Greenwich, Connecticut, which meant that she just needed Levi to drive her to and from the show.  Unfortunately, while her travel plans were simple, getting her costume together was not.

“Baaaaabe,” Amanda whined, “I need your help!”

“Be right there, Amanda,” Levi replied as he buckled the belt on his costume.  The power couple of the GWF always dressed in matching or themed costumes—Thing 1 and 2 last year, Tarzan and Jane a few years prior, and Charlie Brown and Lucy not long after they started dating—and this year was no different.  They were to attend as Batman and Catwoman, and the former Triple Threat had to admit that he filled out the suit well; the same could not be said for his wife, at least in some people’s eyes.

The semi-retired wrestler poked his head into the walk-in closet and was greeted by a lovely sight—his overfed, quite pregnant wife trying to cram herself into a slinky catsuit.  The sequined black material clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing the swell of her ample hips and backside; this normally would not be an issue, but then again, this was not normal for the billionaire.  Likewise, her breasts, once her proudest features, were crammed into an overtaxed bra, which was then squeezed into the catsuit.  The only part the material did not cling to was her gravid belly, which was too much for the zipper to handle, so Amanda took it upon herself to try and fix it.

As much as the bearded man loved to watch his wife’s new curves jiggle and quiver with every fruitless tug on the zipper, he did not want to risk her hurting herself.  Levi stepped in behind Amanda and put his massive hands over hers, saying, “Easy, mamacita—you keep tugging at the zipper like that, it’s going to break before it actually does its job.”

The Little Rich Girl sighed and dropped her hands to her fluffy hips. “I just don’t understand why it won’t fit!  I bought it knowing I would be pregnant, but I just can’t get it over my baby bump.  Maybe they packaged the wrong size?”

The far more likely reason was that Amanda had not counted on being so round in just a few short months, but her husband was not about to say that.  Instead, he kept one hand on the zipper while the other rested on the brunette’s impressive belly, amazed at how it felt so firm and soft at the same time.  While he gently pulled the zipper up, he whispered to Amanda, “Try sucking in as much as you can, babe.”

“I am,” the billionaire pouted, though she tried one more time.

Somehow, whether it was from taking it nice and slow, finding some extra space, or a small miracle, Levi managed to get The Little Zipper That Could up the swell of his wife’s stomach.  The powerful man took it slow to make sure that the teeth did not bite into Amanda’s fine, fair skin; with so much worry about stretch marks, the last thing she needed were zipper scratches.  It was smooth sailing after clearing the bump, and he zipped it all the way up to her neck.  He cupped her chin, where he felt a slight layer of softness growing, and leaned in to kiss her.

“There we go,” the wrestler smirked as he pulled away. “Catwoman’s ready for a night on the prowl.”

“If she could breathe, maybe,” the mother groaned as she cradled her stomach. “I feel like that year I dressed as a tavern wench to your Conan; that corset nearly strangled me, and this feels like the same thing.”

“Then we’ll just take it nice and easy at the party: make a few appearances, say a few pleasantries, and rest up in between scenes,” Levi assured Amanda as he held her close, eliciting a cozy sigh from his pregnant beau.

The couple had sorely missed each other for the last couple of months.  While Levi spent as much time as he could at home, his position with the company required him to be on the road for a good chunk of the week.  Now that the general manager was taking a leave of absence, the two were cuddling and canoodling like high school kids; it was rare for them to be more than a few feet apart throughout the day.  At the same time, the way they held each other was different than usual, though no less comfortable: while Amanda still liked to feel along her husband’s impeccable muscles, Levi’s hands explored the plush curves his wife had developed after a few weeks of staying off her feet.

Despite building a career on being a devious mastermind, the former Triple Threat had no idea how to broach his newfound interests to his wife.  After all, how does one tell their partner, a notorious gym rat and fitness nut, that they would look better with a few dozen pounds?  And that did not include Amanda’s hang-ups on her personal image; she was scared to death of becoming the plump, matronly figure like so many of her friends had.  It was not as if it was a deal-breaker in their marriage, but it was something that he wondered about sometimes.  When he curled up with her on the couch, he imagined his hand massaging her belly; when they lay in bed, he dreamed of her rotund rump pressed against him.

“Okay, getting a little handy there, David Cop-A-Feel,” Amanda chuckled as she batted her husband’s hands away from her plump posterior. “I still need to get a couple things ready.”

Levi turned bashful as a schoolboy and replied, “Uh, yeah, sure—I’ll just, uh, leave now or…”

“How about we put a pin in that for later?” the brunette suggested with a wink that left the bearded man speechless.

Once Levi stumbled out to go check on the kids before they left, Amanda pouted and reached back to feel her bubbly backside.  She furrowed her brow as she studied her caboose in the mirror: how her fingers sank into the new cushion, bounced the chunky cheeks, and squeezed the pillowy flab.  While she hated this doughy, heavy feeling, she was confused by how good it felt to have Levi’s big hands on her backside.  Maybe it was because they were making up for lost time, but when he started to knead her juicy rump, she felt shivers up her spine; it was all she could do to send him away instead of turning and having some frisky fun.

The pregnant mother bit her lip as she gave her backside a good squeeze, but, unable to replicate how it felt when her husband did it, released the spongy pudge.  She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering, “How could anyone actually be into this?”


After the couple put the finishing touches on their costumes and bid good night to their daughters, they made their way to the arena for the show.  Walking from the car to the backstage set-up was a lot more taxing for Amanda than it used to be; she was visibly exhausted and plunked her plush behind on the first chair she could find.  Levi noticed this and was torn between two thoughts: it was concerning that his wifey was so drained after a relatively easy walk through the building; it was also incredibly hot to see his overfed lady too fat and weak to handle steps.  He made a silent promise that for the next six months, he would make sure that she stayed off her feet as much as possible.

“Want me to get you anything, honey?” the doting man asked as he put one hand on her shoulder and another on her baby bump. “Maybe a bite to eat?”

Amanda shook her head and answered softly, “No, not yet.  Maybe just some water for now.”

In truth, the brunette was starving, but she was unable to indulge her appetite for the next several hours.  Part of it was because she wanted to maintain a sense of decorum and control around the roster and crew, but the other, greater part was simply because she could not breathe in her costume, much less fill her stomach.  The Little Rich Girl would simply have to grin and bear it throughout the night; if she happened to get hangry later on, at least it would be fitting for her character.

More and more wrestlers filed through the backstage area as they got closer to showtime, all in costumes that fit their larger-than-life personas.  Everyone greeted the commissioner in one fashion or another, with several giving her well-wishes, which Amanda eagerly gobbled up to satisfy her ego; after the debacle with her costume earlier, she needed all the compliments she could get.  She also used the opportunity to people-watch, studying the wrestlers to see how everyone carried themselves and who needed to spend more time in the gym.  Her keen eye had kept many a performer in check, with those falling out of favor having to go back down to developmental until they lost some weight.

One that had eluded her and Levi’s hammer was Shinobu Misawa, who had well and truly plumped up over the last several months.  Ever since July, the Osakan had been getting progressively chubbier, to the point that her pot belly was becoming as well-known as her stiff, strong-style blows.  It was that in-ring savagery that saved the stout woman; fat though she was, there was no denying how powerful she remained.  That did not keep Amanda from scowling as she watched the plump wrestler make her way through the party, snacking from a plate of goodies.  She had crammed her bulk into a Kamen Rider costume, and the molded abs in the front only served to enhance the doughy tummy that pushed them outwards.

“I don’t know what I hate more,” Amanda grumbled to herself, “the fact that she has the audacity to waddle around here in that state, or the fact that her plate looks so damn good right now.”


Though Natalie and Katherine Donna were twins, they refused to do gimmick costumes; that was left up to the resident power couple of the GWF.  This Halloween special was no different, as Natty had gone for the stereotypical “Slutty Fill-in-the-Blank”, the “blank” in this case being Red Riding Hood, while Kat had decided to go for something more personal.  The strawberry-blonde had dressed herself like Maxine Kuhn, complete with a pair of aviators and leather jacket.  She wanted everyone to know that the giantess was still with them in spirit, and she hoped that the brunette brawler was watching.

“Sure are some real crazy looks tonight,” Natalie mused as a Gundam walked by her with two cups of beer. “Guess people are starting to take the costume contest seriously.”

“Guess so,” Kat replied before putting a hand to her growling stomach. “Gawd, I am so freaking hungry.  I’m going to grab some food; you want anything?”

Before Red Riding Hood could answer, her tummy spoke up for her.  She blushed and answered, “I…I’ll come with you.  Not too much though—we want to watch what we eat, after all.”

“Right, right,” the younger of the twins remarked, biting her tongue on the last statement.

The pair might have been watching what they ate, but that did not mean they were eating lightly.  In the last month or so, the two had been steadily increasing their portions and venturing into new culinary territories, with Katherine discovering a fondness for fried chicken and Natalie learning that she could not get enough cake in her life.  Because of this new diet, the two had softened up over the last few weeks; while it was barely noticeable to the untrained eye, anyone who studied the twins closely would realize that they had put on a fair few pounds.  This was helped by how their physiques differed as they grew plumper by the week.

The bratty Natty fiddled with the micro-skirt around her waist, how it pinched into her untoned middle and rode up her bubbly backside.  It seemed that all the fruit pies she had been eating recently were having an effect on her, as she was fast growing pear-shaped with thickening thighs and sprouting saddlebags at her hips.  On the other hand, the plucky Katty was filling out the top of her costume, to the point that she had to yank it back up now and then, lest her breasts spill out the neckline.  Her tummy was growing faster than her sister’s, and though it was nowhere near as big as Shinobu’s it created a visible bulge in her midsection.

Just as Kat predicted, neither sister went easy on the catering; not two minutes at the table, and they had already filled their plates with food.  It was only when they walked away that they realized just how much they had gotten, and how it seemed both too much and not enough.  The chipper Katherine glanced to her bottom-heavy sister and said, “I’m probably not going to eat all of this—you want any?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” Natalie assured, even though the candy apple on her sister’s plate looked sinfully good. “My eyes are a little bigger than my stomach, I think.  I’m going to go see if anyone else wants this.”

“G-Good idea,” her twin replied. “I think I’ll go do the same.”

Of course, neither sister had any intention of pawning off their food on other people—not when everything smelled so delicious.  The two went off to opposite sides of the party to hide their gluttony from each other, masking it by talking with others around the room and making sure they were not going back to the craft table at the same time.  In this way, they both managed to scarf down three large plates of food and candy, which would have been unthinkable a few months prior.  It was as if learning Sadie and Maxine’s secret had flipped a switch in them, and now they could not help themselves but eat and grow fatter.

Speak of the devil, Sadie Storme sauntered into the party fashionably late—no doubt using the time beforehand to stuff some poor porker into oblivion.  The blonde could have passed as a sexy farm girl, what with her ragged flannel shirt tied off under the swell of her impressive chest, Daisy Dukes, and torn fishnets.  What set her apart were the fuzzy ears on her head, furry wristbands and leg warmers, and a fluffy tail clipped onto the back of her shorts.  She had popped in a pair of contact lenses that made her eyes look golden like a wolf’s, and her nails had been filed into claws just for the occasion.  It was a typical “sexy girl” costume, but the way the champion carried herself made her seem much more like a beastly werewolf in search of prey.

Sure enough, she spotted her conquest by the snack table, exactly where she expected a pig to be.  Natalie was filling her plate for the fourth time, picking a little from here and a little from there, when she felt a hand clap down on her bare ass.  Sadie squeezed her plump posterior as she leaned in and whispered, “My oh my, Natalie…I simply love your costume.  I’ve always loved fairy tales, you know.”

“Is…is that right?” the strawberry blonde sheepishly murmured. “I had n-n-n-no idea.”

“Oh yes—especially Little Red Riding Hood,” the leader of the Storme Troop murmured as she kneaded Natalie’s booty out of sight of everyone else. “The idea of a helpless little girl lost in the woods while the Big, Bad Wolf stalks her from the shadows…it’s always been one of my favorites.  Do you like the story, Natty?”

The twin was at a loss for words as she set her plate down to steady herself against the table.  She had seen something like this play out a dozen times in her head, but nothing could have prepared her for the moment itself.  Sadie had never touched her like this before, which should have sent off a couple red flags—that she was fat enough to attract her teammate’s attention, and that Sadie Storme, who had broken Maxine’s heart, was into her.  Despite knowing what the blonde was capable of, Natalie could not help but rock in her grasp.

“It’s p-p-pretty good,” she whimpered as her tormentor’s sharp nails sank into the soft tissue of her rump.

“How about you come back to my hotel room with me when the show is over, and I can tell you about some more things I like,” Sadie hissed as she leaned in so close that her warm breath tickled at Natalie’s neck. “I think you’ll find it to be a very fulfilling evening.”

As her breath caught in her throat, the elder Donna glanced across the room and spied her sister eating and chatting with a friend.  She could call out to Kat or anyone within earshot, to put an end to this before it could even begin, but the blonde could not help herself.  Something about this was turning her on like nothing else had in a long time, and her desire propelled her to see how far she could take it.  The only question was if she would be able to stop it before things went too far, or if she would wind up just as big as Maxine when it was over…

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((As we start on the road to SummerSlam, let's pass the time with a brand new chapter!  I hope you enjoy the new turns for the Donna Twins, as there are big things in plan for these two.  As always, let me know what you think!)) 


By all accounts, the Halloween episode of War that year was middle of the road: there were a few high points, a few low points, and some funny bits, but nothing that really stood out from other years.  Ask either of the Donna Twins and they would have a different story; two different stories, considering they spent the evening apart.  Natalie willingly let Sadie monopolize her time, pretending to chat with her when the camera was on them and then either refilling her plate or feeling her up when they were off-screen.  Kat, on the other hand, found all her time eaten up by, well, eating; while her pace slowed by the time the show started, she never really stopped stuffing her face.  Everything was so good, and she just had to have it.

All good things must come to an end though, and as the show ended, the roster took their leave.  Some went off to keep the party going while others left for their hotel beds, but neither was in store for the sisters.  As Natalie spied her twin getting ready to leave, Sadie growled playfully, “Going somewhere, little girl?”

Little Red Riding Hood glanced back at the woman who had been stuck to her all night long, and then put a hand on her stomach.  She was fairly full, but all the attention left her longing for something more than just light petting.  Meekly, the woman answered, “No, Sadie.”

“Good girl,” the blonde hummed before leaning in and whispering, “Go tell your sister that you decided to go to an afterparty, and then I want you to meet me in the parking lot.  After that, we’re going to stop for supplies—and then, I’ll show you the night of your life.”

“Y-Y-Yes, Sadie,” Natalie murmured before shakily making her way over to her sister, who was saying goodbye to a few other wrestlers. “Hey, Kat, um…what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

The younger twin thought up a lie and thought it up quick, for she could not tell her sister that she was going to hit up a diner for a late-night feast.  She should have been full after eating so much, but somehow, her stomach was still begging for more.  Something inside compelled her to keep going—that she still had plenty of room left in her.  It was easy to reason that she could afford to have a cheat day, seeing as she was nowhere near as big as Shinobu or Maxine, but she failed to consider how ineffective cheat days are when she cheats on her diet every day.

“Oh, I was probably going to just go back to the hotel room and get some sleep,” Katty replied before feigning a yawn. “I think I’ve got some serious jetlag, so I’ll probably have crashed by the time you get back.”

“Okay!  Yeah, I’m probably just going out to party with some of the others,” Natalie fibbed, glancing quickly over her shoulder but finding Sadie had already left. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then!”

“Just try not to make a lot of noise when you come in—you know, like last time,” her sister chuckled, remembering how the elder Donna burst into their hotel room a couple months prior while singing Disney songs. “Night, sis!”

Natalie waved goodbye before speeding off to the parking lot, knowing full well she was making a bad choice in going with Sadie.  The leader of the Storme Troop had a way about her—how else could anyone explain how Maxine had ballooned so much in the last two years?  The blonde knew that if she decided to go through with this with her stable leader, it would mean hell for her waistline, but she did not care.  Ever since finding out about this kink, the Donna’s morbid curiosity had led her to delve deeper into it, which brought out urges she never knew she had.  She wanted to be treated like a pig, to be humiliated at every turn about how fat she was getting, and Sadie would absolutely do that to her.


Kat had no idea what she was doing.  She had spent the whole evening grazing on this and that, eating enough for three people over the span of the night.  With so many goodies in her belly, the Donna twin should have gone back to her hotel to sleep off her meal; then she would get up in the morning for a jog, a swim, or anything that would help to counter the glut.  The last thing she needed was to fill her stomach with even more food, but that was exactly what she planned on doing.

“Can I get the Patty Melt Deluxe?” the strawberry blonde meekly asked the waitress. “It sounds so good.”

“Best burger in the state,” the older woman chuckled in reply, her voice tempered by years of black coffee, cigarettes, and whiskey. “You want a fried egg on there as well, sugar?”

A fried egg as well?  Once upon a time, that alone would have been enough to tide her over for the morning.  Now, it seemed absolutely meager—just one more condiment on a beast of a sandwich.  The Patty Melt Deluxe was a half-pound of beef topped with shredded lettuce, pickle chips, caramelized onions, and mayo, all served between two grilled cheese sandwiches stuffed with fried tomatoes and bacon.  It was a meal that she would have balked at months ago, but now, it was all she could think of—with a fried egg on top.

“Why not?” the wrestler giggled sheepishly. “And could I get the home-style chips?”

“Coming right up!”

That mere pleasantry sounded so much more menacing as the gravity of Kat’s order set in.  She had only been thinking of how good the meal sounded; not once did it occur to her how absolutely monstrous it was.  The thought of all those calories set loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach, and the blonde had to calm herself with a long draught from her root beer float.  A root beer float!  She stopped drinking them when she was in high school, for fear of what all that sugar would do for her body and complexion, yet here she was, drinking one while awaiting a burger that would surely be the death of her.

The wait felt like an eternity for the anxious wrestler, and just when she was about to run out and escape the calorie bomb, it arrived at her table.  The burger was so much bigger than she had imagined, having grown used to trendy spots with small plates; it completely filled the plate, and any space it did not occupy was filled with potato chips.  It was a monument to decadence, an avatar of gluttony, and it smelled heavenly; it was everything Kat loved and feared in her food.  She wanted to get from the table and go grab a salad somewhere else, but the patty melt had a magnetic hold on her and refused to let go.

“Just a little bit,” the diva told herself as she ate through a few salty chips to get to the prize. “I’ll just eat a little bit and then put the rest in a box.  I don’t have to eat everything tonight—I have willpower.  It’s just a sandwich and some chips; people eat stuff like this all the time!”

Despite these assertions to herself, Kat was tucking into her meal like a champ.  A juicy bite here, some chips there to compliment the savory sandwich, and some creamy root beer to wash it all down.  Any food she ate earlier in the night was quickly forgotten as the wrestler took bite after bite of the decadent sandwich; the way she was wolfing down her food, anyone would have thought she had not eaten all day.  She had to force herself to come up for air, and by that point, she was halfway through the burger and her chips.

“Tasty, ain’t it?” the kindly waitress chortled as she dropped off some napkins next to Kat. “Messy as all hell though—you might need these, sweetheart.”

The strawberry blonde glanced down at her fingers and blushed as she realized that sauce and grease coated them down to the knuckle.  She nodded back at the waitress and mumbled, “Thank yulp!”

Her blush only deepened when a hiccup found its way up from her throat.  How humiliating…she had not suffered the indignities of hiccups in six years!  Yet here she was, stomach burbling because she could not control herself around food.  The diva should have been ashamed of herself, but try as she might, there was no hint of humiliation to be had; if anything, a glance down at her plate only made her hungrier.

“I just need to slow down a little,” Kat reasoned as she licked her fingers clean, foregoing the napkin entirely. “Yeah, that’s it—just a little restraint.”

It took some doing, but the wrestler did eventually slow down—though not out of choice.  By the last quarter of the meal, the younger Donna’s brain was catching up with her stomach, which led to her struggling to finish.  Every inch of her body felt so much more sluggish, as if she were full of wet sand, yet she still shoved food in her mouth.  She was more stuffed than she had ever been in her life, but the strawberry blonde could not help herself at this point—she was going to finish that patty melt, even if her stomach popped by the end.

“Gotta…just gotta…boof,” the diva grunted as she shifted in her seat.  She glanced around the sparsely populated diner, realized that there was no one looking her way, and decided to do the unthinkable.  Her fingers reached into the waistband of her trunks, which were tugged up over her stomach, and tugged it down until her tummy rolled free.  It had been soft to the touch at the start of the evening, but between the grazing during War and this latest glut, it was hard as a rock.  Being free of its spandex prison helped the tan tummy breathe a little more, but there was only so much Kat could do to comfort herself.

“Gotta have more,” she snorted hoggishly as she picked up the burger and tore off a big bite. “So hungry…need more…can’t shtop…”

What followed was a testament to the wrestler’s newly discovered gluttony, as Kat scooped up any stray toppings or sauce with potato chips, gulped down her second root beer float of the night, and worked her way down to the corner of the burger.  When all that was left was a decent chunk of the corner, the blonde shrugged her shoulders and stuffed it all in her mouth, puffing her cheeks up like a greedy chipmunk.  A little root beer helped get it down, and when she had her last swallow of ice cream, the wrestler slouched down in her booth, which only served to emphasize the swell of her gut.  It was packed fuller than ever before, and when she slothfully poked at it, there was not a single inch of give to it.  Katherine Donna was well and truly stuffed.

“Y’all think you’ve got room for some dessert, hon?” the hoarse waitress asked as she tottered over to the table.

Perhaps it was a joke about Kat’s gluttony, perhaps it was sheer obliviousness, or perhaps it was her just trying for good customer service.  Either way, the strawberry blonde stifled a terrific belch and cradled her stomach as she mumbled, “Maybe to go…”


Across town, Natalie was having her own bizarre evening with Sadie.  When they left the show, the elder Donna had been aching for more of her leader’s touch, and while she assumed that the privacy of the car would grant that, it was not to be.  The most Sadie did on the ride to the hotel was occasionally squeeze her chunky thigh, as if testing her with a pair of calipers.  Her sharp nails made the strawberry blonde hiss as they pinched into her fat, but the Intercontinental Champion did little else to her.  Instead, the leader of the Storme Troop was focused on driving to a dozen different fast food joints in Hartford, getting the fattiest meal available at each one.  By the time they reached the hotel, the car smelled of burgers, fried chicken, and French fries; it was intoxicating.

It was a quiet walk up to Sadie’s room, to the point that Natalie was having second thoughts about the evening.  Was it all in her head that the blonde champion had wanted her?  Would she actually eat all of that food?  Did she even have a choice?  All those questions swirled in her head, and for an instant, the diva considered turning around and calling a taxi.  Only when they got inside did Sadie drop the bags of food, spin around, and pin the twin to the wall.  Before the diva could say or do anything, the team leader locked lips with her and trapped her arms against her side.

“God, you have no idea how much I’ve had to contain myself tonight,” Sadie growled as she ran a hand up Natty’s microskirt and raked across the girl’s chunky thighs. “I knew you were getting soft lately, but I had no idea you were such a pig at heart, Natalie.”

“I…I’m not a p-p-pig!” the strawberry blonde squeaked in shock and hunger.

The champion laughed derisively at that pathetic rebuttal and squeezed a handful of the woman’s softened ass. “Yeah, sure—you’re Notapig.  Then how do you explain this big booty of yours, Notapig?  Or how about this tummy of yours?  Face it, hog, you’re the fattest you’ve ever been, and you want it.”

There was a deep, dark part of her that longed for that, but she could bring herself to admit it to someone as powerful as Sadie.  The diva shook her head and mumbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?  Let me help you then,” the blonde hummed.  With deft fingers, she tore away Natty’s Red Riding Hood costume on the spot, until the strawberry blonde was clad only in a pair of lacy, crimson panties that rode up her plump backside and a bra that clung to soft, doughy breasts.  Sadie traced a finger up her conquest’s untoned tummy and clicked her tongue. “If you’re not a hog, Notapig, you could have fooled me.  Waddle your ass over to the bed; I’m going to get something from the closet.”

Shakily, Natalie stumbled towards the massive bed that Sadie had gotten for the night.  Had she expected to take an even bigger woman to bed?  Perhaps she needed all the space, if JuiciestPear had been any indication.  If the diva allowed this to go on, she might wind up that big: an ass that required two chairs just to sit down, a belly that was so big that she had to sit diagonally to get close to a table, and thighs that were bigger than her waist was now.  The thought of getting so absolutely fat terrified and aroused her in equal measure.

“Close your eyes,” Sadie commanded as she walked back over to the bed, fast food bags in one hand and leather pouch in the other.

“What’s in the b-b-b-b-bag?” Natalie asked, unable to restrain the stutter she had learned to put away as a pre-teen.

The blonde wagged her finger and told the twin, “Never ask what’s in the bag, Notapig.  Now, shut your eyes—don’t make me tell you twice.”

Reluctantly, the wrestler shut her eyes and waited on the end of the bed for whatever Sadie was going to do with her.  She shivered when she felt a collar click shut around her neck, only to squeal when she felt something hook her nostrils and tug upward.  The strawberry blonde almost opened her eyes to see what was going on, but she knew better; if this was what happened when she followed orders, she did not want to see what happened when she disobeyed.

“Open your eyes now, and tell me you’re still not a pig, Notapig,” her conqueror taunted.

Natalie slowly opened one eye and then another before looking in the mirror across the room.  Her eyes went wide and a piggish squeal pealed from her lips as she saw how Sadie had put a nose hook on her that stretched her nostrils up and made her nose seem much more porcine than before.  It was not as if she could shake it loose either, for it had been attached to a studded collar that adorned her neck.  The diva had a healthy sex life and experimented fairly often, but she had never done anything like this with anyone else.

“That’s not me,” the strawberry blonde whimpered as she fiddled in her seat. “I’m not a p-p-p-pig…I’m not!”

“We’ll just see about that,” Sadie taunted.  She waltzed over to Natalie and slapped one of her meaty thighs. “If you’re Notapig, then surely you can resist temptation?  You can resist anything, like, I don’t know…a Bacon Cheese Supreme?”

Out of one bag came a triple cheeseburger dripping with ketchup, mayonnaise, and bacon grease.  The diva trembled at the sight of it, but could not help herself from salivating at how it gleamed in the hotel light.  Her tormentor brought it under her nose, and maybe it was because her nostrils were stretched out, but Natalie could swear she smelled so much more in that moment.  That cheeseburger smelled absolutely succulent, and she found herself reaching out her tongue to lick it.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” the champion laughed as she pulled the burger away. “You’re seriously trying to tell me you’re not a sow, and you try and get a lick of this cheeseburger not ten seconds later?  Face it, Notapig—you’re a purebred porker.”

Sadie pushed her newest project down onto the bed, causing the wrestler’s gentle curves to bounce with the motion.  She brought the cheeseburger down and whispered, “You know what to do.”

Softly yet surely, Natalie whispered, “Oink-oink…”

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((Sorry this addition is a little late, but you can't rush perfection!  Hope you all enjoy this new chapter as we say goodbye to Sadie, Natalie, and Amanda for a bit--but don't worry, they'll be back for Thanksgiving!  As always, enjoy and let me know what you think!))

Natalie Donna had no idea how she had wound up in this situation.  She was born just a few minutes before her sister, though she had to be dragged out, unlike Katherine, who was eager to greet the world.  Their parents were well to do: their father owned a chain of hotels in Wisconsin and their mother inherited their grandparents’ chain of diners.  While neither twin excelled in school, Natalie had done worse; her only saving grace was being captain of the dance team.  Thankfully, she got a break in her modeling career, and the sisters went on to appear in various magazines, commercials, and guest appearances before finally landing their role at Global Wrestling Federation.

Katty took to the sport like a duck to water, but Natalie had a harder time of it, preferring to let others get their hands dirty.  That was what made them an interesting tag team, as the younger Donna would wrestle her heart out while the elder would scheme their way to a victory; it was a strategy that had helped make them two-time Tag Team Champions.  They developed a solid fan base before the bookers made the decision to put the twins with Sadie Storme to form a stable that dominated the Women’s Division and only got stronger when Maxine Kuhn joined the ranks.  Together, the women had run roughshod over their competition before finally losing at the Showdown Supreme.

After that, Maxine got worse and worse in the ring before being shuffled down to developmental, and the twins were more eye-candy and an accessory for Sadie than active partners.  Management was considering a singles run for Katty, giving her the occasional one-on-one, but thanks to some backstage politicking from the leader of the Storme Troop, nothing had come of it so far.  That left Natalie with little to do, which had led to her indulging her newfound appetite in recent weeks, and this led to her putting on more weight than she had in years.  Sadie, her chubby-chasing, backstabbing leader, had taken notice and made her move mere hours before, which led to her current predicament.

“Just a few more fries, and then you’ll be finished with Jack in the Box,” the bullying blonde purred as she dipped five salty fries into Natalie’s watering mouth. “Then we can move onto KFC!”

The diva moaned as she choked down the slender fries, joining a good hundred or two of their brethren in her belly.  Ever since Sadie had put a collar on her and hooked her nose, Natalie had done nothing but eat, oink, and groan.  It was all so much for her to take in: the salt, grease, and beef; the humiliation, degradation, and discomfort; the pleasure, desire, and hunger.  Her head was swimming as she lay against the bed post, where her tormentor had cuffed her hands to both sides; she could not even remember Sadie doing that, so out of it was she.  All she knew was that the bundle of fast food bags was slowly shrinking, and it would not be long before it was gone entirely.

The Intercontinental Champion plopped a fresh bag beside the bound blonde and pulled out a small box of chicken and sides.  As she dipped a drumstick in the mashed potatoes and gravy, Sadie hummed, “I know that this is more Katherine’s angle, but I’m sure a greedy little glutton like you enjoys some fried chicken now and then.”

Natalie snorted in response, but not as part of their little game—she could not fathom fitting more food in her belly.  The spray-tanned tummy was stretched tight as a drum, packed full of food that made the neophyte feedee feel bloated and sluggish, like a lead zeppelin.  She wanted so bad to at least cradle it and rub it—anything to ease the stuffed sensation inside her—but she could only rely on Sadie’s touch, which was far from soothing.  When the blonde teased her belly, it was as though she was testing it for any spare room; if she had her way, the diva would eat until she looked as pregnant as Amanda Ericson.

“Open wide, piglet,” the backstage politician cooed as she brought the drumstick up to Natalie’s lips.  Her tone was sweet, but the Donna twin had been with enough people to know that it was all a ruse; she knew Sadie could flip like a coin if need be.

She gingerly took a bite of the chicken, which turned into another, bigger bite, which then led to her ravenously tearing meat from the bone.  Why did all this food have to be so damned good?  Every new restaurant had a different flavor and style to it, beyond the obvious differences in terms of product.  Some places had regular French fries while others had curly fries, and still others did not sell fries at all; some specialized in burgers, some in chicken, and still others in tacos.  The night would lead to a painfully full belly, but it would also be a tour de force of all the fast food joints the former dancer had denied herself over the years.

As Natalie ate whatever Sadie put in front of her, the blonde reached out and stroked her fingers tenderly across her captive’s taut tummy, leaving a trail of grease and sauce along the way.  She whistled appreciatively while marveling at the diva’s ongoing transformation from hottie to fatty and how easy it had been to lure her in.  With a sly smirk on her lips, she delivered a sharp flick to the twin’s overstuffed gut, which elicited a muffled squeal of pain and pleasure from the stuffed pig.

“God, I can’t wait to see how big you get by this time next year,” Sadie purred like the cat that ate the canary. “You must have put on, what, fifteen pounds in the last month or so?  It normally takes a freshman a whole year to pack that on—color me impressed, oinker.  But those are rookie numbers in my eyes; we’re going to have to bump that up if we want you to be super-sized by next Halloween.”

Natalie’s eyes went wide at the prospect of being even bigger than Maxine, especially by next year.  She could see herself waddling through the backstage area, thunder thighs clapping against each other like a Russian slapping contest and belly bouncing more than a Spalding handball.  There would be no way she could fit into her skimpy little costume from this year, but knowing Sadie, she would likely be dressed in something even more demeaning.  The thought of being presented to all her coworkers, let alone the whole world, in a tacky Halloween costume and a hundred pounds heavier made her writhe atop the bed.

Her tormentor cackled with glee at the reaction. “I guess my piglet likes that!  Well, you’re not going to get bigger by not eating, so show me those chompers.”

It was a Herculean effort to finish the rest of the bags, but Natalie managed to choke it all down to the last crumb.  Between Sadie’s occasional displays of affection and her own, growing gluttony, the diva ate through a dozen different combo meals from a dozen different restaurants.  She felt like she had food backed up to her uvula and the heat in her stomach was almost unbearable, but when she finished, her captor rewarded her with a gentle kiss atop her belly.

“I knew you could do it,” the blonde bully hummed pleasantly as she kissed her way down the massive food baby at Natalie’s waist. “You have so much potential, Natty—much more than some of the other porkers I’ve had.  I can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.”

Her mind was swimming in secret sauce, but the elder Donna managed to snap to attention at the thought of doing this again.  The evening had been bizarre and wonderful, but she could not imagine doing this again; she had her modeling and wrestling to think of.  Natalie shook limply in the handcuffs and burped deliriously, “Sadie…can’t…not again.”

The kisses stopped as Sadie glowered into the twin’s eyes with equal parts frustration and disappointment—the same look the diva knew would come if she said ‘no’.  Rather than do anything like tighten the handcuffs or slap her around, the blonde slid off the bed and sighed like a disappointed teacher.

“I was hoping you would be as easy to lead along as that lummox, Maxine, but I guess you’ve still got a little fight in you—however small it might be,” the champion groused as she pulled her phone from her purse. “Believe me when I say I didn’t want to have to do this.”

Natalie let out an inadvertent oink in surprise when she saw Sadie point the phone at her and start taking pictures.  Every sound of the clicker felt like a bullet being fired into her self-image, and the venomous woman circling the bed seemed like a lioness stalking her prey.  She tried to scream in protest, break out of her restraints, or do anything to stop her tormentor, but there was nothing she could do even if she were not chained to the bed; her body was too sluggish from all the greasy fast food that sat like a lead balloon in her belly.  All she could do was sit like a lump on a log, thick as a brick, and wait until Sadie had her fill.

The blonde scrolled through each photo, nodded, and remarked, “That should do it.  Now, Notapig, I think you know how this is going to go: you’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it; if I tell you to eat, you ask for more.  If you dare tell anyone—I don’t care if it’s your sister, Dave, or God himself—I will leak these photos to my connection in CMZ.  I can have your career go down in flames, and all it takes is one text message, so the choice is yours, you fucking sow.  What’s it going to be?”

Any will to fight was drained from Natty by that point in the night; if she had any courage, it was buried under bacon and cheese.  She dumbly nodded her head as her eyelids drooped, and she burbled, “I…oink…get it.  Just please…oin-oink…let me rest.”

“I knew there was still some sense in that bimbo head of yours,” Sadie chuckled as she gave Natalie’s strawberry blonde curls a patronizing pat. “Go ahead and get some sleep, Notapig; I’m going to go take a shower.  I’d offer for you to join me, but I don’t think you can lift a finger right now—besides, it’s more fitting for a pig to lay in its own filth.”

The fiendish wrestler howled with laughter as she sauntered off, muscular legs and pert ass bouncing with each step.  Natalie gurgled once or twice more before succumbing to sleep, still handcuffed to the bed, and thought of an old cartoon that she saw as a kid.  What was it again?  Ah, yes—‘Pigs is Pigs’.


Amanda was miserable by the end of the show: after her ego had been fed, she had to sit around and spout the occasional line for the next several hours; all this while feeling like her costume would rip at any moment, short of breath from said costume, and hungry as a starving tiger.  She licked her lips every time she saw someone walking by with an overfilled plate of food, desperately wishing she could have something to sate her hunger pangs, but she managed some restraint.  Pigging out in front of the whole world would have been the death of her credibility, and Amanda was image-conscious if nothing else.

“God, I’m so hungry,” she whined as she waddled to the car with Levi by her side.

Any pretenses the Little Rich Girl had were cast aside once she was in the privacy of her car.  Be it the hunger getting to her or a desperate need to breathe, she tugged the zipper down the front of her costume until every inch of her baby bump was exposed.  Amanda put her hands on the globular gut and gave it a soothing rub, though that did little to quell her appetite.  Now that she was free from public scrutiny, the bulbous billionaire threw out her perfect public image in favor of any small comfort.

“You want me to stop and get you anything on the way home, hon?” asked Levi as he reached over to put his hand on hers—and brush her belly with his fingertips.

“No, no,” she grunted as she shifted her widening hips around in failed attempt to get comfortable. “We’ve got plenty of leftovers in the house, and I will be good and damned if I zip up this death trap of a costume again.”

There was another reason that Amanda was waiting until she got back home—Heidi.  The woman always cooked generous portions, but ever since her employer had gotten pregnant and homebound, she had gone into overdrive.  Even with the billionaire’s growing appetite, there were always plentiful leftovers; she need never worry about going hungry.  In fact, her biggest fear was being hungry for even a second more, which is why Levi sped back home as if she were in labor.

When the couple got home, the mother set a world record as she waddled as fast as she could to the kitchen.  Levi followed behind after checking to make sure his daughters were fast asleep in their beds, and came upon Amanda setting a smorgasbord on the kitchen table.  She had already torn into a bag of pita chips and munched on a small handful every time she dove back into the fridge for more.  The sight of so much food and the idea of it all disappearing into his ravenous wife’s belly sent shivers down the wrestler’s back, and he walked over to her side.

“Babe, why don’t you sit down and let me warm this up for you?” the former Triple Threat suggested as he led Amanda away from the fridge and sat her plush bottom down in a chair.

“Levi, you really don’t have to do that,” Amanda retorted as she tried to get up, only for her husband to place his hand on her belly and gently push her back down.

“I insist, mamacita,” the burly man said in a much more commanding voice—the sort of voice he used on TV to command respect from the locker room.  Levi handed her the bag of chips and a container of dip and told her, “This should tide you over as I heat up a few things.”

Amanda wanted to contest him, to take control of the kitchen and, by extension, her appetite, but all she could do was meekly nod and munch on chip after chip.  Levi would use that tone of voice in the bedroom now and then, but it was the first time he had used it in their day-to-day life.  Hearing him be so authoritative made the Little Rich Girl tremble, and she found herself rubbing her thighs together as he worked.  Between that and his feeling her up earlier in the day, she wanted him to carry her to the bedroom and fuck her brains out, but a bigger part of her brain was telling her to eat until there was no room for the baby.

“All right, here comes some grilled chicken, corn with plenty of butter, and some wild rice,” Levi announced, only for his wife to take the plate and eat with little thought to the presentation. “Boy, you really are hungry, aren’t you?”

In between bites, Amanda huffed out, “Eating for…four.  Need my…strength.”

“Strength…right,” the wrestler chuckled as he went back to the stove to finish warming a pumpkin and roast beef stew. “Well, I can imagine you’re feeling a little hungry after tonight; I had to practically force-feed you a few snacks.”

Now there was an idea: Amanda pinned to her chair by a belly the size of a yoga ball and Levi standing by her side with a plate of cocktail wieners, meatballs, vegetables slathered in ranch, and small sandwiches; he fantasized stuffing her with each and every one, her stomach swelling bit by bit.  It was a fantasy he had been having since the start of this latest pregnancy, and it was only fostered by the stories and art he found online.  The only difference between fact and fiction seemed to be that he would not need to force-feed his wife a single crumb, if the way she wolfed down her late dinner was any indication.

Amanda managed to wolf down four full plates of food before she started to slow down, and it took an additional two for her to finally stop.  The last thing left on her dish was a few pieces of chicken and rice in a yellow curry, and she picked at it with all the energy of a sloth.  Her brain was finally catching up with her stomach; there was no way she could eat another bite.  And yet, that hunger was still there, mewling like a cat waiting for its supper.

“What’s the matter, mama?  Feeling a little full?” Levi joked as he sat at the other side of the table after cleaning the dishes, which left him all the time in the world to watch his former fitness fiend of a wife devolve into a gluttonous cow.

“Still got room,” she muttered as she scooped up another forkful to her food-speckled lips. “Just a little more.”

The fork never made it to her mouth, as her arm, tired from all the effort, slacked and put it back on the plate.  Her mind was telling her she did not need a single bite more, but thankfully, she had an attentive husband to help pick up the slack.  Levi pulled his chair up beside hers and picked the fork back up again, guiding it up to her mouth while waving it through the air.

“Open wide,” he hummed. “Here comes the plane.”

The Little Rich Girl, feeling very much like her nickname, bashfully opened her mouth, shut her eyes, and welcomed the forkful—and the one after that, and the one after that too.  She cooed in between bites and allowed her hands to rest on her stuffed stomach, feeling how packed it was with food and her triplets.  At the same time, it felt soft and squishy in other areas, especially around her hips, where love handles were blossoming.  Her mind was a mishmash of feelings in that moment: disgust at how plump she was getting; content from having a full belly; lust from the domineering look in her husband’s eyes.  Amanda did not know what to do with these feelings, so she did the only thing she could at that moment—eat.

Finally, she gulped down the last of the curry, and opened her bleary eyes to a clean plate and Levi stroking her soft cheek.  He hummed as he told her, “Looks like you’re in the Clean Plate Club, mamacita—how about I take you upstairs to show you what good eaters get?”

“Bed,” the billionaire groaned as she allowed her loving husband to lift her from the chair. “Too tired…too full.”

“Whatever you say, hon,” the wrestler chuckled while patting her fat rump. “Whatever you say.”

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((As we head into SummerSlam--the Biggest Party of the Summer, regardless of what WWE tries to tell us--let's move onto Halloween night proper.  Let's start with our two favorite, overfed soccer moms, Theresa and Carolyn!  As always, I hope you enjoy!))


On Halloween Night, the air was thick with children’s laughter, doorbells and knocks, and the pitter-patter of feet wandering the neighborhood in search of candy.  Theresa Hartley and Carolyn Brown were usually the ones to take their kids trick-or-treating, but not this year; it was the dads’ turns to play babysitter.  Why?  Because as Kool and the Gang once sang, “It’s Ladies’ Night”, and the two mothers were heading to a party held by the girls at Rose’s wrestling school.

In the near two months since Theresa made her first visit to Genelle’s Gym, she and Carolyn had been adopted as the moms of the students—even if Carolyn only had three years on the oldest in the class.  Being a former pro, the Queen of Hearts was able to compliment Rose’s lessons well, and her less acerbic personality ingratiated her to the students, as it offered a reprieve from their drill sergeant.  She had won their respect during her impromptu match with Nina, but she maintained it through being a damn good teacher.

Her blonde, bubbly companion, meanwhile, had won their affection the same way she had her husband’s—their stomachs.  The chunky Carolyn was a whiz at making up snacks, healthy or otherwise, and the class enjoyed plenty during breaks and after class.  While her honey-glazed orange slices would have made her shoe-in regardless, the girls in the class were impressed with how she tried to keep up with them.  Years of sitting on her plush backside during her spare time had made the soccer mom as firm as pudding, but she was putting in the effort with the others, and they respected her all the more for it.

Cyndi Lauper blared as the two bloated bunnies sped through town on their way to JJ’s apartment.  Theresa waved one of her ham hock arms out the window and Carolyn was dancing so much in her seat that it was a miracle that she stayed on the road.  Both girls were singing at the top of their lungs, ignoring the passers-by who wondered how much candy and/or liquor the two elephantine women had imbibed so far that night.

“That’s all they really want,” the pot-bellied driver crooned as she drummed on her steering wheel. “Some fun!”

“When the working day is done—oh, girls just wanna have fun!” her rotund, redheaded friend bellowed, bountiful breasts jiggling with the slightest movement.

Even if the two moms had been svelte, their costumes would have drawn stares from onlookers.  Theresa had convinced her bosom buddy to dress in themed costumes, not revealing that the theme was ‘awesome women wrestlers of the 90s’.  Carolyn had managed to squeeze her butter-soft body into a white and flame-striped singlet, with matching wrist guards and boots, in an emulation of Alundra Blayze, albeit with much more bulk.  Her corpulent companion was crammed into a black leotard and Chinese dress combo, with black and gold boots to complete.  The Queen’s scarlet locks had been gelled to the point that half stood up in a perfect tower of hair, and jagged blue lines had been painted across her chubby cheeks—all in the style of the legendary Bull Nakano.

Carolyn’s minivan screeched into the parking lot outside JJ’s building, and the portly pair checked themselves over in the mirror.  The blonde looked to her pudgy pal and asked, “You ready to do this, Tessie?”

“I was born ready, Care,” the redhead cockily answered. “We’ve got pumpkin lager and whiskey cookies—we are ready to rock this place!”

They most certainly were not ready to rock the place.  The music in the apartment was thumping so loud that, even with all the windows closed, the soccer moms could hear it from the street.  Theresa made the wise decision to text JJ, who arrived at the door looking even loopier than she normally did.  The brunette was dressed in cut-off overalls that left most of her rump exposed, a button up work shirt tied off underneath her chest, and a ball cap that read ‘HANDY’ on the front.  Judging by what Carolyn could see behind her, the lackadaisical girl was not the only one going for the sexy ‘fill in the blank’ look.

“Dudes, you made it!” JJ slurred as she tried in vain to wrap her arms around both chunkettes. “And you brought beer—you’re, like, the best moms ever!  Come on in!”

As their intoxicated hostess vanished into the den of debauchery, Theresa gave her bubblier, more vivacious friend a nervous glance, only to be met with an affirming pat on the shoulder.  Carolyn gave her a grin and reassured her, “Hey, it’s going to be fun.  It’ll be just like all those parties you told me about when you were on the road.  How can this be any worse than the time you went all ‘Fury Road’ while driving up to Atlantic City?”

“You know what?  You’re right,” the busty redhead decided. “I survived dangling out of a car going 90 down the Jersey Turnpike; I can survive a party with a bunch of twenty-somethings.”

“That’s the spirit!” the bulbous blonde exclaimed, bumping her chunky companion with her hip. “Now, let’s show them how soccer moms party!”

The porcine pair waddled into the apartment and scoped it out: there was an assortment of food on a folding table, a giant tub which several girls crowded around, and more drinks than a bar.  All the girls in the wrestling school were there, each one dressed as something sexy, be it a sexy witch, sexy nurse, or sexy sex worker.  The party was going strong, despite only starting a half-hour prior; they had clearly wasted no time in getting rowdy.  So impressed by the decadence were they, neither woman noticed Nina Neverland sneaking up behind them until they both felt a stinging clap on their ample backsides.

“Waddup, ladies?” asked the rebel without a cause as she sauntered between Theresa and Carolyn. “Looking good—I’m digging the retro looks.”

“What can I say?  Gotta love the classics,” replied her redheaded mentor while she rubbed the imprint Nina had left on her pale cheek. “And what are you supposed to be?”

The punk rolled her eyes and answered, “Duh.  Isn’t it totally obvious?  I’m a punk rock Tinkerbell!”

Nina gave a little twirl of her costume, and the massive matrons could just make out the resemblance if they squinted.  Her hair was still the same, but she wore dark eye shadow, lipstick, and a few extra piercings.  Fishnet sleeves ran from her fingers up to her bare shoulders, and her full breasts were just barely covered by a black rag with an anarchist’s circle-A.  Her midriff was left bare all the way down to her hips, where another black rag gave her the slightest of decency.  Another pair of fishnet stockings led down to high-heeled combat boots, and a spiky belt completed the look.

“Right, yeah, totally obvious!” Carolyn fibbed as she studied the young upstart. “Great look!”

“I know, right?” Nina replied haughtily before her eyes lit up at the box of cookies and exclaimed, “Ooh, cookies!”

Acting less her age and more her shoe size, the punk fairy greedily snatched up the whiskey cookies from the rotund blonde and popped one in her mouth.  While Nina hummed in contentment, Theresa gave her rebellious student another once-over and noted that the girl’s stomach was losing its tone, but that was not the only part that was softening up.  Her costume was undoubtedly meant to show some skin, but it seemed even more ill-fitting than intended.

In fact, a cursory glance around the room confirmed that this was no isolated incident—nearly all the girls were softer than they had been when Theresa and Carolyn first met them.  None of them were even close to the two plumpers, but there was definitely more jiggle whenever they walked or danced; even JJ looked a touch bigger, as her cutoffs actually cut into her peachy thighs.  Theresa was surprised that Rose had not said anything, considering how high maintenance the veteran wrestler could be, but she assured herself that a talk was forthcoming.  Tonight, it was all about letting go and having some fun.

“God, I could eat these all night,” Nina cooed as she shifted the box under her arm. “Oh, you’ve got to check this out.”

The bratty girl flipped her pink hair aside as she sauntered through the apartment with a swagger that belied the five or ten pounds she had put on.  She led the moms to the giant tub and gave them their first glimpse of what was in the bucket—ice, water, and bottles at the bottom.  With a smirk, she explained, “Bobbing for apples is for b**s, so we decided that we should bob for something a little more age appropriate.  Tonight, we’re bobbing for hard cider, witches, and if you get a bottle, you have to drink it.”

“Ooh, I love cider!” Carolyn exclaimed giddily.  She bounced up to the tub as the girls around it parted to give the stout woman plenty of room.

Nina glanced to Theresa and asked, “She has no idea what hard cider is, does she?”

“No,” the rotund redhead sighed, “no, she does not.”

The bountiful blonde steadied herself for the cold water as the students around her chanted her name as only wrestling fans can.  After taking one big gulp of air, Carolyn dove her head into the tub and fished around for a moment before emerging with a bottle of her own.  Cheers rang out and congratulatory pats were given as she shook the water from her hair with a dopey grin.

“That’s so cold!  I love it!” the soccer mom declared before cracking open the bottle and chugging down half before she took a pause.  She licked her plump lips and shouted in realization, “Oh my god—Tessie, this has alcohol in it!”

“Yeah, that’s why they call it ‘hard’ cider,” Theresa chuckled as she squeezed past her friend, giving her a tap on her bulbous belly on the way past. “Now, step aside and let a pro show you how it’s done.”

The Queen of Hearts clapped her hands together before taking hold of the tub and lowering her head down to the water.  Before she could take the plunge though, she noticed something impeding her—two things, really.  Her tubby tits squished against the icy cold bucket, which meant that the former champion had to readjust herself to get a good angle.  Words of encouragement were shared behind her, but she paid her students no mind; she was solely focused on ignoring how her chest was too fat for the game.

“What’s the matter, teach?  We’re waiting to see how it’s done,” Nina taunted while nibbling on another cookie.

That was all the motivation Theresa needed, and she plunged her head into the icy water while her breasts were smooshed against the bucket.  The redhead swiveled her head from side to side before coming up for air with not one but two bottles of cider to show for it.  She held them over her head like trophies as the peanut gallery erupted into applause all around her.  When she saw Nina roll her eyes like the snotty brat she was, the busty redhead could not help but show off that tiny bit more.  Both bottles were opened in a heartbeat and Theresa clinked them together before double fisting the cider down her gullet.

When she finished guzzling down the drinks, the redhead tossed the bottles behind her and clapped a hand on her massive belly.  She roared out, “Who’s ready to party?!”

If the girls were not loud enough beforehand, they somehow got even crazier after that, as they all cheered for the matron.  Theresa and Carolyn made the rounds: greeting and chatting it up with each of the students; partaking in a little of this and a snippet of that; sampling many of the goodies that had been prepared.  While some of the girls had gotten lazy and simply ordered pizza, others had gotten even more creative, with some of the dishes Halloween-themed.  Theresa was enjoying a buckeye colored to resemble an eyeball when she was approached by a petite Indian girl carrying a tray of shot glass-sized mason jars.

“What’ve we got here, Vidya?” the titillating teacher asked as she picked one up and sniffed.  There was definitely alcohol in there—whiskey, certainly—but she could not place anything else.  Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely delicious, and she did not hesitate to gulp it down.

“Pumpkin pie shots!” Vidya answered over the roar of the music. “Part Irish Cream, part amaretto, and part cinnamon schnapps—it’s a festive way of getting smashed!”

Theresa whooped in delight at that and downed another shot before Vidya vanished with the tray.  Her ears perked up when she heard a familiar tune come over the speakers—Madonna’s ‘Holiday’, a favorite of hers since she first heard it on the radio as a kid.  Throwing her flabby arms up in the air, the tubby teacher declared, “I love this song!”

Like a joyful elephant, the redhead bounded out to the middle of the room swiveled her flabby hips in a failed attempt at dancing.  She had studied Madonna’s dance moves for years, to the point that she had completely wrecked a tape of the Queen of Pop’s music videos, and while she might have been able to do them once upon a time, she was nowhere near limber or nimble enough anymore.  Her every move made her fluffy body bounce and wobble like gelatin in an earthquake, and attempting to do even a slight leap in the air resulted in a crash like an anvil.  This ungainliness did not affect her as much as it would have a few months prior, and whether it was because of her class or the drink, Theresa could not argue with the results.  For the first time in a long time, she was happy on a consistent basis.

When the song finally ended though, gravity took hold of her once more, and the rotund redhead felt like she could collapse then and there.  She waddled over to an available chair and plopped her ample ass down on the cushion, ignoring how little space there was between the arms.  Her belly puffed in and out like a bullfrog’s throat as she caught her breath, and her tits were nearly pushed up to her chin as she slouched in the armchair.  So drained was the titanic teacher that she could have fallen asleep there and then, were it not for JJ poking her in her pillowy bicep.

“Dude, those were some awesome dance moves,” the slothful girl hummed as she sat down on the arm of the chair.  She carried a plastic bag full of what looked to be gummies with her, and the brunette tossed a little bear into her mouth while she relaxed beside Theresa. “You’ve got to totally show me how to move like that, dude.”

In between gulps of air, the bloated woman grunted, “You might have to put on a few pounds before you can move like me, Jamie.  What are you munching on there?”

“Edibles, my dude,” JJ answered without a care in the world. “Want one?  They’re straight from Colorado!”

Curious about what made these more ‘edible’ than any of the other food in the room, Theresa reached into the bag and pulled out a red and white worm.  She dropped it into her mouth and slowly chewed on it while she tried to identify the flavors.  Red typically meant cherry and white meant pineapple for whatever reason, but neither flavor could be found.  Not to say it was bad at all—merely that it was different.

“Not bad,” the redhead remarked as she reached her sausage fingers into the bag for another gummy worm. “They’re pretty tasty, actually.”

“Glad you like ‘em,” JJ replied with a lazy grin. “They were a little more expensive than the usual stuff, but they’re hella tastier.  Plus, I think the buzz is so much nicer from these.”

That part made Theresa nearly gag on her fourth and fifth gummies.  She glanced up to the girl beside her and asked, “Did you just say buzz?  JJ, what’s even in these?”

“Pure, organic cannabis, straight from Boulder,” the brunette answered without a care in the world. “Why?  You don’t like it?”

The question gave the tubby teacher pause.  As a mother of two and nearly forty, she should have been responsible and told JJ off for giving her edibles without her understanding.  Yet, she could not find in her to be mad at the girl; it helped that she had a warm, fuzzy feeling flowing through her bulky body.  Instead of getting upset, Theresa giggled and snatched up one more gummy from the bag as she answered, “Oh, I love them—I’m more used to them being in brownies, that’s all.”

The remark brought a dopey laugh to JJ’s lips. “Like, if I could cook, man, I would whip up some brownies that would absolutely blow your mind.  Speaking of, you want me to grab you anything, dude?  Those munchies are probably going to kick in soon.”

“I think some pizza sounds rad right now, JJ,” the redhead mused as she rubbed her belly.  Sure enough, her stomach was growling like an angry dog, and her thoughts turned to glorious food.  She licked her chops as she thought of what she would consume over the course of a long, long night...

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((All right, WrestleManiacs, here's the latest chapter in the third-best wrestling-themed WG story of all time!  As always, let me know what you think, and enjoy!))


It had been almost eight years since Theresa had any form of marijuana, but she was sure she had never had any quite this potent before.  She thought to ask JJ how much THC could possibly be in a single gummy, considering she only had five and was already feeling a warm haze in her head.  While it would normally take a hot minute for the effects to kick in, the former wrestler’s tolerance was at an all-time low after abstaining since starting her family.  A few drinks were already giving her a good buzz, and only a few gummies were enough to get the floaty feeling going.

“Good thing I’m so big,” she murmured as her plump fingers reached down and stroked at her unitard-covered belly. “Any smaller, and I’d float away.”

Her digits sank into the pillow of flab that coated award-winning abs, and she gave her stomach a lazy wobble.  Every jiggle seemed to echo and reverberate throughout her entire body, so much so that the redhead could swear her brain was swaying with each motion.  She tittered with laughter at the thought, mumbling to herself, “God, Tessie, you are out of it.  You need some fresh air—it’s too hot in here.”

Unfortunately, her body refused to cooperate with her addled mind, and after a few pathetic attempts at shifting her bulk, she settled back into the comfy chair.  Theresa ran a hand through her crimson locks and sighed wistfully while her free hand reached down and bounced one of her bloated breasts.  They were slowly shrinking from the watermelon proportions she had at her peak, but in her foggy state, they might as well have been zeppelins.

“You two are such a pain, you know that?” the Queen of Hearts groused as she hefted her other titanic tit and clapped it against its twin. “I remember when you two were like softballs, but look at you now—I look like I’m smuggling kickballs around.  How am I supposed to make my big comeback when I’ve got prize-winning pumpkins stuck to me?”

“Oh, stop, Tessie,” Carolyn playfully chided her friend as she waddled into view.  The bulbous blonde teetered on her feet for an instant before plopping down on the loveseat beside Theresa’s armchair. “You look like a million Inter-World Heavyweight Championship belts.”

Both women burst into a giggling fit at that, knowing that neither one of them did any justice to the wrestlers they had dressed up as.  Theresa could feel her unitard riding up her backside, sinking in between her pale cheeks, and Carolyn’s bust warped the BLAYZE printed on her leotard.  Both women’s costumes clung fast to their thick, flabby bodies, leaving every roll and curve on display for the other partiers.  While the redhead’s black unitard made her look like a bowling ball with legs, her corpulent companion’s thighs oozed out of the leotard like dough being squeezed from a tube.  Even though they had lost a few pounds in their time with the class, they had a long way to go before they were anywhere close to looking like champions.

“Tess, Tess, Tesssssssssie,” Carolyn hummed while she reached out and slapped her friend’s sandbag-sized arm. “This is the best—no, second-best—wait, no…okay, this is the best party I’ve been to since Spring Break in my junior year.  Rasslers really know how to party!”

“What’d I tell you, Care-Bear?” Theresa lazily smirked as she slouched in the chair, belly rolling out over her thighs like an all-consuming blob. “The only thing that would make this even better is if we had a pool, ‘cause everything is better with a pool.”

“Dude, I could, like, totally arrange that,” JJ chimed in while staggering over with a box of pizza, which she set on Theresa’s lap. “I’m, like, super good at picking locks—we should totally have a pool party next time!”

Theresa opened up the box and waggled her fingers in glee at the sight of the pepperoni pizza inside.  No food had ever looked or smelled as good as that pizza did; in her foggy mind, it might as well have been manna from Heaven.  The redhead licked her salivating chops and pulled a slice free, biting through the string of cheese that came with it.  She had had plenty of pizza in her life, but none had ever tasted as good as this did: the sweet and spicy sauce, the rich cheese, and the greasy pepperoni all combined to make for one hell of a pizza pie.

“Oh my god,” the massive matron groaned as she stuffed half the slice in her mouth. “This is amazing.  Carolyn, you’ve got to have some.”

Her friend belched before replying, “Already got some, but thanks!”

Theresa slothfully rolled her head to the side, fresh slice dangling between her lips, and saw that Carolyn had her own pizza box to choose from.  The bloated soccer mom was double-fisting slices, foregoing the same table manners she tried to teach her kids, which left her with pizza sauce dripping onto her leotard and staining her peachy cheeks.  She always looked like half-asleep, but now, her eyes were glazed as a ham while she stuffed her mouth full of pizza.

“Damn, girl, save some for the rest of us,” Theresa chuckled, even as she ignored her own advice and stacked two slices on top of each other to make a pizza sandwich.

“Don’t even sweat it, dude,” JJ brushed off the remark with a wave of her hand.  The wave then became a series of motions as the loopy girl wiggled her hand through the air like a fish before letting it flop down onto her mentor’s flabby belly. “We’ve got, like, so much food, and you’re totally, like, the guests of honor!  Ain’t that right, dudes?”

The other girls at the party cheered and applauded for the two heifers, and Theresa wished she did not have a mouth full of pizza at that moment.  She blushed a fine pink and gave a polite wave to her students before JJ stole her attention by patting her stomach.  When she glanced over to the lackadaisical wrestler, she was met by another of JJ’s ‘special’ gummy worms, and like a fish to a worm, she ate it without thinking of the hook.  Her brunette student chuckled at that and continued to pat Theresa’s jelly belly, making it wobble about like a plate of flan.  The redhead hummed sleepily as the vibrations ran through her overfed figure, from her titanic melons to her mattress thighs.

JJ ate another gummy before explaining, “Like, half of this party is yours, dude.  You’ve been, like, a huge help for us, and all the girls totally love you.  So, for, like, the rest of the night, you don’t have to worry about lifting a finger—we’ve totally got you covered.”

“That sounds nice,” Theresa yawned before filling her cheeks with even more pizza. “You’re the best, JJ.”

The compliment made the hostess blush like a tomato, and she quickly scurried off to get more supplies for the coaches—as quickly as she could manage in her state, at least.  While JJ was gathering food and drink, Theresa shut her eyes and sank into herself, relaxing what few muscles were still tensed up.  The edibles were getting to her head, as she felt a fluffy sensation all over her body; poking and prodding her plumpest portions felt like poking an overstuffed teddy bear bursting with cotton.  It was not a bad sensation by any stretch of the imagination, and the rotund redhead could not help the giggles that escaped her lips.

Those giggles paused when she felt someone take the pizza box from her lap.  She opened her bleary eyes and spied Nina standing in front of her, empty box in one hand and a giant slice of cake in the other.  The pink-haired punk smirked and waved the cake in front of Theresa, who followed it like a dog follows treats.

“Hungry, Coach?” the upstart cooed as she waggled the slice just out of arm’s reach. “How does a nice slice of chocolate cake sound?”

Theresa hiccupped and purred, “Sounds delicious, Nina.  Thank you so—”

“Too bad,” Nina cackled as she pulled the slice of cake away.  She tossed the pizza box aside and prodded Theresa’s blubbery belly before moving on to Carolyn and doing the same thing to her. “See, the other girls might be willing to pamper you, but not me; I don’t do mollycoddling.  So, if you butterballs want some cake, you’ll just have to get your own.”

Carolyn opened her mouth to contest the fact, but all that came out was a belch, which made her turn a bright pink before bursting into dopey giggles.  Theresa, meanwhile, was neither smiling nor laughing; she could only take so much of Nina on a good day and sober mind.  The redhead shifted in her seat in yet another failed effort to stand, but settled for sitting as straight as possible.  Her flabby arms crossed under her bountiful bosom, which forced them closer to her chin than she would have liked, and she furrowed her brow in consternation.

“Maybe you ought to lay off the cake, Nevinger—you’re looking a little thick these days,” the rotund redhead remarked readily and ruefully.

The comment made Nina pause, a forkful of cake still in her mouth, which she swallowed before replying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bessie.  I’m as trim as I ever was—trimmer, even, thanks to Rose being a total gym freak.  Besides, you’ve got no place calling anyone fat; your tits probably weigh more than I do.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been fat for a long time now, Nevinger,” Theresa retorted as she relaxed her arms to her sides, allowing her tits to roll back onto the peak of her belly. “But you’ve only put on weight since I met you a couple months ago.  What’s it been—thirteen, fourteen pounds?”

“It’s only twelve pounds!” Nina squeaked as she continued to scoop large forkfuls of cake in her mouth. “I can lose it whenever I want—I just need to get back to my spin classes!”

Carolyn guffawed at that and slapped her ponderous thighs. “You and me both, sweetie—I keep swearing I’ll get back on the elliptical back home.  Guess what?  It’s been a glorified coat hanger for the last five years.”

Theresa knew that was a lie: not only had Carolyn just bought the stationary bike a few weeks ago, but she also used it religiously; she rode it in the mornings on wrestling days and in the evenings as well on days without.  All that leg work had helped to thicken the blonde’s legs and backside with a layer of muscle growing underneath the doughy pudge.  They still quivered with every step she took, but the bloated bunny no longer got as tired walking around the store or the house.  Both women had made progress to lose some flab, and they were not about to be talked down to by a know-it-all brat.

Their taunting served to egg Nina’s eating even further, and the punk wolfed down the slice of cake in no time at all.  She had the good grace to stifle a burp, but there was no controlling the hiccups that followed such speedy eating.  With a dark glare, the young woman told the soccer moms, “Oh, you think—hic—that I’m funny?  Think I’m eat—uhp—ing too much?  Well, let’s—ulp—see who’s eating too much—hulp!”

While the two chunky coaches shared nervous glances with each other, the brat of the class clapped her hands and called out over the music, “Hey, hey, hey!  This is a party for our ‘wrestle moms’, right?  Well, they’re getting pretty hungry—who wants to give them a hand?”

Like cats to a can opener, the partiers all dropped what they were doing—chatting, dancing, drinking, or any mix of the three—and grabbed some food from the table.  They all crowded around Theresa and Carolyn, and with everyone clamoring to try this or that, the moms could not make out what was being said at all.  All they knew was that they should say something, but every speck of food they saw only fueled their hunger.  Nina caught the gluttonous glint in their eyes and slinked off to raid what was left on the kitchen table.

“Serves them right,” she muttered as she ate three coconut shrimp dipped in mango sauce. “Screw them.  I’m not fat—they are!  My diet’s been going so well lately, and I’ve been working out so much, I deserve a little cheat day.  Yeah, that’s it.”

As Nina sank into the waters of Denial, Theresa and Carolyn were stuck in the precarious position of picking a dish to start with.  They reached out at random and snatched up whatever was in reach of their porky fingers—a frosted brownie in Theresa’s case and a donut sandwich in Carolyn’s.  With all eyes on them, the two mothers dug into the gooey treats, and any reticence they might have had was thrown out the window.  They found their second wind and all but crammed the desserts down their throats before reaching out for more.

“This is for showing me how to take a bump from the top rope!” Vidya explained as she offered up fully loaded nachos to her redheaded mentor.  The self-proclaimed fashionista blushed when she felt Theresa’s tongue and lips brush against her fingers, but she continued to pop the cheesy chips in the woman’s mouth until the plate was clear.

“This is for helping me with my shitty boyfriend,” Tara hummed while holding a piece of pumpkin pie out for Carolyn.  In the back of her mind, the blonde recognized it as her own recipe, which she had shared to help the petite Tara get over her scumbag lover.  As it was, she just recognized it as a damn good pie, and happily wolfed it down.

“This is for showing me that awesome chokehold last week,” Conner told Theresa as she spooned ice cream into the woman’s open, waiting mouth.  When the Queen of Hearts had first joined the class, the brawny brawler did not think much of her, but she did not have the big mouth that Nina had (and was putting to good use as she tipped a bowl of chocolate-covered peanuts to her lips).  Since September, she had been fascinated and impressed by the flabby woman, and now held her on par with their drill sergeant of an instructor.

“This is for remembering my birthday when no one else did,” Zahara mused to Carolyn as she forked up a piece of cake even bigger than the one Nina had scarfed down.  While the blonde had earned the class’s admiration through her snacks and willingness to exercise with them, her open ears and arms made her the perfect shoulder to lean on when things got to be too much.  It also helped that hugging her was like cuddling a giant pillow full of pudding, which never hurt anyone.

When it was finally JJ’s turn, she sauntered up to Theresa and offered up an éclair oozing with cream.  The normally loopy and ditzy girl seemed much more reserved, as if she was holding something back.  Finally, she leaned in and pushed the éclair into her mentor’s mouth as she murmured, “This is for helping me see it’s okay to be super-duper fat, Miss Theresa.  Thank you…sincerely.”

JJ blushed red as a pepper and sped away to eat another gummy or three to compose herself, but she need not be so anxious—Theresa was so stuffed and dazed that she could barely remember where she was, much less what anyone said to her.  All the redhead knew to do in that moment was eat, eat, and eat some more, until she could hear the elastic creak in her unitard.  It had been a tight squeeze getting it on, and all this rich, heavy food was not helping matters; it only served to bloat her belly further past her tits.  Carolyn was faring little better, as her stomach stretched out to where it mixed with the red of her costume and made it seem like she had a kickball on her lap.

Each dish was accompanied by a pat to their bellies, thighs, and in a couple instances, their chests, but the soccer moms were too out of it to do anything but grunt and groan with approval.  They could never have expected this party would end up like this, but they were in no position to complain; how could they, being waited on by their adoring students?  With little else to do, they merely opened their mouths for the next dish, and then the one after that, until the unthinkable happened an hour or two later.

“JJ!  We’re all out of food!” Vidya announced to the hostess.

“Gee, I wonder how that could have happened,” Nina snarked, despite the chocolate sauce on her lips pointing to the third contributor.

The brunette glanced over to where the guests of honor rested.  Theresa and Carolyn were on the verge of passing out, so stuffed to the gills were they, and they said little more than the occasional burp, hiccup, or groan as their fingers worked in vain to ease the bloated feeling in their stomachs.  JJ bit her lip and looked away lest she do something stupid, even by her standards.

After clearing her throat, the brunette told the party, “I think that’s, like, plenty of food for the Wrestle Moms tonight, my dudes.  I’mma order some more pizza—just, like, make sure they’re comfy, okay?”

The girls then flocked back to their teachers and insisted they dole out shoulder massages, belly rubs, and more in an attempt to make Theresa and Carolyn comfortable.  JJ got on the phone and proceeded to order plenty more pizzas while Nina hovered around her, making suggestions for extra soda and desserts.  For the teachers, they felt like they were on Cloud 9 as their eager students eased the tension in their bodies and made them feel as soft as butter.

“Best rassle party ever,” Carolyn slurred as she slumped her head back in the chair.

“You said it,” Theresa gurgled as Vidya tipped a bottle of soda to her waiting lips.

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((The Halloween celebration continues, and KC and Shinobu are in for a spooky time!  Guest-starring some very familiar WG characters, but I won't spoil who--you'll just have to read and find out.  Now sit back, hit the lights, and enjoy!))

Halloween in Little Rock found KC and Shinobu out in the streets, taking in the Indian Summer night as they went from house to house for tricks and treats.  The Osakan was quite proud of her choice in costume for the both of them, as she not only found a way to match with her friend—she had also been able to work KC’s cast into the ensemble.  When they cruised down the street in search of candy, they were not professional wrestlers, but tokusatsu superheroes on a quest to gather as many sweets as possible before the forces of evil could get their hands on them.

The companions were dressed like two of the heroes from an old (and in Shinobu’s mind, underrated) Super Sentai series—J.A.K.Q. Dengekitai.  Shinobu had opted to be the sole girl on the team, Heart Queen, which meant squeezing her blubbery body into a pink spandex suit that was stretched so tight, the costume’s skirt clung to her like a pair of shorts.  KC, on the other hand, was a combination of the team’s colorful leader, Big One, and the team’s greatest weapon—the Big Bomber.  The wide, wounded warrior was mostly contained in matching white spandex, but her injured leg had been encased in papier-mâché and painted black to resemble a cannon.  They were easily some of the most creative costumes out and about, but most houses overlooked the hard work.

“Aren’t you two a little old for trick-or-treating?” asked one woman when the two rang her doorbell.

“Aren’t you a little young for not minding your own business?” KC snipped back at the mother, who then shut the door on them.

Dejected, Shinobu turned KC around and wheeled their way back down the driveway.  This was one more house that had denied them any candy; their pillowcases had barely anything in them, despite being out for a good hour or so.  To say it was a disappointment for the Osakan was something of an understatement, as she had been looking forward to trick-or-treating for the first time in her life, only to be denied simply because she was too old for it.

KC must have sensed her friend’s disappointment, as she reached a hand up and placed it atop Shinobu’s.  The former aerialist patted her hand and told the wrestler, “Hey, Bu, it’s okay—we’ll just try our luck on another street.  I’m sure we’ll find someone who’s not a stick in the mud.”

“I do not feel like it,” Shinobu sighed.  Not even the feeling of her belly bouncing with every step could make her feel better.  She had put on a few more pounds since she had last visited KC, and that would normally boost her spirits all weekend long, but dejection was getting to her; if the sensation of her belt biting into her tummy could not help her, what could?

“Okay, how about this?” KC asked as she pulled her helmet off, allowing her obsidian locks to flow down to her shoulder and frame her cherubic face. “How about we do one of those, those…oh, what do you call ‘em?  Kimodamachine!”

Her companion cocked an eyebrow at that word-butchering and asked, “Do you mean ‘kimodameshi’?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!  The test of courage, right?  How about we have one of those?” KC eagerly suggested as she clapped her hands together.  She had seen plenty of examples of those from all the shows Shinobu had shown her in the last few months, and it seemed like the perfect activity for Halloween Night and for boosting her chubby companion’s spirits.

The petite wrestler was hesitant as she put a finger to her chin and tapped.  A kimodameshi could be very fun, but the mopey part of her mind reminded her that it was usually reserved for summer and in big groups.  At the same time, another part of her was saying it would be the perfect opportunity to get closer to KC; should the wide woman get too scared, Shinobu could gallantly roll her to safety and show how cool she could be.  Yet again, another voice popped into her head—the part that was deathly afraid of all things scary.  She could only watch horror movies through her fingers, and had hidden in fear when she had gotten her first taste of ‘spooky’ wrestlers.

One glance down at KC’s face was all Shinobu needed to make up her mind though; the earnest look in the woman’s eyes said everything.  She was just trying to pick up her friend’s spirits, and who was Shinobu to refuse that?  With multi-purpose butterflies in her stomach, the Osakan nodded and removed her helmet to better see her caring companion.

“That sounds like fun,” she hummed, even as her nerves fought to get the better of her. “Where should we do it?”

KC grinned impishly at that and chuckled, “I’ve got just the place for a test of courage—let’s get back to the car, and I’ll show you the way…”


It turned out that the place KC had in mind was an abandoned candy factory just outside of town, where the grounds were overrun with grickle-grass, a sweet and sour smell lingered in the air, and old crows squawked day and night.  According to urban legend, the factory was closed down after five kids went missing while on a tour of the facility, with some saying they had fallen into the vats and processed into chocolate, gum, taffy, and more.  The boring truth was that they had simply fallen on hard times and closed up during a recession; that did not stop the rumor mill from spinning macabre stories about the place.

After Shinobu forced her car past the security gate, the girls parked in front of the gothic factory and marveled at its imposing design.  It looked less like a land of pure imagination and more like a mad scientist’s summer getaway: broken windows all over, looming smokestacks that reached to the heavens, and grandiose doors all completed the haunting appearance.  The only thing that made it seem less eerie and more depressing were the words sprayed on the front: THERE WAS A HOME HERE.  IT’S GONE NOW.

“All right, we can probably go in through the main doors, but we might be able to muscle our way in,” KC explained as she wheeled up to the doors.  She did not need to clarify where they would get that muscle from; Shinobu had that covered.

The pink-clad powerhouse waddled up to the grand doors, thick thighs slapping against each other with every step, and cracked the knuckles in her plump sausage fingers.  With a deep breath, she reared back and slammed against the panels with all her might.  It was a move that might have broken the shoulder of anyone weaker, but between the muscle and the thick coating of pudge, Shinobu came out no worse for the wear.  If anything, the doors had it worse, as they crashed open with a boom that shook several hinges free.

“We have been muscled in,” Shinobu chuckled as she took hold of KC’s wheelchair once more.

As they entered the dark, dingy factory, their noses picked up the faint, lingering scent of candy from ages ago; bittersweet chocolate, fruity taffy, salty caramel, and so much more hung in the air like phantoms unable to move on.  It was enough to make KC’s mouth water, but not enough to stop Shinobu’s fat-slathered knees from clicking together.  She never enjoyed the kimodameshi, no matter how many times she went on one or who she went with; not even KC could chase away the fear that bubbled inside her butterball belly.

What made it all worse were the noises, as there were a surprising number for an abandoned factory.  All around her were the crows squawking and chirping in their sleep, the wind whistling through the broken windows, and the machinery creaking and groaning.  Every sound made the factory come to life in the most dreadful sense possible, and it only made her cling to KC’s wheelchair until her belly overlapped the top of the seat.  If the grounded aerialist cared, she did not say so; if anything, her head seemed to relax even more against the tummy roll, as if it were some kind of neck pillow.

“Okay, if I remember right, the head office was down near the far end of the factory floor,” KC explained as she shined a flashlight around them. “Let’s try to at least get that far, and then we’ll turn around and head back to the car.  Sound good, Shin-chan?”

“Yes, yes, very good,” Shinobu mumbled as she scanned left and right for anything that might be hiding in the shadows.  It took every ounce of willpower to not squeak in terror every time she heard a crow squawk or the massive vats settle like an old house, and her fat-caked knees slapped together as she shivered from head to toe.  When she stepped on a squeaky panel, she let out a shrill shriek and very nearly jumped out of her abundant skin.

KC snickered as she tried to turn in her wheelchair as best she could, burdened though she was by her leg and her immense hips wedging her in.  She grinned at her cowardly companion and asked, “You okay, Bu?  Need me to hold your hand?”

“Yes!” the wrestler squealed in a panic.  Her gloved hand found its way into KC’s, and she squeezed so tight that the wounded warrior nearly winced.

“Damn, Scooby-Bu, you really are scared,” the ebony woman remarked as she patted Shinobu’s hand. “Tell you what—let’s just turn around and…”

Before KC could finish her thought, her nose perked up and sniffed the air.  There were faint smells all around them, but this one felt stronger and more potent, almost as if it were freshly made.  That was impossible: the factory had been closed for decades, all the machines were shut down, and there should have been no ingredients in the entire building.  Yet she could not deny the scent of milk chocolate that graced her nose, and she found herself licking her lips.

“Shin-chan, do you smell that?” asked KC as she peered around for any signs of where the sugary aromas came from. “Smells like someone’s making candy.”

Shinobu’s eyes went wide as dinner plates and all the color flushed from her cheeks as KC used her free hand to roll them closer to the source of the scents.  Try as she might to dig her heels in, there was no stopping KC Skye when she set her mind to something, even if it led to impending doom.  What scared her was not the idea of there being candy somewhere in the facility—it was the little noises that her ears picked up as they walked through the factory.  In among all the little noises here and there were the sounds of giggling children, or what she thought were children; the laughter was weird, distorted, and just…wrong.

The two wide, wobbly wrestlers crept through the factory in search of the sweet scents that filled the air, with KC seemingly oblivious to the laughter that pursued them through the shadows.  Shinobu closed her eyes and clenched her pudgy fingers as she whispered, “Yurei wa honmonode wanai…yurei wa honmonode wanai…”

Finally, the tubby twosome reached a door labeled STORAGE 3, and the aromas were strongest there.  KC grinned devilishly as she clapped her hands and rubbed them together, just aching to get her mitts on whatever lay beyond.  It took some maneuvering to angle herself just right, but the former aerialist managed to reach the grimy doorknob and give it a turn.  Unfortunately for Shinobu, the rusty hinges squealed as the door creaked open, revealing a vast assortment of sweets, as if the factory had never closed.  Boxes of chocolates, gummies, taffy, and so much more lined the floor and walls, and it seemed to stretch on forever to the spooked fighter.

“Jackpot!” KC exclaimed as she wheeled her way into the tasty treasure trove. “Look at this, Bu—we came in here looking for ghosts, and we found tons and tons of candy!  This beats trick-or-treating any day of the week.”

“Yes, now can we please leave?” Shinobu whimpered.  Tempting as the stockade of sugary delights was, she was much more concerned with how close that laughter seemed to be. “I have a very bad feeling in my stomach.”

The wheelchair-bound wrestler rolled her eyes and replied, “I think that might just be indigestion, Bu; you did eat half a pumpkin pie before we left.”

There was no way her poor eating habits were to blame for the spooky sensations around them; it was all too real to be a trick of the mind.  Shinobu glanced frantically around her, and she squealed in fright when she saw a faint outline slink through the shadows.  Teeth chattering, the pink-clad porker grabbed her flabby friend by the shoulder and shook to get her attention. “KC!  KC, there is something in here with us!”

“Wuzzat?” the oblivious woman asked around a mouthful of chocolate.  She had ignored everything going on around her in favor of cracking open a box of candy bars that glistened in the faint light of her phone.

“I just saw something come in the door!” Shinobu shrieked as she huddled close to KC, gut jiggling as shivers ran up and down her spine. “Someone is in here with us!”

KC shrugged off the concerns and put a candy bar in the terrified woman’s hand. “Shin-chan, it’s probably just a raccoon or something.  There hasn’t been anyone in this factory for decades; the only people here are you and me.  Now, try some of this chocolate before I eat it all myself.”

The anxious brawler trembled so badly that the chocolate bar nearly fell from her fingers as she unwrapped it; when she finally ripped the gold foil from it, she crammed half of it in her mouth.  Almost immediately, she felt a wave of comfort flow over her as the cocoa worked its healing magic on her fraying nerves.  It was so good, she completely forgot about her worries and joined KC in sampling more of the ill-gotten candy, even as giggling followed them throughout the room.

It was not long before Shinobu was greedily tearing into the boxes with KC, snatching up everything she could get her mitts on, and making piles of goodies for themselves in between snacks.  They seemed less like seasoned veterans of the ring and more like sows squeezed into spandex, but neither one cared; the candy was too rich and sweet to pass up.  Soon enough, the Osakan warrior had a ring of chocolate around her puffy lips while the former aerialist’s tongue looked tie-dyed from all the fruity treats she had consumed.  Neither wrestler cared what they found; they knew it was going to be delicious, regardless of what it was.

Shinobu had become so lost in mindless decadence that she failed to see someone slip a king-size chocolate bar into her free hand.  That someone whispered to her in a croaky voice, “Here, munch this!”

Heedless of the voice and the giggling around her, the stout girl bit off half the giant bar in one bite.  A string of caramel clung to her chin as she happily munched on the hunk of chocolate, and she wolfed down the rest of the bar with equal abandon.  No sooner had she finished the candy than two peanut butter cups, both the width of a CD, were placed in her hands.

“And there, munch that!” the same voice gurgled before dissolving into giggles.

This time, Shinobu shared in the giggling, muffled though it was as she double-fisted the peanut butter cups.  They were exquisite—the perfect balance of chocolate and the creamiest, freshest peanut butter she had ever tasted in a candy.  She wanted to savor the flavors but could not stop herself as she brought the chocolates up to her greedy lips again, again, and again.  So engrossed was the entranced wrestler that she did not notice she had finished the peanut butter cups until she bit into a gummy bear the size of an action figure.  The taste of tangy lemon-lime was enough to snap her out of her haze, and the woman giggled at the sugary treat in her hand.

“Thank you for the candy, KC-chan, but let us slow it down, okay?” Shinobu suggested, only to realize that her companion had wheeled herself further into the room to raid a box of taffy.

“Did you say something, Bu?” asked the grounded aerialist, barely glancing over her shoulder at her friend.

The Osakan cocked an eyebrow and held the gummy bear for KC to see. “Didn’t you just give me this gummy bear?”

Her ebony partner shook her head and licked her lips. “Nope—if I knew they had gummy bears that big, I would be hogging them all to myself.”

That remark made the hairs stand up on Shinobu’s neck, and all her fears of ghosts and goblins lurking in the darkness came flooding back to her.  The giggling returned to her ears, much louder and closer than it had ever been, and the terrified tubster turned pale as a sheet while she slowly turned on her heels.  When she saw what had been tailing her and KC, her mouth fell open as if to scream, but not a sound came up.  Standing behind her were five globs of dough in a crude humanoid shape, with lumpy feet slopping across the floor and goopy hands holding oodles of candy.  They gawked at Shinobu with cold, empty eyes and toothless grins as they offered up the sweets to the frightened fighter.

“We’re the Munchies,” they chantingly gurgled as they closed in on Shinobu, “and we’re here to make you nice and fat!”

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((Back with a new chapter!  Time to see how KC and Shinobu handle a visit from the Munchies---will they make it through Halloween with their waistlines intact, or are they doomed to a few dozen more pounds?  You'll have to read to find out!  As always, enjoy!))

Shinobu’s chubby cheeks blanched as she took in the ghastly sight in front of her.  The Munchies, as the creatures called themselves were hideous and looked like they had been plucked from a scary movie.  She recoiled when one took a step towards her, gloppy mitts offering up a bundle of chocolate bars and caramel sauce drooling from its lips.  When she feared that something was following KC and she through the factory, the wobbly wrestler could never have imagined something quite so grotesque.  How she wished it was a psycho with a knife; at least then, she would understand what she was up against.

“Shin-chan, what’s going on?” KC asked as she turned her chair around and wheeled closer.  When she saw the Munchies, her eyes went wide and her hands clapped over her as Shinobu had expected.  What the butterball had not expected was the squeal of glee from her Amazonian companion. “Oh my god, look at them!  They’re so cute!”

The imps tittered with laughter at her reaction and chanted, “Thank you, KC—you’re so sweet.  We think you deserve a treat!”

One of the Munchies tossed a bag of caramel creams to the wounded warrior, who snatched it out of the air and greedily tore in without abandon.  Her eyes rolled back and a lusty groan escaped her lips as she crammed the sticky sweets in her cheeks. “Buuu…you’ve got to try these.”

“KC, don’t eat that!” Shinobu cried out to her friend, but her plea went unheeded as her friend wolfed down the caramels as fast as she could.  She wanted to race over to grab the bag away, but before she could shift her pudgy legs, a chocolate bar was placed in her hand.

“Come now, Shinobu—it’s okay,” a Munchy grinned toothlessly as it patted her gloved hand. “We just want to make your day.  Trick or Treats was a disappointment, but a little sugar should be the ointment!”

The Osakan wondered what the little ghoul meant, but any question she had was lost when she crammed the candy bar in her mouth.  Her worries melted away as she tasted cookies and cream, all coated in a fine layer of dark chocolate, and she gobbled up the sweet before she knew it.  Thankfully, the Munchies were quick to provide her with another, then another after that, and yet another after that.  This went on and on, bar after bar, until a small pile of wrappers littered Shinobu’s heels, though she paid them little mind as she mindlessly ate her way through a box of candy bars.

Finally, the train of chocolate stopped, and the pink-clad porker found herself taking a bite of air before she realized she had run out of candy.  As her senses returned to her, Shinobu put a hand to her belly and found there was much more to it than before she entered the factory.  Her stomach was big, easily the biggest part of her body, but her costume had fit it comfortably earlier that night.  Now, it was overlapping the belt wrapped around her meaty waist, and her love handles oozed over the sides to create a fluffy muffin top.  Likewise, the strap that ran from her shoulder to her hip was pushed out by her swelling tits and gut, and she readjusted it even as the Munchies approached with more goodies.

“Don’t stop now—have some more!  All fresh from the factory floor,” the generous ghoulies told Shinobu as they held out licorice sticks for the porker.

She stifled a belly-jiggling belch before replying, “No more, please.  I think I have had enough candy for tonight.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” one of the Munchies clicked its nougat tongue in disappointment.  It reached out a goopy hand, pinched one of her belly rolls and asked, “Don’t you want to get nice and fat?”

Shinobu squeaked in surprise and smacked the hand away. “Y-Yes, but not this fast!  If I eat all this candy, I am going to be a whale!”

“That’s the idea, can’t you see?  Why not accept it, like your friend, KC?” the doughy demons giggled as they pointed to the wheelchair-bound wrestler.

The bulbous brawler glanced in her friend’s direction and found her gobbling up candy like a whale scarfs down krill.  It was hard to gauge how much KC had gained since tearing into the sweets, given that she was sitting down, but Shinobu could tell that her friend was wider than when she rolled into the room.  Her booty was seat-filling beforehand, and a good inch or three of flab hung over the side of the chair.  The aerialist’s tummy had been blossoming for the last few months, but now that it was full of candy, it would have reached the middle of her thighs, were it not for the belt that held it back.

After dumping half a bag of gummy bears in her mouth, KC hummed in blissful contentment and told her chunky companion, “Oh man, Shinobu, this is the best!  These Munchies really know how to treat a lady!”

“Think nothing of it—it’s our pleasure!” replied one of the imps as it handed the grounded acrobat a box of taffy. “Helping others is the greatest treasure!”

“And they’re so adorable too!” KC fawned in between bites. “Shin-chan, have you ever seen anything so cute as these little guys?”

Shinobu took another look at the Munchies at KC’s question, and found them to be nowhere near as horrifying as she first thought.  They seemed so menacing before, but how could anything with such big eyes and a dopey grin be terrifying?  Accepting that they were not little ghouls, the wrestler relaxed and accepted a bundle of licorice sticks from one of the critters.  As she tore off chunks of the ropes, she giggled and reflected on how silly it was for her to be afraid.  This was the best night ever!

“Have some more, Shinobu,” hummed one of the Munchies as it handed the girl a bucket of caramel popcorn. “Let us know what else we can do!”

The wrestler had to think about what sugary sweet she wanted next; having so many options available to her left her extraordinarily conflicted.  Eventually, she shrugged and asked, “Could I get one of everything?”

The Munchies giggled at the request and chanted, “One of everything, we can do—but for such a big girl, why not two?”

They had a good point; it was so hard to be satisfied these days.  Even if there were tons of candies in this place, one of each did not sound like much.  Shinobu nodded and gulped down a handful of sticky caramel corn before saying, “Two…two of everything might be good.  That should satisfy me, yes.”

“Two is good, but since it’s free, why not go and make it three?” the imps suggested.

Awash with good feeling, Shinobu nodded dumbly and licked her lips.  Three was still a very small number; she could easily handle three of everything in the room.  Before she could answer though, her stomach spoke up and growled like a voracious wolf.  She blushed as pink as her costume and patted her tender belly as she told the Munchies, “Maybe just keep bringing me things until I say to stop.”

“That’s the spirit!  You’ve got to think big—how else are you going to get fat as a pig?” the gremlins tittered as they brought treats to the wrestler, who accepted them with open arms.

After that, Shinobu and KC lost all track of time as they ate, ate, and ate some more, gobbling up whatever the Munchies put in their hands next.  That was perhaps the most insidious part of the whole affair: not a single piece of candy was fed to the wrestlers; everything they lapped up was their own decision.  All the Munchies did was enable the two with sweet after sweet, goody after goody, and watch as their generosity bore fruit, and they watched eagerly as the girls ate themselves out of their costumes.

“Before too long, that belt will be done,” they murmured excitedly as they heard telltale creaks and groans coming from Shinobu’s belt. “Give it five, four, three, two, one—”

With a thunderous crack, the thick belt around Shinobu’s middle split down the side and fell to the floor amidst a pile of wrappers.  Realizing the pressure at her waist was gone, the Osakan snapped out of her haze and glanced down to see that her belly was bloated to enormity—so much so that she could no longer see her feet.  She used her free hand to poke at the wobbling mass, refusing to believe that such a blobby belly could be hers.  The shock was not enough for her to put down the candy bar in her other hand, even as she felt behind her and realized that her booty had gotten twice as thick and gelatinous as before.

“Thar she blows!” the Munchies cheered. “Now the hog can’t see her toes!”

“Hog?” Shinobu murmured in between bites of chocolate. “That is not very nice.”

“Who are we kidding?  We’re done pretending—hope you don’t mind if we spoil the ending,” the little gremlins taunted as four of them circled around the blobby brawler.  They took turns poking, prodding, and slapping her newfound flab, and all the dazed and bloated Shinobu could do was swat at them ineffectively.  Each time she took a swipe, the Munchies ducked out of the way and slipped candy into her hands, which she inevitably gobbled up despite herself.

Meanwhile, the other Munchie waddled over to KC, and Shinobu saw just how big her friend had gotten while they had been chowing down.  The doughy demon snapped off the handles on the woman’s wheelchair, allowing her hips to spill out and graze the wheels.  Her belly had broken through her belt the same time as Shinobu, and now her gut rested midway down her thighs, enough to touch the cast on her injured leg.  If KC was concerned about how much weight she was putting on, she did not show it; she looked happy as a pig in mud.

A slap to her belly snapped Shinobu back to attention, and she looked down to see the Munchies joining hands around.  She whimpered nervously as they danced around her, their gooey feet slapping on the ground with each step, and they sang in tinny, gurgling voices.  The terrified wrestler could only eat more and more candy as she realized how trapped she was by the imps and her weight.

Shinobu and KC, two girls as plump as can be, wandered into our factory.

They came in looking for a fright, to help make up for a shitty night.

We saw those pigs and thought, ‘Let’s make their clothes nice and taut!’

So, we made you somethings sweet, to help you lose sight of your feet.

We gave you candy by the ton to make you both big tons of fun!

You had such a cute, fluffy tummy, so we filled you up with something yummy.

KC had such tubby thighs, but they could be bigger in our eyes.

You both are pigs, that much is true, but you still have so much eating to do.

This isn’t the end—it’s not enough!  We want to make you a ball of fluff!

If you think you’re big right now, just wait—you’ll be enormous, and how!”

KC remained blissfully ignorant of the danger the two found themselves in, and even clapped along with the unnerving song.  She laughed heartily at the Munchies, even as the one at her chair pushed her down the row of crates into the heart of the factory. “Oh, you Munchies are a riot,” the Amazon tittered as she was rolled away. “What’s next?  Ooh, do you have anything with marshmallow?”

“We have marshmallow, don’t you worry,” her corpulent caretaker chortled as it led her deeper into the candy horde. “We’re going to fill your tummy in a hurry!”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” KC replied with a grin before turning as best she could and waving to Shinobu. “See you in a bit, Shin-chan!  Mama’s going to get herself some marshmallows!”

The Munchies around Shinobu smirked devilishly as they chanted, “Marshmallows, she shall get by the ton—and if she’s not careful, she’ll turn into one!”

“Turn into one?” Shinobu murmured fearfully as she watched KC disappear into the darkness.

As the Munchies giggled with malicious mirth, the Osakan gritted her teeth and threw her candy bar to the floor.  She was not going to allow herself to be pushed around by these little blobs of dough, especially when her closest friend in the world was being wheeled off to God knows where.  Mustering all the courage she had in her body, Shinobu forced her way past the globs of goop around her and ran as fast as she could down the row of candy.  No longer would she be distracted by sweets; she was a woman on a mission, and Heaven help anyone that would stand in her way.

Unfortunately, all the determination in the world could not hide the fact that her body was bloated beyond belief.  Every step elicited a standing ovation as her flabby thighs clapped against each other, and her bulbous backside thrashed around enough to raised the skirt of her costume onto the shelf of her ass.  Her gut thrashed violently, like a punk in a mosh pit, and it slapped against her thighs as she ran herself ragged in the pursuit of KC.  Even her tits, the smallest part of her, proved to be a problem, as they wobbled like water balloons and bounced off the mountain of her gut.

“I’m coming, KC—I’m coming!” the wrestler called out, her voice going ragged as she ran out of breath.

“So’s Christmas, lardo—what’s the rush?  You know your muscles are nothing but mush,” the Munchies mocked as they followed Shinobu.

“Not listening to you,” the pint-sized brawler grunted as she forced her weary body onward. “I am not giving up on KC!”

Sadly, it was all for naught, as Shinobu ran out of gas not two minutes later and had to prop herself against a box to catch her breath.  Glancing at the contents proved to be her undoing, for there inside were her favorite goodies to pick up on road trips—snowballs, tiny little cakes with frosting inside and coconut on top.  The potbellied pig could not help herself around them even at the best of times, and had been known to gorge on them when she needed comfort food.  This proved to be one such occasion, as the porker broke into the crate and ravaged the packages inside like a hungry boar.

“That’s the spirit!  Go home or go big!  Eat like you’re nothing but a pig!” the Munchies cheered as Shinobu stuffed cake after cake in her mouth.  They slapped her across her fattening ass, but she was so engrossed with eating that it barely elicited a grunt from the wrestler.  That was when they knew they had her right where they wanted her.

Still, despite the predicament she found herself in, Shinobu could think only of KC.  Even as her belly rolled down past her knees and her booty grew too big for her to stay upright, she thought of KC and what sort of hell the Munchies must be putting her through.  She promised herself that after the next cake, she would get back up and pursue her again, but there was always another cake and another cake after that.  There was no end in sight to the gluttony, even as her belly grew to her feet.



“Aw, how cute,” Agatha chuckled after helping Shinobu to the guest room bed. “She’s snorting in her sleep like a piglet.”

“Well, she’s probably feeling like a stuck pig after gorging herself on candy,” KC smirked as she held up Shinobu’s empty pillowcase. “Would you believe this was full when we got back here?  I don’t want to say we won at trick-or-treating, but we kicked ass at it!”

Agatha grinned as she remembered how nervous and excited Shinobu had been earlier in the evening, just as the girls had been leaving.  She was concerned that the Osakan would have a bad time of it, being an adult playing at being a kid, but KC and Shinobu had come home with pillowcases overflowing with candy.  Just like an overeager kid, the pint-sized porker had glutted herself on sweets as soon as she could, and while they watched cheesy horror movies, she managed to finish her entire stash.  This left her with a bloated, sickly stomach and a hard crash, hence why she had to be helped up to her room.

“She reminds me of you when I used to take you trick-or-treating,” Agatha joked with her cousin as she plopped her bottom down on the couch. “How many times did I help you with a candy stomachache?”

“More times than I care to remember,” KC chuckled as she resumed the movie they were watching earlier—The Munchies.

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((To help make up for a run of the mill Clash of Champions, I've returned with another stellar chapter for your enjoyment!  We're turning our attention to Maxine in her continued struggle to lose weight and a new player enters the picture.  Let me know what you think!))


Halloween in the heart of the big city was a far cry from the fun and antics of suburbia, especially when the spookiest day of the year fell on a weekend.  It was a night of drunken festivities, rowdy revelry, and merry mayhem that only a healthy dose of spirits could induce.  Philadelphia was no exception, as costumed citizens of the Athens of America filled the streets in search of a good time.  Some turned to ghost tours, some turned to bars, and some turned to haunted bar tours, but the city was buzzing with festive fiends wanting to make the most of their holiday.

The Youngblood roster were among those out and about, with the thirsty wrestlers looking for the best place to unwind after a lackluster show.  It was never fun to wrestle on a holiday, especially one specifically tied to evening festivities, and it showed in the mediocre matches that filled the two hours.  The only match of any exception came from Maxine Kuhn, who, in the pursuit of legitimizing herself to the hardcore crowd, had taken a scalpel to the forehead during a bloody, no-holds-barred match against Rea Rider.  By the time she staggered away from the ring, the crowd was on their feet and the mat was stained crimson, a symbol of how much the two women hated each other.

“Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, oh my gawd, I am so sorry!” Rea cried as she wrapped her arms around her massive opponent the instant they were backstage.

Maxine sighed and patted the other woman on the head as she assured the redhead, “Rea, honestly, I’m fine—but if you hug me any tight, you’re probably going to make me start bleeding all over again.”

“Sorry,” Rea apologized once again, sniffling as she stepped away from Maxine.

The giantess wondered how a crybaby like Rea Rider had ever gotten into hardcore wrestling in the first place.  When they were out in the ring, the redhead was as violent as a slasher villain, but when they stepped backstage, she turned on the waterworks and would not stop apologizing.  It was such an odd juxtaposition between her persona and her physique, as Rea was built like an Olympian—decent height (though nowhere near as tall as Maxine), firm body, and a healthy four-pack abdomen.  She looked like she could thoroughly wreck anyone she came across, but the fact was that she cried at the drop of a hat outside the locker room.

When the show came to a close and everyone had changed to street clothes, the Youngbloods went their separate ways for the night; some went home, some went to grab a bite to eat, and some went to get drink or five.  Maxine fell into the latter category, needing a good beer to come down from her bloodbath of a match.  Before she could leave, however, Tiger Lily ran up to her in the parking lot.

“Maxine!  Maxine, wait up!” the Indigenous wrestler called out to her friend and mentor.

The giantess turned in the direction of the neophyte and smirked as Tiger Lily raced her way.  She had told that girl time and again that she did not have the body for sprinting, but the girl never listened.  Instead, she ran over with her belly bouncing free from her t-shirt and her breasts threatening to do the same if she was not careful.  By the time she reached Maxine, the tanned girl bent over while she caught her breath.

“What’s up, princess?” Maxine chuckled as she tossed her bag in her car. “Must be pretty important—you looked like you were trying to give Usain Bolt a run for his money.”

“Puh…puh…party,” Tiger Lily huffed in between deep swallows of air, which made her belly swell like a bullfrog’s throat. “There’s…party…we get...got invited!”

That piqued Maxine’s interest.  Since she had joined the promotion back in September, she had worked to earn the respect of her peers, which was no easy feat; after what happened with KC Skye in July, few wanted anything to do with her.  People warmed to her when she showed that she was willing to put in the work and improve, and that admiration grew even more when they saw how she carried herself in the locker room.  Still, this would be a first for the brunette brawler—it would be the first time anyone besides Tiger Lily would hang out with her after a show.

“Where’s it at?” Maxine asked, crossing her arms under her bulbous breasts.

“It’s this awesome new club in town—Freebirds,” the stocky woman answered after catching her breath. “The place has great food, great music, and the best selection of drinks around.  And the best part is that Iris’s dad owns the place, so we’re getting in for free!”

“Iris, as in Iris Blaze?  That’s…surprising,” the ample Amazon remarked as she stroked her chin. 

Iris Blaze was one of the Poison Sisters, a notorious group of divas that acted like they were still the top clique in high school and strutted around like they owned the locker room.  Maxine had stood up to them ever since she first joined the promotion, unwilling to be pushed around by a bunch of skinny minis who thought the world revolved around them.  It seemed that they finally learned their lesson, as the Poisons had kept their distance from the brawler and cut back on picking on the other wrestlers.  But to think that they would include Maxine and Tiger Lily for a party?  That was more surprising than if Sadie were to come crawling back to her gargantuan ex.

“Right?  But we’re on the list, so I say we head on over,” Tiger Lily suggested to her mentor.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Maxine replied with a shake of her head. “I mean, I’m feeling kinda tired—plus, I did get stabbed in the head tonight.  I’ll just see you tomorrow at the gym, okay?”

Before the massive woman could get in her car, however, her protégé stepped in her way and slammed the door shut.  The Shawnee girl looked up at her with pleading eyes, the same a child might use when they want to get a treat from the grocery store.  She clapped her hands together and all but fell to her knees in front of Maxine.

“Maxine, please!  This is the first time we’ve gotten this chance, and we’ve just got to show up!  Who knows the next time we get an opportunity like this?  Pleeeeease,” Tiger Lily begged.

With a hearty sigh, Maxine put a hand on the younger wrestler’s shoulder and told her, “All right, fine, I’ll go with you if it means this much.  Just don’t expect me to do much socializing; I don’t think the rest of the locker room will want me there…”


“There she is—the Ass-Kicker herself, Maxine Kuhn!”

A raucous cheer went up from the Youngblood wrestlers as Maxine and Tiger Lily walked into Freebirds, which all but floored the brawler.  She had expected to walk in and slip away in the crowd, but as soon as she entered the club proper, it was like a spotlight had been placed on her.  The DJ had announced her arrival to the entire club, and the other wrestlers in attendance whooped and hollered as she stood frozen in place.  With a little tugging from Tiger Lily, the ample Amazon snapped back to attention and stumbled towards the rest of the party.  There was no chance of running away at this point; she could only grin and bear it.

“Glad you girls could make it!”

“Come on, take a seat—you must be exhausted after that match earlier.”

“You ever had Witch’s Brew?  Dude, you’ve got to try this stuff—it’s amazing!”

The swarm of well-wishers and greeters floored the bulbous behemoth; it was the exact opposite reaction she had expected.  She knew that the others were warming up to her, but she had not expected to be treated like the life of the party.  It was refreshing, especially after a rough few weeks when she first joined, but Maxine was now having the exact opposite problem—there was too much going on for her.  An itch ran up her spine as her nerves began to fray and she scanned the room for an out.  Finally, her eyes settled on an empty spot at the bar, the perfect place for her.

“Hey, you know what sounds good right now?  Shots!  I’m heading to the bar to place an order for everyone—on me!” Maxine declared, which earned her many more appreciative pats and cheers as she extricated herself from the crowd.  When she reached the bar, she quickly waved over the bartender and offered up her card. “Let me get a couple dozen whiskey shots for the tables that-a-way.”

The bartender nodded and quickly got to work pouring out the drinks, which gave Maxine a chance to catch her breath and take a seat.  She put her hand in her chin as she wondered why she even bothered coming in the first place; Tiger Lily could put on some great puppy eyes, but the panic bubbling in her belly was not worth it.  Her teeth ground together and her fist clenched while she fought back the anxiety flowing through her, but thankfully, she found a suitable distraction.

“Maxine!” Rea Rider called out as she walked over to the bar. “Hey girl, we were wondering where you went off to.  You feeling okay?”

The bulky brawler slapped on a tired grin and answered, “Yeah, of course—I’m just waiting for the drinks.  I’ll be over in a bit, don’t worry.”

The redhead pursed her lips and bounced on her heels before replying, “You’re not a great liar, you know that?”

Taken aback, Maxine fumbled, “I’m…seriously, Rea, I’m doing fine.”

“The fact that you’re clenching your fist so hard that you’re about to draw blood says otherwise.”

Looking down at her fist and realizing that was true, the Amazon sighed and released her fist. “Sorry—I’m just not great with crowds right now.”

“Hey, I get it,” Rea retorted as she walked closer and nodded to the empty seat beside Maxine. “Mind if I join you for a bit?  I need a little breather myself.”

The bulbous brunette nodded, and her opponent mere hours ago gingerly slid in.  They sat in silence for a moment or two, with Rea drumming her fingers on the bar and Maxine drawing circles on a drink menu.  It was not as though they had nothing to talk about; there was a whirlwind of thoughts running through their heads.  The problem was mustering up the courage to actually bring it up.

Finally, the redhead broke the ice and asked, “So, how are you finding Philly?”

“It’s…nice,” Maxine mumbled before tossing the drink menu over her shoulder. “Actually, screw it—Rea, I need to talk before I pull my hair out and scream.”

That took the woman by surprise.  In the short time she had known Maxine Kuhn, she had never seen her without a confident swagger, but here she was, looking utterly exhausted and panicked at the same time.  Rea quickly nodded and told her companion, “Of course!  Talk to me; I’m all ears.”

The bulbous woman took a deep breath and began, “Okay, so…whatever I come off as in the locker room is all for show.  I’m trying to get better, but I was an absolute mess before I was sent out here; just look at my last few matches before the botch.  Everything I do is about improving myself and making sure I don’t slip again, and I’m scared to death that I’ll make a mistake and it will all be over for me.  And when I see everyone on the card hanging out, having a good time, all I can think is how not to disappoint them or make a huge ass of myself.”

Maxine paused, her chest bulging as she took steadying breaths to offset the nerves that were fraying like a rope. “I was brought up way too soon, but they wanted a giant woman, so they got a giant woman.  But because I was some dumb, stupid rookie, I let it all go to my head and fell in with someone that couldn’t give less of a fuck about me if they tried.  I allowed myself to become whatever they wanted me to be, and, well…this is it.  You’re looking at the end product of a two-year relationship.”

Her hands fell on her gut and she glared at the lump of fat that oozed out onto her lap.  While it was slightly smaller than it had been and definitely firmer, it might as well have been the size of a hot air balloon.  Maxine slapped the protruding pile of pudge and sank her fingers in as though she could choke the life out of it.  If hate and loathing could melt the pounds away, the Amazon would have looked like Twiggy by now.

“My ex wanted a fat, submissive plaything, so that’s what I let myself become,” Maxine growled as she turned to Rea, who was shell-shocked by the admission. “I used to look like you, y’know—I was never shredded, but I had definition and tone.  Now, I need a dictionary to find any definition on my fat ass, and you might as well call me ‘Copier’, because I need tone something fierce.”

With a grunt, the Amazon turned in her seat and tugged her shirt up over the swell of her gut, exposing the tanned glob to her opponent.  Maxine grabbed a handful and gave it a violent shake before looking to Rea and telling her, “Look at this!  Really get a feel—that’s what giving up feels like.”

“O-O-Okay,” the redhead mumbled while she gingerly reached a hand out and brushed against Maxine’s pudge.

“No, no, no,” the brunette groused as she took Rea by the wrist and planted her hand right on top of her belly. “Get yourself a good handful, and tell me you think that this is worth all the pain that bitch put me through.”

Rea was now as red as the mat after her and Maxine’s match that night, but she squeezed the flab as instructed.  Contrary to what its owner might claim, it did not feel like despair or helplessness—quite the opposite, really.  When she gripped it, the woman was reminded of a doll she had as a child: it was a floppy thing that was filled with some sort of gel; it was supposed to help with her anxiety and stress.  Squeezing Maxine’s flab reminded her of that, and she imagined holding onto the bulbous woman after a long day.

“Yeah, that’s…that’s pretty crazy,” the redhead murmured as she pulled her hand away, lest she hold on any longer. “How did it happen?”

Maxine sighed as she pulled her shirt back down, though a strip of flab was still left on display, much to Rea’s pleasure. “She was damn good at making me want it.  If I ate enough food, she would, well…she’d fuck my brains out.  When I let her film me doing stuff like ripping clothes or breaking cheap furniture, she’d make me come so hard, I’d sleep like a log.  She’s the worst kind of person, but damned if she wasn’t good at rewarding me for a job well done—the cunt.”

Rea fidgeted in her seat as she pondered everything Maxine told her, especially the parts about getting fucked senseless.  It all sounded completely insane, like something out of a tacky erotica, but something about it made her squirm like nothing else had in a long while.  It felt so vivid to her: the fat, the bursting clothes, and the food; everything Maxine told her danced around in her head like mischievous little pixies.

“That…yeah, that sounds awful,” the redhead murmured as her eyes fell to her own waistline.  She was so close to getting that vaunted six-pack, but now, all she could imagine was having a potbelly that filled her lap and an ass that needed two barstools to sit properly.  It was a fantasy that made Rea’s mouth dry, and she licked her lips without even realizing it.

Maxine was not entirely oblivious to her companion’s plight.  She raised her eyebrows in concern and asked, “You okay?  I know I hit you with a chair earlier, but I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

“Wha?” Rea asked dazedly before shaking her head to clear out the thoughts. “I was just…thinking.”

“About how crazy that all was?  Well, sorry for unloading on you like that,” the brunette chuckled as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy you a drink as a thanks for listening?”

Rea nibbled on her bottom lip before replying, “Maybe you could buy me dinner instead?”

The question made Maxine pause, and she finally noticed the state of her opponent—the look in her eyes and the way she fidgeted in her seat.  It was a state Sadie had often left her in, usually after stroking up her thighs underneath the table as she ate to the point of bursting.  The Amazon felt her breath catch in her throat when she realized that Rea was not perturbed by what she had told her.

“Are…are you sure?” asked Maxine as her heart hammered like a drum solo.

Rea nodded eagerly as she wriggled her toned bottom on the barstool. “I have no idea what it is, but I really want to know what could make a woman like you and me get so fat.  I…I want you to show me, Maxine—show me how it happened to you.”

Without thinking, Maxine replied, “All right…but you’d better have a good appetite…”

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((Hey everyone, sorry about the delay with this latest chapter.  It's been a rough couple of weeks, but I'm back to finish Maxine's episode in the Halloween Arc.  I am back on track though, and will resume the weekly schedule.  With all that, I hope you all enjoy the new chapter!))


Maxine had no idea what she was doing; it was as though her body was on autopilot, and her brain was along for the ride.  One minute, she was locking lips with Rea Rider at the bar, and then, they were off to pick up a pizza, soda, and desserts.  The ride back to her apartment went by quicker than she thought, what with the anticipation bubbling in her bulbous chest and the constant kisses with her companion.  Were it not for the late dinner they were carrying, the two women would have been all over each other up to the apartment door.  Thankfully, they were able to make it inside before they overheated and dropped everything they were holding.

Why was she so into this?  Maybe it was Maxine was lonely and looking for some company.  Maybe she needed something to bounce back from the heartache she still felt whenever she thought of Sadie.  Maybe, and this was the thought that stuck with her the most, she wanted to feel powerful again.  When she had been with Sadie, the bruiser lost all sense of identity; she had allowed herself to become weak, flabby, and soft in every definition of the word.  The last two months had seen her working to gain that aspect of herself, and maybe, just maybe, dig up some of that courage she had in her prime.

When the giantess let go of Rea, she looked down into the powerhouse’s emerald eyes and found them sparkling with desire and hunger.  Had she looked like that whenever Sadie pleasured her?  If so, she was beginning to understand what drove that harpy.

“That’s a hell of a look you’ve got, Rider,” Maxine growled playfully as she rested her hands on Rea’s thick, firm hips.

“What can I say?” the redhead puffed as she caught her breath. “You’re pretty good at this.”

The Amazon chuckled, which made her belly bounce like a bowlful of jelly.  She licked her lips and told her companion, “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet; we haven’t even gotten to the best part of the evening, after all.”

Rea glanced over her shoulder at the extra-large pizza that sat on the counter, the two liter bottle of soda that sat beside it, and the molten chocolate cakes on the other side.  It was enough food for three or four people, but it was all for her; the thought of all that going into her tummy made her head swim.  Doubt nagged at the back of her mind, and she feared that she could not keep up with the pace of her partner, but she still felt that hunger clawing at her all the same.

“I…I don’t know,” the ultraviolent crybaby murmured, glancing away from Maxine as her nerves took hold.

Fortunately, her Amazonian companion was not about to let her drift away.  She gently took hold of her chin and turned her head until they were eye to eye once more.  When Rea saw the warm, commanding look in Maxine’s eyes, she felt her heart skip a beat.  It was the same look she had when she was in the ring—a look that said, “I’ve got this.”

“A little too fast for you, princess?” asked the brunette brawler.  When Rea meekly nodded in answer, she grinned and told her, “Don’t you worry about a thing—I’ll take it from here.  Why don’t you go sit that cute butt of yours down while I get things ready?”

Rea steadied herself by putting a hand on Maxine’s massive stomach, but she nodded again and shuffled off to the couch.  Her playmate shook her head and smirked, seeing so much of herself in the redhead; the only difference was that she was not about to take advantage of those nerves like her ex had done to her.  No, Maxine was going to do this right—she would show Sadie how a lover was supposed to be.

The bulbous bruiser sauntered into the kitchen, a confident swagger in her thick hips as they swished back and forth, and she gathered up the take-out.  A playful hum escaped her lips while she made her way out to her living room, gut bouncing in time with her steps.  When she saw Rea sitting ramrod straight on the couch, fingers squeezing her knees, Maxine could not help but chuckle.

“Sorry, sorry,” the hardcore wrestler murmured as she tried in vain to relax her posture. “I’m just…it’s been a while for me, and I’ve never done anything like this before, and—”

“Rea, baby, hush,” Maxine cooed as she set the pizza and soda down on the table before them.  She towered over the redhead, which only served to fluster the anxious Rea further. “I’d love to feed you all this yummy, yummy pizza, but I can’t very well do that if your tummy is all full of butterflies.  Lie down for me, sweetie.”

Rea nodded slowly and shifted around until she was flat on her back, head propped up by a pillow.  Maxine then knelt down beside her and gently pulled her shirt up, exposing her companion’s toned, firm stomach.  The tanned titan licked her lips at the impressive display of muscle, and she traced a finger in the contours of Rea’s abs.

“Let’s see,” she hummed as she drew a lazy path, “I count one, two, three, four abs.  Not bad, Rea, not bad at all…but you don’t really want those, do you?”

“I…don’t?” the wrestler mumbled, shivering at the touch of her gentle partner.

Maxine shook her head and answered, “No.  Think about it: abs are firm, hard, and unmoving; you can’t squeeze them or play with them, at least not as much as blubber.”

Before the redhead could reply, she squeaked as her companion pinched the little softness just above her hips.  While Maxine rolled it in her fingertips, she purred, “Now, a good belly or even some love handles…those are the best.  They let you hold tight to your lover as you have your way with them, and that’s just the start of it.”

Rea had no idea what had come over either of them, but she was not about to complain; if anything, she wondered why neither of them had done this sooner.  Though she would never admit it, the wrestler had been fascinated with curves, and while she often wondered what she would look like if she let herself go, she could never bring herself to do so.  She would look out into the audience and see fans of all shapes and sizes, but she never dared to follow through on her desire to put on even a few extra pounds.  Even if it was only for tonight, Maxine was going to indulge her base desires, and Rea trembled at the possibilities.

“Open wide,” the brunette told the awestruck woman as she dangled a piece of pizza in front of her.

Without a second thought, Rea opened her mouth and allowed Maxine to slide half the slice in before she bit it off.  Her diet would not allow her to indulge in pizza except for cheat days, but she had never had pizza quite as good as this.  The flavors washed over her tongue like a wave; between that and Maxine’s gentle fingers at her waist, Rea could not help but groan as pleasure bubbled up inside her.

“Good, right?” the giantess purrs as she continued to feed the slice to her eager partner. “Food tastes even better when pleasure’s involved.  I should know—you don’t get a fat ass like mine without eating right.”

After Rea wolfed down her current slice, Maxine opened the massive bottle of soda and tilted it to her lips.  The redhead gingerly sipped from the bottle, not wanting to come off as greedy despite how much she absolutely wanted to guzzle down the sugary concoction.  Once she had gotten a good drink, Maxine pulled the soda away, popping the bottle out from Rea’s lips.  She brought a finger down, wiped up a stray drop from her demure partner’s cheek, and licked it from her fingertip.

“Mmm…that’s good,” the bulbous brunette hummed as she picked up another slice and slid it into Rea’s mouth. “You know, I’m really not supposed to have soda right now—all that sugar and carbonation isn’t good for my diet.”

“You’re on a d-d-diet?” Rea mumbled around a mouthful of sauce and cheese.

Maxine nodded before feeding the redhead the rest of the slice and rising to her feet.  She ripped her jacket off and tossed it away, and then proceeded to do the same with her shirt.  The sight of the abundance of flab made Rea turn as red as a tomato, and she bit her lip when she saw Maxine’s gut bounce free from her top.  That belly was perfectly round, as if she had swallowed a beach ball whole, and though it was marred by a few angry stretch marks across its girth, the flustered Rea had never seen anything quite so desirable.

“I’ve lost about fifteen pounds since I’ve moved out here.  It’d probably be more, but I’ve put on about ten pounds of muscle,” the brunette boasted proudly as she flexed one of her beefy arms.  A few months prior, such a display would have been laughable—a clear sign of how much she had let herself go.  Now, clear definition was forming underneath the cushion of pudge, which made Maxine look more like a weightlifter than a slob.

“That’s…wow,” Rea murmured as she snatched up a slice and stuffed it in her mouth.

“But I’ve still got a long way to go before I’m back to my prime,” Maxine hummed while she turned, giving her blushing beau a good look at how her backside filled out her jeans.  She glanced over her shoulder at Rea, who was shoveling in pizza as fast as she could, so entranced was she.  Smirking, the giantess gave her hefty hips a wobble and clapped her hands on her ample cheeks. “What do you think, Rea?”

The hardcore brawler was at a loss for words as she watched Maxine jiggle her behind, and her mind was torn between wanting to sink her hands in there and wanting that for herself.  She could only imagine what it would be like if she switched places with the massive woman; all that weight piling onto her body and turning her into a lumbering behemoth.  It should have revolted her, but Rea could only groan with desire at the thought.

Maxine must have been a mind reader, as she turned back to face the redhead and put her hands on her flabby flanks.  She purred like the cat that ate the canary, “Now, let me see what I’m working with here.  You just keep eating, sweetie—I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

Rea lay back and alternated between pizza and soda while Maxine tugged her blouse up past her plump breasts and just below her neck.  The giantess toyed with the front hook for a moment before releasing the clasp, allowing the redhead’s chest to fall free.  She cooed, “My, my, my…for how hard and firm the rest of your body is, you do have some nice curves, Rea.  A shame you don’t get much of a chance to show them off in the ring; that would be a hell of a way to distract your opponents.”

“I couldn’t,” Rea murmured in between bites. “Not in front of all those people.”

“Maybe not in front of everyone, but I sure wouldn’t mind getting to see them more often,” Maxine hummed as she squeezed one of the redhead’s pillowy breasts.  The gentle press made Rea hiss like a burst of steam, and she squirmed atop the couch. “But now, let’s see what’s going on below the belt.”

The bulbous brunette took her time unbuttoning her companion’s pants, her fingers grazing the soft skin and panties underneath.  When it came to slide them off, all Maxine had to do was trace her finger up Rea’s abdomen, and she arced her body up off the sofa.  This gave the would-be feeder the perfect chance to tug the slinky black jeans off, exposing firm, pale thighs dotted with freckles.

“God, and you’ve already got some thick thighs,” the bruiser cooed as she stroked a finger down the length of Rea’s bare leg.  She could feel the contours of the woman’s powerful legs, tracing along muscles that could crush watermelons with ease. “Of course, I like them with a little more meat.”

“How…how much bigger?” Rea groaned after taking a long draught from her soda.

“As big around as your waist,” Maxine answered with a dusky murmur in her voice. “When you walk, they ought to be clapping together like a standing ovation.  They should be so flabby, they run out of room and start to pour over your knees.  If I wanted to go down on you, I would need to go diving for that pearl.”

The remark, and the look in Maxine’s eye that showed she was very serious, made Rea squeak and rub her thighs together.  It was hard to imagine being so rotund, but her corpulent companion made it so much easier, no doubt because she lived it.  Again, the redhead fantasized about what it would be like if the massive woman were to shed all her pounds and give them to her.  Given the height difference between them, it would only serve to make Rea look even fatter than she really was.

“But that’s only a little bit of you,” Maxine purred, her exploratory fingers massaging Rea’s hips. “We both know you’re the whole package, so I want you to imagine the rest of you filling out.”

“Mmhmm,” the redhead moaned around almost an entire slice of pizza.

The brunette drew lazy circles around Rea’s abs before returning to the little bit of fluff that hovered just above her waist.  She whispered, “Your abs are nice, but wouldn’t it be nicer if they were a big, gooey belly like what I’ve got?  Think about that: you, waddling here and there—and yes, you would absolutely be waddling—with a great, big gut leading the way.  People would ask you when you were due, and all you could say to them is that you were not actually pregnant—you’re just a tub of lard that can’t help but eat.

“Of course, you having a pair of fat, bloated udders wouldn’t help with that,” Maxine purred as her hands cupped Rea’s aching breasts. “These are so soft already, but look—I can still hold them in one hand.  That won’t do: we need to get you to the point where I need both hands just to hold one of these bowling balls.  They’ll be so big, you could use them as weapons in the ring; they’d be a couple of wrecking balls.”

Just as Rea felt herself reaching a peak, Maxine released her breasts, only to grab one of the chocolate cakes from the table while the other hand held onto the couch.  The brunette winked down at her conquest and swung one meaty leg over the redhead while the other helped propel her up to the sofa.  Rea’s eyes went wide as she felt some of Maxine’s ample weight settle on her thighs, and her heart caught in her throat when she caught the look the massive woman gave her.  It was the same look a cat might give a mouse when it was playing with it before the kill, and it made the tender heart tremble with excitement.

“Those sharp cheekbones of yours?  Gone, buried under chubby chipmunk cheeks,” Maxine purred as she rocked atop the woman’s lap and spooned cake past Rea’s lips. “Those firm, hard arms of yours will be swaddled in blubber, so thick that they’d be as wide as your thighs right now.  There would not be a single skinny inch on your body; you would be a whale, tip to tail.  When people see you, they would never think you used to be a decathlete; all they would see is a balloon of a girl who let herself go.”

Rea could feel her brain frying like an egg as Maxine described just how huge she could become if she let it happen.  It was a scintillating concept, one that made her ache and tremble the more in depth the brunette went, but the rational part of her brain was putting up a fight; a losing fight, but a fight nonetheless.  She told herself that she could not afford to get fat, that she did not want to lose the body she had spent years honing, but in her frenzied state, all she could focus on was how good Maxine’s fingers felt on her skin and how delicious the food was.  The rich pizza, the sugary soda, and the creamy cake were all things she had been denying herself, but if she so chose, she could have them all the time and be rewarded for gorging on them.

It was a no-brainer.  Rea snatched the bottle of soda and downed the rest before tossing the empty container away.  Her hands greedily snatched up a thick swath of Maxine’s belly and gave it a hearty squeeze, which brought a shocked gasp from the bulbous brunette.  The redhead felt herself slipping into the more confident role she held in the ring, and she growled to her feeder, “I want it, Maxine…god, I want it so bad.”

“You want to get fat for me?” the giantess asked, her heart beating like a Buddy Rich solo as she shoved another spoonful into the redhead. “How fat do you want to get?”

“As fat as you want,” Rea groaned as she squirmed beneath the brunette. “I don’t care if I weight two hundred or five hundred; just keep working your magic!”

Maxine stifled a moan before leaning over the redhead, her doughy belly squishing against the muscular woman’s abs. “Then you’re in luck, because the bigger you get, the better this gets.  You show me you want to get fatter, and I’ll take you to places you’ve never been.”

Rea trembled with pent-up desire, teetering on the verge of a plummet, yet the tiny voice in her head still persisted.  That voice was finally silenced when Maxine whispered seven words in her ear—seven words that sent her careening over the edge.  She murmured, “Congratulations, fat girl—you ate it all!”

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((And now, we return to Mickey Ramone as we take a look at how her Halloween is going!  Get ready for a few fun chapters of Halloween stuffings with your favorite plumpers!  As always, let me know what you think, and enjoy!))


Mickey and Ray had been waiting on Halloween Night for what felt like months.  They had been invited to a party that evening, but it was no ordinary party; it was arranged for feeders and feedees in the area.  Though Mickey had not been cooped up like Howard Hughes in her apartment, she was getting bored of keeping the socializing to a minimum.  She was an extrovert, and she drew energy from getting out and about with people.  While it was nice to do things like take a cruise or attend her cousin’s wrestling shows, she needed something more.

That was what the FAs of Albuquerque offered.  Ever since Ray began uploading her progress (anonymously, per the arrangements she made with Mr. Ericson), Mickey had been getting to know countless people in the community.  While there were plenty of unsavory types, she had also found incredibly supportive people who not only complimented and praised her girth, but also offered tips on stores to shop at and exercise that would help her bulk up.  The lardy Latina relished the companionship, but unfortunate timing and the need to remain incognito kept her from pursuing anything further with the group.  When she received the invitation to attend their annual Halloween party, however, she could not deny herself any longer.

“Raymundo, we are attending this party, one way or the other,” the punk princess announced as she held her phone out for her loving manager to see.

The beefy man accepted the phone and scrolled through the e-vite, reading it aloud as he went. “‘Hope everyone’s ready for another Spooktacular night of stuffing and sweets!  Randy and Liz are hosting the party this year, and since we’ve picked up a bunch of new members this year, we’d love to take this opportunity to get to know everyone better.  We’ll be holding a costume contest once again: one for the men, one for the women, and one for couples; the winner of each gets to take home a very special prize!  Refreshments will be provided and guests are welcome, but please RSVP if you plan on bringing anything extra.  Looking forward to seeing all our favorite ghouls and ghosts!’”

Ray frowned and told his plump partner, “I don’t know, Mick—this might blow our cover.”

“Ray, it’s a Halloween party; it’s the one time a year when it’s okay to wear a mask all night long.  Besides, is it any riskier than going to the store or the gym?” asked Mickey as she put her hands on her meaty hips.

“Yeah, but that’s by being around perfect strangers just a little bit at a time,” the stocky man retorted. “Here, we’re going to be surrounded by all sorts of people all night long.  All it would take is for one of them to recognize you, and you lose everything; Dave would fire us in a heartbeat.”

Mickey smirked like an evil genius hatching a plan and told her lover, “Then I guess I’d better make sure my mask stays on all night, huh?”

Raymundo sighed, knowing this would go Mickey’s way just like usual; the butterball had a way of getting what she wanted.  Perhaps that was because she embodied the old joke about the 600-pound gorilla—she got to do whatever she wanted because who was going to tell the 350-pound porker she could not?  While she had always been stubborn and steadfast, her rapidly increasing weight only made her bolder and more daring, to the point that Ray worried she would want to blab about her growth any day now.  At the same time, he knew that she was feeling cooped up in the apartment, and no amount of Skyping with her friends or meeting with her cousin would cure that.  Mickey needed companionship, and who better to provide it than people who knew and supported her on this crazy journey?

“All right, amor, but first things first—you’ll need to get a costume,” the beefy manager replied as he handed back the phone.

“I’ve already got that covered, mi granjero guapo,” La Princesa Violenta hummed as she locked her plump hands behind her back.  She turned on her heel and waddled out of the room, thick backside quaking with each plodding step.

Ray chuckled and shook his head before confusion hit him.   He glanced over his shoulder at his rotund, retreating wrestler and mumbled, “Handsome farmer?”

That was back at the start of September.  A couple weeks later, the first part of Mickey’s costume was revealed: a luchador’s mask resembling a pig, which she wore to her cousin’s first show for Dare-Devil Wrestling.  It was much more elaborate than a simple pig mask, with a stylized snout printed over the nose and white lenses over the eyes to hide her identity, but the resemblance was still there, and that made all the difference.  At the time, Mickey dubbed herself ‘La Cerdita’, and she stuck with the name as the rest of her costume came to her.

The trick had been gauging just how big the gear needed to be, as the punk wrestler needed to continue her gains, costume parties be damned.  Thankfully, Ray was a whiz when it came to estimating, so the costume proved to be pleasantly snug on her overfed body, as opposed to bursting at the seams.  Granted, putting on the tights still involved a lot of struggling and squeezing, but Mickey was delighted when she saw her reflection.

Standing before her was neither the leather jacket and denim-clad brawler of last year, the chubby bunny at the start of the summer, nor the pudgy princess that went to Bermuda.  Instead, the woman standing in the mirror was like an avatar of gluttony—a rotund caricature of a wrestler who spent more time eating than she did in the ring.  The porcine mask clung tight to her chubby cheeks and thick double chin, hammering home the transformation immediately.  This trailed down to a sleeveless pink crop top that concealed her softball-sized breasts and little else, which left her fluffy biceps and mammoth belly exposed for all the world to see.

Once trim arms had given way to pillows of flab that were thicker around than her thighs used to be and were slowly encroaching on her elbows.  The tidal wave of pudge was held back by elbow-length pink gloves with black fingers that made Mickey’s hands look like a pig’s hoof.  From there, her gargantuan gut made itself known and jutted forth from her waist like a sack full of pudding.  It draped down over the waistband of her tights and bounced against the top of her thighs with every step she took.  Mickey caressed it like a proud mother and gave it a gentle pat, proud of how bulbous her belly had grown in just half a year.

Her hands slowly found their way to her hefty hips, which were beginning to brush against doorframes—something that made her heart flutter every time.  A pair of pink tights barely contained her lower body, and she found herself constantly readjusting in the back, lest her booty escape its confines.  The punk princess swore her ass had a mind of its own sometimes, as it constantly looked for things to knock over or shove aside—things that were happening more and more as it expanded to beachball size.  Her pillar thighs did not help matters either, as they rubbed together so much that several pants and jeans had been worn out from top to bottom.  Even her feet seemed thicker, as if her little piggies wanted to match the rest of her, and they filled her black boots perfectly.

“You about ready, cerdita?” Ray called out from the bedroom.

“You bet your oinkin’ ass, I’m ready,” Mickey snorted in hoggish glee before waddling out to the bedroom to get a look at her granjero guapo.

The manager’s costume was much less elaborate than his lover’s, though no less appropriate and fitting.  He wore a simple pair of overalls, boots, and a straw hat—nothing else was needed for the farmer image.  The look highlighted two big changes for Ray: he had grown out a thick, coarse beard over the last month and a half, though he would shave it the following day, and his muscles were becoming much more prominent as his efforts to bulk up continued.  Gone was the portly man of yesteryear, who filled his suits out with a doughy belly and flabby pecs, and in his place was a man who looked like he could actually go a few rounds in the ring.

Ray let out a low, appreciate whistle as he watched his lardy lover shuffle into the room, her belly quivering like gelatin in an earthquake.  He crossed his arms underneath his firm chest and remarked, “Maldita sea…eres una cerda gorda.”

“Gracias, mi amor,” Mickey purred as she sauntered up to her partner and wrapped her arms around him.  She pulled him close, squishing him against her soft stomach, and cooed, “Y eres un buen pedazo de culo tu mismo.”

The two chuckled as they leaned in for a kiss, her butter-soft cheeks brushing against his mangy beard, and they stayed like that for a moment before pulling apart.  Ray sank his fingers into his princess’s flabby flanks before whispering, “I have a surprise for you before we go—a couple little things to complete your costume.”

Mickey’s eyes went wide behind her mask and she excitedly wondered what else she needed to finish her look.  Ray spun her around and leaned in to murmur, “Close your eyes, gordita.”

The wall of blubber nodded and shut her eyes, thinking of what her thoughtful manager could have gotten for her.  She could feel something soft and silky wrapping around her waist, and she hummed in contentment when she felt him pull her tights back.  After he clipped something onto the rear, he let it snap back against her like a rubber band, causing the porky princess to squeal in shock.

“Okay, open your eyes,” Ray told her as he stepped away.

When the Violent Princess did so, she gasped like a child on Christmas morning with a new toy underneath the tree.  Wrapped around her waist was a combination of a title belt and a blue ribbon, and clipped to the back of her tights was a curly tail that wiggled right alongside her bouncy backside.  It really did complete the appearance of a pretty porker, and the widening wrestler hopped up and down in excitement, which sent tremors through her bedroom.

“Oh baby, I love it!  It’s just what this little piggy needed,” Mickey told her lover as she gave him a warm peck on the cheek. “I’ve got half a mind to make this my ring gear when I get back.”

“I think it’ll take a lot of convincing to get Dave behind that,” Ray chuckled as he embraced his hefty honey.  It was getting harder to reach around her ballooning girth, and it was only a matter of time before his hands could no longer touch.  The thought would have set off alarms for some, but the meaty man had fallen deep into the world of weight gain, and he could only hope that day came soon.

They stayed in each other’s arms for what felt like an eternity, her enjoying the feel of his firming muscles and him relishing the feel of her creamy flab.  Truthfully, they could have stayed like that all night long, but they had a party to attend and guests to pick up.  The two released each other, only to give one last squeeze before they grabbed the last of the things for the night and dashing out the door.  At least, Ray was dashing; Mickey was following behind with a power walk that made her look like a trundling elephant.


“You’re late,” Maggie grumbled as she sauntered toward Ray’s car. “You lose your watch somewhere in your rolls?”

“You know that I don’t have to bring you, right?” Mickey retorted. “I could always leave your culo home tonight, puta.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and sighed like a petulant child, which went perfectly with her costume for the night.  The girl had a tradition of wearing slutty costumes ever since senior year of high school, and this year was no different.  She was dressed like a schoolgirl, complete with plaid skirt, blazer, and blouse, and her dirty blonde hair was done up in braided pigtails.  The blouse was pulled up and tied underneath her bosom, and the skirt had been cut to the point that the bottom of her cheeks were exposed.  It was a look that would have revealed a lithe, sensual form just a few months prior, but freedom to drink and party the night away and done wonders for her physique.

Tying off her blouse beneath her breasts pushed her bloated tits up and out, and they threatened to ooze free of their cotton confines if Maggie so much as leaned forward.  Likewise, her cheeks had grown gelatinous and wobbled so much that her skirt was constantly hiking up her backside.  Most impressive was the potbelly that spilled over the waistband of her skirt, and how it looked perfectly round from top to bottom.  It was as though she had swallowed a bubble, and every breath made it swell in and out like a bullfrog’s throat.  Too much Snake Venom had destroyed her toned tummy, replacing it with a bulbous beer belly that belonged on an ex-jock, not a twenty-something wrestler at the start of her career.

“God, they better have good snacks at this place,” the young Torres groused as she turned back to her apartment building. “Sharon, come on!  We’re going to be late!”

“C-Coming!” the meek redhead called back while shuffling out the door.

Maggie and Sharon complimented each other perfectly that evening, as the bespectacled wrestler was dressed like a teacher straight out of a rock n’ roll music video.  She wore a pencil skirt that only went to the middle of her thighs and clung like a second skin, fishnet stockings that squeezed her legs, and a blouse that barely contained her sensual chest.  Maggie put on the finishing touch when her partner drew close, as she reached out and undid the top button on her blouse, exposing a generous amount of cleavage.

“Maggie!” the redhead squeaked in surprise while covering herself. “At least give me a heads-up!”

“Come on, Share-Bear, it’s like I always say—when you’ve got it, flaunt it!” the doughy drunkard chuckled as she pushed her bosom up, ignoring how her belly eclipsed it by a country mile.

Sharon mumbled something incoherent before sliding into the backseat of Ray’s car, a bag of chips in hand.  She had no idea why such displays got her so flustered these days; it was Maggie being Maggie, same as she had been since they first met.  The only difference was that there was so much more of her now, to the point that the lush seemed to be getting more luscious by the week.  In the span of a couple months, the diva had plumped up considerably, so much so that Sharon found herself wondering if Maggie had more to do with Mickey’s side of the family than she thought.

When the chunky cousin climbed into the car, she pouted and nudged the back of Mickey’s seat with her knees. “Can’t you scoot up, tubby?  I’ve got no room back here, and I ain’t not contortionist.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much room anyway,” the older, wider woman replied honestly.  Her gut was so big, she had to keep the seat scooted back as far as possible, lest she wedged herself against the dashboard. “It’s not far, don’t worry.”

As the quartet got underway, any thoughts of being late went out the window as they joked and talked amiably about this and that.  Maggie and Sharon were being primed for a title shot soon, and they had been doing so well that they were in talks for merchandise.  Mickey and Ray got to talking about Thanksgiving plans, which led to the hefty cousins’ stomachs rumbling in protest.  Not from being too stuffed, but because they demanded more food; never mind that both women had eaten not so long ago.

Finally, before Maggie could ask if they were there yet for the umpteenth time, the car pulled up to a community center.  The parking lot was filled with people making their way inside: some wore elaborate costumes while others wore simple jerseys or pajamas; some were skinny as a rail while others bloated beyond belief.  In fact, there were far more butterballs than there were beanstalks, and that was enough to quell any fears Maggie might have had about her own weight.  So what if she had put on a couple pounds since coming stateside?  At least she was not as big as the Princess Jasmine that rolled up on a mobility scooter.

As the four piled out of the car, the young drunkard caught a whiff of something delectable in the air and craned her head around in search of the source.  She mumbled, “I smell pulled pork.”

“Probably because there’s a pig pickin’ going on out back,” Mickey explained as she licked her lips. “These guys really know how to throw a party—I really wish we could have been there for the luau this past summer.”

“Guess they really like their pigs,” Maggie smirked as she gave her cousin’s stomach a sharp flick. “You might have to be careful tonight, cerdita, or they’ll eat you up.”

The rotund wrestler blushed and returned the favor by bouncing the underside of her cousin’s stomach. “Just be careful you don’t drink too much, borracha, or you’re liable to float away.”

Ray and Sharon exchanged a shrug while the cousins teased and taunted in equal measure, and they led the way up to the double doors.  When they arrived, they were greeted by the hosts, Randy and Liz, an odd couple if there ever was one.  Randy was a hairy balloon of a man who looked like a caveman that ate one too many Slim Jims, and Liz was a petite princess done up in a flowing evening gown and tiara.  Said princess popped a sausage roll in her husband’s mouth before greeting the newcomers.

“Welcome to the Spooktacular Stuffing!  Enter at your waistline’s peril,” she giggled.

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((And we're back with the last two parts of the Halloween arc!  I did say I would take this right up to Halloween, didn't I?  Well, this week is going to be a two-fer, so expect the next chapter on Wednesday!  As always, let me know what you think!))

As the quartet walked into the Halloween party, each had a different reaction to the foodie festivities.  For Mickey, she felt like she was in Hog Heaven; between all the decadent dishes and gorging guests, it was as though she had waltzed into a dream.  For Ray, he was amazed at the sizable turnout of sizable people; he knew that the fat appreciation community was larger than expected, but he had no idea there were so many members in the area.  For Sharon, it was as though she had set foot on a new world; never before had she seen such open displays of gluttony from so many people.  For Maggie, she rolled her eyes and felt sick to her stomach; despite her cousin’s protestations, she felt like she had been dragged into some weird sex thing.

“Goddammit, Mickey,” the pretend schoolgirl growled as she crossed her arms under her not insignificant chest. “You told me this wouldn’t be some weird, creepy sex thing!”

“And it’s not, primita,” Mickey assured her thinner cousin. “It’s just a normal party that happens to involve a lot of eating, that’s all!”

Maggie huffed and whipped her head to the side like a pouty child. “Yeah, right—this is just so you can act like a big, fat pig without getting judged, and that ain’t me.”

The older of the two glanced down at her cousin’s belly and wondered how much water that argument really held.  Ever since coming stateside, Maggie had been putting away a frat party’s worth of beer and bar food every other night, and the results were showing on her once sensually curvaceous bod.  For the most part, she was only growing more voluptuous as her supple physique slowly filled with butter-soft pudge, which would have been fine on its own; those curves alone could launch a thousand ships.  Unfortunately, the gentle, toneless look was ruined by the balloon of flab that spilled out from her waist like a scoop of mocha ice cream.

While the rest of Maggie’s body was soft and downy, her gut was firm and taut, though not from hardened abs.  In just a few short weeks, the nimble wrestler had sprouted a beer belly that belonged on a middle-aged desk jockey, not a wanna-be champion.  The globular gut sloshed about with every step she took; when she hit the treadmill, which was happening less and less, it dribbled like a basketball.  What made it worse was that it was blowing up so fast, the diva struggled to find clothes that fit around it.  Her favorite outfits always left her midriff bare, but now, she was covering it up like a dirty secret, and having to go to extra lengths when shopping around.  Damn her love of beer, this gut, and her disproportioned body!

Mickey patted her cousin on the shoulder and told her, “Come on, you just got here!  Don’t you remember that party at Jose Rodriguez’s place a few years back?  You didn’t think you’d have a good time, but you still had fun!”

“Only because I found where his parents kept the liquor locked up,” Maggie grunted as she shrugged Mickey’s hand away. “So hey, good idea—I’m gonna go find the bar.”

Before anyone could say another word, the starlet sauntered off into the crowd of plump partiers.  Sharon was about to go off to find her, but they were stopped by the petite hostess for the night.  Liz pointed to the tables of food and drink lining the room and explained, “Just wanted to point out: there’s plenty to go around, but depending on your taste, you might want to stick to one side or the other.”

“How do you mean?” asked Ray.

“Well, the stuff on the right side of the room is just good eating, but the stuff on the left side of the room is all laced with everything a gainer needs,” the hostess answered as she took a sip from her drink. “That way, everyone’s satisfied.”

Mickey licked her lips and clapped her pudgy hands together eagerly. “Looks like I know where I’m starting.  Come help me fix a plate, babe?”

“Right behind you, my little piglet,” the bearded man chuckled as he wrapped his arm around her wobbly waist and sauntered away.

Sharon, for her part, was frozen with indecision.  She could see Maggie making her way over to the left side of the room; knowing her, the diva would likely ignore any warning signs for the fattening food.  All it would take to stop her was dashing over and telling her what the plan was, but for whatever reason, her legs refused to listen.  Instead, she wandered off to the right side and got herself a drink from the punch bowl to calm her jittery nerves.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the bespectacled girl assured herself as she watched Maggie get a beer and a plate of snacks. “She’ll figure it out at some point—Mags can’t ignore it all night.”

Unfortunately, Sharon greatly overestimated her partner’s capacity for observation, especially when she was in a pouty mood.  Maggie ignored every warning sign at the buffet, opting instead to load up with snacks and appetizers while drinking down a hearty beer.  It was easy for her to dismiss how much she had when she was around so many butterballs; Mickey was one of the fattest people she knew, and there were several men and women that put her to shame.  The young woman snorted derisively when she saw a woman with an ass the size of a Cadillac drooling over a slice of chocolate cake.

“If I’m not doing that, how bad can I really be?” Maggie pondered internally while making her way to a free table, where she was soon joined by her redheaded companion.  She noticed that Sharon had a dish of her own, albeit much smaller than the diva’s.

“Watching your portions?  Smart,” the young wrestler remarked as she bit into a brownie. “We need to be careful tonight, Share; if we’re not careful, we’ll wind up the same as the rest of these fatties.”

With a roll of her sharp eyes, Sharon retorted, “Maggie, it’s going to take a lot more than one night of splurging to get fat.  You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s how they get you,” her partner grunted, pointing the other half of her brownie at Sharon before stuffing it in her mouth. “You think that it’s okay to have a cheat day, that it’s only one night, and then wham—you can’t fit in your jeans anymore.  Mickey might have dragged me out here to get on the Lard Train with her, but that ain’t going to happen; I’m not going to turn into my cousin or my mother, God forbid.”

Sharon stifled a snarky reply as Maggie rambled on, blissfully ignorant of how much she was cramming in her cheeks despite herself.  She had the pleasure of meeting Maggie’s mother a few times in the past, and it was true that she was a zaftig woman, due in no small part to her diminutive stature.  Mrs. Torres was a compulsive eater: she ate whenever her emotions were running high, whether good or bad; she often ate until she could not get another bite down.  If it was true that women grew up to look like their mothers, it was no wonder that the image-obsessed Maggie was afraid of putting on any weight.

Of course, if her partner was truly scared of being a butterball like the other women in her family, she had a funny way of showing it.  Whether it was the additives in the food or Maggie was just that deep in denial, she was guzzling down her plate like a Cadillac to gas.  Her ranting about her cousin’s allegedly insidious nature died down over time, and she focused more on the snacks and sweets she had stacked atop her dish.  Sharon was amazed at the speed of her chunky companion; normally, Maggie was only good at making liquor disappear that fast.

Eventually, the plush girl leaned back in her chair and contentedly rested her hand atop her stomach while she downed the rest of her beer.  The bottle popped from her lips and she barely stifled a belch, looking very little like the vixen who pranced around the ring night in, night out.  As Maggie tapped the empty bottle on the table, she glanced around the room and scowled.

“God, it’s like they forget how to have fun when they get past 200,” the young woman grunted as she scanned the party.  While there were plenty of games, there was nothing that struck her fancy, and there was no need to dance when everyone was too full to move.  It was the second worst party she had ever been to, easily.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Sharon assured Maggie with a pat on the shoulder. “You’re just not giving it a fair chance.”

This was met with yet another derisive snort as the diva replied, “You’re just saying that because your idea of a good time is to park your tight ass in a chair and read all night long.”

The bespectacled girl’s cheeks turned as red as her hair.  She knew that she was not the life of the party like Maggie, but that did not mean she enjoyed being reminded of it.  Grumbling as she stood to her feet, Sharon told her plump partner, “I’m going to get another drink.”

Realizing her faux-pas too little, too late, Maggie reached out for her friend and called out, “Share, wait!  Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that!  I love your tight ass!”

That exclamation only served to make Sharon retreat faster, especially when it attracted the attention of some nearby tables.  The drunken diva shot a sharp glare at any on-lookers as she huffed, “The hell you looking at?”

Maggie crossed her arms under her heavy chest and furrowed her brow.  Dammit, why did she have to go and open her big mouth like that?  She did not mean to insult Sharon; quite the opposite, actually.  When she meant her partner had a tight ass, she meant that the redhead had a booty you could bounce a quarter off of.  It was plain for anyone with a pair of working eyes; one need only watch as she sashayed over to the buffet.  The way the pencil skirt fit around the curve of her apple bottom made the diva turn pink, and she wished she had another drink to drown out these feelings.

“Estúpida, erotica Sharon,” Maggie murmured to herself.

“Um, excuse me—Maggie Torres, right?” asked a canary-sweet voice.

Shaken from her malaise, the drunkard glanced over to the girls beside the table.  One was a stout Latina with dark, flowing hair and a belly that oozed over her waistband like a glob of pudding, and the other was a pale girl with thighs thicker than most women’s waists.  It took Maggie a moment to piece it together, and when she did, she snapped her fingers in recognition.

“Osa and Serpiente!” the diva exclaimed as she shot out of her chair. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see a couple of familiar faces here.”

“Likewise,” replied Osa, the shorter of the two, as she wrapped her arms around Maggie in a very squishy hug. “And let’s not stand on ceremony here—call me Nicole.”

“Ashton,” the pale girl hummed as she gave Maggie a hug of her own, albeit not nearly as warm and friendly as Nicole’s.

The young wrestler looked over her competitors from a few weeks prior, admiring how different they looked when they were not in their masks.  Nicole looked about as dangerous as a teddy bear, especially when her belly was painted like a jack-o’-lantern, and Ashton was done up in a witch’s gown that clung to her thunder thighs like a second skin.  The paler of the two wrapped an arm around her cuddly partner and pulled her close, fine fingers sinking into Nicole’s pudgy tummy and squeezing the orange mound of blubber.  They were a far cry from the hardcore savages that the Wild Roses had wrestled during the debut match with DDW.

“What’ve you girls been up to?” asked Maggie as she sat back down.

“Ashton had to have surgery a couple weeks ago, so we’ve been taking some time away from the ring,” Nicole explained as she wolfed down a slice of pizza. “How about you?  We’ve been hearing good things for you and your better half.”

The diva smirked and answered, “Well, it just so happens that we’re looking at a run with the tag titles!”

“Get out!” Ashton exclaimed happily while she popped a bon-bon in Nicole’s mouth. “That’s awesome!”

“Thanks, I know,” Maggie hummed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.  She knew that she and Sharon were a hell of a tag team, but it always helped to hear it from someone else.

As the trio got to talking, Sharon watched from afar, slowly sipping her punch while nibbling on a breadstick made to look like a femur.  She should have been used to Maggie’s teasing by now, but it still stung now and then, especially when she was reminded of her anxious nature.  The juxtaposition between them was part of their appeal when they were playing it up for the crowd, but when they were in the real world, it was tiresome trying to keep up with the queenly woman.  Since they had been paired together, she had been mediator and babysitter for Maggie and given her the benefit of the doubt a dozen times, and for what?  A small measure of success in the wrestling world?

Lately, it had become more than that.  Sharon still felt like she was waiting on Maggie hand and foot, but for the last couple months, there was something else behind it.  Whenever she helped her partner to bed and got to feel the swell of her belly, she felt a shiver run down her spine.  When she watched Maggie drunkenly binge on delivery food, a weird warmth filled her heart that she could not explain.  And when she watched her increasingly chunky partner struggle with her clothes, the redhead had to bite her lip to stifle the ensuing groan.

“Stupid, sexy Maggie,” Sharon groused, turning her attention away from her table.  She needed something to distract herself—like preparing a fresh plate of goodies for her tag partner.

Meanwhile, back at the table, Nicole chugged down a beer and slammed the bottle back down on the table. “God, I love this stuff,” she mused as she flashed the bottle to Maggie. “Liz and Randy always know where to get the good stuff.”

“You guys do this a lot?” asked the diva while perusing the bottle.  It looked and smelled delicious, but damned if there were not a ton of calories in it; no wonder Nicole had more rolls than a bakery on that belly of hers.

“Oh yeah,” Ashton purred while stroking a fine nail under her girlfriend’s chubby chin. “This is our third Halloween party, but we’re at all the big get-togethers.  If you think this is big, you ought to see what it’s like for Thanksgiving.”

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and replied, “Pass.  No offense to you girls, but this just isn’t my thing.  When I think ‘Halloween party’, I expect something with a bit more life to it, you know?  Where’s the debauchery, the decadence—the drinks aplenty?”

“You want drinking games?” asked Nicole as she glanced to Ashton. “We can totally set you up with that right now, if you want.”

“Seriously?  You’re even more awesome than I thought!” Maggie exclaimed as she stood from her chair, only for Nicole to gesture for her to sit down.

“Oh, no need to get up—Ash, do you mind?” the portly wrestler cooed as she flashed puppy eyes at her pale lover.

“Fine, but only because I can’t say no to that face,” the broad girl purred, kissing Nicole on the cheek. “Be right back!”

It was only a moment or two before Ashton returned with two bottles and two glasses.  She set them down in front of Nicole and Maggie, which allowed the diva the chance to see what she had gotten herself into.  She turned the bottle around and cocked an eyebrow at the discovery. “Irish cream?  Really?”

“Hey, it does a body good,” Nicole giggled, patting her belly for emphasis. “The rules are simple—first one to pass out loses.  It may not be crazy, but they don’t exactly do keg stands here.”

Maggie chortled before filling her shot glass.  She had plenty of Irish cream in her day, but it was usually mixed in with other beverages; having it straight would be a first for her.  Still, she was not about to back down from the first fun thing anyone had suggested all evening.  When this was over, she would need to make sure she got Nicole and Ashton’s numbers; these girls knew how to party!  If only she knew that when you partied with these two, you needed to bring a hearty appetite.  Case in point, a glass of Irish cream had all the calories of a king-size candy bar, and she had an entire bottle at her disposal.   The diva should have reconsidered, but instead, she downed the first of many caloric shots…

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((And there we go: the end of the Long Halloween, no relation to the Batman story.  It also marks 200 pages in this story, and we're only a little over halfway through the year in-story!  I hope you've been enjoying the story so far, and will continue to enjoy it as Mickey and the girls continue their climb into a new weight class.))


Maggie Torres had drunk an amazing amount of alcohol in her young life: beer was her favorite due to its affordability, wine made her feel fancy, and she could fill a book with the variety of cocktails she had imbibed.  Drinking straight liqueur was nothing new to her, though it was the first time she had any for a drinking contest; compared to most games she had played, this was downright pleasant.  The Irish cream was appropriately smooth going down, and it carried a hint of sweetness that made it seem like she was drinking a candy bar.  She made a mental note to ask Sharon to pick some up the next time she went shopping—a girl could get used to this.

Of course, the diva did not lose track of her competition.  Nicole matched her glass for glass without breaking so much as a sweat, and given how cool the chubby Latina looked, she was not about to break anytime soon.  Maggie was not worried though, not when she had a history of drinking people under the table; she could soak up booze like an alcoholic sponge.

Her opponent down another shot and licked a stray drop from her chipmunk cheeks before asking, “You know what I love about this stuff?”

“Wuzzat?” Maggie hummed after knocking back her shot.

“How many calories there are in here,” the pudgy girl giggled, one hand on her butterball belly.  While lovingly patting the mound of blubber spilling onto her lap, Nicole purred, “It’s like I’m eating an entire box of chocolates.”

Her lush competitor rolled her eyes and tipped her glass to her lips. “God, Nicole, don’t even joke.  I’m trying to get drunk—not worry about my waistline.”

“A little late for that, I think,” Ashton remarked from her seat beside her girlfriend.

Maggie furrowed her brow at that and asked, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that someone’s getting a little too big for her britches,” the tattooed girl answered with a sly smirk.  She reached under the table and pinched an inch of Maggie’s tender thigh, which elicited a squeak from the diva.

“Personal space is still a thing, Ashton,” grumbled Maggie after taking another drink. “Besides, I’ve maybe—and that’s a big maybe—put on a few pounds, but so what?  I can just lose it all after I put in the time at the gym.”

The couple across from her glanced between each other before bursting into a fit of giggles that almost caused Nicole to spill her liqueur.  When it became obvious that Maggie was not in on the joke, her corpulent competitor stopped laughing long enough to take a deep breath. “Oh my god, you’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“Totally!” the starlet haughtily boasted while sitting a little straighter in her seat, which only served to enhance the swell of her plump chest. “I’m a world-class athlete; I eat, sleep, and breathe CrossFit.  A little water weight isn’t going to slow me down in the slightest.”

Ashton smirked at her girlfriend and asked, “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

“Oh, by all means,” Nicole grinned cheekily before taking another shot.

“Tell me what?” huffed Maggie, more than a little fed-up with the cutesy coyness.

Ashton held up a finger as she withdrew her phone from her purse and swiped once, twice, three times before stopping with a toothy grin.  She passed the phone over to Maggie, telling her, “Give that a look.”

The disinterested diva glanced down at the screen and almost spat out her next shot.  What she saw was a picture of Nicole and Ashton, but much different than the chubby couple that sat across from her.  The girls in the photo were fairly trim and built—Ashton especially, being taller, though Nicole matched her by looking like a powerhouse.  A quick swipe of the finger brought her to the next photo, where the stouter of the two was stockier and filling out in the middle.  Further into the gallery, Maggie found that Ashton joined in gaining with her girlfriend, until she got to a picture of them posing in their costumes at home.

“What’s this?” the starlet asked hesitantly.

“That’s us from when we started putting on the pounds,” Nicole purred while she stroked her lover’s pale fingers. “I kept telling myself that I would get back into shape—that I would lose this belly before I looked like I was pregnant.  Now, I’m two hundred-thirty pounds and look like I’m carrying twins, full term.”

Ashton blushed and added, “I only got started because she was such a bad influence.  I was so sure I would go to the gym again, really hit the treadmill, before I outgrew all my clothes.  Next thing I know, I’m busting out of everything I own because it’s the hottest thing in the world.”

That revelation made Maggie pause, almost spilling her next drink onto the table. “So you two started getting fat…and you didn’t stop?  Why?”

“Because of how good it all feels,” Nicole answered unabashedly. “Being so thick and fluffy is like being hugged all day, all night, everything tastes so much better when it’s being fed to you, and all this blubber is so much fun to play with.”

“You’re telling me,” Ashton purred as her nails traced along her girlfriend’s wobbly waistline.

While the tag partners shared a kiss, Maggie slumped back in her chair and paused in deep thought.  She had guessed that Mickey getting so fat was a kink thing, given the way Ray and she were always playing with each other, but the diva had never asked her cousin why it was a kink thing.  Hearing it from her one-time opponent shed some light on that meaty mystery; while she could not say she understood it entirely, it made a little more sense to her.

Still, they were wrong about her.  Maybe Nicole and Ashton were okay with letting themselves go, but not her—not Maggie Torres.  Sure, she was a little bloated at the moment and retaining a little water, but that was all; all she needed to do was exercise some restraint and hit the gym on the double.  Of course, she told herself this while plowing through a bottle of Irish cream, ensuring another inch or two on her hips and blotting out any half-baked promises of getting back into shape.

“All right, so if you two are done being all cutesy, we’ve got a contest going on,” Maggie hummed as she swished her bottle around. “Sounds to me like I’m winning.”

“Not for long,” Nicole retorted as she poured herself another shot. “I’ve got a keg for a gut—there’s no way a cosa flaca like you could drink me under the table.”

“We’ll just see about that, osa de peluche,” the diva taunted before knocking back another shot.  No way was she going to lose, especially when Nicole dared to question her ability to pound back drinks. “I’ll show you who’s got a keg for a gut…”


While Maggie was drinking herself up another dress size, her cousin was gorging as if she had not eaten in months.  Mickey was having the time of her life as she cleaned plate after plate and guzzled down rich, sugary beverages like they were going out of style.  When she ate in public, she still ate a lot of food, but she felt restrained by modesty and etiquette every time she walked into a restaurant.  Here among her own kind, however, she need not worry about such niceties; she could be as piggish as she wanted to be.  After all, it was not as though her present company had any room to complain.

Seated on either side of her and Ray were two couples, all different from each other with one big exception—all the ladies at the table were balloons.  To Mickey’s left were two girls barely out of college, one dressed like an overfed vampire and the other like a bloated Bride of Frankenstein; to Ray’s right was a nebbish, spindly Willy Wonka and a Violet Beauregarde twice the size of Mickey.  The younger girls were both more than plump but smaller than the other women, but what they lacked in size, they made up for with sheer capacity.  The Violet, whose face was painted a royal blue, was so swollen with fat that she could have easily passed for a blueberry herself.

“Oh man, Sarah, you were not kidding about that pumpkin ravioli,” Mickey remarked to the massive woman across from her. “That stuff is heavenly!”

“I know, and that’s why I love these sorts of parties—everyone always stocks up so much, you could feed a small army,” Sarah chuckled around a large mouthful.   Her hands rested comfortably on the immense globe that was her gut while the man beside her lovingly fed her bite after bite.

Ray glanced over at the young women to the left and asked, “So, Cerys and Arisa—how long have you two been together?”

Arisa, the bride, daintily wiped her lips before answering, “W-Well, we met back in high school—a private boarding school—and got really close while we were there.”

“Yeah, we were roomies my last year and her junior year,” Cerys added in after clearing yet another fully loaded plate, her fifth of the night. “One thing led to another, and the next thing you know, I’m waking up to this little butterball every morning.”

Said butterball blushed pepper red, embarrassed at Cerys’s pet name for her but giddy all the same.  To stifle her growing emotions, the anxious girl scooped up a heaping spoonful of macaroni and cheese and shoveled it in her mouth.  Nothing helped to soothe frantic nerves like melted cheese, after all.

Cerys giggled and patted her rotund lover on her balloon belly before glancing over at Sarah. “So, Sarah, how much are you weighing in at these days?  Last I heard, you were 675.”

“Oh, I blew past that months ago,” the redhead answered with no small amount of pride.  Her fingers, bloated to the point they looked like Mickey Mouse hands, traced up and down her stuffed sides. “I’m officially 744, as of this morning; I’ll easily be 750 by the end of the night.”

Mickey swooned when she heard such a number.  Never in her life did she imagine getting to the weight she had attained; hell, she never thought she would go beyond 150.  Yet here was a woman that eclipsed her like the Earth eclipses the moon, who made her look like a Latina Twiggy.  The only things holding her back from going whole hog like that were the deal she had made with Dave Ericson and the fact that she still had a good few competitive years left in her.  But once she had done all she could in the wrestling world, that could be a good way to enjoy retirement—fattening herself to epic proportions.

“So, I’ve gotta ask,” the masked woman hummed after cleaning all the meat from a chicken wing, “how did you all get into this life?”

Sarah was the first to reply, only because her mouth was not stuffed to the brim like Cerys and Arisa. “Well, it’s a long story, but the short and sweet of it is that I wanted to break up the dull routine of my life.  My family tried to be picture-perfect, but really, we were all just aching to break free; I’m the only one that had the guts to do something about it.  I started eating to the breaking point at every single meal, then stuffing my fat face every chance I could, and then finally meeting my sweet Charles, who took my gain to a whole other level.”

The blob of a woman smiled sweetly and lovingly stroked her boyfriend’s scruffy cheeks in the way that one might pet a faithful dog.  Charles faithfully rewarded her affection with a large forkful of cheesecake, and Mickey could only imagine how big she could be if she had done the same thing when she still lived at home.  If she had been allowed to cut loose all those years ago, she might have grown too big to leave the house without a forklift by now—which was a far more enticing thought than it had any right to be.

“Well, we didn’t actually want to at first—it just kind of grew on us, pun intended,” Arisa chuckled. “In fact, Cerys was trying hard to avoid putting on any weight for the longest time.”

Her pale, porcine girlfriend nodded and chased down a big bite of lasagna with a swig of beer. “Yeah, I was so worried about turning out like all the other women in my family; I love my mom, but there was no way I was going to get so fat that I needed a scooter to get around.”

“What changed your mind?” asked Mickey, curious to find out what could make a girl with such a mindset change her ways.

“Not ‘what’, but ‘who’,” Arisa explained in between bites of pasta. “We were friends with this girl who was really good at distracting us from how much weight we were putting on because of her.  If we wanted to go out to exercise, she would distract us with a delicious breakfast; if we were having a study session, she would make sure we had more snacks than we knew what to do with.  And we never had to lift a finger around her—she was always willing to do all the heavy lifting.”

Cerys grunted through a mouthful of marinara-coated meatballs. “That bitch was clever, and I was like a fly walking into a spider web when I decided to become her roommate.  I must have put on fifty pounds that first semester alone; they’d have had to roll me to the graduation stage if I lived with her any longer.”

“How about you, Cerdita?  What made you decide to walk on the wide side?” asked Sarah after finishing a triple-decker pizza slice.

It was such a loaded question, Mickey did not know where to start.  Did she go back to when she was a kid and got a funny feeling when she saw characters fattened up in cartoons?  Maybe it was when she was in high school and saw fan art of said characters, only much fatter and more realistic than they were in the shows.  Perhaps it was when she dared to venture further beyond fan art and started downloading stories, original art, and pictures.  Fostering this fetish had taken years, and it was only recently that she pulled the trigger on following through with it.

“I got injured on one of those spartan races, so me and the big guy decided it was time to test the waters,” the wrestler fibbed. “My man’s always been something of a chubby chaser, so I decided to indulge him while my leg healed; after it did, I found I enjoyed it so much, I decided to keep it up.”

“I’m the chubby chaser?” asked Ray with a smirk as he wobbled his lardy lover’s gut around on her lap. “You’re the one who can’t keep her eyes off the biggest people in the room, porkchop.”

“Guilty,” Mickey cheekily replied, which earned her a bon-bon in exchange.


By the time the evening ended, Mickey’s bulbous belly was tight as a drum, which Ray was happy to prove as he tapped his fingers along the taut skin.  Despite the fact that she was huffing and puffing back to the car, the wrestler could not have been happier with how the night had turned out.  She had finally gotten a chance to be around people who shared in her desires and were eagerly fattening themselves, something she could not find in her day-to-day life.  What’s more, she did it all without spilling the beans on who she really was, which meant her secret lived to see another day.

Maggie stumbled out of the party with the help of Ray and Sharon, her belly full of booze and greasy food she gobbled up in an effort to counter the alcohol.  The drinking contest had come to a draw, but her waistline was the clear loser of the night; her modest beer belly was like a caramel water balloon that sloshed from side to side with every drunken step she took.  If the lush was concerned with the effect this decadence would have on her weight, she did not show it.

“Oh my god, Mickey!  These people are the best!” the diva babbled as Sharon gently slid her into the car. “I thought the party was going to suck, but Nashton were so much fun!  And everyone was so generous, giving me all that good food.  You’ve got to bring me to the next party.”

“I think that can be arranged,” the bulbous brunette hummed contentedly from the front seat.  She cradled her stuffed gut much in the same way an expectant mother might stroke her baby bump, and Ray joined in by lightly caressing the mocha mound of flab.

As the group headed back on the road, Sharon fiddled with a take-out box in her lap.  Maggie had insisted on getting some food to bring back to the apartment (after insisting she had eaten enough to last her the rest of the week), and the bespectacled girl gathered up as much as she could fit inside.  While she picked at the Styrofoam, an idea came to her—something she had been toying with all night, ever since she saw Maggie get her first plate of food.  It was a bad idea: her partner had already eaten so much, and she looked like she was incredibly full already.  At the same time, she could not fight this urge welling up inside her for much longer, and what was a little more food after the night they had?

“H-Hey, Maggie, want some more?” the redhead asked as she opened the box for the greedy pig that was her tag partner, knowing full well the answer that awaited her.

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Hey all, just wanted to give an update on this story--the longest I've ever written.  I will have the next chapter posted tomorrow night, but I wanted to let you all know that I'm working on a couple appendices for the main story.  First is an official timeline of events from the start (April) to the most recent chapter (end of October).  It's going to be fun seeing where some of these characters have come from since making their debut.

And speaking of, I'll also be charting each character's gains/losses (though there are far fewer losses than gains in this story).  There are a lot of characters who have been plumping up over the course of the last 200 pages, especially Mickey, who's been packing on the pounds ever since Chapter 2.  I'm looking forward to going back through and rereading how much these girls have thickened up.

While I work on these, I'd love to hear your thoughts on how the story has been going so far.  Do you have a favorite among these lovely, lardy ladies?  Is there a plotline you'd want to send straight to Hell?  Is there anything you want to see more of?  I'm always open to feedback, as I want to keep this epic as entertaining as possible as we reach the end of another year.

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((We're back, and for the first time in the story, we're celebrating someone's birthday!  This time, the focus is on everyone's favorite wounded warrior, KC Skye, who is about to have a not so pleasant visit with the doctor.  As always, let me know what you think, and enjoy!))

November 4th: the day that the entrance to King Tut’s tomb was discovered, the day Barack Obama was elected president, and most relevant of all, KC Skye’s birthday.  Every year, she received hundreds of birthday wishes from fans all across social media, but the former aerialist never cared for the day.  It never failed: her birthday would always wind up in disappointment, whether it was the year she got the flu, the time no one came to her party because the invitations were lost in the mail, or when she spent it in an airport after being grounded because of some bullshit volcano in Iceland.  That was why she kept her birthday as low-key as possible; you cannot be disappointed if you have no expectations.

It began as any bad day would: a pain in her wounded leg, gray skies, and her neck aching from sleeping on her pillow the wrong way.  KC very nearly fell out of bed in a groggy haze, but managed to catch herself before she could injure herself any further.  The real kicker came when she attempted to climb into her wheelchair.  While she was becoming adept at the awkward maneuver, her constantly rising weight was making it a tight squeeze.  The cranky aerialist scowled when she felt her ebony hips brush against the arms of her chair, and intensified when her ample backside hit the seat sooner than she liked.

“Fucking chair,” she grumbled as she rolled out to a delectable, decadent aroma.

As the fallen aerialist wheeled around to the kitchen, she was greeted by her cousin and caretaker, Agatha, humming a cheery tune.  KC was forever grateful for all the help she had provided during her recovery, but on that gloomy morning, she was reminded of something she had noticed over the last few months.  Her older cousin had always been on the thicker side—as her mother, KC’s aunt, would put it, she never lost her baby fat.  When Agatha moved in and assumed her role as nurse, the difference between her and KC was like night and day; now, it was closer to dawn and dusk.

The chubby, bubbly Agatha had lost a little weight, what with running around so much for her cousin, but KC more than made up the difference by piling on the pounds.  Between her doting, pampering caretaker and the side effects of her medicine, the wounded wrestler had blown up like a balloon in the last few months, especially below the waist.  Weeks of inactivity had caused her once-mighty muscles to atrophy, and a thick layer of supple, buttery flab had taken their place.  Her belly oozed onto her lap like molten fudge freed from its cakey prison, and her hips filled her wheelchair seat to the brim.  If she were as vainglorious as some of her peers, she could at least take pride in her breasts finally blossoming; unfortunately, she could not care less about the gelatinous sacks of pudge.

A soft ripple ran through her belly as KC wheeled herself up to the kitchen table.  Because of her leg, she had to turn sideways in order to eat, and this only served to emphasize how plump she had gotten.  Rolls formed on her flanks as she wiggled around in her chair in an attempt to get closer to the table.  Agatha had offered to add a tray to her handle bars, but her younger cousin refused to be pampered as such.

“Good morning, birthday girl!” Agatha hummed as she waltzed towards the table with a hefty plate. “I went ahead and fixed your favorite: shrimp and grits eggs benedict, Mom’s hash browns—with extra salt, just the way you like ‘em—and a fruit smoothie with a little bit of everything!”

“Mreh,” KC grunted, unable to muster any excitement for what would otherwise be a kick-ass breakfast.

Seemingly oblivious to her cousin’s moodiness, Agatha set the heaping platter in front of KC and playfully bumped her hips against her cousin’s shoulder. “Dig in!  You need to get a good diet if you want that leg to heal faster.”

The wounded wrestler wanted to argue that eggs benedict were not part of a balanced breakfast, but she was too tired and too grumpy to put up a fight.  Besides, they were her favorite cheat day meal, and she was not about to turn down hollandaise-drenched goodness because she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  With a resounding sigh, KC picked up her fork and dug into her meal with a slow, determined pace; just because she was getting fat did not mean she had to forego manners and eat like a pig.

As the grounded aerialist worked her way through an entire potato’s worth of hash, Agatha was chirping about this and that, which KC easily tuned out.  It was not until her older cousin mentioned one of her most dreaded places that the growing girl’s ears perked up.  Over the spray of the sink, Agatha told her, “Oh, and don’t forget—you’re heading to the doctor for your check-up.”

Goody.  KC hated the doctor—always had, always would.  She hated her pediatrician while growing up, she hated the athletic doctors at University of Kansas, and she hated the orthopedist she was currently seeing for her leg.  Not only did the older woman disapprove of her profession, but she always made a point to talk about her weight.  KC knew she was getting fat; she did not need to be reminded of that every other week.  It was all the more reason why she was trying to get better in a hurry—so she would never have to see Dr. Ralston ever again.

“By the way, would you mind if we went on a couple errands after the doctor’s office?” asked Agatha while drying a pan.

“I was kind of hoping we could just go home after seeing Dr. Skeletor,” KC grumbled as she speared a large shrimp with her fork. “That woman would drive me to drink if I wasn’t on medication.”

“Please, Cassie?  It would just be a few extra minutes—you wouldn’t even need to come in with me,” her cousin pleaded, hands clasped together like a child wanting to go to the toy store.

When the wrestler glanced over and saw the puppy eyes Agatha was making, she rolled her own and sighed, “Okay, fine, but just a couple of stops.  I really just want to take it easy today, Agatha.”

“Of course, of course,” the caretaker replied with a grin. “I’m going to put myself together for the day.  Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

KC nodded and grumbled beneath her breath as she returned to her decadent breakfast, wishing she could drown her sorrows in fruit smoothie.  Before she left the room, Agatha trotted up behind her moody cousin and wrapped her arms around her in a warm hug.  She hummed, “And don’t let that Dr. Ralston get you down, okay?  She might not have good bedside manners, but she means well.”

That was hard to believe, considering that the last time she had gone to see the doctor, the old woman had made no less than five pointed remarks about her weight.  KC always bit her lip and held her breath, knowing that if she dared to let loose, she would likely beat the nasty witch with her crutches.  Still, she gave another nod and returned Agatha’s hug with an awkward side hug of her own.

“Don’t worry,” the grounded gymnast assured her cousin. “I’m a big girl.”


“Well, there’s no real sugarcoating it: you’re getting fat, Miss Dupont.”

KC rolled her eyes as her doctor scribbled notes on her chart, notes that she could not read but were certainly about her weight.  She would have given anything for the strength to lunge from her wheelchair and choke the bile out of the crabby woman, but she settled for digging her nails into her arms.  Knowing her orthopedist’s snippy attitude did little to improve things; it only served as a reminder of how shit her station in life was.

“I keep telling you, it’s the stupid medication,” the aerialist grumbled, arms crossed underneath her chunky chest.

Dr. Ralston did not even glance up from her chart as she snorted, “Rebeprosyn can lead to weight gain, but you’ve put on fifty-odd pounds since July.  You’re 199 pounds, young lady—you don’t get there on medication alone.  How much exercise are you getting?”

“None—you told me not to,” KC seethed.

“Well, it might be time to squeeze some of that into your daily routine,” the wizened woman remarked, unmoved by her patient’s temper. “Now, lift up your shirt.”

The wrestler shot daggers at her doctor but acquiesced, lifting her shirt to reveal her pasty, pudgy belly.  It was cut into two thick rolls by her skirt, and it was the ribbon of flab that oozed over her waistband that Dr. Ralston took hold of.  KC grunted as she felt it dig into her ebony skin, but she knew that if she put up a fight, it would only draw out the agony.  Finally, the doctor pulled the instrument away, granting the grounded gymnast the chance to roll her shirt back down.

“See what I mean?  You’ve got a BMI percentage of 27—that puts you square in the ‘Overweight’ category.  You’re lucky you’ve got your height to balance this out,” the aged woman chuckled as she scribbled more illegible notes. “Any shorter, and you’d be downright obese.”

KC wished that was the case, if only so she could squish the mean-spirited woman underneath her.  She escaped to her fantasies, imagining her and Dr. Ralston squaring up against each other in the ring.  Thoughts of slamming her through the canvas danced through her head, and she got a chuckle out of imagining what it would be like to Vader Bomb the obnoxious orthopedist.  Sadly, she was snapped back to reality when Dr. Ralston snapped her bony fingers in front of her face.

“Better get some more sleep if you’re zoning out like that, Miss Dupont,” the old woman remarked as she sat up on her stool.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” KC muttered to herself.  She spoke up and asked, “So, is there anything else besides my weight that you wanted to talk about?”

Dr. Ralston cleared her throat with a cough so violent, KC swore she saw the old woman’s bones rattle. “Well, the good news is that, despite all the weight you’ve put on, you’re fit as a fiddle; we ought to be able to take that cast off in a few weeks.  It’s beyond me how you did it, given how big you are.”

There was a very simple answer for the wrestler’s speedy recovery: ruthless aggression.  Ever since her leg had been shattered, KC had focused solely on what she would do once she got better, and the first thing on her list was payback.  Not on Maxine—she knew in her heart that the giantess was only a tool for Sadie Storme.  When she let her thoughts stray, the grounded aerialist could see Sadie’s smug grin as she was wheeled to the ambulance by paramedics; it was enough to make her blood boil.  All she needed was a dartboard with the blonde’s face over the target, and she would complete the bitter picture.

Her list did not stop at Sadie: everyone that so much as looked at her funny went on her mental list; the slightest glance was enough to make an enemy for life.  Whether it was Dr. Ralston, the condescending clerk at the department store, or the patronizing passerby mattered not; they were all on KC’s list.  Some days, it was only the thought of dropkicking them all through a window that kept her going, and she swore that the first thing she did once her leg healed was boot someone in the chin.

“Guess I’m just a quick healer,” KC smirked, though her doctor remained unimpressed.

“Well, whatever it is, keep it up—we’re looking at getting that cast off by mid-December, I think,” the old woman remarked without much enthusiasm. “Once we do that, you won’t really have much of an excuse not to hit the treadmill.”

Fire blazed through KC’s cheeks, and if it were any colder, steam would have come off her skin.  Violent thoughts filled her brain; it was all she could do to not tackle Dr. Ralston and shove the entire jar of tongue depressors sound her throat.  Her nails dug deep enough into her arm that they drew blood, and her teeth ground to the point that her head hurt, but it was just enough for her to focus on not murdering her orthopedist.

“I guess not,” the wrestler growled like an animal ready to pounce. “Are we done?”

“Yep.  Just take this to the front desk, and they’ll get you signed out,” the doctor answered, unaware of how close she was to having her face caved in.  As she passed the chart to KC, she mumbled, “Goodness, it got warm in here really fast.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the wounded wrestler seethed as she rolled out the door as fast as she could.


The first stop on the long road home was a local burger joint so KC could bury her frustrations under a triple-decker cheeseburger, two fully-loaded hot dogs, a jumbo milkshake, and a mountain of curly fries.  Gorging herself was counterproductive to any thoughts she had of losing weight, but after the visit she had, the aerialist needed to do this out of sheer spite for her doctor.  She crammed as much food as she could down her throat, to the point that she felt like a balloon by the time Agatha rolled her back into the car.  After such a generous glut, KC passed out and spent the rest of the trip nursing her full, bloated stomach.

“Cassie, sweetie, get your shoes on—we’re at Grandma’s!” Agatha teased her sleeping cousin.

“Guh way,” KC grumbled as she was roused from slumber.

“Come on—I’m going to fix you a little something to cheer you up,” the older woman hummed as she unloaded groceries from the back of the car. “Wouldn’t want your birthday to be a bunch of sour grapes, would we?”

At that, KC snapped.  The second her wheels hit the driveway, she slammed her fists onto her armrests and screeched, “Agatha, knock it off with the birthday crap already!  I hate today—I’ve always hated it!”

Face red as a tomato, the wrestler turned to her cousin with gritted teeth. “The only good birthday I’ve had is the one where I was born; it’s all been downhill from there.  Why should this year be any different?  My leg is so broken that I might not be able to wrestle again, my doctor is a bitch, and I’m so fat that my hips touched the arms of my chair this morning.  This day has been a huge pile of shit, and I don’t want to do anything but go sleep for the next three days.  I don’t want any cake or balloons or any fucking birthday dinner!”

KC left her cousin stammering in the driveway, trying to think of some response to the furious fighter, but all she could say was, “Cassie, wait!  Don’t go—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the wheelchair-bound warrior rolled up to the door and threw it open, only to be greeted by a chorus of “Surprise!”

Standing in the living room were Mickey Ramone, Raymundo Valdez, and Shinobu Misawa with a banner between the three of them that read ‘Happy birthday, KC!’ It was becoming more and more common for Shinobu to stop by, but this was the first time she had seen Mickey since making an unannounced visit back in July.  Though she had been keeping up with her friend and former tag partner’s growth online, she was amazed at how rotund the woman had gotten in the span of a few months.  Then again, that seemed to be the case for all three of the ladies; none of them were the same sizes they were at the start of the year.

“I know you’re not the biggest fan of birthdays, but when Agatha reached out to us, there was no way we weren’t going to drop by for a visit,” Mickey explained as she dropped her end of the banner and waddled over to KC. “Besides, you’re in no condition to slap the shit out of your doctor, so that’s what we’re here for—Shinobu and I can totally set her up for a Doomsday Device if you want.”

The bubbly Osakan likewise sauntered over to her wheelchair-bound friend and wrapped her in a squishy hug.  She cheerfully sang, “O-tanjoubi omedetou, KC-chi!”

“What she said,” Mickey cooed as she embraced KC with her thick, pillowy arms. “Feliz cumpleaños, ya grump.”

After her meltdown in the driveway, KC was at a loss for words.  Instead, she pulled her arms free from the warm, blubbery embrace of her closest friends and reached around them as best she could.  The grounded aerialist shut her eyes as a fit of giggles overtook her, which then spread to her buxom buddies.  When she woke up this morning, she had only expected a quiet day at home with her cousin, as was her daily routine, but this derailed that plan in the best way possible.

“Still hate your birthday?” asked Agatha as she appeared behind with a massive cookie cake.

KC glanced up with the first smile she had cracked all day and hummed, “Not so much.”

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((It's getting cold over in the States.  Why not warm up with a new chapter, hot off the presses?  This one features our favorite mother-to-be-again as Amanda helps her housekeeper get ready for Thanksgiving.  How?  Well, you'll just have to read to find out!  Sit back, curl up with a cup of hot cocoa, and enjoy!))


Amanda never much cared for Thanksgiving.  When she was a spoiled little girl, she hated having the entire Ericson family over, and how there was neither candy nor presents to be gained.  As she got older, she grew out of the childish need for gifts with each holiday, but she still did not enjoy being too young to mingle with the older relatives and too old to hang out with the younger.  The one constant throughout her life was that she never enjoyed the dinner aspect: as a kid, it was because she was a picky eater who had to plug her nose in order to get vegetables down; as she got older, it was because she disdained all the abundance and celebrating gluttony.

Once she got past her picky eating years, the Little Rich Girl developed a taste for most dishes, though she still had trouble with Aunt Lorna’s green bean casserole.  Her brain was hardwired to staying trim and fit however, so she never indulged anymore than she needed to; she limited herself to one plate with modest portions of turkey, veggies, and a starch.  It was the same willpower she applied to her everyday life, and she was able to stay the course for decades.

All that changed now that she was pregnant with triplets.  Her restraint around food had gone out the windows as she became a stay at home mom who refrained from moving around as much as she could.  Heidi, her faithful housekeeper, made it a personal mission to make sure the expectant mother wanted for nothing, and as the weeks went by, that usually meant snacks and extra portions.  Unfortunately, unlike her last three pregnancies, she had to take medication to help with a deficiency and imbalance in her body, which also made her appetite go through the roof.  There was no way she would be able to subsist on the portions she was used to; her body demanded more and more each day.

Levi, her adoring husband, marveled at this change in his wife.  There was no way this was the same woman he had been married to for the last ten years; the Amanda he knew and loved ate like a bird.  Now, she seemed to be on the “See Food” diet, and the effects were showing on her.  The billionaire had absolutely ballooned in the few months since her pregnancy began, putting on more weight than she did in the whole nine months of her last.  A thick layer of padding covered her entire body, and it was getting to the point that it was hard to tell if her tummy was heavier with b**s or with blubber.  It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself, especially when he had not explained to his wife how much the thought of her getting fatter turned him on.

Though he made sure to constantly shower her with affection, the producer had yet to tell Amanda how he truly felt about her weight—namely, that he wanted to see more.  He had been a closeted fat admirer for a couple years, and not once did he broach the subject with his wife, who would rather be caught dead than with an extra inch or two in the middle.  This surprise pregnancy had been a blessing in more ways than one, as it gave him the opportunity to guide her down the path of pudginess without revealing his desires.  Levi was determined to milk this for all it was worth while he still had time, and thankfully, he had an unknowing ally in this endeavor.

Heidi had been on a mission of her own since Amanda became pregnant again, especially when she found out that the Little Rich Girl would be staying home much longer this time, per her doctor’s orders.  The little housekeeper was slowly molding the billionaire into the perfect image of a mother, at least in her eyes.  She was softening the edges on the hard-nosed Amanda, plumping her towards a more matronly appearance—a far cry from the woman who commanded the board room.  All her efforts had led to her brunette boss packing on over forty pounds of pillowy pudge, but that would look like chump change after Thanksgiving.

It was a cool, crisp November morning, and Amanda woke from her post-breakfast nap, a daily occurrence for the increasingly slothful mother.  She was roused from her slumber by her husband’s scruffy beard brushing against her cheeks as he leaned in to kiss her forehead.  With a kitten-soft yawn, she hummed, “I’m awake…I’m awake.”

“Had a good breakfast, hon?” Levi asked, his tone as gentle as a lamb.

“God, if I never see omelette du fromage again, it’ll be too soon,” Amanda murmured, hands caressing her baby bump.  She had made many such declarations since she stayed at home, and not a single one lasted more than a day. “What time is it?”

“Just a little after 11,” the big man replied as he stood back up. “I was going to head out in a little bit to bring lunch to Grace and Josie, and then I’m going to run some errands before I pick Nicole up for soccer practice.”

Hearing that brought a contented smile to the billionaire’s soft cheeks.  Every time Levi was home, he became Super Dad: he ran errands, drove the girls everywhere, and even helped Heidi with the cleaning.  It was a far cry from his old frat boy/rabble-rouser gimmick; he was a family man in every sense of the word.  When he got his paternity leave, the former Triple Threat could not have been happier, as it meant he had several months to do what he loved. 

Amanda chuckled and reminded him, “Just be sure you bring a pen and a notepad—you know those kids are going to want autographs.”

“Like I don’t keep them on me at all times,” Levi retorted with a showman’s smirk. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?”

“Maybe just some lotion—I swear I saw some stretchmarks in the mirror this morning,” the Little Rich Girl answered with a sleepy yawn.

“Can do, little mamacita,” her doting husband answered softly.  He lay one of his massive hands down atop her bloated belly and gently massaged the doughy dome.  While he could certainly feel the firm baby bump through Amanda’s sweater, he also detected a fine layer of fluff, especially on the underside.  She was getting big, far bigger than she had ever let herself grow before, and she still had five months to go.

“Take it easy today, all right?” Levi hummed in his gruff, gravelly voice.

“Not like I can do much else,” Amanda sighed, shutting her eyes and relaxing like a spoiled housecat under her husband’s belly rub. “Doctor’s orders.”

That was a laugh, considering her heritage.  Trying to get anyone in the Ericson family to listen to a doctor was like trying to herd cats; Dave had blown out both his quads a few years back, and they all but strapped him down to a bed to help him recover.  If Amanda was listening to her OBGYN, it would be the first for the Ericsons.

“There’s a girl,” Levi chuckled.  He patted her globular gut one last time before leaning in for a soft kiss. “I love you, my princess.”

“I love you too, my king,” the brunette purred, her fingers brushing over his beard one last time.

After Levi left, Amanda began the arduous task of getting up from her chair, where the only easy part was shifting the recliner upright.  The formerly fit matron had to rock in place to get some momentum; there was no other way she could heave her bulk out of the chair otherwise.  When she finally got to her feet, she put her hands behind her back for stability and turned to look at the recliner—specifically, the indentation she was leaving in the cushion.  All this time spent in the chair had effectively marked it as hers; there was no one else in the house with a booty that could fill the gap.

“It’s only for a few more months,” the billionaire reminded herself as she tottered off towards the kitchen, where she could hear Heidi hard at work.

When she waddled in for a glass of water, Amanda found her housekeeper hustling and bustling as she cooked what looked like four dishes at once.  It never failed to impress the Little Rich Girl how productive the older woman could be; she was a master of multitasking, especially in the kitchen.  More than that, despite having her attention pulled in a dozen different directions, Heidi always managed to whip up a delicious dish.  Amanda could cook, but not on a level like this.

“It’s a little early in the day to be cooking dinner, Heidi,” the brunette remarked, one hand holding her water while the other cradled her stomach. “What’s got you so busy today?”

The dark-haired woman snapped to attention and spun on her heel to greet her employer with a smile. “Ah, Miss Amanda!  No, I’m not cooking dinner—not tonight’s dinner, at least.  I’m working on the food for Thanksgiving; I have so many new ideas I want to try!”

Amanda chuckled, amazed at how there were still recipes Heidi had never made before.  She could make a new dish for every meal each day of the year; to think that there were dishes she had never cooked before was unreal.  The billionaire gingerly sipped her water as she leaned against the counter, plush bottom spreading across the marble.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” she offered her stalwart housekeeper. “Between you and Levi, I feel like a bump on a log.”

Heidi waved her hand and assured her employer, “No, no, no, you just rest!  You need to rest for those little ones.”

“Yeah, but I feel like all I do is rest these days,” Amanda sighed, glancing down at her feet.  She could still see her toes, but just barely; another week or two, and they would be gone for the next few months.  In spite of this knowledge, the urge to sit back down was strong, and she eyed one of the kitchen chairs longingly.

Across the room, Heidi felt a twinge of guilt while stirring a pot of beef stew.  While she appreciated the fact that Amanda wanted to help for a change, the Little Rich Girl would only have been a hindrance.  Not only did her baby bump make her awkward and cumbersome, but it and her medication sapped the energy right out of her.  Heidi needed someone who could be on their feet for longer than a few minutes, not someone whose goal for the next few months was to sit, eat, and sleep.


“Actually, Miss Amanda, there might be something you can help with after all,” the housekeeper hummed as she waltzed over to her employer. “Why not take a seat and I can tell you what I need?”

Amanda wanted to contest that she had only been standing for a few minutes after napping for the last couple of hours, but her feet were aching something fierce and she could think only of relieving that pain.  She allowed Heidi to guide her to one of the kitchen chairs, and she gently lowered herself down on her plump bottom, better than any cushion.  Demurely, she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, since this is the first time I’ll be trying these recipes, I was hoping you might be my taste tester?” Heidi asked as she returned to the stove. “I could always use a second opinion, and I think you’d be perfect.”

“Oh gosh, Heidi, I don’t know,” Amanda whined, her hands instinctively falling onto her stomach.  It was so round, bigger than she was at the end of her last pregnancy, and she was already eating so much throughout the day.  If she ate any more, she was afraid she would pop. “I’m still feeling stuffed after breakfast.”

“You only need a spoonful or forkful, Miss,” the housekeeper assured.  As an example, she scooped up a spoonful of hearty beef stew and brought it over to Amanda.  With her hand underneath to catch any stray drops, she hummed, “Here—tell me what you think!”

It was so aromatic, savory, and rich that Amanda did not think twice about taking the generous spoonful.  The thick stew warmed her body was it went down her throat, and she slowly chewed the tender beef and potatoes to make them last all the longer.  Just a few months ago, she would have paid little mind to the flavors; all that mattered were the nutrients she could get from such a dish.  Now, she detected a hint of pumpkin and a little too much pepper in the broth, something she never would have picked up on once upon a time.

“That is marvelous!” the billionaire purred, licking her lips of any stray drops. “A little too much kick for me though; maybe a little less pepper?”

“I thought that’s what was wrong with it,” Heidi agreed as she bustled back to the stove. “I’ll be sure to fix that up.  Let me get you some more samples, and I’ll get to work on the rest.  Oh, this is going to be fun—just like cooking school all over again!”

If only Amanda knew what she had signed herself up for.  In her effort to prove useful in her own house, the mother had opened herself up to a deluge of food like never before.  Heid was true to her word, but she left out one important detail: her employer would be eating several spoonfuls or forkfuls of each dish as the chef tempered the food to perfection.  That would have been enough alone, but as her appetite grew, Amanda found that those little samples were not enough for her; she needed to have more.  A spoonful became a ramekin became a bowl, and a forkful became a salad plate became a dinner plate.  It was never enough for the growing matron, no matter how much she tried to hold herself back.

“You don’t need to eat so much,” the little voice in her head would remind her as she sampled cornbread with homemade honey butter.

“You just finished eating lunch!  Do you really need that much?” it would argue as Amanda delivered another heaping forkful of oyster stuffing to her lips.

“Put the spoon down, tubby!  You’re going to be more soup than woman if you keep this up!” it screamed while the brunette guzzled down beef stew baked inside a pumpkin.

Amanda knew she had to cut back: she had already gotten so fat in the last few months; she did not need to add fuel to the fire destroying her waistline.  What had the scale read when she last dared to step on it—185?  190?  Had she crossed the dreaded 200 pound threshold?  The Little Rich Girl was terrified to find out, as it meant that she had lost her vaunted restraint and willpower that had helped her stay the same weight for the last twenty years.  No longer was she the ball-busting businesswoman who commanded the board room with a single glance; she was the pampered housewife who let herself balloon to twice her pant size.

Did it really matter when she had so much good food in front of her?  She might have been trapped in a whirlwind, but at least it was delicious.  Critiquing Heidi’s cooking amounted to little more than nitpicking—a little too much salt, a little too creamy, or a little too dry.  Every bite was better than the last, and the dish wound up perfect by the third or fourth try.  That did not stop her from a fifth, sixth, or seventh try.  It should have, but she could not help herself anymore.

Time lost all meaning as she gorged herself stupid.  How long had she been stuck at the kitchen table, eating more food than some people did in an entire year?  Had it been three days?  Had it been two weeks?  Was it Thanksgiving already?  Amanda neither knew nor cared; all that mattered was filling this black hole that existed in her stomach, consequences be damned.

But there would surely be consequences for all this eating.  The Little Rich Girl already felt like a balloon, but she swore she could feel herself growing with each bite.  Her sweater was stretched tight over her globular middle, and it was riding up her tummy as the ball of flab rolled onto her lap.  Were threads popping every time she shifted in seat?  Those yoga pants were getting awfully tight; she had needed Levi’s help in getting them on.  When she glanced down as another plate was set in front of her, Amanda gawked at the size of her breasts.  They had not been that big when she woke up!

When had she woken up again?  What day was it?  Had Levi remembered to pick the girls up from school?  Nicole had a soccer game coming up; she really out to attend, especially if the team went out for pizza afterwards.  Amanda’s brain was a scrambled mess of responsibilities and dates, and eating until she was full up to her frontal lobe was not helping.  Yet still, she persevered, eating everything that Heidi put in front of her like some kind of pig.

Maybe this was all a dream brought on from too much breakfast.  There was no way she had been eating endlessly, growing round and fat—or rounder and fatter, as it were.  However, if it was a dream, she did not want to wake up; it was too delicious.  Amanda wished she could keep eating like this forever, regardless of how fat she got.  Let her ass grow until she needed three chairs just to sit comfortably.  Let her belly grow until it touched her knees.  If she could keep eating like this, she did not care if she never moved again.

Suddenly, she stopped when she heard the sound of a fork scraping an empty plate.  Amanda glanced down and realized she had not grown a single inch; her clothes were tight, yes, but they had been like that the moment she put them on.  A small stack of plates and bowls sat beside her—a far cry from the mountain she had imagined.  She glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall for some kind of answer.  Two hours.  The billionaire had been at this for only two hours.

“I think that will do for today, Miss Amanda,” Heidi hummed while she washed up at the sink, not knowing her employer had slipped into another food coma. “I can’t wait to do this again tomorrow!”

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