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Cyril Figgis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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2 hours ago, Batman76 said:

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

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

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1 hour ago, Cyril Figgis said:

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

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

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3 hours ago, KerryNation said:

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

Spoiler alert: she won't do very well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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((Happy 400 pages!))


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kay,” the doughball diva murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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1 hour ago, KerryNation said:

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

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

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While Notapig was ‘prepping’ for her role in the Gauntlet, her sister, Kat, was doing the same, but back in their home state of Wisconsin.  The more athletic-minded of the Donna Twins was looking forward to a run-in at the Gauntlet as a way to announce her return to active competition, but there were two roadblocks in her way.  First, she was coming off having two ribs broken, and her doctor insisted that she take it slow while getting back in shape.  Second, and most frustrating of all for her, was that she had plumped up a good bit since she got back home to recuperate.

“205 pounds, Cuz,” read Cassandra Lowery as she checked the number on the scale for Kat.

“Shit,” the bloated blonde hissed.  She squished her soft middle and doughy chest in to confirm that, yes, she had managed to put on forty pounds since the end of November.  “God, how did I let things get this bad?  I’ve put on a couple pounds over the holidays before, but never this much.”

The answer was because unlike those other times, Kat never had someone helping her gain weight.  When her cousin, Cassandra, had seen how much the formerly fit girl had softened up at Thanksgiving, she made it her mission to fatten her up as much as she could while she was recuperating.  Aiding the devious girl in her endeavor was the knowledge that Kat had little to no willpower when it came to food; if given the opportunity, she would slip into a hoggish trance where the only thing that mattered was filling her belly to the brim.

Not that Cassandra ever told her cousin about that, since she was finally the thinnest between her, Kat, and Natalie.  She had nursed a grudge against the Donna Twins ever since they were children and she was known as ‘Fat Cass’, so seeing her two supermodel cousins fatten like hogs gave her the most exquisite case of schadenfreude.  Since she could not get her hands on Natalie, who was always absent from family get-togethers for one reason or another, she decided to exact her revenge on Kat by making sure she was fat as possible before going back to work.

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up, Katty,” Cassandra told her roly-poly relative, reaching around Kat’s waist to ostensibly give her a side hug—and in reality, sink her hand into the blonde’s muffin top.  “After all, this was a pretty unusual year.  When was the last time you spent the holidays with an injury?”

Kat sighed and pinched a roll of fat at her waist.  “I know, but…geez, I didn’t think it was possible to get this big this fast.  How am I going to shift any of this before I have to fly out for the Gauntlet?”

“We’ll find a way, don’t you worry.  More importantly, how about we go shopping for a few new clothes?  I know you were saying you’ve got a lot of things that don’t fit right anymore, and I know you want to look your best when you get back,” the devious Cassandra hummed.

“I guess a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt,” Kat replied, knowing she would have to get a wardrobe upgrade at some point.  “Thanks, Cass.”

“Anytime, Cuz,” the lighter blonde said with a sly grin on her face.  “Oh, you know what we should do?  Let’s get a picture so you can start a weight loss diary for yourself!  I know that it’s really helped me to know how far I’ve come since I started.”

Cassandra was proud as can be about her personal weight loss, having worked her tail off over the last two years to get to where she was.  Gone were the days of struggling to find cute clothes that fit, snacking mindlessly as she went about her day, and lazing around when she had nothing to do.  The former butterball finally had enough teasing and taunting, and she made good on her promise to lose enough weight to match her more famous cousins.  Little did she know that while she was losing weight, Natalie and Kat had both gained an exorbitant amount of weight since August, so much so that both were now fatter than Cassandra.  If they kept pace, it would not be long before they were bigger than their formerly chubby cousin had ever been.

“I don’t know, Cass,” Kat mused through pursed lips.  She was not one for keeping track of any personal progress, good or bad, and cataloguing how plump she had gotten was far from appealing.  “I’d rather not have a reminder of this moment.”

“That just means it’s the perfect fodder,” Cass insisted.  “Come on, I’ll do one with you—I need to get an update for my log.”

Having company helped ease some of Kat’s worries, as did the assurance that tracking milestones helped her cousin.  The formerly fit blonde slumped her shoulders and asked, “What do I need to do?  Should I change for any of this?”

“Why don’t you get some of your ring gear for the picture?  That way, it’ll give you an incentive to fit into them again,” Cassandra answered in a half-truth.  It was a good enough reason, but more than anything, she wanted to see how much the now chunky Kat poured out of her wrestling gear—if she could even get it on at all.

Kat snorted at the suggestion and crossed her arms under her plush chest.  “That stuff was skintight on me fifty pounds ago—there’s no way I could get it on now.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” her cousin replied, puffing up her lip and widening her eyes into a pitiful puppy dog face that let her get away with anything.

And the trend continued, as Kat slumped her arms to her puffy sides and grunted, “Fine, but after this, we are going to get some clothes that fit me…and calling my designer to see about getting some more tights in a bigger size.”

While most of her gear was back at her apartment in San Diego, the younger Donna Twin had a few older outfits in storage thanks to her parents never getting rid of stuff.  She fished around for a spell before happening upon a regrettable outfit from her stint in Mid-West Championship Wrestling—a blue crop top and short shorts that made her look less like a wrestler and more like a streetwalker.  It had been a blatant attempt to cash in on some cheap sex appeal, and she was more than glad to ditch the look when she got to the main roster.  Unlike her sister, Kat wanted to be known as more than just a pretty face, and dressing like she swung on a pole for a living was not part of that plan.

“I only really started putting on weight recently, so these shouldn’t be too bad, right?” the blonde asked herself, even though her voice was filled with doubt.  “Yeah…yeah, this’ll work.  Maybe.”

It did not.  Kat had only been growing recently, yes, but her gear had been tight on her even when she was at her peak.  The straps for her top bit into her softened shoulders, and while she was supposed to run some lacing in front of her cleavage, the strings were unable to meet on the lowest rung.  Worst of all, she had too much boob for the top, to the point that tit meat oozed out of the sides and bottom, saying nothing about how her areolas peeked out the front.  Even her old logo, DEFY ALL, was stretched to the point of illegibility, with the ALL scrunched up and wedged between her bountiful cleavage and her billowing belly.

But she had always been top-heavy, especially in comparison to her sister—surely her briefs would fit better.  Alas, Kat’s hopes were dashed when the slinky material caught on her chubby thighs only halfway up, leaving her hopping around in a desperate attempt to get them higher.  The blue shorts creaked in agony as she worked, but Kat was not going to be deterred, especially not by a piece of clothing that cost as much as a college textbook.  Despite her best efforts though, she was only able to get the shorts to just underneath her chubby cheeks before they refused to go any higher.

“Shit,” Kat gasped, the act of getting dressed being the most exercise she had gotten in weeks.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  How did I let myself get this fat?”

It would have seemed obvious to anyone watching from the outside, but the formerly fit girl was at a loss as to how she had plumped up so much.  Sitting around on her duff for the last few weeks had not helped, true, but surely she had not done this much damage to herself over the last few months.  Kat still ate well and exercised, though as the doubts set in, she wondered when the last real workout was before her injury.  And what had her diet been like before the holidays, when she was deluged in delights day in and day out?  She tried to recall the last time she ever said no to a plate or passed on sides and appetizers, but she could not remember.

“Well, we’re going to change that,” Kat assured herself as she grabbed her gelatinous middle and gave it a wobble.  “Gonna lose this gut, lose some of the tatas, and show them we can still be championship material…assuming Sadie’s willing to give it up at some point.”

When she was part of the Storme Troop, Kat had enjoyed being associated with Sadie, since the blonde looked after the members of her clique.  The Donna Twins would have had a much longer road to tag team glory if not for her backstage politicking, and she would always be thankful to her former leader for that.  Of course, Sadie always made sure to look out for number one, and trying to get her to give up a title was like pulling teeth.  Kat hoped that their history would mean something to her, but given Sadie’s track record, that seemed as likely as her squeezing back into her tights in the week.

“No, we’re not going to worry about that now,” the former bombshell scolded herself.  “First order of business is actually getting back in the ring—the gold will come later.  Let’s just get this stupid picture over with, then we’ll go shopping, and then all will be well.”


Cassandra did nothing to hide her laughter when she saw Kat shuffle out of the closet in her hopelessly undersized gear, though she did play it off as more good-natured than it actually was.  She took several pictures of her cousin from a variety of angles, but no matter where Kat faced or how she stood, she looked fat.  Each picture taken felt like a poke to her belly or a slap on her ass, a reminder of how out of shape she had let herself become and how much she needed to change.

Once the impromptu photo session ended, Kat changed into more comfortable clothes as quickly as possible and made sure the old tights were buried deep in her closet.  Unfortunately, even her comfiest clothes were snug on her, leaving a stomach roll peeking out from under her sweater and her jeans whiskering around the zipper.  That the clothes were tight was discouraging enough, but knowing that these were clothes she had just gotten for the holidays torpedoed her confidence.  While she was not the narcissist that she made herself out to be, Kat still liked looking her best and hated that she could actually pinch an inch of herself.

“All right, sorry about the wait, Cass,” the blonde butterball apologized as she made her way down the stairs.  “I’m just about ready to go, and…what smells so good?”

When she reached the kitchen, she got her answer in a plate full of grilled cheese sandwiches and Cassandra making another at the stove.  Her cousin glanced over at her and answered, “I thought it would be wise if we didn’t go shopping on an empty stomach, so I made us some sandwiches.  Then I thought, ‘You know what’s great for a cold winter day?  Grilled cheese and tomato soup!’  Problem is that we don’t have any tomato soup, but at least we’ve got plenty of bread, butter, and cheese!”

“Cass, this is really sweet, but we don’t need this much,” Kat insisted.  “Besides, you’re not supposed to shop hungry if you’re going to the grocery store, dummy.”

“Well, the mall has a food court, and I know how you get around Chinese food,” Cassandra replied with a wink, though the meaning was lost on Kat.  “Come on, grab a seat and we’ll just have a nice lunch.  Not like the mall’s going anywhere, after all.”

Despite her meager protestations, Kat felt her stomach gurgle in hunger and made her way to the table.  The mall would still be there when she finished her lunch, true, and it would be rude to not eat after Cassandra went to the trouble of cooking.  She had been such a big help during the holidays, when Kat was cooped up and letting her ribs rest, and it felt so nice to just relax and hang out like they used to.  It was going to be a shame to part ways again, especially since Cass had gotten so good at cooking, but Kat had to get back in the ring at some point.

“You go ahead and get started, Kat, and I’ll be right with you,” her cousin said as she set a large serving plate full of sandwiches in front of Kat.

The Donna Twin looked over the stack of gooey, crispy sandwiches and had to wipe away a drop of drool that formed at the corner of her lips.  It reminded her of the patty melt she had gotten back on Halloween, when she made her first real plunge into indulging her appetite.  In a way, it was fitting that her last blowout be part of the same food that drew her down the rabbit hole in the first place.  That line of thinking made it easier to accept the meal, and so, with her mind made up, Kat picked up a slice and took a big bite.

It did not take long for the snorting to begin, much to Cass’s delight.  Kat was still oblivious to how much of a piggy she became whenever she ate, but it had been getting worse as the holidays went on.  While the worst of it was reserved for her private times with her cousin, the former fitness freak’s hoggish tendencies were bleeding into her normal meals, causing her to occasionally snort and grunt in approval as she wolfed down her mother’s cooking.  She never went full hog around the rest of the family, which made it all the more special for Cassandra—like it was her little secret.

“You like it, Kat?” asked the once Fat Cass to her heavier cousin.  “I made sure to put some bacon and tomatoes in there for a little added flavor.”

“S’good,” Kat grunted around a mouthful of sandwich.  “Gimme more.”

“Patience, patience, tubby…I’ll have another batch ready soon enough,” Cass chuckled while working on another sandwich.  Since Kat disappeared into her own little world while eating, her once chubby cousin had gotten much more relaxed with teasing her as she gorged.  After all, her schadenfreude would not be complete if she did not get a few verbal barbs in there.

It was hard to imagine that Kat was worried about how much weight she had put on just a few minutes prior, for she attacked the sandwiches as though she had not eaten in days.  Any semblance of the normal Katherine Donna was lost, replaced by a gluttonous fat girl who only cared about satiating her hunger.  If a glob of cheese fell from a sandwich, she let it sit and focused on the rest of the food on hand; if the bacon should drip grease onto her cashmere sweater, so be it.  She did not care that her jeans bit into her waist or her sweater rode up on her belly—she was hopelessly lost in consumption.

Just as she finished up the last slice on the plate, Cassandra returned with another platter, which Kat greedily snatched up before her cousin could even set it down.  Cassandra laughed at the display and asked, “Gosh, where are your manners, Kat?”

“Don’t care.  Eating,” the ample athlete snorted before stuffing her mouth until her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s.

Cassandra smirked at the porcine woman before her and placed her chin in her hand as she watched Kat devour the grilled cheese sandwiches.  She remarked, “You know, I used to be so jealous of how you could run around so fast and got those shiny medals and trophies—all I ever got were ribbons for showing up.  But look at you now: you eat more than I ever did, you weigh more than I do now, and you’re not slowing down at all.”

When her barbs went ignored, the formerly chubby girl continued, “I never thought you could be such a pig, but here you are—ruining your designer clothes all for some sandwiches.  The best part of watching you grow the last month and a half has been knowing that all this is ingrained in you.  You’ll try to go back to business as usual, but it won’t be long before you’re pigging out again.”

“Mmf,” Kat snorted, oblivious to her cousin’s taunting until Cassandra snatched up a slice before she could reach it.  The blonde’s face twisted into a scowl of confusion and frustration as she reached for the sandwich, growling, “Gimme!  S’mine!”

“Snort like a piggy for me, and I’ll give it back,” Cassandra ordered the bloated beauty, not that she needed to at that point.

“Rrnk-rrnk!  Gimme!” grunted Kat, a pathetic whine creeping into her voice.

As she reached out for the slice, her jeans let out an ominous creak before suddenly releasing around her.  She was too far gone to notice or care, but the button had popped clear off her pants and fell to the floor with a plink that most people would have missed—not Cassandra though.  To the former fat cousin, it was like music to her ears, and she wished could have seen it happen.

“All right, fatty, here you go,” the devious blonde cackled as she gave the sandwich back to Kat, who crammed the entire thing in her mouth.  “I’m going to make a few more and then get you some sides—don’t want you going hungry, after all.”

Kat Donna had once been a nimble athlete who could have gone to the Olympics if she had not pursued careers in modeling and wrestling.  She was fit and lithe, with just enough padding to give her body sensual curves that made men want her and women want to be her.  Her goals in life were to become a World Champion, headline a Showdown Supreme, and make it into the GWF Hall of Fame.  Now, she was a swollen parody of herself, so thick and flabby that it was hard to recognize her, and she was no closer to her wrestling dreams than when she started…

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Ever since Maxine Kuhn moved out to Philadelphia, she sought to break free of her shell and rarely allowed herself to wallow in self-pity but for a few dark moments.  She had spent so long under Sadie Storme’s thumb, cowed into being someone else, that she refused to even entertain the thought of going back to who she used to be.  No one was going to tell her what to do in her life, no one was going to make her do anything she did not want, and no one was going to treat her like yesterday’s garbage.  Her life was her own for the first time in two years, and she finally had a chance to spread her wings and see how high she could fly.

The primary goal of that journey was shedding herself of the bulk and blubber that Sadie had coerced her into packing on.  Maxine had once been Amazonian in build, but her evil ex had taken advantage of her gentle nature and led her down a road of self-destruction—one her parents could never have foreseen.  After all, they always warned her against drinking and drugs, but who could have known that her downfall would be fast food and sweets?  Sadie got her hooked on good loving and good eating, coating her body in a thick layer of padding and turning her muscles into pudding.

At her heaviest, the former Typhoon had been 250 pounds, though she looked and felt so much fatter since there was no muscle backing it up.  The woman that had once been a highly sought after prospect for the GWF had allowed herself to become a flabby, out of shape blob who could not work a match for more than a few minutes without getting winded.  Even if Sadie had not talked her into letting KC Skye get injured, she would have been sent down to developmental at some point—it was only a matter of time before management soured on her.

After she had been sent out to Youngblood Wrestling to get back in shape and learned just how duplicitous Sadie really was, Maxine vowed to make a change, and change she did.  She worked herself to the bone, spending more time in the gym than anyone else and practicing moves until her body was covered in bruises from the bumps she took.  Her style changed as she took on a hardcore persona and regularly competed in bloody bouts full of barbed wire, razors, and even shattered glass.  Gone was the enforcer who waited for a cue from Sadie to make a move; now, she was charging head-on into action and demolishing others on a regular basis.

With that change in style came a change in diet and fitness, as Maxine cut out everything that Sadie had gotten her hooked on during their time together and she made up for months of inactivity by fitting in exercise whenever she could.  The results spoke for themselves, as the new year saw the former butterball weighing in at 205 pounds—still a ways off from her goal weight but a far cry from the pathetic porker she had been half a year prior.  She would likely have weighed even less were it not for her cultivating the muscle she had lost, though that added bulk only heightened her berserker persona.

To celebrate five months on her own, the giantess stood in front of her bathroom mirror and filmed herself for her followers, who had been with her every step of the way on her transformative journey.  Maxine wore one of her old t-shirts and a pair of jeans, both from when she was at her heaviest and now hung off her to the point that she needed a belt for the jeans.  The shirt could not completely hide her heavy breasts or plump belly, but the sleeves were loose around her arms and she did not have to constantly readjust it.  It felt good to be able to wear whatever she wanted, especially after being confined to clothes constantly on the verge of popping.

“Whaddup, you awesome people?  Just wanted to give everyone a big thanks for all the support these last few months,” Maxine greeted her fans.  “You guys are one of the biggest reasons I’ve been working my ass off out here in Youngblood; just knowing that there’s even a few of you who still want to see me out there means the world to me.  So, as a little token of my appreciation, I thought I’d show you some of the fruits of my labors.”

The towering woman rolled up her sleeves and flexed her arms, revealing firm biceps that had not been there a few months prior.  She hummed in delight, “It used to be that I had flabby bingo wings, but that’s all in the past.  I’ve been working these pythons since August, and I’m happy to say that your girl can lift her own body weight!  Come Bloody Valentine next month, we might be looking at 250—sky’s the limit now!”

Then, Maxine did something she would not have felt comfortable with even a few months prior—she pulled her shirt up and exposed her paunchy belly.  Back when she was a tub of lard, she hated showing off her gut, especially when Sadie filmed her stuffing herself or popping out of tight clothes.  Now that she was free to do what she want and she had managed to shrink the balloon at her waist, Maxine felt proud at showing off her progress.

“This bad boy’s coming along nicely too,” she described to her followers.  When she patted her stomach for emphasis, it did not jiggle anywhere close to what it used to—a sign of the firm muscles underneath.  “Can’t believe we’ve gotten this far, but here we are!”

Maxine turned in the mirror to show how loose the jeans were on her backside, where they had once been seam-poppingly tight.  She looked over her shoulder as she said, “And these jeans…I remember a time when I was afraid I’d pop the button on them, but now I have to wear a belt to keep them up!  Just goes to show what you can really do when you set your mind to it.  Thanks again for everyone that’s stuck with me, and I’ll see you all in the next video!”

After finishing her video, Maxine took one last look in the mirror and smiled.  It was not so long ago that she had looked in the mirror and hated who she saw to the point that she was ready to destroy her reflection.  Getting the boot had sent her to a dark place, but she had managed to come back from it better than she was before.  A big part of that had been the support of the few fans she had left after the incident with KC, but more than anything, she owed it to two of the most important people in her life—Taylor Rose and Rea Rider.

When she first arrived at Youngblood Wrestling, the former Typhoon had little in the way of friends, so she gravitated to her fellow neophyte in Taylor, especially when she saw some of herself in the poor girl.  The Shawnee girl was a small fish in a big pond and made for easy pickings with the backstage bullies, something that Maxine would not stand for.  After she put a few rotten apples in their place for Taylor, the two had been thick as thieves and elevated each other in their own ways.  Taylor had helped Maxine get her social media game off the ground, and the giantess returned the favor by giving her stout friend tips in the ring.

Then there was her girlfriend of two and a half months, Rea Rider.  The two of them had great chemistry in the ring, where they had gotten into several bloody clashes, but they developed an unusual one on Halloween Night.  Rea had approached Maxine with a curiosity and fascination about her girth and how she had gotten so big, which the giantess had been more than happy to show her.  That one night led to several more, and Maxine not only in another relationship, but one where she was the feeder.  The only difference was that she looked to Sadie as an example of what not to do, gently leading Rea by the hand as she embarked on a plumping road.  It was exactly what Maxine needed after the hell she had been through for the last two years.

‘Hey babe, just checking to see if we’re still on for the Chinese buffet tonight,’ the towering woman texted Rea as she head out to her kitchen to whip up a chicken Caesar salad for lunch. ‘Can’t wait to see how big that belly gets…’

As she kept her eyes on the phone, a nagging thought that had reared its head over the last few weeks came creeping in.  Rea used to be quick as a bullet to respond to her messages, but her replies were coming in later and later, reaching a peak a few nights before when she did not get back to Maxine until the morning after.  When Maxine tried to bring it up in casual conversation, Rea always seemed to find a way to dodge around it and changing the topics straightaway.  She did not want to seem paranoid or possessive, but after finding out that her ex had been a serial cheater, she had become suspicious of little details when things seemed amiss.

Maxine could not help but wonder what Rea was up to, and as her mind spiraled with ever worsening theories, she wolfed down her salad before she knew it—only when her fork scraped against bare plate did she realize how she hoovered up her meal.  Her eyes darted to her fridge, where plenty other options waited for her…perhaps a little more would calm her nerves…

“Nope,” the giantess decided, clapping her hands down on the table.  “We’re not going to do that.  Gotta get some air, maybe go for a run, but no more food, fatty—you’re not going to ruin your diet over another girl.”

With her resolve firm, Maxine strode to her room to get her running shoes on and get the thoughts of stuffing herself out of her head.  She was not going to backslide after all this time—not when she had made this much progress.  Rea would get back to her on her own time, and if she could not reply right away, so be it.

“I mean, what could she be getting up to at noon on a Tuesday?” Maxine asked herself as she changed into her running clothes.


“Keep chugging, you fat cow—we’ve still got another pitcher to go.”

It began a month prior, when an argument between Taylor and Rea grew heated and their personal feelings came into play.  Being snowed in at a cabin was bad enough, but when their feelings for Maxine were brought to the forefront?  Things were bound to turn ugly, though neither woman could have predicted how they would have turned out.

“That’s it…chug, chug, chug…”

Taylor managed to get an attack in on Rea and, after incapacitating her, dragged her rival into the cabin’s store room.  She was relentless as she filled the redhead’s belly with everything she could get her hands on, cramming can after can down her gullet and depleting their stocks at an alarming rate—not that she cared.  All she could see was red as she took out her frustrations on the woman that had stolen Maxine’s attention, doing everything she could to make Rea as miserable as she felt.

“There you go…just a few more gulps…”

Yet, when all was said and done, something changed inside the two women after that day in the cabin.  For Taylor, it was an exhilarating thrill to have Rea at her mercy, stuffed so full that one more bite would pop her; for Rea, it was skin-tinglingly exciting to be fed and controlled by the more dominant Taylor.  What was meant to be a humiliating punishment had turned into one of the most scintillating moments of either woman’s life, and they sought out that thrill again when they got back to town—the very next day, as it was.

Sometimes, they would meet up at an out of the way restaurant to lower the chances of their coworkers catching on; usually, they would just meet at one or the other’s apartment.  They would start by pretending it was such a hassle to get together before moving into talking trash about each other, all in an effort to stoke those same fires that had led to the initial confrontation.  One thing would lead to another, and Taylor wound up straddling Rea as she dumped hundreds of calories down the redhead’s gullet.  She would then give her ‘victim’ time to recover and swear it was the last time before inevitably getting together again a few days later.

It was a formula that had worked out well thus far for them, with their coworkers none the wiser and their itch scratched—even though, like an itch, scratching it only made things worse.  Their hookups lasted longer, to the point that Rea spent the night before at Taylor’s apartment due to a belly so full that she could barely breathe.  Each hookup drew them closer to a line that if they crossed it, they would never be able to walk back.  And more than anything else, Rea was getting fatter—even faster than she had been gaining in her time with Maxine.

After Taylor tapped the last of the milkshake into her feedee’s mouth, she leaned back on Rea’s lap to survey the damage.  The redhead had been developing a shapely hourglass under Maxine’s care, but her middle was swiftly becoming her most prominent feature.  It sat like a dollop of cream at her waist, oozing over her jeans and beginning a slow creep onto her lap.  Her breasts—heavy, full, and in need of bigger confines—rested atop the globular gut and still took up Rea’s view whenever she looked down.  Though they were hidden by her legs, Taylor could feel her rival’s hips squish against her knees, so wide that her curves rolled over the sides of most chairs.

“Guh…so full,” Rea groaned, so much milkshake packed inside her that she felt full up to her eyeballs.  “Nuh more…”

“Only because I ran out of ingredients, fatso,” Taylor spat, though there was far less venom in those words than there used to be.  She gave her feedee’s drum-tight belly a sharp flick, sending a wince through Rea’s weary face.  “Maybe you’ll think twice about calling me out in public.”

The only response Rea could muster was unintelligible sputtering, her eyes glassy and distant as she struggled to avoid popping like a balloon.  Taylor hummed in satisfaction at leaving her rival for Maxine’s affections in such a state—unable to do anything but eat whatever was put in her mouth, helpless to stop Taylor from doing whatever she wanted.  If she listened closely, the Shawnee girl swore she could hear Rea’s bra creaking as it held back her bountiful breasts, and it was like music to her ears.  It was so tempting to roll her blouse up even higher and get an eyeful of the plump melons, but perhaps more than a handful was in order.

Just as she put her fingers on Rea’s shirt, Taylor yanked her hand away and held it back as though it was an angry dog.  She scowled down at her prone rival and grunted, “I’m taking a walk.”

The stout girl scrambled off her prone rival and out of the apartment as quick as she could, her cheeks red with a myriad of pent-up feelings boiling just under the surface.  How could she think of doing something like that to Rea?  Loathe as she was to admit it, the ditzy redhead was Maxine’s girlfriend; who was Taylor to ruin that?  But then, was that not what she was already doing just by eating up their time together?

No…no, this was surely what Maxine wanted.  After all, she made no bones about how she was fattening Rea up—half the locker room knew about their kinky little fling.  And though she had not stuck her rival on a scale yet, Taylor had to guess she was over 200 pounds by that point, so, if anything, Maxine ought to thank her for turning her girlfriend into such a cow.  Hell, if she got her fat enough, she could show off Rea as a Valentine’s Day present: naked save for a red ribbon tied around her blubbery breasts, another one below the waist, hidden by her belly apron…

“Out!  Out of my head!” Taylor grumbled to herself, slapping her temples as if that could erase the mental image of Rea laid out on a bed, her soft curves on full display as she slipped bonbons past her rosy lips and—

A merciful distraction came in the form of her phone chiming, and Taylor whipped it out of her coat pocket to find it was Maxine.  She was quick to answer the call, even though guilt bubbled away in her stomach.  “H-Hey, Maxie, what’s up?”

“Not a ton,” the giantess huffed on the other end, out of breath from her run.  “I was out on a jog and I’m over in your neck of the woods.  Want to meet up for coffee?”

“Coffee?  Uh…sure!  Yeah, of course,” Taylor fumbled, unsure if it would be wise to have Maxine so close while Rea was passed out in her recliner.  “See you at Jitters in twenty?”

“Works for me!  See you in a bit,” Maxine replied before hanging up.

As soon as her phone was back in her pocket, Taylor nibbled one a lock of hair—a nervous tic she had never gotten rid of as she grew older.  Guilt, shame, and panic roiled about in her stomach as she thought of what she was doing with Rea, returning as they always did whenever Maxine entered the picture.  She knew that what she was doing was wrong—Maxine had shared her history not long after they became friends—but she could not help herself.  Feeding and fattening Rea was addictive, and Taylor was hopelessly hooked.

There was only one thing that helped settle her nerves, and that was comfort food.  Ever since her half-affair with Rea began, Taylor’s overeating had turned from trying to impress Maxine to trying to bury her anxieties under a mound of calories, and the effects were obvious.  She had always been thick, but Taylor was fast becoming a proper butterball, with thick thighs that brushed together halfway to the knee and a bobbling belly that quivered with every step she took.  While Rea had sensual curves like an overfed pinup model, Taylor was simply round, sporting wide hips that kept her hands from resting perfectly straight at her side and a rotund profile like Alfred Hitchcock.

Unfortunately, with how she could not end her tryst with Rea, Taylor was locked in a perpetual cycle of plumping.  She stressed about breaking Maxine’s trust, binged to calm down, and grew chubbier, on and on, rinse and repeat.  If she did not do something soon, she would be round enough to roll by summer, but more importantly, Maxine was bound to catch on before long, and what then?

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Once upon a time, the Covenant Day Angels were a force to be reckoned with, ruling the halls of their high school with a well-manicured iron fist.  The hand that formed that fist was the future commissioner of the GWF’s Monday Night War, Amanda Ericson, and if people thought she was a tyrant backstage, they would be shocked to find out she was even worse as a teen.  The Little Rich Girl was every mean girl cliché rolled into one: snooty, rude, and demeaning; fashion-obsessed, two-faced, and a skilled politician.  She commanded the Angels, the school’s cheerleaders, like a crime lord by giving her friends and allies clemency while running them ragged to keep the squad’s perfect appearance.

Of course, the Angels did not try to live up to their namesake, as they were just as bad as their captain in many ways; if Amanda had not seized the reins, someone else would have.  They were a bunch of catty brats who enjoyed flaunting their wealth and status in the faces of those they deemed beneath them—that being almost everyone in the school.  Anyone they could not intimidate, they wrapped around their little fingers with a wink and a smile, which got them out of many an assignment and got them a plethora of gifts.  Covenant Day High School was their kingdom, they were the princesses, and Amanda was their queen.

As the years went by and the Angels matured, they left much of that attitude behind, with some even making amends for their past behavior.  Life took each of them down paths they never thought, from marriages and divorces to children to professions they once frowned on.  The things they once deemed so important were left behind bit by bit as they entered adulthood, right down to the tight little bodies they used to be so proud of.  Time, wear, and tear led to most of the Angels growing soft around the edges, from those who had merely put on a few extra pounds to blowing up so much that people forgot they had ever been cheerleaders.

The latter was exactly where Amanda found herself as she approached the end of her second trimester.  She figured her latest pregnancy would leave her bigger than the others before it—having triplets was bound to cause that—but she had not anticipated filling out as much as she had in so short a period of time.  Everything about her was soft, even her belly, where her prodigious baby bump was covered with so much adipose that one had to prod her to get a feel for the precious cargo beneath.  All of her old maternity clothes were rendered useless by the end of her first trimester, forcing her to go into larger and larger sizes as the weeks ticked on.  It was hell for the woman who used to pride herself on being in better shape than some wrestlers, and there were still almost three months to go.

With the loss of her dynamite body had come a massive drop in her confidence and energy, transforming Amanda into a shell of herself and the very thing she had tried to avoid for years.  As she got older and watched her friends change, she fought hard to maintain her body against the ravages of time.  All of her hard work had gone up like so much smoke though, and being so out of control of her own body for the first time ever left her a mess.  The medicine she was prescribed left her feeling tired and constantly hungry, which meant that the woman who used to help run the GWF now did little more than eat and sleep.

As if she needed one more reminder of how much she had grown and changed over the last year, Amanda received an unexpected visit.  She was settled into her recliner—having inherited it due to how much time she spent in it and how her increasingly wide backside molded the cushion—and watched cartoons with her youngest daughter as she digested a belt-popping breakfast.  Damn Heidi and her exceptional cooking!  If only that woman was less of a good cook, then maybe Amanda could still tie off the belt on her cashmere robe—or even fit in it at all, since it was getting rather snug.

“Mama, can I have a snack?” asked Grace when the commercials came on.

“Sure, Gracie,” Amanda murmured, so full of eggs and bacon that even breathing was difficult.  “I think there’s still one or two cinnamon rolls left from breakfast.”

There were hardly any left, though not from lack of trying on the massive matron’s part after having three alone.  Ever since her appetite was cranked up, leftovers were few and far between in the Ericson-Hunter household, as Amanda would inevitably finish them one way or the other.  Maybe it would be as a snack later in the day or even in the middle of the night, but the blubbery woman would always get the last bite of a meal.

As Grace ran off to the kitchen, the doorbell rang through the house and Heidi, ever the faithful caretaker, announced, “I’ll get it!”

“Not like I could hurry over there anyway,” Amanda grumbled to herself since the only movement she felt capable of were gentle ministrations on her baby bump.  Everything had become a slow and arduous process as she grew more ponderous by the day; the mere act of getting up from a chair now a Herculean feat.  She wanted so bad to not be some fat lump on a log, but it seemed that was what the universe wanted her to be after all these years.

After a few moments, Heidi called out to her employer, “Ms. Ericson, you have company!”

Company?  At this time of day, on a Saturday, while she was still in her pajamas?  Amanda had no idea who could possibly be dropping by to see her, but she knew that she would rather be caught dead than be seen in anything but her best.  She sat up in her recliner and got to weeble-wobbling out of the cushy chair, frantic to get up before whoever stopped by saw her in such an unseemly state.

“Where’s the mama-to-be?” asked a very familiar voice from the threshold.

Too late.  Amanda turned to see none other than three former Angels standing in the doorway: Petra Gassaway, Rhonda Liebowitz, and Jolene Armstrong.  Among the notorious cheerleaders, they were the closest to Amanda herself—the capos that helped her run a tight ship.  They were ruthless and cunning in how they controlled Covenant Day, but they were also the best of friends and had remained as such for the last twenty-five years.  The girls had served as bridesmaids and maids of honor for each other, and Amanda was fortunate to count all three as the godmothers for each of her children.  Any other time, she would have been delighted to have them drop in—any other time when she was not a pudgy, pregnant piglet, that was.

“Uh…hey, girls,” Amanda mumbled as she gulped back the anxiety that filled her chest.

“Oh my gawd, Amanda!  It’s so good to see you, hon!” declared Jolene, ever exuberant.  She rushed over to her old friend and wrapped Amanda in a hug so tight that she thought she might pop.  “It’s been way too long!”

Rhonda chuckled as she walked into the room and flicked Jolene on the ear.  “Calm down, Joey.  We saw her back at Thanksgiving, remember?”

“Oh, hush, Ronnie—that was ages ago,” the petite brunette replied with a bump to her taller friend.  “You know I need to see how Mama Mandy is doing with these precious angels on the way.”

Amanda flashed a nervous smile at her friends and asked, “S-So, what brings you girls here?  It’s not too often to see you all drop in out of the blue at once.”

Petra sauntered over to the couch across from the recliner and explained, “Well, I happened to bump into the Odd Couple here while I was out shopping, and we figured that we should stop by to see how you’re doing since we couldn’t make it over for Christmas.”

Ordinarily, Amanda would have been bummed out if she was not able to have the gang over for Christmas or New Year’s, but she had been secretly relieved when their plans kept the trio away.  She hated for anyone to see her as she was now, especially when it came to the former Angels, who all looked so much better than the pillowy matron in her eyes.  Jolene was a twig of a woman, so small and light that Levi could hold her in a military press with ease, Petra swore by CrossFit and had the booty of a twenty year-old to prove it, and Rhonda, who had put on some depression weight after her divorce, had been slowly slimming down as she moved on.

“But enough about us—how are you doing, Mama Bird?” asked Jolene as she perched on the recliner’s arm and gave Amanda’s stomach a loving pat.  “The four of you are still healthy, right?  You’re making sure to get plenty of vitamins and nutrients?”

Amanda blushed at the touch and shrank back a bit in her chair.  “Yup-yup…clean bill of health last time I checked.  Everyone’s been taking such good care of me between Levi, Heidi, and the girls, but I’m making sure to eat healthy.”

Right on cue, Grace returned to the den with a cinnamon roll coated in a thick cream cheese frosting and placed it in her mother’s hands.  She ignored the embarrassed blush that crossed Amanda’s cheeks and explained, “There was only one left, so Miss Heidi told me I should let you have it!”

“That’s not…I mean, thank you, Gracie,” Amanda meekly replied, both hating the dessert in front of her and wanting to wolf it down.

“Hi Gracie!” Jolene greeted her goddaughter, ruffling Grace’s hair.  “Are you excited to have a bunch of new sisters?”

The little moppet grinned and nodded as she answered, “Mhm!  I’m going to be a better big sister than Nicole and Josie.”

The women all shared a laugh at Grace’s remark before Heidi entered the room with tea and a plate of snacks.  She patted Grace on the shoulder and told her, “Let’s let your mother and your aunties talk, Gracie—I’ll watch Power Puppies with you.”

After the two left the room, Petra shook her head and remarked, “Cute kid—she’s going to be great.  Amanda, you want me to fix you a plate?”

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Amanda hummed, even though she was practically salivating at the finger sandwiches and cookies that Heidi had prepared.  “I had an awfully big breakfast, and the doctor’s telling me that I’ve put on a bit more weight than I should by this point.”

“What does he know?” Rhonda scoffed as she put a few helpings on a dish and handed it to the former cheer captain of Covenant Day.  “Is he the one carrying around three human beings inside him?  No, so I say live a little.”

It took hardly any convincing to get Amanda to indulge herself at that point; if anything, it would be harder to convince her to stop.  She graciously accepted the plate of goodies and rested it atop the swell of her belly, as had become second-nature for her after spending all day in her chair.  While the other Angels were still gathering their own plates, the matron popped a macaroon in her mouth and let out a blissful coo.  Even after eating Heidi’s cooking all day long for the last several months, she was delighted to find it could still tantalize her.

“You said it, Mandy,” Jolene remarked as she took a bite from her own macaroon.  “These things are so good, they should be illegal; you’ve got to get me the recipe.”

“Heidi’s more than happy to share,” Amanda replied before popping a second cookie in her mouth.  “That woman is magic in the kitchen.”

“Clearly,” Petra hummed, and for a brief moment, Amanda felt like she was about to get a verbal lashing for how she had let herself go.  She shrank back into her chair instinctively, like so many of her victims in high school, only for her friend to add, “The house smelled amazing when we came in—like we’d walked into the kitchen of a restaurant.”

Amanda’s shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh of relief.  Still, she had to be careful around the trio, knowing full well what they were capable of when it came to bullying and belittling others.  They had managed to make full-grown adults break into tears, and the demure doughball feared being on the receiving end of such a treatment.  She needed to watch every bite and every gulp of tea, lest she be torn to proverbial shreds.

And why would they not?  Amanda Ericson had allowed herself to become the very thing she swore she would never be—a fat, weak housewife who lead a pathetic excuse of a life.  If she was still mobile enough to cook and clean, she could at least complain about feeling straight out of Stepford, but now?  She would kill for that lifestyle, where she could at least be thinner than she was now.  God, why had she not at least put on some proper clothes instead of just lounging in her pajamas all day like she was back in college?

What a sight she must have been when her friends first walked in: hair slightly frizzy and out of place, clothes tight around her plump curves, and sitting around watching TV like Bonnie Grape.  At least they did not know that the cinnamon bun Grace had given her was fourth of the morning, or else she might have died of mortification.  But she had never let her friends see her when she was anything less than a 7, and for them to see her as a fat, slobby loser made her want to crawl under a rock.

Where would they start?  Maybe her fat face, with its permanent dimples and double chin, or perhaps her bingo wings that were soft as pudding.  Maybe her milky udders, which had swollen up like water balloons and pooled to either side of her stomach if she went without a bra.  And oh, what a stomach it was, with the girth of a beach ball and a thick layer of blubber that belied the baby bump beneath.  The fact that she was sitting did not hide how wide she had gotten, with her hips brushing against the arms of the recliner and her thighs squishing together all the way to the knee.  She was ripe pickings for the Angels, and Amanda dreaded the humiliation that was to come.

“Want some more, Amanda?” asked Rhonda.  “You must be starving—you wolfed that down faster than my beagle!”

Amanda blinked several times as if waking from a deep sleep and glanced down at the plate on her stomach to find that it was completely empty.  Damn it, she had told herself that she would be good!  She needed to do better, especially with her friends involved, but she went on with her new normal and made an absolute pig of herself.  The humiliation and anxiety that had been roiling inside her finally reached a peak and hot tears were soon running down her chubby cheeks.

“Sorry…I’m sorry,” the blubbering butterball whimpered as she tried to compose herself and prepare for the barrage of insults.  She expected Petra to tear her a new one or Jolene to pinch her flabby love handles, but she could never have expected what came next.

Jolene wrapped her arms around her old friend and hugged her tight, whispering, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Mandy—you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yeah, what Joey said,” Rhonda added as she reached over to pat Amanda on the calf.  “We’ve all had good cries when we were pregnant—it happens to the best of us.”

“What’s eating you?  You know you can tell us anything,” Petra assured the former cheer captain.  “Do we need to kick Levi’s ass?”

Amanda shook her head and fiddled with her fingers as she took a few steadying gulps of air, her eyes fixed on the gravid swell of her belly.  She murmured, “It’s…I’ve just gotten so big and I’m so tired all the time.  I’m just not myself…I feel so weak and lazy and useless, and I hate people seeing me like this.  And I can’t do anything to stop it!  I’m just getting bigger and fatter all the time, and everyone just thinks it’s so funny that I’m turning so fat and ugly, and—”

Jolene shifted her hold on Amanda so she could hold the brunette’s head close to her chest, which Amanda leaned right into as she choked back more sobs.  “You’re none of those things, Mandy: you are the very picture of motherhood, and you have never looked more beautiful.”

Petra nodded in agreement as she moved around to the other arm of the recliner and held Amanda’s hand.  “Did you think we would ever do that or say anything like that to you?  Sweetie, we’re not in high school anymore; we’re not the same catty bitches we used to be.”

“Anyone who thinks you’re any less of an amazing woman should have their head checked,” Rhonda chimed in, giving Amanda’s thick calf a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

As she sat there, held by her three closest friends, Amanda was torn by a million thoughts running through her mind.  She felt absolutely pathetic for breaking down like that in front of her friends, adding fire to the self-deprecating blaze that was eating away at her.  By the same token, she felt an unfamiliar sense of relief as they gave her gentle reassurances that kept that fire from spreading much further.  Amanda did not feel like the beautiful, wonderful woman they made her out to be, but she was glad to hear those words all the same.

It took some time for her to calm down, and when she did, she found herself plagued with hiccups, but Amanda felt like a weight had been taken off her chest.  She looked to the Angels and gave the barest hint of a smile as she told them, “Thank you, girls…I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No need to apologize, Amanda,” Petra told her former captain with a tap to her lips.  “Now, let’s get you upstairs, out of those PJs, and make you feel like a 10 again.”

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