Crossroads

[Batman76]

Been feeling on lately and had time to write.

Last bit for a while from me though, but this is kind of a horror story that I can pick up again.

 

Crossroads

 

You've heard of me, although you don't know it. Well, you might have heard of me as me but usually not.

The rest of the family has specific jobs: lightning and motherhood and war and civilization and the ocean. Me though? I just want to have fun.

If you've ever been in an art museum you've seen me in most of the Goddess statues from Greece and Rome. I was the first one to figure out how to teach the mortals that and posed as all my sisters before they could it out. As belief can influence reality I always made sure to chub up quite a bit before posing and then bewitch the sculptor to add a few extra. Aphrodite had to drop War from her portfolio when her muscles all turned into flab whilst wearing armor and add fertility to her repertoire when people just assumed the big bellied statues were carrying. She wasn't happy about it but given that she was now eternally fat, barefoot and pregnant there wasn't much she could do about it beyond huff and puff.

I'm also about half of the Renaissance paintings, it was a busy time with a lot of good food and drink for the upper class. Reubens was a delight to pose for even if he did have to keep making adjustments during the process to account for an increasing frame. I wasn't the Mona Lisa though, I think I was busy fucking a Pope at that point.

I was in the Old Testament three times and the New five, it didn't record me accurately in any of them because they didn't want to admit how fun the last supper was. I fucked Constantine I to win a bet on if I could fuck a man into renouncing his own religion, even if I was in that religion. King Henry VIII executed three of his wives for me and never recognized me. Shakespeare wrote three sonnets about my tits and four on my ass that his shrew of a wife wound up burning after he died so if you see old parchment  about 'the heaven sent round hips' keep it, its valuable.

Closer to now, I was in every issue of play boy as the center fold for the first ten years. I was five different main Bond girls during the 60s and 70s but given all the really good drugs they were coming up with I have no idea which ones are me. That's the shit thing about being able to change appearances, you never know who'll look back in the mirror when you wake up. Its always female, always tall and always between 20 and 30 depending on how I'm feeling, I prefer black hair, pale skin and yellow eyes but when I'm out and about I can be any color of the rainbow.

You're probably here to hear a very specific story, so I'll stop with the tales establishing how old and mysterious I am so I'll get to the point: I'm Hectate, this is how I got fat and how I got rid of it.

The weight though is harder to control, like a mortal its based on diet and exercise although I at least never get old or pregnant. I like to eat and I hate to sweat, but I won't pretend its always a struggle to stay thin when I need to. Reinassance through Victorian times were pretty nice at least in that regard, if you were rich (and why would I be poor?) you were expected to have a good layer of chub and corsets for when it got out of hand. And proper everyone might have been then, they were freaks in private. When fashions change I do too, I also like to be thought of as sexy and to fuck. When WWI kicked off, I dieted to lose my victorian era boobs and the tummy I'd been carrying since Columbus brought chocolate back east in 1492 in time to be a skinny flapper during prohibition, gained enough alcoholic weight for curvy cheese cake to be in during through the 50s and then when Heff told my latest face that my hips were too big for the late 60s grudgingly began to work out once again.

During the 70s and 80s all the cocaine and aerobics tapes made staying thin easy. Once giant size funbags were in vogue during the 90s I just stole a pair from a big tittied Canadian and let them bounce. Fun fact, but a certain Baywatch star was originally an all natural DD up top before a chance encounter with me left her flat as a board and needing emergency boob implants. It was around 2000 that things took a turn for the worst, just as I was wrapping up shooting my own scenes in Baywatch (she never recognized what was bouncing in front of her by the way).

Everyone started getting fatter in the 90s. Most people don't realize it because it happens slower and for a while it was just relegated to middle aged and up but once the new millenium was in the pound started coming. More fast food, more corn syrup, more video games, more computers and less exercise meant fat was expanding everywhere. Girls were graduating high school at the weights their parents generation didn't hit until after three kids, even many of the thin girls of now would have been a little chubby back in the 70s and the fat girls were getting to weights not seen previously. Graduating grades hadn't yet gone from having a class fat girl to a class thin girl but the weight pyramid was broadening out everywhere.

I wasn't exactly a huge exception but still maintain I got hit by a perfect storm. Fast food franchises were popping up everywhere, I was too busy to cook or go out to a sit down that often, I'd quit coke because I was getting paranoid that Athena was after me for that whole Library of Alexandria thing and after my personal trainer caught me with his brothers I didn't feel like exercising much. Resultingly, my size zero waist went extinct and the red one pieces got pretty damn tight in the later seasons as my tummy and butt came back after thirty years of dormancy. It showed on camera and it soon got to the point that I got several official reprimands, a ban from the crafts services table and then the boot when I showed up having gained another ten pounds after a final warning. I gave the director who fired me a chrome dome and a limp dick for doing so and stomped off, the muffin top jiggling over my jeans saying maybe he'd had a point.

A few fast food stops later and I was back at home, examining my self in the mirror. Bar the button popping food baby, my 50s cheese cake curves were staring back at me, I wasn't at all fat but I wasn't model thin anymore by current standards. Maybe a size 8 if I hadn't eaten, a 10 if I'd pigged out (which was becoming usual. Fast food is shit but its amazing), and I was still hot as fuck when I changed back into my real self: long legs that the extra fat had made extra shapely in the thigh, but not enough to add cellulite and my muscles were still there to support it all in the right shape. My hips were round, wide and smooth although I'd grown a decently large, extra soft ass behind them (remember, this was before J. Lo and Kardassian, so this wasn't a great thing). My stomach had a couple pinchable inches when it wasn't stretched taught with three burgers, three fries and three milk shakes sloshing about in it. My tits looked goddamn amazing, big Es that hadn't lost an inch of pertness, at least. My real face hadn't been touched much,  pointy chinned and feral cheek bones with wild eyes but I clearly wasn't 110 pounds any more, maybe 140 or even higher.

'Oof, back to the exercise tapes and away from the fries,' I muttered to myself when my stomach failed to suck in and my arms failed to pop, 'you've let yourself go. You've got to get back in shape and then show up to a casting call with a new face.'

I was still eye-catchingly gorgeous but LA is full of girls from small towns who were that and didn't have the spark to get work over all the others. And now that I was carrying twenty five extra pounds over the average competing actress, I wasn't going to be getting it. I could if I charmed the casting director but that would take about as much divine energy as I"d get from the work. You see don't really need the acting and modeling jobs for money, I've got enough money saved away since medieval times I can just lay around and nap if I want to and its not like I'll get old. But if you want it to rain snakes or the rivers to turn into blood you need divine energy, from prayers and sacrifices and worship. Being adored is just as good and its better if people are masturbating while thinking of you. I'd had a lot of power stored up since I decided to be a muse to Heffner back in the 50s and Baywatch had brought me back to levels I hadn't seen since the Roman Empire, but I'm a greedy bitch and always want more. Unless I wanted to start a cult, which are not fun to manage, or enter politics I needed to get back in shape.

Resolving to start dieting tomorrow, I flopped down on the couch and reached for the phone book to order pizza. What I grabbed from under the end table though wasn't a phone book, although it was almost as thick. It was my grudge book.

I'm spiteful. I'm petty. I'm not a nice goddess.

And when someone pisses me off, I write it down. True seeing is a gift of mine: everyone essentially walks around with a name tag, showing age, weight, height, date of birth, social security number, credit card info, what they think of me and amusing black mail material. And I get pissed off a lot: getting cut off in traffic, being ahead of me in line, getting served ahead of me in a restaurant when I ordered first, being the first person I see after a bad night of sleep, getting pulled over. Mostly its women that piss me off, i've got enough supernatural charm that men usually don't even try.

Anyway, when I get pissed I write it down but as I get pissed off a lot I don't immediately do anything about it. No way in Hades that I'd have enough juice to start off with, It's not the olden days when we could sink cities, we've got to hide it even when we do do that now anyway. No, I write it down and on new years I read through the novel length list and see which memory still burns hottest and then the top ten get hexes: nasty bouts of specific bad luck.

For instance, neither of the Kennedy Brothers should have dumped me, the Boston Red Soxx know what they did even if I forgot by the next year and just fuck Nixon.

Flipping through last years book (and munching from the bowl I'd wasted three episodes of power on by making it never run out of reeses pieces) I noticed a running theme of pissing me off: people commenting on my weight.

The TV Guide Writer noting that I appeared 'bafflingly out of shape' in a recent episode where my character had won a marathon.

The victoria's secret model I'd seen at a party who'd snorted at seeing how my then size six waist poured out of a pair of size two pants.

The female casting director who said I wasn't what Sports Illustrated wanted a month earlier unless I showed some life style changes.

The pool boy last week who'd rejected an advance just because I had a weekend long pizza and beer party stretching out my stomach.

The fellow actress who'd asked me who the father when I showed up two hours late to set after a waffle binge.

The girl who'd laughed when I dropped my change at the mcdonald's register and ripped out the of a size six jeans when I bent over.

All of those ground my gears pretty bad as I popped another handful of peanut butter treats into my mouth from the constantly filling bowl resting on my stomach. Who the hell were they to comment on me getting fat? Just because I'd gained a measly thirty pounds or so in the last six months. I'd show them to run their mouths about my glorious figure! Call me fat...

When the door bell of my manison (yes I have one) finally rang with pizza (fifteen minutes late I'll add) I poured the current contents of the bowl into my mouth to keep from spilling them and hopped up. The mirror between living room and bedroom stopped me though: for one it showed i was completely naked save for my socks, which I don't mind but it sends a message to the pizza boy. To add on, my legs, hips, butt and boobs were starting to get to the point where even a 50s magazine editor would tell me to cut back on the malts. And as for that never full even if it was blocking the view of my feet stomach...well, Reubens would have fucking loved painting it if it was all fat instead of an 80/20 split of food and pudge. And cheeks stuffed with candy were never in.

'Okay, I've put on a few pounds,' I muttered, swallowed and threw on a nighty over it that blocked most of my food bulge.

I actually didn't have any cash save for a fifty and I was hoping that the pizza guy would be hot enough to make other negotiations doable. Unfortunately when I opened the door it was a woman, info immediately popped up around her: Amanda Saivers, a 19 year old, 125 lb, 5'4 blue eyed blonde farm girl with a flat stomach and ripped sprinters legs, near the end of summer break from state college where she had a track scholarship (12 gold medals) and straight A grades earned through sex.

And she thought I looked like a pig ready for the slaughter.

'God she's fat. Who's she trying to fool with that gut? Even if I did like girls I wouldn't fuck a fat pig like her,' she thought to herself, 'another rich house wife who's turning into a slob. All these fat women anymore are so fucking pathetic.'

'The three extra large meat lovers and the 2 liter?' she asked and when I gloweringly nodded added, '$29.50 before tip.'

I glared at her and walked off to get my purse. Stupid skinny bitch, who was she to judge? In a hundred years she'd be dust and I'd still be sexy. And she'd probably be fatter than me in a few years if...

And that's when I got a wonderfully awful idea.

There was a lot of divine power pooled up in me and I thought about the pizza girls weights and my weight and as I walked out with the money, I burned some power and switched them around.

My food gut flattened and then the layer of fat burned off and suddenly I had abdominal muscles on display. The tops of my thigh stopped brushing together. My rather bouncy booty shrank 90s flat again. My boobs unexpectedly went from turn of the millenium huge to early 80s B cups, all the extra tissue I'd stolen dissipating.

When I walked to the door I was the same weight I'd been as when the show had first started shooting and they'd told me to think about implants.

Amanda meanwhile had found nearly three years worth of the Freshman 15 she'd successfully avoided. Her square face was swollen and puffy with a new double chin. A flat chest that had never needed a bra was suddenly in drastic need of support as hefty E cup hooters stretched the buttons to the point of breaking. Taut abdominals honed by 400 sit ups a day were instantly replaced with a meaty beer gut that ripped through three shirt buttons and was putting her size 2 jeans to the test, a test they were slowly failing given how her zipper was moving down on its own and the button's stitches were visibly fraying. Hard runners legs were now toneless pillars from chubby hip to chafing thigh to thick cankle and her non-existent hips were child bearingly wide, while her ass was in need of its own zip code. I'd been kinda chubby, she was almost fat.

She looked nervous holding the pizza, aware something was wrong but not sure as I walked up. I leaned against the door, lean as I'd ever been and took in her dumpy frame and vacant eyes. Mortals always feel dumb for a while after you miracle them.

'Have you lost weight?' the scared girl asked, tugging at her jeans as if that'd help them not bite into her now chunky body and forgetting about the money.

'Quite a bit,' I told her as I took the pizza and began eating it right in front of her, 'I've had a succesful new diet recently. I'd tell you about it, but you don't look like you could follow it. A girl your size doesn't have the discipline to exercise right.'

'But I'm all state,' she whined in confusion.

'In the pie eating contest?' I laughed as another slice of cholesterol and saturated fat went down my mouth, 'Amanda, you're not a track star anymore, let's face facts.'

'...how do you know my name?' she said, not running although it was too late.

'I know your name and we both know that you're running days are behind you,' I laughed as I started on my third slice, 'practice starts in two weeks and the coaches will have a fit when you waddle up.'

She looked down at herself, taking in the new chub coating her body. I'd been much taller than her and carried it better, she was short and programmed for being a pear. Her eyes widened in panic.

'i wasn't like this...I wasn't like this,' she almost chanted, before looking back on me as the last slice from the box slid down, 'what did you do to me?'

'Well, what I did was I took the weight I'd been gaining lately and moved it to a more...suitable host,' I smiled evilly, drinking in the fear roiling off her which tasted better than pizza ever could and even nicer than lust, 'you. Your going to lose that scholarship and be stuck delivering pizzas for the rest of your life, getting fatter and fatter.'

'I'll call the cops!' she yelled at me even as she broke out into fear sweat.

'And say what? That I made you fat? You want to go to the psych ward?' I giggled and cracked open the 2 liter, 'No, you'll get your fat ass back in that car and do your damndest to not eat any pizza on the way to the next place.'

Another little gout of power gave her a fat girls appetite and the fear that came when her stomach growled returned the power to me three fold.

'Because you've got a fat girls appetite now, Amanda,' I laughed, 'and now that your hot body is gone your manager won't let you coast on delivery times. So chop chop!'

She turned to run, her once mile eating stride a graceless lumber as I chugged the soda. I watched her go the whole time, smiling and drunk on power and pepsi. Me it felt good to scare the shit out of people again instead of just earning admiration.

And the chaos I'd made doing it and how good I'd felt eating my way to that weight and the power I'd gotten from it. I wanted to do it again but damn, I was all out of fat...

I looked down at my again athletic waist, slightly bloated and grinned.

'For right now,' I laughed and the sky grew dark with thunder clouds.

 

 

 

 

[>_< 0_0]

I was rather confused at your initial description of this as a horror piece, though it had some awesome history references (what did Nixon DO?), but then the last bit of the plot kicked in. Oh shit, there it is! The horror! This is an angry god! 🔥

[Batman76]

On 7/20/2019 at 11:07 PM, >_< 0_0 said:

I was rather confused at your initial description of this as a horror piece, though it had some awesome history references (what did Nixon DO?), but then the last bit of the plot kicked in. Oh shit, there it is! The horror! This is an angry god! 🔥

Oh yeah, I plan on playing up that angle as much as I can...

I spent the next couple weeks over eating, doubly ruining Amanda's figure and it taught me a few things.

For one, when I want to eat I eat. I've always liked to feast, to binge and to gorge. I didn't serve as Ruben's muse because I like aerobics and salads after all. But I tested my olympian body to its limits in the next days. That fear roiling off the now pudgy sophmore was delicious, better than ambrosia ever could be and twice as empowering as outright prayer. That had to be how Zeus felt when he punted a storm onto some village or Athena did when some nerd working for her split the atom. I needed to feel it again, to feel the fat go off me and fear come to me but for that I needed to ditch the svelte thighs and flat waist I'd taken. So I set to eating, not for fun which just made me chubby but like my life depended on it.

I woke up well before dawn and went from McDonalds to McDonalds ordering bags worth of sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches and pancakes, with gallons of soda to top it off. I drank and guzzled and gorged until my sloshing, fast food bulging stomach touched the wheel of my Ferrahri. I'd burn a little power then and make it rapidly digest so I could drive back, getting out with thicker thighs and a softer chin than I had gotten into the car with, my stomach bearing only the fat deposited on it and ravenously hungry. Which coincidentally was when the Pizza places opened up for delivery. The cars were on a damn carousel, every pizza place within twenty five miles constantly delivering to me until midnight. I'd gorge, speed digest and then get up to get the next in a nighty and a few times I got lucky while I was still firm looking. My natural form is about 5'10 and the boxes towered over me at the end of the delivery night, when I switched over to chips and candy until dawn.

The second thing was that I'm lazy. Really lazy. I knew that, I'd gotten a disinclination to work out strong enough that ripping though three one pieces on baywatch hadn't persuaded me to do something as strenuous as taking a walk. Sex is the only time I prefer to sweat, so I was getting frustrated at having to get up and answer the damn door. Is it so much to want to sit on my ass and have people hand feed me all day? Back in the ancient times I'd have had slaves and servants to wait on me hand and foot, fanning me and feeding me. It was a luxury I had taken for granted, sure AC and dishwashers are great but your own personal humans? No wonder I was around 200 pounds until that damn Alexander had instituted fitness regimes in his empire. Well, he got what had been coming to him.

Two weeks in I decided I needed to get a cult and boobs at the same time.

Big ones weren't always in. When the family was being worshipped young maidens were supposed to be androgynously thin, barely having anything up top. Even young matrons, who were expected to show a few pounds to depict how they could laze about, were expected to have handfuls at most. My natural body still clung to that old ideal, even though big had been in for fifty years at that point, more if you discount the flat chested flapper hellscape of the twenties. The tatas I'd stolen from Anderson had gone over to the pizza girl unfortunately and all my feasting hadn't changed where I gained.

All those calories had stuck fast to me, covering up Amanda's hard won and fairly stolen muscle with softness. I looked myself over naked, taking in my soft, shapely legs that didn't have any visible strength to them and brushed gently at the top. That flat butt had turned into a wobbly bubble, I could pinch it and feel not a trace of muscle and slap it and see it jiggle. The days of being able to bounce a coin off it were long over and they hung out of my thong underwear. My hips had rounded out into child bearers, the barbarians of the ancient world would have fought over me to be their queens but in 2000 round hips weren't quite in yet. I had a little pot belly squishing around a previously flat waist, the same chunk that had rolled over my swim suits on baywatch and I could pinch it pretty well too. All those sit ups Amanda had done weren't completely wasted, the muscle was only some what atrophied beneath it, but I'd gotten back to my old size pretty clearly, if not bigger.

Apart from baggy sweats, the only thing I had that fit me were a pair of size ten, extra short jean cut offs that I'd gotten for fat pants a month earlier. I had to squeeze the damn things over my thighs and my ass poured out of the bottom once I'd shoe horned my cheeks into them. There was a definite muffin top over them too and I grinned, satisfied at myself for having regained that so quickly. I sucked in my gut as deeply as I could to button it and coudln't get it done, I had to lay flat on my back on my bed and just barely got the button into the slit. When I sat up it felt like being stabbed. I was three meals away from bursting out of this thing, I was likely moving out of a 12 and into a fourteen. 2019 would call my figure thick, 2000 would call me chunky.

My boobs though...I was still pretty flat.

Nothing wrong with a B cup but when I pack on forty pounds I expect a bit of bounce upstairs. But they remained small, pert tear drops that wouldn't hope to fit any of my bras after I'd spent years as a DD. Frowning, I threw a tank top over them, that didn't cover my muffin top, and set out to get myself stacked, pausing only to change my face around, softening up the hard edges I have and changing the yellow eyes to blue while the hair went blonde.

I had a destination in mind for my next involuntary worshiper and gunned it to the mall, trying to ignore all of the fast food icons beckoning me. I was hungry damn it and had to promise myself an even bigger binge when I was done. It was torture driving by them but the jeans wouldn't take a single egg mcmuffin twelve pack or a gallon of coke. Walking in from the parking lot was a weird experience, I had all of Amanda's only somewhat degraded muscle easily carrying me but my plump body jiggled about in a very arousing way as I went in. Given how I was almost naked I got a lot of stares and the occasional whisper, I was at least six sizes above mainstream at the moment although more than a few were appreciative. My unique blend of soft and hard was more than arousing and I didn't need to be able to read minds to tell that.

I sashayed past the plus size stores. Back then they were pretty shit even though plenty of once thin women were finding themselves needing it as the obesity epidemic picked up steam. No, I was going into the strong hold of skinny: Vicoria's Secret itself.

Such a stupid name. Queen Victoria was a fat ass from age twenty and never even wore underwear to start off with. If it was modeled after her, all the models would have four kids and weigh three hundred pounds.

I was removed from my historical meandering by a small cough as I passed from the way too skinny mannequins by Jacky.

'I'm not sure if we have anything that will fit you,' Jacky said sternly, face almost deigning to go into a frown.

Jacky was the store's manager, about twenty four and a damn knock out brunette. She was my height but her ripped physique, born of endless runs and sit ups and gym sessions, was born purely out of hard work and good genetics. Those genetics were good enough that despite her slim body type she had a pair of entirely natural 36 Ds curving from her chest, ones she used to make excellent side money as a stripper. I'd noticed her when shopping a few weeks ago when I was a new size eight with new E cups and marked her as an immediate source of boobage should the worse happen. Although that wasn't the only thing that marked her for me.

'Oh, I'm just buying a bra,' I said, tapping my small chest, 'Could I get a fitting?'

'If you must,' the svelte woman sighed disdainfully.

Jacky's face didn't so much as twitch but her thoughts started bouncing around at the thought of seeing me without a shirt. The woman had a boyfriend but deep down was not only gay as they came but a chubby chaser exemplar, rare as unicorns after Atlantis sank. I'd noticed the horniness with my powers when I'd first come in and been right on the edge of VS' size range. All she could think about was fattening me up, about how my tummy had started too pooch over my blue jeans and my chin was doubling when I looked down. Me now, full on chubby even if I didn't have the previous version's huge tatas? She was in heaven as we went into the private room and the door closed.

'I'm happy I can get measured,' I confessed as I dropped the shirt.

'Oh?' she said, more and more of her brain focusing on my love handles and tummy, '34 B.'

'Only that? I've been eating like a piglet lately, I've never been this soft and curvy,' I said, walking closer and closer, raising my arms so she could measure, 'do you think I'm getting fat?'

'M-mmaybe a little,' the busty FA said, starting to measure me.

'Oh good, I've always wanted to get heavy,' I laid it on, rubbing my new paunch, 'I want this so big I can't see my feet...I want hips so round I can't go through a door...can you imagine me that big?'

Jacky was losing the capacity for speech as my soft stomach pressed against her hard one, her heavy boobs overwhelming mine in a yin/yang of female flesh.

'I want to be so big I can't even get up,' I whispered in her ear, 'but I'd need help to manage that...could you help me with that Jacky? Can you make me immobile?'

'Y-yyyy-yyeah,' she stammered.

I was turning on the power in full force now, a goddess' pheramones pouring off of me, demanding love and devotion. Jacky was dumb as a rock in that moment, too horny to actually speak English but still understanding my voice.

'But I need a sacrifice Jacky, if you're to be my servant,' I whispered.

'Wwwwhhhaa,' she muttered, nearly soaking through her pants.

'I need your tits, how can I be a goddess of curves without tits?' I asked, 'will you give me your tits?'

She nodded, lifting up her shirt as I ripped off the bra and saw the incredibly pert Ds she sported. Smiling, I pressed my own to them and felt the warm rush of transfer, greedily sucking down everything she had to offer. I stepped back, seeing her tiny, barely A cup mosquito bites sitting atop her pecs and smiled as I hefted my own F cup giants. Already they were pulling on my shoulders and promising back pain.

'Go get all the F cups you can find and carry them out with me Jacky,' I told her as she started coming out of it.

'What...you bitch what did you do to me?' the now flat chested brunette fumed, staring down at her now spectacular lack of cleavage.

'Do? You gave them over fair and square to become my servant,' I giggled, snapping a finger and making an X shaped tattoo appear on her navel, my crossroads.

'Servant? Servant?" she demanded, getting angry, 'I'm calling the cops!'

'And saying what? That someone stole your boobs?" I laughed, the power of her hate and fear delicious, 'No, you'll come with me little chubby chaser.'

That stopped her dead in her tracks, 'I'm not...I'm not a chubby chaser...'

'You've been thinking about how long you can hold your breath between my thighs since you saw me,' I taunted, eyes flashing yellow 'now, go get all the F cups. Your goddess Hectate needs support.'

She tried to fight it but after a moment she was gone and soon back with an arm load of bras. Soon I was strutting out, happily supported again with Jacky following me, bearing four bags of bras and swimsuits and having just quit her job. She was angry and confused and couldn't tear her eyes from my soft thighs rubbing together or how my ass hung from my shorts.

'How are you doing this?' she asked, fear in her voice as I settled into a seat at the food court.

'I told you, don't your schools teach anything?' I said, 'I'm the goddess Hectate, lady of fear and witch craft and revenge. I've decided to pork up and you have the fortune to be my servant.'

'But Gods and goddesses those aren't real....,' she scrambled, 'and and...servant?'

'Of course I'm real, your tits didn't vanish by themselves and don't worry, I pay well. Better than a retail manager job does. A hundred thousand a year for three years of service, with magical lessons on top of it and at the end you can have your tits back. Its time there were more witches,' I promised, 'now, what do you want me to eat first?'

'Magic? Witches?' she asked in alarm, over her head so far it was funny, to me at least, 'and what do you mean eating?'

'I'm going to get fat, you'll get to live out your fantasy. Right now I'm in a size twelve and I never want to be in a size twelve again,' I smiled, 'think on it Jacky, you'll be fattening up a buxom blonde into immobility. And not just me, I'm going to be making woman after woman eat their words. And not just random women on the street either: A list actresses, super models, elite personal trainers. It'll be a smorgasbord and you'll be in on the ground floor. Now, pick what meal you want me to eat first, I have quite the appetite.'

Jacky's eyes rotated wildly. She was desperate and afraid and confused and impossibly horny. I had taken her prized possessions but was offering her her deepest desires too. Everything she'd ever wanted and more....

'That Chinese place, Chairman Wows,' she decided, 'one of my employees gained fifteen pounds in their first two months, I had to fire her.'

'Ohhh, must have been hard to see a chubster go,' I smiled, 'what am I having?'

'All the general tsos and crab rangoon they've got,' she promised, '...Goddess.'

It was the start of a beautiful relationship.