WG Episode Rewrites

[Batman76]

We've all seen, and almost all certainly intentionally looked up, episodes of old shows or cartoons where WG was an intentional part of the plot. And unfortunately these shows are rarely perfect. So I thought I'd...rewrite them a little bit.

First up will be Striperella.

If you never saw the show...you didn't miss very much. There were a few funny jokes and some good cartoon cheese cake, but the show was just dumb for the most part more than funny. It didn't help that it was never well organized. But its on here because of the first Episode, 'Beauty and the Obese' where a plastic surgeon creates breast implants that cause the women who are implanted with them to grow rapidly obese and our heroine, a blonde super hero stripper named Erotica Jones with vague training, background and powers who works for some weird police/shield esque organization has to stop them. There's two pretty good expansion clips out there from it, but that's really all that's good from the episode for our taste. The B plot is totally unrelated, there's no fat jokes, not even the main character having to get over a prejudice of fat people or anything.

 

And I answering the cries of no one in particular, decided to change that! ...in text because I can't art....

 

So, without further rambling, here's the story the way it should have been. I'm not going to pretend I remember any character names beyond the main one.

 

Beauty and the Obese Part 1 of 3

Camera light's flashed and shutters clicked amid oohs and aahs of the crowd at the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. One by one, tall, pencil thin models with rail thin legs, narrow hips and stomachs flat enough to iron an shirt on strutted down the catwalk, looking like they might faint before turning around to show bony derrieres and beginning the long walk back down the stage. Thousands of dollars of lingerie designed to look awful on any woman with more than 10% body fat was vacuum shrank to bodies dieted and exercised to be little more than quasi-living clothing wracks.

But the most clicks and the most oohs and aahs were saved for Ludmilla Tetrarovia.

The highest paid model on the planet, the gaunt cheeked Russian strutted down the show's catwalk with the confidence of an apex predator and wearing a see-through nighty belted tight to her 21 inch waist. A towering 5'10, she'd banished the residual puppy fat plaguing even the other models and was a honed, sinewy 120 lbs with a thigh gap wide enough for a tank to drive through and xylophone ribs. Thin enough to need only moderate photo shopping for her legs and waist on the magazine's cover.

Ludmilla was used to the attention, as used to it as she was at not noticing hunger pangs. What she wasn't used to was the bounce in her step provided by six new cup sizes, 36 Es bouncing on her normally flat chest and filling the lingerie company's new Anti-Gravity bra to the brim. Normally Lumilla would never have walked at something so garish as a Victoria's Angel show, where the models were so unprofessionally plump as to have breasts, but at twenty three she was feeling her age and the Russian model knew she only had a year or so left before she was fully over the hill and replaced. Its why she'd agreed to walk and agreed to get...enhanced, the magazine was going to make huge tits in and their new acquisition had just been the first to go under the knife, going in flat and coming out twenty minutes later with disproportionately huge tits and not even the slightest surgical scar.

But she'd been paid several times her body weight in money, millions that would last her even until she was the hideously decrepit age of twenty eight and had to marry a singer or a foot ball player to support herself. And the full, bouncing E cups felt better than she expected, barely even noticeable. Her posture was straight and for the first time since she could remember she wasn't hungry, oddly enough.

'Smile, Ludmilla! Smile!' the photographers shouted at the edge of the catwalk.

Ludmilla didn't deign to, she was paid to show off the clothes and not smile. She put her hands on her hips and then had to wince at the pain that shot up her arm. Risking a look down she saw that both of her hands had suddenly swollen, slender fingers going from delicate to bratwurst in a heartbeat and pinching her jewelry tight. Another pain shot up her legs, as her high heels suddenly became impossibly tight, ankles swelling against the fabric.

'Nyet!' the Russian yelled in terror as the swelling shot down her forearms, going from skeletal to hamhock in the blink of an eye even as her delicate calves suddenly became elephantine.

Near completely flat buns suddenly blew up into beach balls of lard, as Ludmilla's thigh gap closed forever with a loud smack as her now thirty eight inch thighs fought each other for space. For a moment the gigantic buns threatened to pull her over, it was not as if Ludmilla had ever deigned to gain enough muscle to carry even half of this new body fat, but a sudden tightness in her belt evened things out as her gaunt waist rapidly expanded out into a 54 inch, saggy bean bag chair of bread dough that ripped apart the belt and the nighty to hang to her knees. Her new lunch lady arms wobbled for balance as Ludmilla's pert, fake chest gained an extra cup size and tore its way free to flop to each side of her naked gut, completely devoid of any perk. She screamed, voice squeaking out because her long, swan like neck was suddenly thick as her waist had been three minutes ago, a collection of droopy jowls that hung onto her chest and her vision closed off as her swollen cheeks threatened to pinch her eyes shut.

'Nyet! Nyet!' the model squeaked, struggling to breath and panicking as thousands of pictures captured her horrific transformation.

For a moment the morbidly obese woman managed to stand up but then a further surge of adipose hit what used to be a waistline. Fifty four inches was left in her rear view mirror, not that she could turn her head anymore, as three further feet of fat materialized upon Ludmilla's stomach.The floor length apron of her ninety inch waistline flowed off the stage, hauling Ludmilla with it and straight down into the photography pool.

....

The next morning.

It was a gorgeous morning to be at the zoo, Erotica reflected as she walked into the big cat exhibit, not too hot for sweat pants and not too cold for ice cream.

Agent 0069's pink tongue licked out, taking in a mouthful of soft serve vanilla from the extra tall cone she'd just bought and causing an elderly zoo keeper to either sit down or have a heart attack. She'd only paid for a small but been upgraded to an XL, not an uncommon event but one she rarely indulged in. Erotica knew exactly why it had happened: she was a wet dream come to life.

Blonde, blue eyed and tan, Erotica had for fifteen years maintained the ripped legs and flawless abs a gold medal olympian might maintain until they were nineteen with luck and drugs and the hips, breasts and booty a playboy model needed photoshop to achieve. It was the body that earned her five hundred bucks a night in tips at the Tender Loin strip club and one that she didn't want to lose to too much ice cream. The cashier had wasted at least twice the staggering tower of dairy she had just by staring at her rack, super pert DDs that flowed out of every top she owned.

Not that she was sure she could lose it.

Looking down at the sleeping, slightly pudgy tigress dozing in her pool, Erotica reflected back to when her name had just been Erica and she'd been a short, splindly nerd girl with coke bottle frames and A cups who'd graduated early to start her triple major of genetics, nuclear physics and psychology. Two years in had put Erica on the verge of graduating and the verge of two hundred pounds, having nearly doubled in size, late nights of gamer fuel, doritos and sitting on her rapidly expanding butt playing Halo turning her from a skinny nerd into an obese nerd. Horrified at what her beauty queen mother and navy captain father would think when they saw their little girl transformed into a flabby pear who could barely go up the stairs without panting and still had A cups. Desperate, the  genius and chronically lazy Erica had bent several laws of men, science and God to create a sort of obesity cure that combined hypnosis, excited matter and genetic tinkering in one device.

The resulting explosion should have killed her but instead transformed her: her hair had gone frizzy dishwater to thick, wavy gold, her acne had cleared up and her short obese frame had stretched, hardened and curved into a frankly ludicrous bundle of athletic muscle and porn star curves on a six foot frame with the tits, abs and legs she'd always wanted. What she hadn't expected was for it to give her super human strength, speed and agility. Erica couldn't exactly lift a car but picking up and throwing a full sized motorcycle was well within her capabilities, as was sprinting forty miles an hour and parkouring up a skyscraper.

It was the type of discovery that should have given her a noble, but the university was furious she'd destroyed a forty million dollar lab and it was completely unrepeatable. Erica might have gained a killer physique but she'd lost her super genius mind, a new ability to read body language and emotion at a glance soaking up fifty IQ points and taking her from super genius to merely extremely above average. She couldn't even understand her old notes, meaning her abilities were a one off.

Kicked out of college and despairing of using her brain, Erica had joined a secretive intelligence agency called FUGG dedicated to stopping super criminals and put her new abilities to use. And despite an excellent pay check and dental plan, she'd started stripping. At first it was just to show off her new body, but the desire to flaunt her perfect physique was too much to fight against. She'd changed her name to Erotica and stripped half the week, all while shrinking her crime fighting outfit to laughably tiny levels.

And it had been that way for twelve years. She was thirty five now and exactly the same as she'd been when she'd first woken up at the hospital. If she was aging it was at a massively reduced rate and if she could gain weight...well, she'd never tried and didn't feel like it. Erotica was quite happy being perfect, thank you very much.

A scream interrupted her reminiscing. Some idiot in a fur suit had jumped down into the lion enclosure and broken his ankle. The moron in the simba onsie was rocking back and forth in pain as the sleepy lions approached him, more out of curiosity than hunger. Sighing, Erotica deep throated most of the ice cream and tossed the rest, zipping into an unoccupied bathroom as everyone else rushed over to see the carnage.

A moment later she burst out dressed as the city's super hero Stripperella,  six feet of busty fit perfection in a mini skirt, a supportive top and high heels. Fast as a bullet, Erotica ran past the gathering crowd and jumped into the den. Standing before the idiot and the lions.

'Stand back kitties!' Erotica yelled, 'I love animals but I won't let you hurt this loser!'

One of the lionesses pounced and Erotica grabbed its paw and flipped four hundred pounds of jungle cat through the air. Wincing, she grabbed the injured furry and ran, jumping over the male lion and running straight up the wall. The suicidally stupid moron was a heavy dude though and even her speed wasn't enough to get both of them over the wall, she had to throw him and then back flip down into the lion pen.

'Yeowch!' the stripper super heroine yelled as something hit her partly exposed ass cheek.

She looked down to see a tranq dart sticking out of her butt and frowned up at the panicking zoo keeper.

'Eyes on the lions, not me!' Stripperella yelled at him, then ducked as another lion went over her head.

Already feeling sleepy, she pulled the dart out and ran up the wall, now clearing it easily and landing on the other side in a perfect three point landing. The zoo crowd clapped in amazement, more at seeing the sexy super hero than caring about the moronic victim who was less entertaining alive than being eaten by lions.

'No need to thank me folks,' Erotica said, feeling things starting to get heavy, 'just...part of my job...'

Oh this wasn't good. She was immune to most tranq darts but one built for lions was making her see stars. She needed to get out of here and find a place to crash, before she crashed and some kid pulled off her mask.

'Uh, look...a pop star!' she pointed and then vaulted down into the tiger pen while everyone looked away.

The tiger glared at her sloppy landing, but Erotica had enough juice to jump its fence into the tunnels beneath the viewing platform. Dodging some zoo keepers going to check on the lions, she ducked into a storage room and found it full of zoo food: tortilla chips, churning vats of nacho cheese, twirling stands of head sized pretzels, oceans of smoothie tanks, clouds of cotton candy, ranks of candy bars and armies of soda bottles, with the crowning achievement being a humming freezer of freeze dried ice cream.

'Ugh...must be a storage room for the concession stands,' Erotica slurred, feeling herself get dizzier.

She didn't think she'd pass out but she felt drunk, super drunk, drunker than she'd been in years. Not wanting to be disturbed, she shoved the six hundred pound cooler against the door with ease, the lid rattling open as she did. Erotic looked down into the swirling clouds of fog over the beads of ice cream and felt her belly grumble.

 

 

 

[CyrilFiggus2]

Interesting concept!  There are plenty of WG episodes out there in the world of TV--I'd love to see what you do with some of them.  This Striperella revisit is off to a fun start!

[OscarWinner]

Hmm.

So, when I finish my "You're the Worst" WG fanfiction, do I post it here or start a new thread for it? It's not an episode rewrite, but an entire arc - well, a season between the last two seasons.

Hint: it involves Gretchen, which is why I've been lowkey asking for Aya Cash morphs

[>_< 0_0]

Oh, this is amazing! Such detail and eloquent prose only a great writer can do, and then the characters open their mouths to recite the original scripted lines and you realize that this is based off of a forgotten b-series cartoon. It’s like if George R R Martin decided to guest-write for Beavis and Butthead... or something 😆 

[swahilimonkfish]

What a fun idea and what fun execution too! There's something wonderfully schlocky about the storyline, and yet the prose never dips below your high standard. Kudos!

[themagmaman]

8 hours ago, OscarWinner said:

Hmm.

So, when I finish my "You're the Worst" WG fanfiction, do I post it here or start a new thread for it? It's not an episode rewrite, but an entire arc - well, a season between the last two seasons.

Hint: it involves Gretchen, which is why I've been lowkey asking for Aya Cash morphs

First, great idea.  Second, post it in it's own thread please.  Easier to search.  

[Batman76]

Thanks for the comments everyone. I'm glad I'm not the only one to have ideas on stuff like this. This one will be a little longer, with some more original 'scenes' in it.

Stripperella Beauty and the Obese pt 2/4

Set of the Mighty Girl Movie:

While Stripperella's tranquilizer's ran their course, more of the rich, famous and beautiful were being changed.

On the hollywood set of the latest mind numbing, cash cow super hero block buster, Evelyn Stone walked out of her trailer towards the CGI blue room and adjusted her costume. Announcement of the svelte, brunette British actress, famously flat chested and pencil thin, being cast as the muscular, blonde, American, famously enormously breasted super heroine had raised much furor in online forums populated by losers with too much time on their hands. Evelyn might be one of the most famous, talented and attractive actresses in the world but she was a far cry from the comic book heroine.

But, she reflected as she walked on set, trying to get the ridiculous red one piece of her character sitting right on her hips, she'd put in the work for it. Her brunette hair had been died golden blonde, she wore blue contacts over her brown eyes and she'd worked every day with a nutritionist and a personal trainer to gain fifteen pounds, going from anorexically skinny to athletically lean.

That wasn't quite of course enough to play the buff super heroine, who's comics showed her as six two and one hundred and eighty pounds. Not even a real super hero like stripperella could have accurately filled out that costume, which is where the fake muscles, high heels and apple box that took the 5'7, 118 pound Evelyn into a decent approximation. Those and the new 34 H, gravity defying gazonga tear drops resting on the Brit's once barely A cup chest that actually outshown her character's canon bra size, as if a character need one.

After a day Evelyn still wasn't used to them. The giant tits were big as her head and she could no longer see her feet, they were honestly too tight for the costume which had seemed tent like and now fit like a glove that had been left out in first a rain storm and then shrunk on a hot day. But given the way that men and women alike walked head first into walls and she entered the set, it was clear what the benefits were.

'Alright, fierce and badass,' the director, an indie darling looking to make her mark in the big leagues who'd gambled big on getting an actress known for dramas into her debut big studio film, 'let's get you into the wires.'

Adjusting the suit again, which still felt a little tight, Evelyn let herself be hooked into the wires that would take her up for the opening fight scene. The entire movie was ridiculous, with paper thin characters, an even gaunter plot and costumes that were pure fan service. But, as Evelyn ran over the lines for the pre-fight banter between Mighty Girl and the Evil Queen Titania, she couldn't exactly turn down roles. She might have an oscar but at twenty nine she was solidly over the hill,  having already had three procedures to keep her face smooth that were making it hard to smile and the only other offers she was getting were as moms to teenagers played by 20 year olds. The enormously fat pay check and promise of franchise work and crossovers in a cinematic universe drew her in like bees to honey, even if she did have to get these ridiculous tits. The weird thing about them was that they felt completely natural (there didn't seem to be any implant) there were no scars and the procedure hadn't even lasted an hour.

Taking her fighting pose, the newly embusted actress was slowly raised up into the air, the suit pinching tighter and tighter on her as the wires pulled. The pulleys began to squeal just as Evelyn felt the pinch across her abdomen go from uncomfortable to actively painful.

The panties of the leotard outfit began pulling up her ass. Her thigh high boots began to tighten. The belt around her waist grew snug and the fake muscles on her arms began pinching.

'Stop the winch, something's wrong!' Evelyn yelled as her breath caught in her chest, fifteen feet above the padded set, 'I'm having some sort of reaction!'

Stone's long, slender thighs began mushrooming over her boots, while her plate flat ass began sliding out of her panties. A thick fupa sprouted from the virginally flat surface of her lower abdomen, out along her panties, softer than butter. Diamonds of pale flesh appeared as suddenly chunky thighs out grew her boots before the snaps failed with a loud series of machine gun pops, shooting around the set and wrecking a million dollars of camera equipment. Evelyn's knees disappeared in the fat, while her cement bag thighs sprouted buckshot patterns of cellulite and her cankles grew bigger than American footballs and then American foot balls. Once graceful legs wiggled pathetically, the torn banners of her boots wobbling beneath them as the A list actress screamed, able to feel her garbage bags full of cottage cheese ass cheeks but unable to see what was happening given how her tits blocked everything.

The winches screamed, smoke shooting from them as their load went from 120lbs to an unbalanced 380lbs in five seconds. Cameras were already rolling, seeing an academy award winning, A list actress' upper body matched with the hyper inflated lower half of a walmart manager three quarters of the way to medical disability. That changed quickly, as to Evelyn's terror a beach ball belly shot past her cleavage, ripping away her costume with a shriek of abused fabric, a laughable rubber six pack stretched over her six dozen doughnuts a day gut. The pert tatas floated flawlessly for a moment before deflating like popped balloons, hanging down to her hips like panty hose stuff with mayonnaise. All the seams along her tooth pick arms failed in one go, ripping free from shoulder to wrist to reveal floppy bingo wings bigger than her old waist.

'Help me! Help me!' Evelyn yelled as the fire sprinklers went off and one of the wires popped with a twang, sending seven hundred plus pounds of A lister swinging through the air like the world's most overstuffed pinata, 'For God's sake get an ambulance!'

The director looked at the end of her career as the fat covered up Evelyn's stunning face, swelling it round and bubbly as a pie. The tiny movements of her pathetic arms and laughable legs propelled Evelyn through the air and then with a twang, she was flying through the air, a white cape that seemed napkin sized in comparison to her cow like body trailing behind her.

Tender Loin Changing Room:

Eight hours after her little incident at the zoo, Erotica stumbled through the back parking lot of the Tender Loin strip club with the mother of all head aches and a mind full of questions.

For one thing, it was the first time the super heroine had gotten a head ache since her transformation which couldn't be anything good. She felt like complete shit, worse than when she'd gone twenty rounds with the heavy weight female boxing champion and the world title female MMA holder to bring down a mind controlled foxxy boxing ring. Everything was strangely blurry to her and limbs didn't seem to be working quite right, while her leggings and crop top felt like they'd shrunk in the wash. The stripper/super spy had to give a small thanks that she'd come to her senses in a long concenssion line at the zoo, holding an empty soda the size of a bucket and had enough time to get to her second job before being late.

Her motor scooter seemed hesitant to start and took off slowly, as if something was dragging it, but her mind was still fuzzy as she found her parking space. Almost late, she hurried towards the rear entrance, hopping up the stairs five at a time and glad that her speed, strength and reflexes seemed to still be working at leas, even though she heard a strange pop from behind her as she landed and opened the door.

Inside the dozen strippers that made up the Tender Loin's front rank entertainers were at attention like soldiers against one wall. They were already dressed in the day's costumes, ranging from 50's housewives in short poodle skirts and pearls to fairy tail princesses in see through dresses to superheroines looking decidedly unready for conventional battle. Each was a breathtaking beauty, universally tall, curvy and fit, straight off a magazine rack, although not quite at Erotica's level. Usually they'd be chatting and stretching, not lined up and the stripper started before remembering it was the third monday of the month, weigh in day.

'144 lbs, Giselle,' Kevin blushed as he wrote on his clip board, 'up four from last month...and the one before that...again.. so be sure to watch your calorie intake...'

Kevin was an excellent businessman, a harvard grad who'd inherited a seedy, near condemned strip club of alcoholic forty year old 'dancers' and turned it into the premier establishment of the city, a thriving mecca of firm thighs, flat bellies, round asses and bouncing tatas through his shrewd business sense and deep respect for his workers, who were held to high standards of athleticism and creativity. Erotica had helped with that more than a little, she had a soft spot for nerds having been one herself, and had given him some tips on costumes and routines. He was also an easily flustered dork, who Erotica was 115% sure was a virgin despite being a rich, somewhat handsome if slightly scrawny and unfashionably dapper man surrounded by pussy 24/7.

'I'm so sorry, boss,' Giselle sobbed, sucking back real tears and putting her hands on her chest, 'My dad was sick and I was visiting the home farm and ma always makes such good flapjacks...'

Giselle was a good friend of Erotica's. A corn fed, red haired Iowan farm girl who had a 50s bombshell's startling curves, a Sunday school teacher's innocence and the brain of one of her family's cows. At 5'4 she was the shortest of the dancers and the second natural bustiest behind Erotica (if you counted DDs from lab explosions as natural tits) and was pretty and curvaceous.

'Um...just be sure to follow the diet plan,' Kevin said, tugging nervously at his collar as Giselle wiped her tears away, 'we want you to be as healthy as possible.'

He might be using his clip board to hide his erection, but as Erotica went to her locker behind the other strippers, she reflected that Kevin had a point. Giselle had always been the thickest model, but since her dad had gotten type 13 diabetes she'd been eating her feelings and skipping gym sessions. Combined with a metabolism that was gradually slowing as she entered her mid twenties, midwest genetics primed for obesity (as shown by her 300 pound former home coming queen Mom and mobility scooter ridden ex-quarter back dad) and Giselle's sexy figure was on the endangered species list, soon to be remembered only in photographs. The redhead's big tits were getting Australian cleavage as they swelled out of her old west hooker bodice and the matching corset couldn't close tight enough to hide the starter belly that had sprouted underneath it. Giselle was only 5'4 and on the cusp of being overweight, If she got much heavier she'd be put on drink pit duty.

'Um, next,' the manager said, his voice breaking as the ultra curvy Giselle brushed by him, her wide hips rubbing against his groin.

'Pardon me, heifer,' Cat purred as she stepped out of line, 'this hallway is quite weighted towards someone of your...girth.'

Kevin was a good manager and opened up his mouth to defend Giselle from the newest entertainer, but Cat quieted him by running a hand over his scrawny pectoral, 'Say Kevin, you're looking good. Been working out?'

'I *hic*,' the manager hiccuped nervously, glasses near steaming, 'uh a little.'

Cat was beyond pretty: a rail thin, ivory skinned brunette dressed up as a vampire bride, in a hip slit, navel low see through gown that while it showed off her chiseled abs, narrow hips and clearly saline F cups. Long raven hair was in a bride of Frankenstein updoo complete with lightning bolt. Her venomous green eyes were painted with eyptian hieroglyphs and she wore the invisible man's glasses on her forehead. It was an atrocious mix of costumes in Erotica's opinion (you didn't need  to be an ex nerd to know that you didn't mix monsters) and in her professional eye also stupid, the hair would get in the way and the dress was only a single layer, which was less to rip off. Cat was still a rookie just coming off probation in the drink pit but was already pegged as a bad influence on the dancers, always wanting the maximum pay for minimal work, while filling the back room with rumors, manipulating fights and making confidence cutting, catty remarks. At least one girl had quit in the three months since she'd joined and Erotica had noticed how she'd been ordering extra helpings at lunch and making sure the barely eaten food was always by the stress eating Giselle, who was scheduled to go on right before her. The contrast between the borderline overweight Giselle and the chiseled Cat was night and day and the later would be earning tips the former should have been shoving into her G-string.

'Its looking good on you,' Cat smiled, hand going down his chest to his groin before stepping on the scale.

'Th-th-thanks,' Kevin stammered, 'uh, 118. Down four.'

'Oh good, I've been doing a juice cleanse,' Cat grinned evily, 'maybe some of the other girls should do it.'

'And that's why you'll be forty pounds heavier this time next year. Cleanses like that will always cause you to rebound when you go off them,' Erotica prompted, stepping out from behind a row of lockers and beginning to strap on her Cinderella costume, 'you'll regain any weight you lost, big time.'

Everyone stared at her. Giselle's mouth was hanging open like she was about to fill it with cake. Cat's eyes could be used to warn ships off rocky shoals. Kevin was holding his clip board in front of his crotch.

'Trust me Cat, you might be skinny now but unless you stick to a healthy, sustainable diet and exercise program you're doomed in the long run,' Erotica promised, walking down the line of strippers and pulling her corset strings tight, 'you might be skinny now, but in a year? Those ten vanity pounds you lost will come back with three friends each.'

They seemed a little tighter than she remembered and she looked down, noticing only that her always great tits were somehow looking even better, surging out against the cups of the corset like a gallon of cake batter in a quart lid. God, she'd been feeling kind horny lately, was she ovulating? With everyone else still silent, the six foot stripper stepped on the medical scale, which slammed upwards in response.

Weird, she knew the sequined, multi layered costume was a little heavy but it shouldn't be that weighty...

Kevin, barely able to look away from her and covered in a cold sweat, fumbled with the scales adjustments for a moment. Again and again until it finally went even.

'So I guess, *snicker*, you've been on juice cleanse for a while?' the brunette Cat began giggling, her voice turning into harsh, cackling laughter so strong she fell to the ground, 'at least what, ten years given how your middle age spread has caught up with you!?'

'What are you talking about?' Erotica asked, trying to get her corset to meet.

'Uh...Erotica...you're up ...Oh God,' Kevin said, sweat soaking through his three piece suit, 'um...I'm not sure how much this is possible...'

'What are you talking about Kevin?' Erotica asked him, turning around so fast her boots almost popped out of her top.

She felt an odd...swing from her normally washboard stomach.

'Uhhh...I don't know how to say this but...since you went on vacation last month,' the manager tried to say, looking down at his clipboard and rapidly glancing back at her, 'you've gained...'

Erotica had been on 'vacation', which had been protecting the Princess of Lesbos from an army of Christian extremist assassins angry at the long lost, purely lesbian and nudist colony of greek pagans entering the world stage with the secret of cold fusion. That had been a four weeks of punching out papal assassins by day and keeping the Princess (a pneumatic brunette who was almost Strieperella's equal both physically and physically) from breaking the backs of anything with abs and a pulse...which had wound up being way more enjoyable at the end of it. It hadn't been a time of laziness or overeating, instead Erotica's stripprella costume had been fitting a little lose, hence her indulging an XL ice cream cone at the zoo.

'Well, its quite a bit of weight...,' Kevin squeaked.

The zoo...Erotica's memory cleared, remembering shoving herself into her civilian garb in a zoo storage room that bore the detritus of a gluttunous massacre.

'How much weight?' the stripper cum super spy asked, looking towards the dial and seeing only the sprawl of her tits.

Had her tits always been that big? Those huge blue veins on the side, those were new. She craned her head, feeling fat bunch under her chin for the first time and looked past her boobs to see not the dial but a soft, tan basket ball of a paunch pouring out of a corset eight sizes too small. Erotica turned, seeing one of the floor length mirrors reflecting back a tall, leggy, hyper busty and extra chubby woman instead of the muscular super hero she was used to. Her hard thighs were thick and soft, she'd found a double chin and cherub's cheeks, her heart shaped butt had started sagging, she had a fluffy gut just too big to suck in and G cup tatas poured out of her op to merge with soft arms. This morning she'd looked like a super hero, but now...now she looked...

'You look like you're getting married to Colonel Sanders and trying to shove yourself into the dress you married the Pizza Hut in!' Cat cackled from the floor, trim legs kicking up and showing her lack of underwear enough to distract from her shitty comparisons, 'No, no, like you're the ambassador of the dairy queen on her trip back from the Domino's Kingdom!'

'Oh Sugar, are you okay!' Giselle cooed, running over and wrapping her arms around all of Erotica.

In the mirror, the chunky redhead was by far the thin one.

'You...you...you...you...you've gained 49 pounds,' Kevin managed after a moment, pen shaking so hard he could barely write.

'49 pounds!' Erotica yelled, 'that's....that's impossible!'

She'd never gained weight, in twelve years she'd been exactly 150 pounds no matter what scale she'd been on. She'd been 150lbs on her bathroom scale this morning for shit sake! How could she have...the dart in her ass. She'd been starving, had stumbled off into a storage room of junk food and then...oh God, this was why the cashier who'd refilled her soda had barely glanced at her. She'd gotten...

'Fat! Erotica is fat!' Cat laughed.

'I'm...I'm not fat!' Erotica tried to reject.

'I-I-I-hate to tell you-you-you this,' Kevin gibbered, 'but you're fifteen pounds into the overweight range. I'm sorry to say this Erotica, but you're off the stage until...until, you can...'

'Drop a few pounds!' Cat laughed.

'Off the stage?' Erotica asked, heart beating like a drum, 'but I always open and close the show...'

'Not...not tonight,' Kevin swallowed, 'by Stripping Regulatory code 148a...'

'Your fat ass is fired!' the giggling cat laughed.

'No no no,' Kevin sweated, barley able to speak.

'No, I'm not!' Erotica yelled, 'I helped lobby that legislation through Congress and know it like the top of my own tits, any stripper to be fired for a weight issue is to be given a thirty day probation period to lose it!'

'That's right!' Kevin yelled, mind trying to demand some sort of order, 'Um...right...Erotica you're officially on probation.'

The superheroine sighed, knowing she could lose this...probably.

'And serving drinks,' Kevin finished sadly, 'Cat, you're opening and closing. Get Erotica's costume.'

'But...its my costume!' Erotica said, knowing it sounded pathetic because she was flowing out of it.

'And I'm the only one tall enough and thin enough to fit into it,' Cat smiled, prancing up and tugging on the strained fabric, 'if you didn't stretched it out too much...'

 

[Batman76]

This was only supposed to be three pages, but I over indulged in it and it just kept getting thicker and thicker until it was so big getting it smaller was impossible. Its like a metaphor or something.

[Batman76]

This is supposed to be a 4 parter now, so let's see if I can make that:

On the way to F.U.G.G. HQ

Erotica had transformed her motor scooter into its alternate form of a gigantic, nuclear powered motorcycle that shot her towards F.U.G.G. HQ without delay...except for a brief stop over at McDonalds. The stripper didn't usually partake but she was fucking starving and guiltily walked in, trying to keep her thighs from waddling together. She was middle of the pack in terms of weight, above the college cheer leaders who's fit bodies were fitted perfectly to short skirts and tight sweaters despite their trays of greasy junk that would bit by bit ruin them and far below the four hundred pound mom of two who was sucking down Dr. Pepper like it was oxygen. It was a horrible feeling seeing the ghosts of Christmas Past and Christmas Future on each side as she walked to the cashier, a guy who would have been good looking if he hadn't had moobs bigger than Erotica's used to be. A strict vegetarian, Erotica sucked down two quarts of soda, a hub capped sized salad drowned in a sea of blue cheese, a super sized order of fries and deciding that she had some room, waddled out with a 32oz shake of chocolate 'ice cream'.

'I'm out of control,' Erotica groaned to herself, hearing seams start to tear as she hauled her glutted bulk onto the motor cycle, which groaned under her weight, 'I've got to get this in hand or...'

Or what?

She'd get fired? She could probably talk Kevin into anything...

She kick started the motorcycle, the backfiring covering the ass of her leggings ripping and jetted back off.

Getting into F.U.G.G. HQ:

'Come on, come on, scan it,' Erotica grunted in the nondescript entryway.

She had her leggings, the back seam ruined forever, down past her hips to let the stretch mark striated slopes of her ass pour out. Her tramp stamp had a bar code embedded in it and the scanner steadfastly refused to read it...probably because the tattoo was horribly stretched over a lot of new fat as Erotica's tapered, toned lowerback had become a sloppy roll of back fat with a crinkle right in the middle. It too a lot of finagling for the overweight super spy to get the door to at last accept her and she let out a relieved sigh...until she realized there was no way to get her leggings back over her ass.

Shoulders slumped, and gigantic free hanging hooters drooping down in consequence to where her australian cleavage hung out of her size 2 shirt beginning to come apart at the seams, Erotica waddled into the spy head quarters, bare assed.

An hour later found Erotica running on a special tread mill in the agency lab, wearing a badly stretched spandex panties and sports bra that wasn't quite enough support for her floppy tatas. Covered in a gallon of sweat, the overweight spy was panting and heaving after only ten miles and hadn't been able to get over forty five miles an hour. Beginning to feel a cramp in her thighs, Erotica slammed her hand down on the emergency stop button and slumped to the side, laying in a spreading pool of her own sweat and desperately trying to suck in air.

'Good news!' Hal chirped, the chipper tech scientist approaching with a tablet and his inseparable lab partner Bernard.

'You...you...found a way to make...make me thin again?' Erotica heaved, feeling a stitch give way in her bra.

'Oh no,' Bernard admitted, 'we already knew that. We just calculated exactly how to make a costume in your new size.'

'What?' the blonde heroine gasped, 'I was on that for ten miles and that's what you got!?"

'Hey, its hard to make a suit to support...all of you at maximum bouncing,' one of the nerds said, 'we needed to take a lot of scans of you and get as much footage as possible...'

'Ugh, then whats the way to make me thin again?' Erotica grunted.

'Well, it turns out from analyzing your DNA that your natural BMI has gone from 20 to 40,' Hal began, 'roughly three hundred pounds.'

'Three---three hundred---pounds!' Erotica yelled, feeling her heart hammer in pure terror.

'And your top land speed has decreased by 25%, while your stamina has dropped by 30%,' Bernard continued with the same chipper tone, near smiling.

'Why are you smiling!' the blonde growled, weighing whether kicking their asses was worth getting up off the ground.

'Your bust size has gone from 36DD to 42G!' Hal smiled, he and Bernard high fiving.

Erotica hopped up from her seat in a surprising display of agility, lifting the two nerds by their collars, 'Guys, I love you but Jesus Christ make me skinny again!'

'Well, uh, that's up to you,' Bernard coughed, 'you just have to think thin thoughts.'

'Thin thoughts!?' the stripper yelled.

'It turns out that your super human abilities are actually one ability: being able to reshape your physique through pure will power with enough energy, like lots of fat or an immense amount of food,' Hal went on.

Erotica recalled through the blur of lost genius how it felt being short, obese and flat chested, wanting to be tall, super fit and enormously busty more than anything. She'd woken up in a hospital bed with fifty less pounds, five more cup sizes and super human abilities. And how it had felt, somewhat similar to waking up in a consumed zoo storage room.

'You mean I wished myself into this?' Erotica yelled, looking at her chubby body in shock.

'Well, not consciously, you just need to be thinking about a different body shape really hard while being knocked suddenly unconscious,' Hal finished, 'so just think skinny thoughts and knock yourself out.'

'And don't think about fat,' Bernard told her, 'the more about fat you think, the fatter you'll get! So don't think about fat or you'll get even fatter than 210 pounds!'

'210 but...I only weighed 199 a few hours ago!' Erotica exclaimed, 'I must have...oh god, the man boobs and the fat lady and the cheer leaders...and all of my food...'

'See! Don't think about fat people!' Hal assured her.

The intercom hummed, the harsh voice of the chief coming in, 'Agent 0069, to my office immediately for an urgent mission! Gorgeous women all over the world are becoming morbidly obese!'

...

The Chief's office was a weird place. One wall was of oversized TV monitors and the other a roaring fire place, and a desk piled six feet with memos going back to the Roosevelt administration. Erotica entered wearing a size 14 version of her outfit: high heels, panty hose, a miniskirt narrower than tissue paper and just as thin and a highly supportive, long sleeved crop top that pushed her suddenly bountiful arm fat into vaguely muscular shapes. Designed to show off shapely dancer's legs, her tight 500 squats a day ass, her bullet proof abs and pneumatic breasts, it instead showed off floppy, shapeless tree trunk legs with elephantine ankles and bovine thighs, wobbly hips that looked like they'd already born four kids in four years, a completely sloppy belly with stretch marks appearing under her now cavernous belly button and how her immense, wobbly tits looked asleep in their cups.

'Ah Erotica, I see you're already ready!' the Chief smiled from the other end of the room as he painted a life sized portrait of himself naked on a bear skin rug.

'Oh Jesus, Chief!' Erotica squeaked, looking away and covering her eyes.

The Chief looked pretty good for his age, a massive bear of a man but it was a shame that age was 116 years old. A WWI experiment had given him unnatural longevity and super human strength but the century of extra life had made him weird as all get out even though he was a brilliant leader.

'What? Oh this, sorry just getting this done for valentines day. The wife's looking forward to it,' the Chief said, getting one of his ass crinkles done.

'Chief, its September!' Erotica reminded.

'Oh...well, good thing I'm not married,' the Chief grunted, picking up the nearly completed portrait and throwing it into the fire, 'so let's get down to steel tacks.'

'Brass tacks?' Erotica asked.

'No, steel is way stronger,' the Chief said, picking up a remote from a folder labelled 'Presidential Security Memo: DALLAS, URGENT!!!' and covered in dust, 'so anyway the egg heads said this was happening.'

He clicked the button several times, cutting through various late night shows and cartoons before the display finally showed image after image of beautiful women: Ludmilla Tetrarova the famous fashion model, Evelyn Stone the famous actress, Elizabeth Downton the famous bikini model and more: three female soccer players who'd scored a sports illustrated cover, a morning talk show host, singers and pop starlets and instagram models. Their lithe, honed physiques made a ripple of shame go through Erotica, a swirl of self hatred at letting herself get this big, get so gross and disgusting.

'Anyway, they were all way too skinny. Like those damn flappers. My God the twenties sucked, you came home and you couldn't get booze or tits anywhere,' the Chief rambled, 'at least tits are in now. But then this happened.'

Another click of a button and the slim, gorgeous, happy models, actresses, singers and athletes were replaced with stupidly bloated versions of themselves that were obese, gross, miserable and panicked. The 800 pound Ludmilla was being carted out by fifteen fire fighters with cameras still clicking from where they were lodged in her rolls,a half ton Evelyn Stone was being flown to a hospital by three helicopters, a 140 lb Elizabeth Dowton looking aghast at her long term photographer laying on the ground at 1200 lbs, Kelly Perrier trying to finish a song from the stage collapsing under her fifteen hundred pound bulk.

'From skinny to meaty in ten seconds, faster than getting laid on VJ day in uniform,' the Chief rambled, 'anyway, you should probably fix that or something. Here's a folder about it.'

The shaken Erotica,wearing her skirt was getting snugger just thinking about the impossible rolls in front of her eyes, took it and looked down with puzzlement, 'Emergency warning, Japanese Fleet nears Pearl Harbor?'

'Oh wait, wrong folder,' the chief shrugged, 'that ones from the 90s. Here's the right one. Can I assign you the case?'

She took the other folder, heavy with before and after folders. The superheroine, fully knowing about how she had to think thin, felt fresh flesh begin to crease under her second chin as she stared into the drooping rolls of Evelyn Stone's formerly flat waist. She shouldn't take this case, she had to stare at photos of skinny models and do sit ups until she was thin again, but that would let these women be fat. Really fat, fat in a way that made her fifty or sixty or seventy pound weight gain seem a little vanity fat.

'You can count on me Chief,' Erotica saluted, feeling herself jiggle and bounce as she did.

'Oh good...say, did you do something with your hair?' the ancient man asked.

Erotica's apartment

'What the hell do all these girls have in common?' Erotica muttered to herself, pacing back and forth in front of her bed.

Well, pacing was an odd word. It implied fast, steady steps but Erotica's thighs were getting a little too girthy for that anymore. Hal and Bernard had sent her costumes up to size 32 and she was afraid she'd need them given how her waddle had gone from a looming promise to an old companion. Maybe it wasn't helped by the $150 worth of bread bites and soda she'd decided she needed to order from Dominos. Erotica was popping one into her mouth at the end of every pace, two pyramids of fried dough piled on bed side tables.

'They were all hot and all skinny and all famous...except the photographer,' Erotica said, adjusting her bra.

Before she hadn't thought much about how her tits felt. Yeah they'd been huge and glorious but they'd been super firm and taught. Now they were usually sore and wobbled, demanding more and more support even as the expanding pool of tit flesh demanded bigger and bigger bras to hold them up. The minor exercise had made the usually ultra fit stripper heroine sweat profusely, her bra turning from blue to black with soaked up sweat.

'Damn boobs,' she sighed, popping in another bread bite.

Her phone rang as she adjusted them and with a sigh she picked it up, seeing it was from Kevin.

'Uh, Erotica...hi...uh...,' the manager asked nervously, 'how...how are you...'

'I'm...feeling bloated,' the blonde, who'd crammed down at least three meals of grease, cheese and carbs over the last hour, 'what's going on?'

'Well...umm...i was wondering if you...wanted...maybe too...,' he stammered, 'uhmmm....go...to the...'

'Listen Kevin, I'm really busy I'm sorry,' she said, 'but i'm busy right now. Can we talk tomorrow?'

'Uh...sure,' the manager sighed, hanging up.

'If I can even get through the door,' Erotica sighed, looking down at her gut which had begun to dome out past her boobs.

Boobs.

Boobs.

Why did she have boobs on her...

Erotica looked down at the pile of files, flipping open Ludmillas. Not the after, where she was a mountain of fat. But the befores: last week she'd walked in Milan and been an anorexic tooth pick with no fat on her, not on her hips or her tits. And then the night before in New York, where she'd been an anorexic tooth pick with head sized hooters.

'In a week?' Erotica asked, 'she had a boob job.'

Then Evelyn Stone, famously flat chested in a papparazzi clip from a week ago and then looking like a brick shit house with mammoth G cups minutes before her transformation.

Downton's photographer, who'd gone from being waifish to dwarfing her busty subject in two days.

'Boob jobs! They all had boob jobs before it happened!' the Striper yelled in excitement, jumping up in glee.

Her boobs soared up with her...and then slapped down as she landed. H cup breasts ripped through her 42G bra like tissue paper, sending underwire flying through the room and nearly putting Erotica's back out. She yelped in surprise as they slapped against her paunch, looking saggy as if she'd spent fifteen years nursing.

A glance in the mirror showed she was noticably chunkier than she had been, having picked up an extra fifteen pounds at least. An all around hog unrecognizable as the perfect specimen she'd woken up as.

'All temporary,' Erotica sighed, picking up her apron gut, ''in a bit I'll be completely fine...just gotta help all those models first...'

Munching on more bread bites, the sore boobed secret agent waddled towards her closet, fishing for a disguise that could fit her engorged curves.

 

 

 

[Batman76]

There was a stupid music video segment that just padded time out until the second fat transformation I'm cutting because music videos are a stupid thing in real life, let alone in fatty wank fan hate fic.

 

I did love the Chief though. He was the best thing about a show all about titties with the best animated WG sequences out there.

[Batman76]

The second to last hopefully (?) part of this. It just keeps getting bigger.

A quick call to F.U.G.G.'s data analysts found the name of the plastic surgeon all of the afflicted starlets had visited, a suddenly thriving hot spot of tata enhancement called 'Cesarians', giving Erotica her target for the day. Unfortunately it was now 5:00 am, too early to visit and too late for squeezing in through a back window or air vent, if the freshly obese Erotica could even manage that. The stripper/superheroine was beyond exhausted, all of her muscles feeling her rapidly accumulating bulk and the ten mile run she'd done earlier had left her winded for long minutes. In particular her aching shoulders were starting to curve inwards at the incessant tug of her floppy tits, her lower back was beginning to ache and a slight tightness in her knees reminded her of having to haul her doughy ass up the short flight of stairs to the university test lab. She was quite simply, too tired to do anything right now.

A short bath, where the water poured over the tub due to Erotica not accounting for how much more she displaced, was followed by a rather odd nap. Being coated in a layer of pillowy dough was counteracted by how her gut and tits pressed on her when she laid on her back, how they hung down when she laid on her side and worst of all, how she was warm all the time. By dawn she was tired enough that her snores, a new development, were echoing through the bedroom.

Eight hours later, she woke up from her three hour nap, having slept through two alarms and two calls from FUGG. Famously eccentric pop starlet Amie Xerxes had shown up on the set of her new music video with H cup tits and in the middle of the first take, gained three quarters of a ton but insisted on keeping filming while civil engineers tried a way to get her off set. About an hour later, semi-retired model and slightly more than slightly chunky hostess of USA Has Talent (?) Cooking Edition Missey Veigan had begun a show with brand new DD cups to distract from the baby belly sampling all of the season's treats had been slowly regrowing. She'd gained the least out of any of the starlets, coming in at a relatively svelte 648 pounds.

'Okay, this is vaguely my fault I'll almost admit,' Erotica sighed to herself, bathing again, taking a light brunch of six eggs and twelve pieces of french toast drowned in maple syrup before heading out, 'but like...I didn't make them get bigger tits and I'll find a way to stop it, making all those fatties thin again.'

Squeezing into the disguise she'd picked out was more difficult than she'd thought, as the slightly obese Erotica who'd gone to bed had turned into a thoroughly morbidly obese Erotica in sleep. A mix of nightmares and dreams about being increasingly obese, humiliated and gluttonous had put her thoroughly in a fat state of mind, raising her resting weight from 299 to 392lbs and the gluttonous appetite fueling the transformation was now so thoroughly ingrained the former fitness fanatic wasn't even noticing her overeating.  A pair of XXL white sweats that had been loose the night before were stretched transparent on her floppy, cellulite coated thighs and her cankles were taking on a life of their own, beginning to swell up within a few minutes of getting up. In less than twenty four hours her stomach had gone to chiseled abs to starter paunch to beer gut to full apron with a floppy, stretch marked stained lower band hanging over her puffy pussy. Tits perched on a perfect triangle of size, shape and pertness had lost all but the first, turning into sloppy, plunging bags of fat with swollen nipples, painful J cups that she had to leave free hanging given how she'd thoroughly outgrown every bra but her ultra stretchy uniform top. Once she'd squeezed into her t-shirt, a shapeless, tent like garment that was painted on Erotica had one greedily floppy jowl, a product of darwinian evolution that had devoured its competitors, while her high cheeks were now droopy, swollen chipmunks that looked bee stung.

'Not that I've got room to talk...,' Erotica admitted with a sigh, seeing an image of bloated, lazy, unhealthy gluttony, which perfectly fit her chosen cover.

At the very least her golden blonde mane's glorious color was untouched, but it had morphed overnight into an unflattering "I need to speak to your manager hair cut', and she had lost her tan going from bronzed tan to milky pale. Stepping on the scale, she winced to see that its 350 limit had been reached after craning past tit and gut. The plan she'd had to maskerade as a fatass housewife had become too accurate.

'Time to finish this and get thin again,' the (nuclear) bombshell grunted.

A drive and a stop at a mcdonald's later and Erotica was waddling into Cesarian's Plastic surgry center, shoulders complaining of her tits. Just as she was entering, an entourage of body guards and assistants swept by and escorted Tanya Slow out. The famously pencil thin starlet had begun getting puffy in her late twenties and was clearly hiding slightly beefier thighs with enormous, backbreaking I cup implants that were throwing her off balance to a degree her body guards were having to prop her up. The obese Erotica noted the fluffy tummy showing through her sweater still and wondered why the other woman didn't just accept her changing body.

'It'll be almost funny if it wasn't so sad,' the stripper mused and went in.

There were a lot of slim, gorgeous women waiting to get boosted inside. A ripple of shame and self doubt went through her, mixed with schadenfreud over how if her theory was right, they'd soon dwarf her. Again the spy was treated as a fat woman, basically ignored by the svelte, big busted nurse and had to wait over an hour and a half to be seen.

Finally she was led into a waiting room by a nurse with Jessica Rabbit proportions and left alone after her blood pressure (high) and measurements (frightening) were taken. it gave the spy just enough time to plug a bug containing flash drive into the room's computer, stepping away as the door swung open.

'Don't go into room three! As I mentioned not into room three! Never in room three no matter what!' Dr. Cesarian ordered loudly as he barged in, pausing as he took in all of Erotica.

He was an odd looking man, with strangely perfect features that seemed...uncanny.

'Ah, let's take a look,' the Dr. mused, 'Southern judge wattle, six kids tits, knee bouncer paunch, door jammer hips, ...definite candidate for extreme weight loss surgery. By your stance and clothing I can tell its recent. Let me guess, trophy wife to a fast food mogul?'

Erotica's now pale cheeks burned at the  insults, but she slid right into her persona of a spoiled, upper class house wife who'd let herself go, 'No, I had a boob job two days ago to celebrate my 29th birthday again and I wake up like this! Look at me, I'm a whale! And unless you fix this, my husband's gonna sue you! He's the biggest lawyer in six states!'

'Uhh...fuck,' Cesarian said taken aback, most of his victims having been too obese to worry about something as minor as lawsuits or the cause of their obesity in less than a day, 'come right this way and we'll get you back to a size...'

'0!' Erotica yelled, 'the same as in high school.'

'0 sure,' Cesarian sighed, leading her out to room 3.

It was dark when Erotica walked in and the door closed before her eyes adjusted. Cesarian flipped a switch and suddenly the room was lit up, revealing hundreds of tanks of wobbling, hissing liquids that seemed like clear pudding.

'Uhh...what is this stuff?' she asked, activating an audio recorder in her ear ring.

'This? This is a special formula, the secret behind my five minutes a cup size breast enhancements,' Cesarian laughed, 'I call it Super-Fat!'

'Super-Fat?' she asked, 'what is it?'

'What is it? Its a collection of computerized, synthetic fat cells that permeate the subjects cells and at a signal cause rapid weight gain!' he laughed, so hard that his own synthetic features briefly popped off and had to be disgustingly put back on, 'I injected it into all of these vain celebrities on purpose and with malicious intent! Even better, it causes no health problems beyond immobility!'

'Oh my god, can it be reversed!' Erotica asked.

'Of course ...with proper diet, lipo suction and exercise!' he laughed.

'And why did you do this?' Stripperella kept smiling.

'Because when I was a teenager, hot girls hated me! And I was a model who was horribly burned in an accident and cast out by models! And my parents were models who neglected me! And they were killed by models in an alley way after we saw the 1980s movie Mannequin! And I'm a huge pervert with a gaining fetish!' he finished.

'Anything else to add?' the blonde questioned.

'No, that's pretty much it!' Cesarian asked, 'Now its time to dispose of you before you can tell anyone!'

'That's gonna be pretty hard, because I'm actually Stripperella and I'm here to take you down!' She smiled, spinning and in a flash wearing her size 26 costume...which her body poured out of.

'Uh, are you going to take off the fat suit?' he asked, 'Nice one by the way.'

'No...*puff*...no...this is all me,' she panted, the rapid movement leaving her exhausted, sliding on her domino mask, 'but it won't stop me from kicking your ass!'

The fat super heroine sped forwards...at a waddling lumber. Instinct said a high kick to the face...but she couldn't get it it higher than his thigh and her foot, which should have knocked his legs out from under him just kind of thudded softly. Stripperella followed it up with an upper cut to the solar plexus, which should have sent him flying into the celing but instead just bounce off. A left hook, hard enough to shatter his jaw, just knocked off a fake ear was all she could manage before falling to her knees, panting to get in more air.

Her super strength had failed her. Too hungry and miserable to think thin thoughts, Stripperellas super power had sabotaged her, replacing super strength and stamina with a couch potatoes lifting abilities.

'My my, someone looks a little....out of shape,' Cesarian smiled, pulling out a syringe.

Erotica woke up naked on a cold medical table which groaned under her weight. Everything was groggy and her eyes were bleary, she tried to sit up and failed, pinned by an immense weight on her chest.

'I have to say, you will be my biggest trophy yet,' the insane surgeon laughed from the side, 'my first super heroine!'

'You haven't beat me yet!' Stripperella groaned, rocking to sit up and failing, 'I won't let you fatten up those women unstopped!'

What was wrong? She could wiggle her fingers and toes, she wasn't paralyzed or restrained, so why couldn't she stand?

'Those women?' he laughed, 'you are one of those women!'

Erotica looked down, eyes widening to see garbage bag sized bazookas with dinner plate nipples dominating her chest, impossibly perky despite being a hundred plus pounds each.

'62 ZZs,' he laughed, 'my finest work! When the timer goes off, you'll hit a solid 8 tons of super sized lard when it goes off in five minutes! Now, I'm going to go outside and make a long, highly important phone call about my insider trading in weight loss surgery centers and super plus sized clothing brands, but leave this remote that controls all of the transformations and is actually capable of reversing all of the transformations I've done, contradicting what I said earlier!'

Cesarian walked outside, laughing uproariously and leaving the struggling super heroine stuck behind him, pinned by her own tits.

'Come on! Come on!' the now literally zeppelin breasted blonde grunted, trying and failing to rise again and again...

[Batman76]

And here, finally the end:

'Come on, come on, come on...,' Erotica groaned, struggling to move all of herself off the table.

It was a pitiful exercise. The super humanly fast and strong woman was pinned: hundred pound tatas kept her from raising her shoulders an inch, while a beer keg belly and drum stick thighs weren't able to shift much. Able to outrun a lion and lift a whole ton the day before, Erotica was now barely able to move her body. Five hundred plus pounds thanks to her tits, the obscene secret agent could barely even breathe. Sweat covered her and all she could get were tiny little pants of air as her tits jiggled up and down.

She had to think thin thoughts...had to think thin thoughts...but how could she do that? After seeing all these beautiful women blow up all she could think of was plump, chubby flesh expanding outwards. How could she think of firm fitness? Hell, the very idea of being in shape was starting to filter out of Erotica's head. If it wasn't for being trapped with the potential to wind up a multi ton blob she wasn't actually sure why she'd ever wanted to be fit...

Holy crap she'd really become a fat girl. Her self image of herself as a lazy doughball was so strong her super strength had faded away to nothing, she'd become fat within and without.

Gone was the athletic stripper who'd gyrated around the pole to thunderous applause, her ass shaking up and down, her tits bouncing side to side...

Side to side...that was it! Side to side, not up or down!

Using what pitiful muscle mass remained beneath her ballooned out body, Erotica began jostling from the left to the right. The motion was small at first, but slowly built up second by second as momentum built. Fat sloshed back and forth like the tide as Erotica rocked, her immense quasi-fake hooters and buttery belly bouncing left and right.

'Come on, to the side...' Erotica said as her shoulder and hip lifted off and then smacked back down as she went to the right, 'almost there....YES!'

Stripperella was lucky to have well balanced boobs, she fell to the right, getting pulled off the table by the person sized tits...and then yelped as she realized she was falling. Erotica had no grace or balance left she landed on the cold floor with a loud thump and an awkward yelp as the air was driven out of her. She found herself sprawled flat on the ground, immense tits pulling her flat.

A push up should have been theoretically possible from this position, but the hyper titted spy's plump arms couldn't even get close enough to the floor thanks to her new boobs, even if they had had the muscle to push her up. Erotica had to get her legs under herself, getting into a rather crappy kneeling position and then slowly drag herself up the examining table.

'Almost there...,' the woman who'd run up a concrete wall the day before gasped, sweat pouring off her body as she got to the top of the table, 'Got it!'

Erotica stood up with a triumphant shout...which soon became a painful hiss as her lower back crunched. Tits this big would have been hard to manage with super strength, doing it with no muscle mass was a joke. Pain spasmed through her body and blotted out every other thought but not being in pain, in a moment Erotica was bent almost double. Hands pressed to the table to support herself, tits hanging down almost to the floor, the blonde heroine stumbled towards the conveniently placed remote by the TV.

A TV showed Tanya Slow being helped up to the stage to present an award at the Grammy's, nearly needing a wheel chair to help with tits almost as big as Erotica's. In front of the spy's now piggish eyes, the slightly chubby, huge boobed singer began to bloat up, a rip in her custom dress going from crotch to tits as fat rippled through her. The spy felt her own body grow warmer and saw how the fingers of the hand propping her up were swelling until they were thick as her wrist, too thick to even bend. With a surge of desperation she lunged for the remote, grabbing it jut as her gut went supersized and slammed into the floor. Erotica rose up on a surging eruption of fat, rolls spilling out and hitting the room.

Her ass grew to the size of a small car, while the canyons of her fat rolls were big enough for an adult man to be lost in. Her eyes swelled shut with fat and her legs grew too thick to bend. All that was left was her right arm, fumbling for the button as fat crept up it and her tits deflated into seven foot hangers. A bingo wing larger than a bald eagle's wing span appeared on her tricep, an innertube of fat on her elbow, a ham hock for her wrist and her already thick fingers were clumsy sausages when she finally found the stud.

She pressed on it and then felt an odd reversal of every previous action. Erotica sank down to the floor, the mountain of fat dissipating away until she was just on the floor back to her old weight.

'So that was a good smoke and...what the hell, why aren't you fatter!' Cesarian asked her.

'Your plan is stopped Cesarian,' the masked but otherwise nude heroine yelled, 'and now I'm going to take you down!'

'Didn't we already do this?' Cesarian asked peevishly.

'Well yeah but then I was fat and now I'm,' Erotica looked down, seeing a well over three hundred pound blob of a woman who hadn't exercised in her whole life, '...just as fat as before. Shit.'

'Well, I will say it will be odd to implant the same woman twice, but whatever. Maybe ZZZs next time,' Cesarian shrugged only for the door to burst open.

A FUGG swat team burst into the room, machine guns pointed straight at Cesarian who raised his hands in the air in surprise. The motion was taken as a hostile one and gunfire lit up the room. Erotica blinked at seeing where Cesarian used to be as the Chief swaggered in.

'Chief, how did you get here!?' Erotica asked.

'Your ear rings streamed everthing back to the tech nerds at HQ...which is probably illegal now that I think about it. I'm just glad we got here before he could shoot JFK,' the Chief nodded at the bullet ridden corpse, 'who knows what would have happened then...'

'Chief, JFK died sixty years ago. This guy just wanted to make models fat,' the obese Stipperella reminded.

'Oh...well...that's also bad...I guess,' the Chief said, 'you know maybe its time I retire. 0069, you look like you're up for it, how about a promotion?' he asked her.

[Batman76]

Except for an epilogue I'll do later.