Jump to content
flyer33

Best Served Wet

119 posts / 25488 viewsLast Reply

Recommended Posts

OK, here's a new story I've been thinking about. I honestly don't know how other people manage to set up their plotlines so efficiently, so this first chapter mainly just introduces a formerly super-hot swimming scholar named Chloe, at a low-grade university which has recently decided it needs to boost its prestige and attractiveness for benefactors by having a large number of physically alluring, slutty sports scholars (but which struggled to get any talented ones to apply). Also, Chloe will be visiting relatives in New England, and I hope this intro makes some clear indications of where the plot might be going. 

 

Chloe Southern – Best Served Wet

 

Synopsis

When Gainesburg College's freshman swim captain, a once red-hot certainty for the national squad, crashes out of her college team after one semester, she blames her wrecked fitness and reputation as a massive slut on too many keg parties and her natural gluttony for milkshakes and sex... But when Chloe Southern discovers her diet was sabotaged by her unreasonably long list of untrustworthy boyfriends who were put up to wrecking her swimming career by an arch-rival, and a curious invitation to an old museum in New England opens up unusual possibilities, the blonde former-hottie vows to (mostly) recover her figure and prove to the world that when it comes to college bust-ups, revenge is a dish best served wet...

 

 

Chapter 1: Gaining in Gainesburg


A one hundred and twenty year old greenish bronze statue of an enormously fat businessman wearing a cowboy hat and a big friendly grin stared benevolently down the main street of the town named after him: Gainesburg, FL. It was a small college town in the panhandle of the state. Indeed, so small and unknown was Gainesburg that the alumni of its academically undistinguished little university frequently benefited from the ease with which the place was confused with the larger Florida town of Gainesville. But that was a completely different place.

The lugubrious Samuel Gainesburg himself would not have cared at all whether people confused his eponymous town with someplace else. He would simply have been happy that the pleasant little town ran along quite smoothly, for the most part, and that his generous patronage had equipped it with all sorts of amenities that delighted the residents. There was the beautiful landscaped park and lake, the small but intriguing Gainesburg Museum of Antique Pistols, and the splendid faux colonial architecture of the central plaza. Indeed, only one of his generous gifts to the town – the college endowment – had turned out in a way that might have caused the rotund benefactor a bit of disquiet.

Gainesburg College's governing body, after having done remarkably little during the whole of the last century while their institution had rolled idly along the bottom of the nation's academic rankings, had recently ransacked its endowment fund to invest heavily in its programme of sports facilities and scholarships – reckoning that an impressive array of fit young men and bouncing hotties would do wonders to stimulate the college's flagging prestige. (If this increased prestige should happen to result in the vice chancellor securing a promotion to a college with a more generous stipend, that would, of course, be a total coincidence.) Samuel Gainesburg himself would not have approved of the financial recklessness of the plan, and would have been appalled to find that so many young folks in his college now dedicated their efforts to honing their bodies with iron discipline and strict diet. He would certainly, however, have raised a smile and a cheer of admiration for the tall, curvaceous young blonde whose beer-swollen belly and once-toned but now milkshake-thickened hips and thighs currently decorated the bar stool of a snack bar on Main Street, the name of which Samuel would also have appreciated: Devilish Milkshakes.

Chloe Southern swallowed a gulp of thick chocolate milkshake, sucked through a trio of huge plastic straws, and wondered whether the quart of rich, sugary malt would soothe her troubled mind before it made her sick. It was her third large milkshake of the winter evening, and a physically gruelling and humiliating day of time trials in the swimming pool on top of waking up with a hangover had left her belly feeling as awful as her self-esteem, so either outcome was possible and she didn't particularly care which happened.

Chloe groaned and slumped with her head on the Formica counter, and wished she'd spent the semester eating more protein bars before early morning pools sessions and less chocolate cake, beer, and tacos at late night drinking parties. She reflected that her problems were entirely of her own making. As a tall, rangy blonde from south California, who had stood a lean 6'1'' at the start of the year, and that was with her size 12.5 trainers taken off, Chloe should have breezed through her time trials in the pool way ahead of every other female sports scholar in Gainesburg. Most of the others weren't even particularly talented or well endowed for swimming, and certainly they hadn't won junior events at state level in California, courtesy of endless hours of training at the behest of an ambitious stepmom. But Chloe – now looking less like the hotshot swimming star and blonde super-hottie she'd been eighteen weeks ago, and more like a bloated ex-pornstar in a too-tight one-piece swimsuit – had been humiliated by losing out not just to all the swim team but even finishing behind some of the runners and boaties.

Needless to say, after flunking her time trials while looking horribly out of shape, Chloe had had to endure being epically yelled at by the college's new swim coach. She'd even been threatened with losing her sports scholarship at the end of the academic year “with absolute certainty!” to quote his words. And that hadn't been as bad as slinking away from the sneers and taunts of the svelte 5'8'' new captain of the female swimming team, the Gainesburg freshman who had started the year as the distant second best female swimmer: Tina Reilley. It had been a tirade of insults in which the redheaded sprint-swimmer had taken utter delight in transforming Chloe's original swimteam nickname – 'Sixpack' – into a term of abuse for a blonde whose thickened thighs and ass were widely known to have come, in large part, from her love of beer and frat parties. And that hadn't been the worst part. The worst part was the way Tina had leered as she'd announced to the room that Chloe's main boyfriend, Beck Bronte, the captain of the boys swimming team, was now officially sleeping with her. This, so Tina had spat, was because he needed a girl fit enough to keep up with his needs, and – as if the fact he was super-buff and from a rich family wasn't enough reason – she'd accepted him as her boyfriend because she'd felt sorry for the embarrassment she was sure he must feel at being seen around the campus with a fat, blonde slut...

Oh. Fuck!” Chloe groaned.

Chloe heard a thud as her sports bag fell off the handy adjacent stool where she'd put it. She bent over to try and pick it up without getting off her own seat, feeling nauseated from the almost-a-gallon of milkshake she'd tried to drown her sorrows in, and also because she was still mildly hung over.

Realising she couldn't reach the bag without moving off her seat, Chloe sighed and heaved herself up. The sight she was met by was not a welcome one.

You've got some nerve!” Chloe exclaimed. Her eyes had widened as she'd realised that her boyfriend, Beck, the buff 6'3'' muddy blond who had earlier today spurned her for a fitter, redheaded, and malevolent model who still had a sports scholarship, had sneaked up behind her.

Hey, Chloe.” Beck replied, trying to look prepared to endure whatever insults came his way. “Don't kill me!”

Chloe drew herself up to her full height – which would be enough to intimidate most men, if she'd been in shape – and tried to stand in front of her empty milkshake glasses so Beck wouldn't see them.

Why the hell not! You dump me for another girl because I've fucked up my body and wrecked my scholarship so I won't be here next year – fine! That makes sense. But you leave me for her and without telling me. And you expect me to even look at you?

Chloe's voice was badly hurt, and Beck felt bad about it before he even thought about the words. He tried looking regretfully at the floor while standing in the way so the blonde couldn't walk out past him.

Chloe, it's nothing like what you think! I came looking for you because I have to talk to you about this, even though it's going to get me into real trouble... And I'm really, really sorry about today and I promise I'll make it up to you if it's the last thing I do...”

Beck. There is no way you can ever make up today to me! Making up for the most humiliating moment of my life when Tina reveals to a whole room that she's taken not just my swim team captaincy – which, OK, I'm hungover and I'm so out of shape, I was gonna to lose that – but also my boyfriend, is impossible for you. Understand?”

Chloe turned away and started walking towards the exit.

Chloe, wait!”

Bye, Beck.”

Beck didn't stop Chloe shoving past him. He did notice she'd left her sports bag. There was only one more thing he could say, but he didn't really want to. But he would. He guessed he had to.

Chloe, Tina has blackmail material on me. Like, it's something real serious – I can't tell you here, but it's pretty bad. Look, I can tell you it would get my parents to disown me – it's not criminal, but Tina has video and she pretty much owns me with it. I really hate what she made me do to you, and I really want to tell you – can we go to your-”

No!” Chloe yelled.

Okay! I thought you wouldn't want to. I've written it down. Will you please read this, Chloe?”

Beck reached into his pocket for a folded white envelope.

Get out, Beck. Leave me alone.”

Please take this and read it, Chloe! I'll go.”

The blonde stared him down for a moment. Beck looked away, still holding out an envelope defensively.

Give it.”

Chloe took the letter from her ex-boyfriend, and he departed the bar. He had the decency to look agonised as he left his ex main girlfriend.

Chloe sighed and slumped in a chair clutching her sports bag and Beck's letter. She unzipped the side of the bag and shoved the letter in to read later. As she did so, she realised it was the second handwritten letter she'd received today. A second one, or really the first one, in a luxurious felt envelope addressed with antique handwriting, was already waiting in her bag where she'd shoved it this morning as she'd headed out to the pool, late, with a hangover.

What is this, the fucking nineteenth century? Who sends letters anymore?”

Chloe tossed both letters on the table, sighed, and opened the first from Beck. It was written in smudged blue biro.

 

Hey Chloe! Please read all of this!

I'll try to keep this to the point (also, you know my handwriting is horrible).

Tina blackmailed me.

Do you remember before we got together there was a thing about the time I “nearly” got Jennifer Jameston pregnant? OK – Tina has something on that, and you know my parents are big in the church, and my uncle's a cardinal... So she has me in a pretty tough bind, as I hope you can understand...

I would never have done anything to hurt you, Chloe (please believe me!).

But Tina just told me she wanted me to date you (which, obviously, I would have done anyway, because I think you're amazing)… And she ordered me to make sure you *ate a lot of calories* (that's a quote)… Erm, OK – I mean, you did like eating eating icecream in bed and donuts during sex even before we met, right, so that didn't seem so bad. And, I thought I didn't need to tell you about that because you swim, right, and honestly, your body was absolutely perfect even after I'd been buying you huge takeouts and dinner dates on Tina's orders for a couple months, so it seemed like it wasn't a problem. And you know I love watching you eat(!)

Erm, this next bit is worse... Tina wanted your swim team captaincy, and she really wasn't happy with me because she wanted me to get you in worse shape, and, obviously, you were still a lot faster than her... So she threatened me with the video again, and made me put this herbal supplement in your protein shake... She said she got it from the old apothecary – and, I swear, I had it tested for drugs before I did anything, but it tested as clean so I thought it was safe to do what she said... That was around the mid-term, and that's when you got really into beer and parties – and milkshakes, I guess. I honestly didn't think about it at the time, and I thought you were getting really curvy and gorgeous, but I'm afraid I might have spiked your drink with some kind of appetite drug that might have affected your self-control somehow...

Erm, one other thing – you know the way open relationships are normal in the sports programme, because... you know, we have all these fit bodies and bare flesh bouncing around... Tina ordered me to make sure the guys on the sports teams knew I liked you with curves, and that they should buy you beer and takeout any chance they had... Erm, I probably should have told you about that. (It's really true about me loving your curves though).

Look, bottom line – I'm still swim team captain and I promise I will get you your scholarship back, and I desperately want to see you again. Please call me...

Really sorry about this, promise I will make it up to you.

Beck


Chloe crumpled the letter and threw it. Her blood felt cold, and she felt dazed.

How could this happen?” She asked herself.

Okay – losing her sports scholarship – she knew how that could happen, and she'd been sure it involved beer, cake, icecream, and lie-ins because of her own laziness... If it involved her boyfriend poisoning her, that was another thing, and she wanted to burn with rage about it. But if he really had been blackmailed into doing it – and he so dumb it was cute, so it was possible – that would be something else. Chloe was reluctant to consider that Beck was writing anything except a pack of lies for some reason... But... He didn't really have the imagination to do that, and...

She sighed again, and decided to think about it later.

Figuring her day couldn't get worse, Chloe decided she might as well open the second letter. The envelope was a ludicrously thick felt material, addressed with a kind of calligraphic handwriting in thick but faded black ink. She opened it carefully, since it seemed a shame to tear the luxurious envelope. The letter itself was on a creamy cotton paper, handwritten in the same faded black ink but with beautifully neat lettering in straight lines that Beck couldn't have managed on plain paper even if he'd been given a ruler. The letter was set out perfectly, with the precision you might expect from the author of a style guide. It actually cheered Chloe up somewhat just to see someone had put so much effort into writing to her. Still, the sender's address was somewhere in some rural-sounding place in New England, so probably it was just a normal effort for them.

 

Dear Chloe Southern (or Southwick ?)

My name is Miranda Southwick. I'm a distant cousin of yours from the old New England side of the family.

I am writing to you in the hope that you may be willing to assist me in authenticating the ownership of a family heirloom. The item in question is rather sensitive, and I would prefer if you would be willing to come up to Maine in person to discuss the matter rather than correspond by letter. I understand New England is a long distance away from your college, but perhaps the opportunity will arise for you to visit family there in the near future. If so, please do let me know the date of your arrival and visit my house for tea and we shall discuss the heirloom!

By the way, I find that my receipt of messages by post these days is less than reliable, but I am always at home in the afternoons, so do come over if you are in the vicinity, even if I have not confirmed my availability via post. The full address of my house in the village of Fatucket (pronounced “Fat Tucket” by the way, and not “Far Tucket” as some non-natives are wont to say) is as written above, and the receptionist at the small local hotel will be happy to provide directions.

Yours sincerely,

Miranda Southwick

P.S. Four gold guineas are enclosed, which I hope will cover the cost of your travel to Maine. If you are unable to come, please feel free to accept them as a gift, as I have little need for them.

 

Gold coins enclosed, huh? Crazy old New Englanders. Still, it's as good as a cheque, I guess.”

At that moment, Chloe's phone received a text.

What? No way.” She read back. “This is nuts. It's a hundred percent a setup.”

The text was an invitation to spend the Christmas vacation visiting her Aunt Flossie and Uncle Chuck. Who lived in upstate Maine. In a village, Chloe checked in her contact addresses, named Fatucket.

 

* *

 

It was a cold December evening, by Gainesburg' subtropical standards, and by the time Chloe slogged up the outdoor stairs to her college apartment there was a hint of frost forming on the ground. She'd tried to get her gold coins valued at a local antique dealer – they were stamped with the head of King Charles the Second of England, so it seemed like they might be worth something, and anyway, she had no idea where else to convert gold coins into dollars. But the shop had been closed and the plaza was getting dark.

Outside Chloe's door, shivering on the mat and soggy from an earlier rainfall, lay the immensely fat stray black cat she'd named Shoggoth who had taken a liking to her room. It probably helped that she occasionally fed him when he sounded particularly hungry. Of course, judging by the size of him, he might just be hungry because he'd grown too fat to squeeze though the cat flap back into his owner's house where he doubtless had smorgasbords of sausages awaiting his return, but he sounded a bit pathetic so Chloe had taken pity on him.

Hey, Shoggy. You want to come in?”

Shoggoth allowed himself to be picked up, dried off with a towel, and placed next to a bowl of water which he eyed suspiciously.

Want a sausage?”

Miaow.” Shoggoth confirmed as if he understood English perfectly.

Chloe took a plate of cooked pork sausages from the fridge and chucked one to Shoggoth. The cat missed the sausage, then heaved himself in its direction and ate it happily.

Hey, Shoggy. You ever been to New England?”

Miaow.”

 

* * *

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
6 hours ago, swahilimonkfish said:

You should have more confidence in your writing. It's eloquent, full of wonderful writerly touches, and with a smattering of humour too. And the Shoggoth/New England references seem interestingly creepy

Thank you very much! A generous comment like this means a lot, and from a nice writer too. Cheers!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Chapter 2: A Cold Day and a Hot Night in Maine


 

Technically, Ms Southern, King Charles the Second was never the king of England alone, but of Scotland from sixteen forty-nine until fifty one, and of England, Scotland and Ireland from the restoration of sixteen sixty until his death in eighty-five.” The elderly antiquarian beamed through his magnifying glass at the way the near-mint quality golden guineas glinted in the sunlight.

Oh, well, thank you for telling me that. I wouldn't have wanted to get that wrong.” Chloe replied.

But because of the excellent quality, which is extremely rare in coins of this age, you've done exactly the right thing bringing them to the antique market.”

Any idea what they're worth?”

Numismatic values are difficult to assess. But, at auction, based on recent published sale values of similar items, less a commission of twenty percent split between myself and the auction house, if that is acceptable.”

Mmm, sure.”

I would not be surprised if they brought you a sum of forty-thousand dollars.”

Fu--”

Mr Jones, the antique shop owner, tried to look unconcerned about the large sum of commission that his very attractive blonde customer might be about to bring in. She was a young lady, and had the maddening habit common to young folk of tapping away at her smart mobile-telephone screen in the middle of a conversation. Mr Jones had always found a wired telephone to be more than sufficient, but with a likely commission of ten thousand dollars or more at stake, he didn't feel like making an issue of it.

Ms Southern? Does that sound acceptable?”

Yes! Definitely. Sorry, give me a minute. I'm just booking a flight to see my crazy rich aunt in Maine.”


 

* * *


 

Maine was cold.

It was damn cold.

Damn, damn, damn cold.

To a girl who'd spent her whole life in southern California until she went to university in Florida, the whole place had looked like an icy hellscape from the airplane. Portland International Jetport, once she'd experienced its snowy air in person, had felt even worse than it had looked. And then had come the discovery that the temperature inland was ten degrees lower, as if such a thing was possible, and that the longer you spent in the cold the worse it felt.

Now Chloe had been to cold places before. She'd visited Seattle in springtime, and been offered a sports scholarship there, but had turned it down because she'd needed an electric blanket and, anyway, Gainesburg College had offered her more money to be their superstar female athlete. She'd visited Boston in autumn while trying out for a different scholarship, where she'd been kept warm at night by a hot boyfriend – two actually – with no other heating needed in the room. But in that case the room insulation had been good, and she still would have turned on the radiator if her boyfriend hadn't complained he felt like he was passing out from heat exhaustion. That last part – or at least the exhaustion bit of it – was something Chloe prided herself on being able to achieve with any boyfriend, no matter how athletic he was, and even if she was drunk.

For Chloe Southern, minus fifteen Fahrenheit was a temperature that didn't exist (anything between eighty-five and a hundred was nice), and ice was something that formed outdoors on really bad nights. Ice did not – and could not conceivably – form on the inside of a window during the day. But nonetheless, it formed.

Chloe watched in horror, from within the folds of the Gainesburg college hoodie she was wearing over two sweaters, a track suit, and tights, as frost rippled along the inside of the window of the Portland-to-Fatucket bus. She'd folded her legs onto her seat and hugged her knees in dread.

No!”

Are you alright, dear?” Inquired a nearby older lady passenger wearing a woolen hat and a thin red coat.

I'm from Florida!”

Oh. There, there, dear. It'll be alright.”

Mmmf!” Chloe replied.

Chloe closed her eyes and tried to forget the thousand miles of surrounding snow until the bus rattled into its destination and she was deposited, shivering and carrying her biggest sports bag, in the middle of a settlement that was all of about eight hundred yards wide.

She looked around but couldn't see through the white air.

Chlo! There you are!” Boomed the resounding bellow of a large man.

Uncle Chuck?” Chloe replied, turning around and recognising the towering form of her relative. “I'm cold.”

Oh, don't worry about that! We'll get you in and Flossie'll put the hair dryer on you and Chase can run you a nice hot bath! How does that sound?”

Chloe answered through chattering teeth. “Pretty nice, Uncle C.”

Good!”

Chloe was surprised to learn that the thing about taking off most of her clothes and being put under the hair dryer by her aunt (who was much shorter than Chloe, making the scene pretty laughable) was literally true. And it felt really good.

I do declare I'm so sorry you had to take the bus, Chloe!” Declared Aunt Flossie in a voice she seemed to have invented based on watching English period dramas on TV, and further honed in more recent years once Downton Abbey became available. “As I mentioned on the phone, we had a little damage with the storm two days ago, and my husband simply couldn't get away to pick you up because he seemed to be spending all his time fixing up the roof over the back house...”

Chloe luxuriated under the hairdryer while her Aunt Flossie explained the situation. It seemed that “a little damage” referred to a whole tree being punched through the roof of their farmhouse by a winter storm. Now, their farmhouse was really two houses, with the back brick house attached to the smaller and older front stone house via the miracles of the architect's art. But, understandably, the damage to the back had disrupted the offer of Chloe being picked up from the airport – although impressively the tree seemed to have been removed and the roof patched, and her aunt seemed entirely unfazed at the prospect of hosting a Christmas dinner for sixteen guests with only a few modifications.

So, you see, Chloe, it'll work if we put you up tonight, but we've got my sisters and mother coming to stay from tomorrow, and with the two of the guest bedrooms not having a proper roof and being dreadful damp besides, our plan is to put you up in the Fatucket hotel. If that's alright by you? It's no more than two hundred yards down the road, and it's as cheap as chips this time of year anyway – you know we have a big halloween festival for most of October, and it's always full then, but there's few visitors now.”

That's absolutely fine, Aunt Flossie.”

Good! But you'll come over here for breakfast, and stay all the way through until after dinner! I'm determined you must get plenty of proper food, Chloe! I know it's not my place to say, but I've always thought your stepmother didn't feed you up properly the way my sister would have!”

Oh, I don't know. Oatmeal, protein shakes, and vitamin tablets for breakfast. Everything a growing girl needs, right?” Chloe replied.

Aunt Flossie nodded darkly in agreement. Indeed, that description of breakfast did seem to be missing at least three of the important food groups: bacon, lard, and stodge.

Anyway, Chloe was put in a hot tub in a spacious bathroom, and stayed there as ordered until her clothes had been washed and dried. Apparently she'd got them damp in the snow, which was a bad thing, and necessitated that later in the day Chloe must be fed extra portions of dinner and steaming hot desserts until she was ready to pass out, in order to regain her strength after exposure to the bitter cold. Normally, that kind of instruction would have gnawed on Chloe's mind because it would have come into conflict with her best intentions to get back into shape over the vacation. However, in this case it sounded like a pretty good remedy for the cold, and anyway her mind was preoccupied with another matter while she bathed. On her way to the bathroom she'd brushed passed Chase, Uncle Chuck's son from his first marriage, who had matured into a spectacularly buff young man of her own age in the years since she'd last met up with her relatives in Maine. This had caused Chloe to salivate, although she was sure she'd hidden it well, and she lay in the hot bath preoccupied with the realisation that she hadn't had sex for days and was desperately horny. She felt very lucky she had so much time on her hands in a hot bathroom to deal with her needs for a while so she could clearly think out her plan of action for the vacation. 


 

* *


 

There's plenty more pork and stuffing if you can manage it after your pie and icecream, Chloe!” Aunt Flossie enthused.

Chloe made a groaning noise, lay back, and patted her swollen stomach. She felt like it would take a week in the gym to deal with the excess calories she been stuffed with at dinner, and this was just on her arrival night before any other guests had turned up for the real start of the feasting season.

Oh, it's all so good, Aunt Flossie!” Chloe replied in an almost orgasmic tone of voice. “And I so wish I had room for more pork and stuffing! But after the pumpkin pie on top of the sticky toffee pudding and the carrot cake, and all the roast, I just don't think I'll be able to lie down comfortably if I force down another thing! As much as I'd love to have more pork and stuffing!”

Chloe flicked a glance towards Chase, who was staring back with what Chloe easily recognised as naked lust. Luckily, her aunt hadn't noticed. Chloe was getting mildly worried that uncle Chuck might notice if she let Chase drool much longer in her direction without getting him safely out of the dining room and up to her room – which, fortuitously, was in a private corner of the front house unaffected by the storm damage, with no guests next door tonight, and with the rest of the family in the back house. Chloe could feel her adrenaline levels surging in anticipation.

Once Chloe had ascertained that Chase did not currently have a girlfriend, as he'd separated amicably from his last one when she went to college and Fatucket had a population so sparse that he hadn't yet found a replacement, it had taken Chloe all of two discreet eye flicks to secure his agreement to join her for hot sex in her room after dinner. After that they'd had a completely independent and entertaining dinner conversation with Aunt F and Uncle Chuck about the town, and how well they'd dealt with the storm, and how Chloe should dress for cold weather. But Chase was starting to become pretty obvious in wanting to finish up at dinner, and Chloe felt the same although more subtly.

Yes, the Pump-kin pie was my favourite. But I'm so looking forward to lying down after this meal. I just feel so stuffed and after today I'm so ready for a good night. Yeah, I'm really looking forward to heading to bed.” Chloe suspected that she was veering away from being subtle, and listened politely to the next bit of conversation.

Well, we'll keep the pork and stuffing in the cold room if you change your mind later, and feel free to heat up a plate or two if you need a midnight snack, Chloe!”

Thanks, Aunt F!”

Well, I think it's time Chuck sees to the washing up, and I'm going to be retiring to bed.” Continued aunt Flossie. “It'll be our last chance for an early night before all our guests arrive for the season, so best turn in early! Good night, all!”

Good night, Aunt F!”

Good night.”

Good night, Uncle Chuck!”

Good night, Chloe!”


 

* *

Five minutes later.


 

Chloe tapped her foot impatiently. Her room was dark, but she'd fixed her hair a bit anyway. The air was very chilly in the stone part of the house, and she was standing in a bikini, but she didn't feel the cold at all. In fact her skin felt scorching hot, probably because her racing heart was running her metabolism at the speed it normally associated with a sprint competition. But sprints didn't last five minutes and she was getting furious at being made to wait.

Finally, Chloe heard a soft knock at the door. She lifted it open quietly, smiled alluringly at Chase who was dressed in a suitably easy-to-remove robe, and pulled him in with a hot embrace as she flicked the door shut with a foot.

What the fuck took you so long, Chase?”

I think I was pretty fast.”

Well, get faster, Chase. We only have like eight hours until dawn! I should probably warn you: with me, that might not be long enough. I mean, I'm a professional athlete and I'm absolutely stuffed, so we have a gargantuan amount of work to do if I'm going to burn off all of these calories!”


 

* * *


 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites


Chapter 3: Blonde and Blonder


 

If there was one aspect of the sports scholarship programme at Gainesburg College of which Samuel Gainesburg himself would have approved, it was the post-event parties. In fact, he would have enjoyed them so much he would have suggested having them more often. Or perhaps he might have suggested building in some sort of camaraderie-building activity, such as a drinking competition, or an eating contest. And a weekly practice session for each of them. However, it wouldn't have mattered if no-one had bothered to follow his advice on that, because, as this December's booze-fuelled end-of-semester event revealed, the hot young men and women of the sports programme were perfectly capable of glutting themselves senseless in an orgy of flesh and alcohol without any encouragement.

One of the young ladies laying on a sofa in a drunken tangle with her companion was a tallish girl with peroxide blonde hair wearing a quartet of silver medals for various swimming events. She leaned against her boyfriend and burped.

Oh, Brett! I've drunk sho much beer I look...” Her eyes lost focus for a moment. Her boyfriend prodded her awake.

Look what, Katie? Pregnant?”

Nooo!!”

You do kind of... Hehe... Oof!” Brett received an elbow in the groin for his comment.

I wash going to say... Oh... I'm so sad...” The peroxide blonde sobbed with alcohol-induced emotion.

You Okay, Katiekins?”

Mmmn. I was going to say.” Kate controlled her speech carefully. “I look like Chloe!” Sob. “I wish she wash here. She wash the only girl here who could undershtan... hic... undershtand m-- UUUUUUUUuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!”

Whoa, Katie!” Brett told his overly carbonated multi-silver medallist girlfriend.

Urrrrrp! Uuurrrrrrrrrp! Uuuurrrrrrrrrrp! Hic.”

You breathing Okay, Honey?”

Urp! Jeans too Uuurp!” Katie gasped. “Jeans too fucking tight.”

The peroxide blonde concentrated as she fumbled with the button of her size six skinny jeans, and popped it open. Her belly bulged out and pushed the zipper all the way down. “Oooh! That's better. There! Solved!”

Brett patted his girlfriend's overloaded belly.

Oh, Honey! It's lucky you don't have to pose for another photoshoot right now. I think you might struggle to compete with her abs right now!” Brett pointed across the room.

Shut up Brett! I looked great in the college photoshoot! Just look at me!”

Katie grabbed her boyfriend's chin and aimed his face towards a movie-promotion size cardboard stand on the other side of the room. Its lifesize glossy graphics captured, as scantily-clad idealised and retouched images, six of the hottest female and buffest male hotties that the Gainesburg College sports scholarship programme had to offer. In fact, the college's governing body had decided, in its wisdom, to photograph its latest sports scholars and put them in promotional pictures for the college before even bothering to find out whether they won anything – after all, tutorial fees were at stake, and there was no time to wait for actual results before publishing the adverts.

In the lust-inducing graphical stand, the three bikini-clad female hotties were each striking sexually provocative poses and arranged in a triangle formation, of which Katie Kane graced the design as “5'9'' peroxide blonde hottie on the far right.” Chloe Southern in her leanest summer shape, looked absolutely jacked and sported a prominent sixpack in her artistic role as “6'1'' sunrise blonde super-hottie in the centre.” And Tina Reilley, captured casting an envious look to her left, filled out the picture as “redheaded 5'8'' third-hottest hottie.” The male athletes were also scantily clad, but not arranged to look quite so slutty.

The advert was pure sexploitation. It also, apparently, had increased the college's application numbers by twenty percent. It had been such a success, the governing body had awarded themselves a generous Christmas bonus.

You're so hot, Katie! Wow, is that a six-pack you have over there?”

Urp! Shut up, Brett.”

Katie tried to angle herself drunkenly for a kiss, but her clinch was interrupted by her red-headed swimteam captain. Tina Reilley, looking as drunk and unsteady on her feet as the other athletes, wore a triumphant smirk as she showed off her gold medals from the college's end-of-semester race.

Hey, silver medallist! How are you two doing?”

Oh, hey, Tina! Urp!”

My, that's quite a burp you have there, Katie. But you've earned it. Not like Chloe Southern! Here: have some more punch!” Tina snarked, holding out a hi-ball glass of strongly alcoholic blue fluid.

Katie took the large glass of the punch, containing who-knew-how-many delicious but poorly advertised ingredients, and gulped happily. She didn't notice the dark smile Tina aimed towards the peroxide blonde's enviable perky breasts and formerly-taut abdomen.

Urp! Oh, thanks, Tina!” Slurp. “You know, Brett, we should go for donuts later. This punch makes me really hungry!”

Sure thing, Honeybuns. Then shall we go to your place, later?”

Sounds like a plan, Brett! Hey, in fact, I'm starving. And horny, too. Let's go now!”

Cool!”

Tina licked her lips as she watched her remaining rival for the title of hottest girl on campus depart the room, with her skinny jeans undone and her bottom straining the stretchy material to its utmost limit.

You go stuff your face with donuts, you even-dumber blonde! Then let's see who gets to star on next semester's posters...”

Tina smirked, and decided to treat herself. Carefully stepping around the bowl of delicious aromatic punch, she selected a cupcake and headed to the keg to pick up a cute boy and, coincidentally, get him to pour her a large beer.


 

* * *


 

Whoa, that's bracing! I have to do that again!”

A strikingly tall sunrise blonde emerged onto the snowy bank of the icy river which flowed rapidly south through Fatucket, leading past the small central square with the Haunted House Hotel and the Witche Inne. She was wearing a tight blue swimsuit with a red slash, and didn't stop to dress as she put on her flip flops, picked up a heavy sports bag, and strode back to the local hotel from which she'd set out earlier.

A small group of hardened midday-drinking Mainers, all older men, watched the proceedings with disbelief.

Jed?”

“”What's that, Pete?”

Is my jaw hangin' open?”

Don't know. I'm not lookin' at yew.”

A third midday-drinker added his view to the conversation.

Weell darn me! Ah really thought we were gonna afta' fish 'er out! That thar current's wicked fast! She went up it like a fish!” 

Like a shark, Jeff, I thought!”

All thar way to the old bridge.”

There wasn't much to add, so the old farmers turned in unison to watch the hot blonde walk past.

Chloe Southern pouted prettily as she stalked. To be honest, she was starting to feel cold. It was a dead certainty her nipples were protruding hard enough that the old men watching her from the pub could see everything. But, on the other hand, it'd been a while since she'd really enjoyed having an audience admire her body in a swimsuit. Now, sure, she was still thick all over, and her bum was overly curvaceous, and she had a bit of a beer belly – although she was panting so hard with steaming breath that it might not be noticeable at a distance... If your eyesight was iffy. But, nonetheless, while Chloe Southern might not still be the 10/10 super-hottie she'd once been, she was still an 8 to any warm-blooded male. And, more to the point, to a bunch of boozy Maine farmers in their sixties who had a pretty limited experience of six foot blondes in swimwear, she had to be a 12 or a 13.

Hello, boys!” Chloe waved at them, and walked into the hotel.

Chloe's ego was further boosted by the way the boy on reception salivated. He wasn't buff, but he was cute.

Oh, hey! Can you remind me. Was my room number thirteen?”

Yes, Ma'am. Room number 13d. All of our rooms are number 13.” The kid looked apologetic. “It's for the Halloween market.”

Okay. Thanks.”

Will you be having dinner here, Ma'am.” He sounded hopeful.

Sorry. I'm here for Christmas with my aunt. She's planning to stuff me stupid with stodge four times a day. Hence why I wanted a swim. Plus, you know, I haven't looked at alcohol for three days, so I have about twice as much energy. And I got a whole four hours sleep this morning. That's pretty good for me!”

Trouble sleeping?”

Erm. Not last night. Just other things to do.”

Oh. Erm, is there any else I can do for you, Ma'am?”

Chloe was about to head up the stairs to her room, aware that her shoulder-length hair was dripping despite her having flicked it to throw off some of the icy river water. She'd hoped the hair-drying flick had looked a bit flash for her audience.

Actually, there's one thing. I'm supposed to visit this address.”

Chloe fished in her sports bag for her phone, and read out the address of her crazy rich aunt.

Oh, sure!” The kid on reception clearly recognised it. “That's the Witch Museum. It's the old house of Miranda Southwick. Legends say...”

Okay, stop at legends. I'm not warm, standing here. Where is it?”

Oh it's just up that way... Here, let me show you on a map. You can take this leaflet if you like.”

Thank you – uh – Ben.”

Oh, it's my pleasure, Ma'am!”

I'll bet it is. My nipples feel like magnum ammo right now.

But, wait. The museum's closed. We don't get much custom this time of year, so it's only open Tuesdays.”

Erm. Right.”

Are you here until next Tuesday, Ma'am.”

Erm, Yeah... But she said she was in every afternoon...”

Who did, Ma'am?”

Nevermind. I think I might take a hot shower.”

Great idea, Ma'am.”


 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Chapter 4 has some character development I'm pretty happy with, introduces some more Fatucket characters I need later, and is important for what Chloe is going to do to rescue her friend Katie from the clutches of Tina. Sadly, Chloe and her cousins have to put off eating much until the immediate next chapter...

 

Chapter 4: Luck, or Destiny?


 

Chloe looked around the snowy village landscape, consulted the map in her hotel leaflet again, then looked confused and blew at a strand of her sunrise blonde hair. She had taken a path northwards from the Fatucket village square, and passed an abandoned water mill. The short, crooked church spire with its snow-capped weathervane was right behind her, so it seemed unfair that she couldn't figure out how to get to the Witch Museum on the map. Probably, Chloe decided, the map with its poorly-spelt place names wasn't very good.

Fortunately, Chloe wasn't cold. She wore a borrowed black puff jacket. It was far too short for her and looked like a cropped belly shirt, but that was OK because she was stuffed with steaming hot pie. Aunt F had served up the pie at lunch, after all her guests had first consumed a gut-busting quantity of roast beef and vegetables covered in fattening gravy followed by at least a second helping of everything for all present. Chloe, together with Aunt F's older sister's daughters, Destiny and Felicity, who were both seriously large young ladies, had each been served a third platter of roast meat and vegetables on the grounds that they were “growing girls.” It would have been impolite to decline, Chloe had thought, and anyway everything on her plate had been utterly delicious. Still, the idea that Chloe, a nineteen year old athlete who felt like she needed to start a serious diet to cut down her excess bodyfat, needed to be fed up like a “growing girl” seemed a bit of a stretch.

Chloe's large cousins, Destiny and Felicity, had not been at all fazed at being described as growing girls. At 20 years old, 5'9'', and maybe twenty stone if Chloe lowballed the mass of her cousin's hefty double belly, the hazel-haired Felicity didn't have a lot of growing left to do, at least in a vertical direction. And the white-blonde Destiny, who was a couple of years older, looked like she'd started out at Felicity's size and then added an amount of belly approximately equal to Chloe's entire current weight – say, a touch under a hundred and eighty pounds. Destiny had selected a wide chair, and adjusted her position at the table as her belly had swelled and swelled before her during the epic lunch. Anyway, they were both friendly girls, but they'd gently mocked the way Chloe had tapped out after only three huge servings of pumpkin pie and cream, and then they'd looked slightly aghast at her suggestion of taking a walk after lunch.

Chloe would have liked to take Chase for an afternoon walk, but he'd looked shattered. Uncle Chuck had been highly amused at how the effort of fixing the roof had apparently left his son so much more physically exhausted than he was himself. Meanwhile, Chloe wondered whether she might have ridden Chase too hard the night before, and felt mild concern that he might not be able to fuck her for more than four or five hours in her hotel room later. Also, without a guide, she was making poor progress in navigating to the Witch Museum. The footpath she'd followed disappeared into briars, and the only route that seemed to go in the right direction was a dirt road on the other side of a picket fence.

Chloe stepped over the fence – not a difficult task for a girl with 37½ inch legs who did yoga and pilates five times a week.

The old water mill was an interesting building. On a closer inspection, it was not abandoned – merely dilapidated – and it had a sign facing the twisty road announcing itself as “The Haunted Mill. Tours $10.”

A strangely enticing aroma of roasting vegetables emanated from the even-more dilapidated conglomeration of barns and workshops beyond the mill. The gate to those buildings was locked shut, with a new sign. The sign read as follows.

 

Aunt Anville's Olde Pumpkine Spice Factory

A Proud Partner of Sarnath Foods LLC

Guard Dog, Keep Out!!

 

A heap of rotten pumpkins lay in the yard. A tremendously fat rat sauntered out of the wall of one barn. It nibbled on some pumpkin and then headed through a broken plank in the wall of a rickety shack with a smoking chimney that seemed to be the source of the tangy spice smell.

Okay. Note to self: never touch anything made with Aunt Anville's Olde Pumpkine Spice.” Chloe said.

A wooden signpost pointed up some rough hewn stone steps which rose in a serpentine path from a scrappy carpark on the other side of the Pumpkine Spice Factory. Checking there were no vehicles on the icy road, Chloe headed straight for the steps, seeing as the sign itself bore the promising legend: Fatucket Witche Museum!

Okay. That's more like it. Let's hear it for Chloe Southern: Ace Explorer!”

Chloe ducked under an icy stone archway which stood on its own half way up the steps.

In this week's episode, our intrepid and loveable heroine takes a walk to exercise off her aunt's artery-clogging lunch, while her plump cousins snore lazily on the couch, which is only just wide enough for the two of them, and discovers...”

Chloe arrived at the top of the steps and looked around, wondering how to continue her narration of her own adventure.

The Witche House looked ancient. It was a dark wooden affair with a tall, irregular roof of black slate and a fieldstone chimney. A turret overlooked a ramshackle herb garden with a wishing well.

Unfortunately the sign outside the Witche House said it was closed today, the lights were off so it was pitch dark inside, and the front door was locked.

Aw. Shoot.” Chloe said to herself.

There was a path around the back, and Chloe followed it into the herb garden, ducking under a thorn tree.

Unperturbed, our ravishing blonde protagonist explored the ramshackle grounds. While her cousins snoozed, and the delicious but heavy fats and carbs from their gigantic lunch went straight from their grossly swollen tummies to their already-plump hips and thighs, our sparky heroine used her wits to search for a spare key under the empty plant pot by the back door and....”

YES! COME ON! Chloe Southern shoots, and SHE SCORES!”

Chloe looked around as the echo of her cry died away, and hoped nobody had seen her shout that.

The simple brass key unlocked the back door to the Witch Museum, and Chloe entered the gloomy back room.

Hello. Anyone there?”

Nope.

Chloe called out again.

Okay. I'm going to feel dumb for asking this, but: I'm looking for Miranda Southwick. My Aunt.”

There was no reply, but the museum exhibits around the back room shed some light on Chloe's queries.

A display board featured a portrait of a fleshy seventeenth century lady in a pointy black hat. There was some text, which Chloe could make out in the light filtering through the tiny windows.

Miranda Southwick, born ???, died 8 October 1693. One of New England's most infamous witches, legend has it Miranda Southwick came to Maine 1642, to escape the chaos of the English Civil War. Her history before that time is shrouded in mystery, but her life in North America inspired a hundred ghostly tales. There are many stories of her exploits in the New England colonies, from healing a prize pig so that the animal's impoverished owner could win the rich prize at a “Fattest Animal Competition,” to cursing an infamously lecherous governor with insatiable gluttony, but few facts are known with certainty. What is known, however, is that her death was recorded when a fire burned down Fatucket's old inn: the famously plump-bottomed witch is said to have become stuck whilst trying to squeeze though a window to safety. Whether this is true – and why, some ask, did the corpulent sorceress not simply transform into shadow to escape, as she had reputedly done before – is unknown, but Miranda Southwick has never been heard from since.”

Hmm.” Chloe had a look around the rest of the room. 

A great black cauldron filled a corner of the room, underneath a wooden sign with an olde worlde script, which indicated, for the benefit of the hard-of-thinking, “The Great Cauldron.”

A huge agate pestle and mortar graced the middle of a table covered with alchemical equipment.

A “Flying Broomstick” was suspended beneath a wooden rafter by thin but far-from-invisible threads.

Okay, what's this?” Chloe asked.

A dark copper plate mounted in a wall niche contained the impression of a hand. The sign next to it was captioned “The Witche Locke,” and Chloe leant closer to read the text.

Try your hand at The Witche Locke!

This bronze plate was built into this very spot on the wall by Miranda Southwick herself.

It is said the hand of the legendary sorceress' true heir will unlock the vault containing her hidden mystical treasure. Some of the other artifacts in this room are mere facsimiles of what this museum believes those treasures might look like. Many have searched for the fabled vault, but none have found it. Could you be the true heir of Miranda Southwick?

 

The next several things happened together, and Chloe couldn't remember the order.

Sure, why not?” Chloe asked, pressing her hand into the indentation on the plate.

A horrific clatter of metalwork from dead behind Chloe set her heart racing, and it took minutes to slow down again. She thought she was either about to be crushed in a falling heap of twisted steel, or else that she'd been caught breaking and entering.

The bronze plate shifted slightly into the wall.

Shit!” Chloe exclaimed.

She breathed with deliberate slowness for a minute, calming herself down while keeping an eye on the house to see if anything else was going to fall apart. Essentially, all that had happened was that a shelf holding a collection of pots and pans had collapsed onto the floor. There were some shards of pottery from a broken vase, too.

As she recovered from her shock, our heroine felt bad that she may have triggered the collapse of a flimsy display case, in the rickety old museum building. Not wanting to be blamed for leaving a mess, she resolved to clean it up.” This particular line didn't help Chloe to calm down, but she hoped if anyone was listening they might forgive her for breaking their stuff.

The pans were easy to set in an orderly row by the wall. The vase looked thoroughly smashed, however. Chloe brushed the bits into a fire bucket. Among them lay a scrap of paper.

Aha! What's this?”

She took the paper outside. On it, once unfolded, was neat handwriting in faded black ink.

Oh, come on. This is an elaborate setup.” Chloe grumbled.

 

Dear Chloe

Don't worry about the vase!

I apologise that I am not here to offer you tea in person. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you like.

More importantly, the heirloom I described previously is here for you to collect. Go to my bedchamber in the turret. Look for a knothole in the ceiling board under the second beam inwards from the right hand window. The item is above the removable board. Please take it, keep it locked when you're away, and read it cover to cover!

Yours sincerely

Miranda Southwick

 

Chloe looked around. Her curiosity was seriously piqued, but she felt like someone was playing a practical joke on her. But... was there really someone willing to give away four valuable seventeenth century gold coins just to give Chloe a jump scare? It seemed unlikely.

Apart from some creaking from the wooden building, there was no sound and no-one around. Chloe headed back inside. The spiral staircase leading up to the turret bedroom was easy to find, and easy to climb.

Miranda Southwick's bedchamber had a low ceiling. Chloe saw the bed was compact, and obviously there was no need to design the ceiling to accommodate an overgrown 6'1'' Californian girl born in the twenty-first century. This made it pretty easy for her to look for loose ceiling boards. It still took her ages. In the end, the board was exactly where it was described in Miranda Southwick's second letter. Chloe lifted the board.

The ceiling above was hollow. She peered up into the dark. She could make out some sort of catch, which looked like it potentially freed up some more boards connected together to form a panel. There was possibly some sort of crate or block in the dark beyond that, but she wasn't sure. After a while, Chloe found a good position to work on opening the catch. She worked on it while bracing the ceiling panel with her shoulder. She was confident she could hold up whatever weight the catch released. She was – just barely – correct.

Shit that's heavy!” 

Chloe wrestled a heavy mass down to the floor, and panted heavily for breath once it was down. There was a lot of dust. She cleared it up later, before replacing the ceiling and leaving with her heirloom, struggling with its weight after having re-wrapped it in its ancient tarpaulin.

Phew.”

It looked like a tarpaulin was wrapped around a giant granite masonry block. No – a stone block would have been too heavy for Chloe to lift down in the way she'd managed. It could be a treasure chest! It could be full of gold coins! It wasn't.

Chloe wasn't even surprised to find the thing tied with string and labelled with a note in Miranda Southwick's writing, “For Chloe.”

Unwrapping the tarpaulin and pocketing the note, Chloe found a gigantic slab – over a foot in size in every dimension, and bigger than any object of its type would normally be. It was bound with metal plates and black velvet, locked closed with some sturdy brass mechanism, and it was stuffed with giant pages of yellowed paper. It had a geometric pattern on the front, and a title in huge silver letters. It was a colossal book, it looked ancient, and Chloe felt her heart race at the prospect that there might ancient and powerful witchy secrets awaiting her within the tremendous bulk of:

THE BOOKE OF DARKE


 

* * *


 

It took ages for Chloe to tidy up the Witche House, replace the key, and get the Booke of Darke back to her hotel room. Then she discovered its brass lock plate was not obviously openable, and it was almost time for dinner, so she hid the book in her sports bag on the top shelf of the wardrobe and concealed that under a sweaty towel.

Then Chloe headed over to find out what Aunt F would be stuffing her with tonight. Once she found out, she was relieved she'd had the foresight to change into yoga pants.


 

* *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
52 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

This story is perfect.

 

Seriously, vain hotties porking up, tall fat girls, magic...it's great!

 

Great, thank you! It feels like it's taken a long time to introduce the setting, because there's both the subtropical college hotties and the New England magic to set up, and they didn't naturally start off in the same place... But, anyway, I enjoy the world building. And I think there will be some payoff for bringing them together. Here's a taster of a later chapter, which I think has some promise - in this, Chloe is reading another letter from her crazy aunt.

* * * 

Chloe munched a piece of fruitcake. Fuck, she felt hungry. “Uh huh?”

My advice for you – and this is extremely important – is to make sure you always have plenty of food with you, and to indulge yourself in fattening meals as often as you can manage. 

Oh, great. Yeah, that sounds like amazing advice, aunt M. I'm sure that will be so good for my figure. Yeah: and that sports scholarship – the one I got because partly my sixpack looked good on camera – don't worry about that!”

There is, of course, a reason for my advice on this matter.

[...]

Still, I note that the stronger a witche's powers, the more indulgence their sorcery tends to demand... And your powers, which are in the strongest category, are several notches above mine in all regards including this one. 

Oh. Shit. She sounds pretty serious. Honestly, I don't know. I get these cool sorcerous super powers to blow up shit, and in return I have to stuff my face and ruin my figure? I thought it all came for free... Who knew magic had a cost? You'd think it'd either say at the front of the book, or it'd be a well-known fact, at least.” 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Chapter 5: An Evening with the Farmers

 

Chloe descended the creaky oak staircase to the lobby. She'd squeezed into a cute pink sweater under her borrowed puff jacket, and tight black yoga pants, and the ensemble was figure hugging. Chloe felt heavy and overly curvy compared to her ideal weight of a touch over 150 lbs, but compared with Felicity, Destiny, and – come to think of it – every other woman she'd seen in Fatucket, she looked like a runway model who'd been trapped on a desert island with nothing to eat for two months. And she wasn't averse to flaunting her relatively new curves with a sexy sway as she walked past the fairly-cute receptionist.

Hey Ben! Going out for dinner now.” Chloe trilled.

Oh, hey Ma'am.” The receptionist looked up from his phone. “Oh, wait! I have something for you!”

Oh, really? For me?”

Yeah!”

Ben jumped out of his seat and returned from the empty dining room carrying a stack of what looked like multiple large chocolate boxes. Four of them, in fact. The top one was an expensive-looking gilt-trimmed box of assorted fudge from the famous London retailer, Phortnum and Mayson.

So, I thought you might like these.” Ben offered up, placing the boxes beside Chloe who smiled and licked her lips in amusement. She was secretly extremely happy that she was still hot enough for boys she barely knew to plan out gifts for her – albeit, these gifts looked like very fattening ones of a type that seemed likely to put an end to the allure of her figure, and hence her ability to attract future gifts, if she was careless.

Oh, those look delicious. But you shouldn't have, Ben!”

Oh, it's no problem, Ma'am...”

I think you can call me Chloe, Ben.” Chloe breathed in a seductive whisper.

This news seemed to cause Ben to come close to orgasm. Well, maybe not that close, but Chloe took note of his rising excitement. She licked her lips again, wetting her bold pink lipstick.

Well, Chloe. I thought you might like them, and I'd love you to have them, since the Haunted House doesn't have too many guests at the moment... And we got given these by our supplier – Sarnath Foods – to give out as a Christmas promotion to our favourite guests. And since you are... erm...”

Your favourite guest.” Chloe smiled. “Why, thank you, Ben. But, there's just one thing...”

Chloe stretched to her full height, showing off her figure. The too-short puff jacket rose waaaaay up, giving her plenty of exposed midriff, clad in her tight pink top, over which she could run her hands, emphasising her curves. She patted her tummy, and then turned sideways to pat her ass. It was curvaceous and larger than it used to be, but still quite firm – remarkably firm, in fact – with only a little pliancy when Chloe slapped it with her strong hand. Chloe was taken aback by how horny it made her feel to spank herself. She also noticed, with her well-practiced eye for male arousal, that the effect her fully-clothed strip-show had on herself was nothing next to what it did to Ben.

The thing is, Ben, if I eat all these... I fear I shall get rather fat! I shall have to be very careful, and eat just a little at a time. Mmmmm. Oh!”

Chloe made some erotic noises as she licked a huge bite of chocolate fudge she'd withdrawn from the top box.

This tastes... Indecently... Fattening... I just hope I can control myself and stop after this second slice! Oh! Mmmmmmn!”

Chloe's display proved too much – or, more accurately, exactly the right amount – for Ben the receptionist, who gave a small cry as he creamed his shorts.

Mmmn! Well, that was good for me, Ben. I hope it was good for you too!”

Erhg!” Was all Ben could reply.

Glad I could help. Don't wait up.”


 

* *


 

Hey, Aunt F! Hope I'm back on time! I had a great day looking around the village, but I didn't realise it was dinner time until it started getting dark!”

Oh, there you are, Chloe! Here, eat this!”

Having pastry wedged into her mouth the moment she stopped speaking was not something Chloe was expecting. But, she had to admit, it was freshly made, warm, and absolutely delicious. She put her puff jacket on a hook as she munched the fresh, creamy scone.

Mmm! That tastes amazing, Aunt F. But super fattening. I have to save some calories for dinner!”

Nonsense! Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Chloe. So you've time to finish off these other four scones beforehand. I set them aside for you, as I don't want you to miss out and waste away.”

Gee! That'sh sho thoughtful, Aunt F!”

Yes! It's my pleasure, Chloe. Now, go and find Chase and the girls and tell them dinner will be ready soon.”

Chloe liked the sound of that request, as she was feeling horny and wanted to find out if Chase was sufficiently recovered from the night before to fuck her again. She set down the boxes of fudge and set off at a run.

I'll go find Chase!”

Now, the thing which resulted in red-faces all around for Chase and all three of the young ladies visiting his parents' Maine farmhouse, Chloe decided, was that she was sometimes simply too fast a runner for other people's good.

Chloe had long legs. She had strong, efficient running muscles, built up by swimming ten-plus miles in the pool almost every day, for years, not to mention cross training on the running track and with weights, gym machines, and skipping. And, even if she was far from the best shape of her life, she knew how to use her muscles. On top of that, she was overloaded with energy this evening because she hadn't done any prolonged, hard training during the day. And Chloe was well-motivated by her high level of general horniness to run upstairs to Chase's room as fast as she could possibly do so, which didn't give anyone who might be in his room much time to react. She was certain he'd be delighted when she burst through the door unannounced. After all, he'd fucked her insatiably last night...

Hey, Chase! Get ready!”

Exactly as Chloe had hoped, Chase was on his bed, unclothed, and ready for her to jump on. She was just surprised he wasn't alone!

Chloe burst through the bedroom door with enough residual speed to make a flying ten-foot jump onto Chase's bed an easy manoeuvre. That meant it was a darned difficult manoeuvre to skid to a halt on the limited available stretch of carpet, and then stand staring with her long legs splayed for balance and her mouth wide open in surprise. Nonetheless, Chloe managed it. After all, the alternative of jumping onto the bed would have been pretty impolite: it would have meant jumping unannounced on top of her enormous cousin, Destiny, whose immense girth and presently chocolate-smeared naked body occupied most of Chase's bed!

Chase, who was laying partially atop Destiny, and pushing the last of a chocolate donut into her mouth, gave a croak of alarm.

Ahh!! Whoops!!!!!!!” Chloe gasped.

Destiny gasped.

Chase gave a gasp.

Chloe spotted another form on the bed, as a twenty-stone bulge tried to conceal itself beneath the covers, pulling in some stray hazel-coloured hair as it did so.

Ah. Hello, Destiny! And, hi, Felicity – is that you? And. Hmmm. Hey, Chase!”

Urrrrrrrrrrp!” Destiny burped, sending a dribble of chocolate sauce down her plump chin.

The platinum blonde super-fatty was the first of the young folks to regain her composure. Chloe couldn't help but notice that there were over a dozen chocolate donuts on the bedside table, heaped onto one side of a tray that looked to have originally held thrice as many.

Okay, Chloe!” Destiny said matter-of-factly. “I have to admit this is not the most embarrassing thing I've been caught at – but it's pretty embarrassing! What about you? Have you seen worse than this?”

Chloe recovered her composure enough to realise that, yes, when it came to finding roomates at swimming events fucking someone when she'd walked into their room, she had seen worse. And Chloe could see the funny side of her situation. She dissolved into a fit of laughter. Then, with an effort, she calmed herself down and kicked the door to.

Hmm. Well. Yeah, I guess I've seen more that this before! I'm a sports scholar, remember. We're all complete sluts. I wouldn't even call this bad, really... But it is a little surprising, though!”

You can say that again!” Destiny replied.

Yes, Chase, it is.” Chloe said admonishingly. “Because you told me last night that you found my hips rather too fat for your usual preferences! And yet I can't help noticing you seem to very aroused at being with a girl who is rather a lot more full-figured than me! Were you fibbing last night to take advantage of my insecurity about my recent weight gain, so that I'd ask you to help me fuck off more of my excess weight? And... To imagine I really was thinking of giving you a solid ten-night fuck-athon for the rest of the vacation.”

Chase!” Destiny exclaimed in shock. “How could you! You'd just proposed spending every day this holiday with me and Felicity!”

Erm.” Chase wilted as he realised he was going to be made to suffer for his horny ways.

In fact, just as important, how dare you call Chloe fat! She's as skinny as a rail, and needs to be fed up and have her curves grown and worshipped, not critiqued!” Destiny chided her buff bedmate, her tone haughty. “In fact, you can get right out of my bed! There will be no more fucking for you today, with that attitude, young man!”

Yes, Destiny.” Chase struggled into his boxer shorts. Felicity threw a heap of clothes at him as Destiny dismissed him from his own bedroom.

In fact, you can leave the room and reflect on your horny misdeeds! Then Chloe and Felicity and I shall decide what to do with you!”

Chase left the room looking – rather unjustifiably – sorry for himself.

The door clicked shut. Chloe looked at Destiny, and then at Felicity who surfaced from under the duvet, and was relieved when the sisters descended into a fit of giggles.

Oh, my goodness! I thought we'd been rumbled by Aunt Flossie!”

Nope! No worries.” Chloe confirmed. “I won't tell her if you won't! Honour among whores – as we say in the college sports programme.”

Phew! Well, that's a relief.”

Yes! Rather!” Felicity agreed.

Hmm. We'd better think of a suitable punishment for Chase, though. But, for now, let's just leave him cooling his heels. You can have him, if you like, Chloe! He is rather buff, it'd be a shame to let him go to waste for the whole vacation, and it sounds like you beat us to him.” Destiny offered generously.

Uh. Maybe. He is rather hot. But, you two can have him, if you like. I don't mind. I mean, it'd probably be better for me if I just went for a cold swim for the exercise instead...”

Ugh! Don't even say it, Chloe! We'll happily give him to you entirely rather than contemplate such a thing! Or, if you like, I'll draw up a rota! I think we could work him quite hard between us, and that would be a fitting punishment for him too.”

Uh. Maybe. That's very generous of you, Destiny. I'll sleep on it...” Chloe replied. Her brain felt like it needed time to catch up.

Good. Well, I'm glad we've cleared this up like civilised girls. Now, is it time for dinner? I'm famished!”


 

* *


 

Urf! Buuurrrp! Could anyone manage any more stuffing?” Asked the white-blonde Destiny, offering around a roasting dish and sounding defeated. Her belly – which had been so enormous at the start of the meal that she'd been obliged to position her chair carefully at a corner of the table – looked to Chloe like someone had inflated a beach ball under her grey blouse. Every panel and seam of the top – and of her sweat pants – was straining.

Around the table, the ten dinner guests of Flossie and Chuck Farmer declined the offer, with a chorus of burps and groans – all qualified by the remark that Flossie's food was incomparable and they would happily gorge themselves on more of it if they didn't feel fit to burst.

What about you, Chloe?” Destiny panted. “You've hardly touched your fourth serving of pie. Although, I admit you did good work on the plum pudding, and the – Ooooghh!” Destiny winced and rubbed her overstuffed tummy. “And the lemon drizzle cake and the treacle tart.”

Chloe panted and looked over from her chair, where she was reclining. There was no way she could eat more. Her yoga pants stretched without limit, but she was stuffed to hers. She was sure she could pass for five months pregnant.

No way! I'm stuffed! Anyway, you know I'm more of a main course girl... Desserts are really, really bad for athletes, and I do have a sports scholarship to try and hold onto, y'know. That roast goose and Yorkshire pudding though – Oooh, if it makes me put on weight it was worth it!”

There had also been soup. Lots of creamy tomato soup, with herbs and butter and grated cheese. Chloe had been given about half a gallon of it, courtesy of her bowl being repeatedly refilled. Chloe had mentally renamed her Great Aunt Betty – Aunt Flossie's mother – as “Betty the Feeder.” That had been on account of the way the rotund old woman's beady eye detected when any of her young relatives were not gorging themselves flat out, and instructed them to eat up, followed by mentioning to Aunt Flossie that Chloe / Felicity / Destiny / Chase needed another helping. Only Chloe's relatively small stomach capacity had saved her from Destiny's fate – there came a point after several desserts where Chloe physically couldn't gorge any more, and Betty the Feeder had had to call it quits as Chloe slumped back in her chair, perspiring like she'd run a marathon. But for Destiny, a lifetime of gluttony meant that her own stomach's limit had grown so large she could be made to gorge to reckless excess. Through half-closed eyes, as she lay back after being defeated by her pie, Chloe had started to fret for her cousin's heart. The burping, shallow breathing and sweating didn't look healthy, and Destiny's blouse looked like she'd been inflated. Felicity had made a few offers to accept some of the vast excess of food being directed at her sister's plate, but had herself reached her own limit of gastric overload and was now snoring loudly.

Along with the tomato soup, Chloe and the other guests had each been given a doorstop of freshly baked bread. It had been great, and she'd only felt quite full after finishing it. Finishing the delicious mixed-seed bread had been a mistake – she'd been given a second chunk, slightly larger, along with much more butter.

There had been another amazing roast from Aunt F. It had been goose, and there had been vastly more than enough food for a table of fourteen big eaters. Not that – notwithstanding her aunt's amazing cooking – Chloe really wanted to consider herself a big eater. She could certainly keep up for a while: her training diet was about 4400 calories a day! But the way the others could collectively consume tray after tray of sausage stuffing, drenched in incredibly rich gravy, was too much for her.

Among her aunt and uncle's other guests, Chloe had not recognised Mr and Mrs Hillock, and their plump thirty-year-old son, Hillary, who certainly all resembled the family name and were big eaters. The old couple had been keen to help feed up Chloe, and had beamed encouragement at her whenever anyone passed her more food. They were nice folks. And the conversation was pretty good: rural news, and the storm, mainly.

Chase and the girls were, of course, on best behaviour and didn't mention their earlier embarrassing scene. Chloe did note, however, that Felicity took Chase away at the end of the evening to give him an earful. She suspected Destiny would have done it, but Destiny was so stuffed she'd fallen asleep, occupying a whole couch.

That was that, and Uncle Chuck carried an oil lantern to escort Chloe back to her hotel. With the icy ground and the dark, there was no way anyone would have let her walk the short distance on her own, and she thanked him and wished him goodnight.


 

*


 

Chloe sneaked past the slumbering form of Ben the receptionist. She didn't feel like waking him up to tease him again – she was way too bloated. Also, making a boy cream his pants twice in one day – assuming she could manage to repeat her effect – seemed mildly immoral.

After letting herself into her room, Chloe locked the door and placed a metal bin in front of it to awaken her if anyone opened it – out of force of habit, more than any real worry. She checked her book was Okay under her towel and sportsbag.

G'night book! Can we wait until tomorrow to look at your lock? I'm stuffed and I'm so sleepy!”

Chloe stripped and showered. She couldn't be bothered to put on her pyjamas, even though it was cold. She checked herself in the mirror, and groaned when she realised how far her belly stuck out. She really did look pregnant.

Oh! Why did I eat so much?”

Chloe uncovered the thick duvet from her bed – at least the creaky hotel had got that right. And they had a small gym, which she resolved to hit tomorrow at dawn for a solid two hours.

G'night, all. I wonder what Katie is up to?” Chloe murmured.

She didn't notice how excitedly the Booke of Darke jittered from side to side in her sports bag in response to every time she talked.


 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
4 hours ago, Batman76 said:

Absolutely love the hyper sexualized Ness of this.

Coming from the creator of Jessica Milgrave, that means a lot! And yeah, it's those swimming-squad hotties I've been most enjoying writing about. More shortly...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

In this episode, Ms Fran Serviss goes fishing for a lucrative donation to Gainesburg College. I couldn't quite bring myself to name the oil tycoon “Jonah T. Whale, Jr” but I thought about it. 


 

Chapter 6: A Whale of a Tale

 

Francesca Serviss, PhD, speared the final stalks of buttery asparagus on her plate, loaded up her fork with the one remaining mouthful of rare beef medallion steak in red wine sauce, and prepared to savour the last of her main course. It would also be, the forty-two year old Professor of Media Studies and Deputy Vice Chancellor for Endowments reflected, the very last bit of her excellent meal at the exquisite Gainesburg Brasserie. After all, unlike the peroxide blonde hottie diagonally across the table who was ploughing through her second side-order of creamed potato while slurping bottomless refills of costly French wine, she was no longer a lean-limbed nineteen year old gym bunny who could afford to indulge in a big dessert every day... That said, from the way the dumb blonde was spilling over the top of her indecently-tight, sequinned white dress, and the way her thoroughly-indulged belly bulged in front of her, Francesca Serviss was far from convinced that Katie Kane had been spending many hours in the gym since the college's end-of-semester competition where she'd won quadruple-silver.

For her money, Francesca would have preferred to bring the gold-medallist, Ms Tina Reilley, to dinner. The red-haired daughter of a high-flying east coast lawyer was earning high scores in Political Science, and would surely be a more interesting companion than the vapid Ms Kane who came from a New Jersey family in the garbage disposal business. Francesca suspected Ms Kane's family were in fact minor crime lords, but the blonde showed no evidence of having thought about where her ample allowance came from.

Unfortunately, Professor Francesca Serviss's preference was of no relevance. Tonight, she was wining and dining another potential benefactor for Gainesburg College. It was something she'd been doing much more frequently of late – ever since the investment in the sports programme had turned the college's finances away being merely precarious and towards looming disaster – and she was living to regret the catastrophic damage the task was dealing to her waistline. And, just as the ruination of the ex-hottie's formerly-tidy figure was something Francesca had little say over, neither was her choice of Katie Kane as a dinner companion. Katie was attending the expensive brasserie because, during a bespoke tour of the gymnasium, she had caught the eye of the wealthy old benefactor whose money Francesca was courting tonight. The rich old man Francesca was really here to dine with – along with his busty-but-silent eastern-european “nurse” – was an ageing Louisiana oil heir named Joshua T. Whale Jr.

The evening was all the less enjoyable for Francesca, because the quite-rich Mr Whale wasn't even immensely wealthy. He certainly wasn't a billionaire. Fran's fundraising contacts, who kept tabs on such matters, believed there was probably a few tens of millions of dollars remaining in the once-enormous Whale oil fortune that he controlled. Still, that would suffice to make one last large big donation! And since the old codger apparently hated his squabbling family, and had an eye for hot fitties, he was a promising potential target – ahem(!), benefactor – to be pursued by Gainesburg College's Giving Department.

After all, the governing body's investment in the sports programme had few results to show so far other than a bevy of slutty nineteen year olds laying about the campus and drinking, and it all had to monetised somehow! For although the college's positively-pornographic advertising material, launched this year using images of their best hotties, had boosted student applications, the net improvement in the budgetary position from projected tutorial fees was paltry. What was really needed was a nice fat legacy commitment from a rich man – and a rich man close to death, given the urgency of the college's financial needs. Joshua Whale Jr, Fran reflected, certainly seemed to meet this latter criterion. The wheezing multi-millionaire was unsteady on his feet and took at least three different types of pills – each washed down with a large glug of expensive wine that Fran was having to put on the college's hospitality account. Still, Fran supposed, you had to invest money to make money!

Weeel! That was a fabulous meeeeal, don't you think, Ms Kane?” Said Joshua T. Whale Jr.

Oh, it certainly was, Joshua!” Katie simpered, her boobs wobbling with every word.

Fran nodded along and smiled at the confirmation her would-be benefactor was a happy man, while seething inwardly about the way he paid more attention to the idiot blonde instead of to the accomplished and important Deputy Vice Chancellor for Endowments.

Perhaps, now we've been fuelled up by all that steak and wine, we should take a look at the paperwork we were discussing earlier?” Fran suggested. She had a legal document in her designer black handbag, all ready to go.

Whut, whut?” Asked Whale. “I meeant it was a fabulous meal, so far! But surely the paperwork can wait until after dessert. After all, Ah'm certain Ms Kane doesn't get to dine in this level of establishment very often, and she'd hate to miss out on their sweets, which I'm sure must be fabulous. Oh, and I can order for Olga again: her English isn't very good, but she has a very hearty appetite!”

I'll bet she does. Francesca snarked.

Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Joshua! Although I'm not sure I can manage much more!”

Non sense!” Replied the would-be benefactor. “And a young lady in your condition should certainly indulge herself!”

Francesca snorted loudly in amusement. He thinks the bloated sow's pregnant! Fran found the thought delicious. Apparently no-one else at the table shared her amusement, and so Fran pretended to have coughed due to swallowing some wine the wrong way. Her opinion of Katie dropped even lower when she realised the dumb blonde must have interpreted “in your condition” as meaning “extremely fit and lean, and in peak physical condition due to natural gifts, half a lifetime of intense cardio training, and carefully-chosen nutrition.” The latter definition could only ever have been truthfully applied to two of Gainesburg's female sports scholars: Ms Reilley, and the irritatingly-popular Chloe Southern. Fran had been delighted to see Chloe be suspended from the swimming squad as punishment for partying too hard and getting fat. Fran had held a particular animus against Chloe ever since the yellow blonde had first eaten – fellated would have been a more accurate verb – a banana during one of Fran's most important lectures on twentieth century television, and it had subsequently transpired that no male student (and few female ones) had absorbed a single word of the usually well-received lesson.

Garçon!” Joshua Whale called loudly.

Yes, Monsieur?”

The dessert menu, if you please!

At once, Monsieur!”

The table was cleared for dessert, and Fran felt a little concern. Concern wasn't the only thing she felt – the much more prominent sensation in her mind at the moment was the intense tightness of her whip-thin leather belt. She'd buckled it (on its loosest setting) around her stylish red suede skirt into which her scarlet silk shirt with the ruffled collar was tucked, and it had certainly done it's bit to restore her natural waistline – or at least to give the impression that she had a waist. But all the fundraising dinners, combined with too little time at the gym except to pursue a steamy affair with her well-endowed personal trainer, had contrived to make the ensemble unconscionably tight. She had distinctly felt the popping of a few threads as she'd enjoyed her steak in wine sauce.

Joshua Whale reviewed the menu, and recalled the waiter.

My nurse, Olga, will have the chocolate mouse with cherry sauce, followed by a large slice of the Gainesburg Triple Decker Cheesecake and two large glasses of the '78 port. I myself will see the cheeseboard, with a double whisky. And, what would you two ladies like?”

Oh, I think I'll pass on dessert.” Fran said. She patted her tummy. It felt too much like a sack of rice for her liking. “I've been to rather a lot of big dinners lately.”

Non. Sense!” Joshua Whale snapped. “We'll come back to you!” He pointed at Katie. “And what about you, Katie?”

Oh, Joshua, I don't know! It all looks so good!”

A glint appeared in the lecherous old millionaire's eye.

Well then.” He mused. “Perhaps you'd like to try a little of everything! We can get you one of each thing on the menu, Katie!”

Francesca almost choked on her wine. The desserts at the Gainesburg Brasserie were extremely large – and expensive. And numerous. And they'd be on her account. Still, it might be worth it to see Katie Kane puking up in the ladies room later.

Katie gasped.

Oh! I don't think I could! I mean, I wouldn't want to make such a pig of myself in front of all you important folks! And I'd hate to be unable to finish!”

Oh, we wouldn't mind, Katie, as long as you tried!” Said Joshua. “But I have the perfect solution. As Ms Serviss couldn't decide what she wanted, she shall join you, and together you can each have half of one of every dessert on the menu! I'm sure you'll be able to manage that.” He beamed delightedly.

Monsieur!”

He called the waiter, and ordered before Fran could stop him. Fran couldn't tell whether she or Katie looked more visibly concerned. Olga the nurse had a rather smug look on her face, however.

The next sixty minutes was one of the most uncomfortable hours of Francesca Serviss' life. She felt sick, and trapped in an agonisingly tight belt, as she was forced to gorge on sweet after sweet. A huge spread was set in the middle of the table. Had Fran been thinking clearly, she would have encouraged Joshua to demand Katie eat the lion's share of the dozen-plus huge puddings – after all, the young woman was the gym-bunny who needed the fuel. Unfortunately for Fran, she had perhaps underestimated Katie Kane's natural cunning.

The seemingly-dumb blonde had scooped up half of a chocolate mouse in one giant mass on a serving spoon, and devoured it in one swallow, as soon as the thing was delivered to the table. In an almost orgasmic tone, she had then exclaimed.

Oh! This is fabulous! Oh, Professor Serviss, you must have the other half! I couldn't possibly take it from you: it's so good! I know you used to be on your college's swim team, so I'm sure you can handle the calories just as well as I!”

Joshua Whale heartily endorsed Katie's call for Fran to stuff herself stupid. And something in Katie's tone had awakened an old competitive spirit in Francesca Serviss.

Francesca's once-hard abdominal muscles might have softened to goo and become buried under a small mountain of flab in the twenty years since she'd last won a swimming competition; her strong limbs might have run to fat; and the most exertion she had done in the last few years might have been forcing down a fourth pudding when her husband treated her – for once – on their wedding anniversary. But the old greed for glory was still there. And so – as her fat ass could testify – was her gluttony for rich dessert. It just needed unlocking, and Katie Kane seemed to have found the key.

Oh, really, Ms Kane? I think you'll find I was the champion in my swim team, not just the runner up!”

Oh, well game-on, Professor!”

The gorging couldn't have ended well for Fran. And indeed, it ended catastrophically.

Katie Kane, even though she had clearly been stuffing herself, was a fit nineteen year old. She was 5'9'' to Fran Serviss' 5'7'', and Katie did have a training regime that necessitated something like a 4000 calorie-a-day diet. In short, her system was highly capable of processing calories and she could handle food in bulk and survive a monstrous sugar high with no ill effects. Francesca was a 42 year old who was no longer a hottie – in part because she hadn't exercised seriously in fifteen years – and had done little-to-none in the last ten. She'd been dumb to imagine she was in the younger girl's league.

Ow!” Fran moaned. Then, in a more alarmed tone! “Ouch! Help!”

What's the matter, Ms Serviss?” Inquired Joshua, who had been absorbed in watching Katie eat her way through cheesecake, crème brulee, chocolate and blackberry profiteroles, sticky toffee pudding, a trio of icecreams and wafer, an icecream sundae, a lemon meringue pie, a caramel tart, an almond shortbread, and a boozy raspberry conserve on fruitcake. Or, to be precise, he'd been watching Katie eat half of each of those things, while Fran Serviss' poor bloated tummy had to handle the other half and had grown ever more agonised as she tried to keep up with the gluttony.

Ouch! Tummy hurts! Stabbing pain! Think I've ruptured something.”

The next revelation was acutely embarrassing for Fran.

Oh, look, you have!” Katie exclaimed. “Your belt buckle, Professor! It's twisted and it's sticking into you like a little thorn!”

Oh! Pain!” Fran moaned.

Here, let me help!” Offered Joshua Whale.

Fran moaned and lay back as the old lecher fumbled with her belt buckle. It was too tight and broken to undo, but it was also near its limit!

Snap.

After a little intimate fumbling, the belt burst open and flew across the room.

Rip.

Oh. Thank the Gods! That's better.” Fran exclaimed, before feeling her bulging tum where the buckle had bitten in, and finding bare flesh.

Oh! No!” Fran moaned.

Her incredibly expensive, designer suede skirt had ripped all the way down one side. Without the belt to take the strain, her over-indulged, bloated belly had been too much for the seam! The skirt flapped uselessly at her side, revealing to all the world that Francesca Serviss' once-admired belly was now a fat, bulging beachball of guts and flab.

Oh, Professor!” Katie chirped in amusement. “I was about to say I was going to have to do an extra session in the gym tomorrow after all this pud! But now I guess I should offer: perhaps you'd like to come with me?”

Urrrp!” Fran belched, and then farted hard. She felt a bad attack of gas coming on in her overstuffed guts.

Well, this has been a fabulous meal!” Exclaimed Joshua T. Whale Jr.

Olga, the nurse, revealed at last that she did speak a little, heavily accented English. She prodded at the catastrophic, bloated wreckage that was Francesca Serviss' fat belly, and commented.

Somebody's been eating too much pudding!”


 

* *


 

The excruciating night wasn't over for Fran Serviss.

Joshua Whale Jr was apparently not content to simply let Fran call a cab and head home with her self-esteem – and her figure – in tatters. Instead, he suggested that now would be a good time to examine the college's proposed gift contract in detail. He'd sipped his whisky as Fran sat with her useless skirt flapping over and exposing her bloated body, and insisted that she go through the details line-by-line. She had to do all that despite the acute indigestion that caused her to belch and fart profusely.

Eventually, though, it all seemed worth it.

Weeeel! That all seems to be in order!” Said Joshua T. Whale.

Fran felt a tinge of rising delight. The contract secured a ten million dollar donation to Gainesburg College, on the passing of Joshua T. Whale. For Fran, the day couldn't come soon enough – but the important point was that, with the contract, the money was as good as in the bank! The college's finances would be saved for another year, and it was all down to her: Francesca Serviss, Deputy Vice Chancellor for Endowments (and her poor, lost and much-lamented figure).

But there's just one thing.”

Fuck. Fran thought.

Oh, what's that, Joshua?”

I'd like to do a signing ceremony where I present one of those big cheques to the captain of your ladies swimming team! That would be possible, wouldn't it!”

Oh, absolutely, Joshua!” Fran felt relief surge through her.

Tina Reilley was just the right person to receive the honour of accepting a rich benefaction on the college's behalf. She was intelligent, ambitious... and just a little bit less of a hottie than Fran herself had once been. Certainly, Tina had never distracted an entire lecture class by eating a banana.

Excellent! Y' know, Ah knew the moment Ah first laid eyes on that promotional poster of yours – you know, the one with your gorgeous blonde captain dead center, looking like an Amazonian goddess with thighs of steel and rock hard abs – that Ah was going to be making a very big donation to Gainesburg College. Ah mean, no offence, Ms Serviss – this dinner was nice an' all, and the contract looks straight enough – but it's her raw animal talent that made up mah mind. And her looks of course, if Ah'm honest... Which is why the final thing Ah want to sort out is to set a date for presenting this gift to your captain, Ms Chloe Southern!”

Chlo-” Fran felt her voice fail.

Oh, poor, poor Chloe!” Katie sobbed into her cream coffee – when the fuck had the fat cow bought that, and on my account? Fran wondered.

Oh, there, there, Little Lady!” Joshua Whale said consolingly to Katie. “What's the matter? A little bit of a sugar-high?”

No.” Katie continued to sob. Fran stared at her furiously, trying to stop the idiot blonde from saying any more.

Oh, well what is it then, Honey?”

It's Chloe! Chloe Southern.”

Your swimming captain. Yes, what about her? Oh, no – something hasn't happened to her, has it?” Joshua sounded truly concerned.

Francesca Serviss tried furiously to make eye contact with Katie and shut her up. But the dumb bimbo was too much of a fucking dumbass to notice.

She got kicked off the squad!

Joshua Whale gave a wheezing gasp.

Then the old multi-millionaire stood up violently, and signalled for his nurse to bring his walking stick.

He stormed out of the Brasserie, jabbing an accusing finger at Professor Francesca Serviss, the Deputy Vice Chancellor for Endowments.

Ms Serviss! Ah'm very disappointed to hear that your college has so poorly treated a star such as Ms Chloe Southern. The deal's off!”


 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

In this chapter, we discover Chloe might have a rather more expansive array of options ahead of her than a normal six foot blonde hottie could hope for. Of course, they might come with some sort of cost... 


 

Chapter 7: Chloe Reads an Explicit Book

 

Four days later. Christmas eve, eve.


 

Chloe's vacation with her relatives in Fatucket had settled down into an idyllic pattern. It wasn't taxing her brain; she was just having a great time. She woke up a couple of days before Christmas with no chores to do: her presents were wrapped and her whole day was nicely sketched out.

06:00 Snooze through alarm and press face into soft hotel pillow. Eventually realise you've had eight hours sleep for the third night in a row, possibly for the first time this year.

06:30 Shower and make self feel human

07:00 Yoga

07:30 Hit aerobics machines flat out. Regret lack of another hour to burn more of last nights cals

09:00 Shower and fix hair

09:05 Say something smutty to Ben and/or tease with sexy walk on way out of hotel

09:10 Join end of family breakfast. Claim you slept in late again. Yawn to look convincing.

10:15 Feel stuffed with omelette, bread, fried food, porridge et cetera, et cetera.

10:30 Take Chase for walk through town. Invite Destiny + Felicity, but say it's fine if they want to groan on couch with calorie overload and watch TV.

11:00 Get Chase into hotel room. Fuck Chase. Important: go on top for whole hour to burn max cals; wrestle until back on top if alternative suggested; exploit superior cardio condition in any wrestling if needed.

12:00 Put Chase in cold shower before fucked unconscious this time; send home; follow later.

12:45 Be charming to relatives over long lunch

14:30 Chat in games room with Destiny, Felicity, Chase. Apologise to Destiny for any bruising to Chase; have apology cheerfully accepted. Answer questions about college swimmers. Answer questions about exercise. Explain again it is possible for a girl to have a resting heart rate of 40 beats per minute, and demonstrate this time.

15:30 Take Chase to watch you swim in river. Wave to group of drunk Maine farmers. Ensure abdominals are engaged before letting anyone see you in swimsuit.

16:00 Have warm shower. Get book down from sports bag and try schemes for opening lock. First day looked for hidden catch. Second day looked in Witche Museum hiding place for key. Third day tried turning book upside down and shaking it. Today: maybe look carefully at other sides.

17:00 Very carefully ensure book hidden back in sports bag. Hit hotel gym for weights then exhaust self with aerobics.

18:15 Attempt make self look cute.

18:30 Arrive at last minute for family dinner. Get fed scones etc. that you missed earlier. Then get stuffed with immense five-course roast dinner. Try not to pass out.

21:30 Ask to hold cool old oil lantern when being taken back to hotel through dark / snow.

21:35 Shower again. Dry hair. Pleasure self in bed. Say good night to book, as it hasn't had anyone to talk to for ages. Say good night to world.

22:00 Sleep


 

* *

15:00


 

Chloe had been ecstatically happy to be invited to stay longer, all the way into the new year, with her relatives, who seemed to have taken a shine to her. She'd even been allowed to chop firewood. They seemed to have plenty of time on their hands, as the organic blueberry and maple syrup trades – Uncle Chuck's farming businesses – were not particularly busy in the middle of the New England winter.

By the time she'd ploughed through her lunch, Chloe felt stuffed, and found herself musing over how many calories she was packing away. It took her some time with the nutrition apps on her smartphone to find out, since Aunt Flossie's cooking was very different from Chloe's regular go-to food, but she was able to deduce that she had been stuffed with about 7000 calories the day before, mainly because of the sheer size of the meals her relatives served (rather than from eating snacks like protein bars, which she'd brought but barely touched). She also calculated that Felicity had consumed “a little more,” at nine thousand bottom-boosting calories, and Destiny a rather fattening twelve thousand. This calculation caused Destiny and Felicity to throw a giant stuffed toy zebra in Chloe's direction, which she caught and hugged before continuing her calculations. She knew she could burn 6000 calories if she trained at her hardest sustainable intensity – and she was actually getting enough sleep to do it at the moment – but she was pretty sure she was burning more like 5000 plus whatever she needed to swim lengths of the village's icy river for thirty minutes. That last thing, Chloe had no idea about, but it felt amazing. Plus, she was drawing a decent audience that grew every day. If she'd brought a wetsuit she could have kept at it for way over an hour, but in a one-piece swimsuit she didn't want to risk chilling herself. That having been said, she might as well be naked for all the good her one-piece suit did her, so she was planning on swimming in a minimal bikini soon (perhaps on Christmas Day, but before lunch) to give the boozy farmers a better show. Chloe decided that it was weird, but true, that she was a subtropical girl for whom cold weather and snowy landscapes had been initially terrifying, but a fast flowing icy river quickly felt like home. Even better, she'd decided it was good for her skin, which was feeling unusually soft and clear. That would be great for her upcoming bikini show, but there was the one slight snag preventing her from doing it – even if she was burning 6000 calories a day, she still wouldn't be losing any weight on account of her aunt's amazing cooking, and she didn't feel slim enough to really look good in a two-piece.

Difficulties, difficulties.” Chloe whispered to herself.

What ya talking about, Chloe?” Asked Felicity.

Erm. Trying to decide what to wear for my swim. I have an audience!”

Brrrr!” Felicity shuddered and ate a brownie.


 

* *


 

16:20


 

Chloe stepped out of her shower. She felt drunk on adrenalin. Not only had the audience watching her swim laps between the village center and old bridge increased in size: once she'd climbed out she'd been asked to sign an autograph by some young kid! How the boy had obtained a copy of a magazine with one of Chloe's promotional college photographs on the cover she had no idea, and didn't care to speculate. What she did care about was being asked for an autograph. She'd been so shocked it had taken her some time to remember how to write her name, and she'd had to pretend it was from the cold. Even though she hadn't even felt that cold. Then someone had given her mulled wine served from an outdoor brazier.

Okay.” Chloe clapped her hands and bounced across the room in excitement. “Time to solve the book!”

The Booke of Darke's heavy bulk awaited Chloe on her desk by the window. She walked past it on her way to heave the Booke of Darke down from her sports bag so that she could examine it.

Wait a minute.”

The book was placed exactly square in front of the desk's chair. Chloe was pretty sure she hadn't been careless enough to leave it there, and had stored it carefully in her sports bag on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

And Chase couldn't have moved it: she'd been on top of him or otherwise entangled with him practically every second she'd had him in her room. And she'd definitely have noticed and complained bitterly if, at any point, he'd stopped fucking for her long enough to go and rummage through her closet. After all, if she hadn't made a hundred percent use of him for the whole hour, she might not have managed to have seven wall-shaking, calorie-obliterating orgasms. In fairness, she probably could have given him a break at some point and got the same workout by switching to her personal massager, but using Chase felt more empowering.

Did someone move you?”

Chloe confirmed her door was locked and the room empty.

Did I move you?”

Chloe felt dumb for asking. She sat down beside the book and turned it sideways for easier examination. The thick metal lockplate was fused to the metal in the binding, and there was no way to get even a peek at the inside without the key. That was, unless any of the decorative features concealed some sort of mechanism for releasing the lock, which had seemed plausible but she still hadn't found anything of the sort. Chloe tried running her fingers along the length of some inner edges between the book's plate and covers. It seemed to be smooth metal, probably gilt in places.

I wish you'd fucking open. I really want to see what you've got ---”

OUCH!”

Chloe whipped her hand back and sucked her thumb, tasting blood.

Damn!”

An annoyed trip to the washbasin followed. Chloe decided she had read too many novellas, and her mind was pre-occupied with stories about poisoned needle traps, so she squeezed out a good ooze of blood from the tiny, but clean, injury on her thumb, then washed it and applied a band-aid, pausing to wash out her mouth and spit.

Chloe stalked back to the book. As she stared at it, a set of previously immobile brass catches on the lockplate shifted and the seal unsnapped! Then – as if by some spring-loaded mechanism – the Booke of Darke burst open at a middle page.

*

Chloe drew an excited breath. She gasped even more deeply when she read the chapter title and saw the – exquisitely artistic but anatomically unbelievable – captioned ink drawings of super-humanly well endowed ladies enjoying some of the activities which Chloe recalled doing to Chase earlier in the day. And they were enjoying several other activities too, which variously made Chloe feel aroused, intrigued, or insufficiently stretchy. And that was just on the first page of the chapter.

The Third Chapter of Power Over Men.” Chloe read. “Yeah, well, it certainly looks like these girls have got quite far beyond second base... Although...”

Chloe turned her head to each side, trying to figure out which way up some of the drawings were meant to be.

Chloe found the absolutely filthy drawings of grotesquely voluptuous ladies – whom she took to be succubi indulging themselves relentlessly with subservient incubi – rather arousing as well as suggestive of a few things she'd neither never seen nor even thought about but would certainly now enjoy trying! But she doubted some of those sketches would be much use to her. After all, one of the females in the pictures was so busty she had a very buff young male kneeling before her to bear the weight of her comically gargantuan breasts on his shoulders. And some of her associates seemed little less well endowed and still were making full use of their assets for astonishing purposes.

Obviously this book was made for a girl with bigger tits than me... And about fifty pounds more junk in the trunk... And... I have no idea how she's fitting that in even half way... But... At least I'm nearly their height!”

Chloe realised she had barely dressed after her shower. Her minimal cotton shorts provided very little protection from the draught of chilly air running through the old hotel. By the time she turned back to the book after putting on black yoga pants and a pink lycra top with long sleeves, the draught must have blown on the book and turned some pages. She realised she was going to have trouble turning back to the page with the pornographic filth she'd been perving over, because there were a truly vast number of pages, not obviously numbered. There must be reams of giant creamy paper pages on both sides of the new page, and she wasn't sure if it was forwards or backwards in the book. The new chapter was less interesting, but made Chloe giggle.

The Fourth Chapter of Bodily Augmentation: Bust and Torso Changes.” Chloe read.

This chapter contained a much larger fraction of text, and some sort of code written in a sequence of blocks throughout the page. There was one picture with a caption in between some such blocks. It showed two attractive and very nude young ladies, possibly twins, the first maybe six feet tall with minimal bee-sting breasts, the second identical but for her gargantuan, boulder-sized globular boobs which protruded ahead of her with a level of bounciness and invisible support that could only mean, in Chloe's view, that she'd been drawn in zero gravity. Chloe laughed at the caption, which seemed to be all in old English, and written in complete doggerel.

For thee petite sorceresse who envys honeydew melones;

This charm shalle bulke her assettes by several gallones!

Haha!” The book hadn't seemed like a comedy, but Chloe decided it's ancient historical author must have been a fan of smut. Or possibly smutte. Of course, Chloe would have to check when honeydew melons were first invented, but she guessed people must have been using them for centuries to describe girls who were overgrown in the sweater-meat department.

Well, thanks! But I like my 40B cups just the way they are. I always seem to have had enough for any boy I want to impress, anyway. And also, we have to consider underwater streamlining here! I'm not a back-stroke specialist like Katie, y'know.” Chloe told the book, hands on hips.

This time, Chloe knew for certain the draught in the room hadn't been enough to shift any of the heavy pages. And yet a flutter of them turned spontaneously.

What?”

The new pages had a running header indicating they were part of: “The Third Chapter of Bodily Augmentations: Mobility Adaptations”

Again, there were blocks of text including symbols. And another picture: this time of a similar pair of twins, except both equally (and excessively) busty. The first was obviously human, the second was curled around a boulder and she was fish from the waist down.

Ah.” Chloe ventured. “I know I'm a dumb blonde... But... Are you listening to me, book?”

The pages seemed to shift very slightly lower, but Chloe wasn't convinced that was anything other than the book settling down after opening at its current page. Maybe the spine was spring-loaded. Perhaps the last owner had some favourite pages? The succubi certainly would have been on Chloe's list, definitely if she'd been a boy and quite possibly in any case.

What.” Chloe started. “ What if I asked you to turn to a page on, say, compelling a man to do whatever I say?” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper that – in her experience – already had something like that very effect when she directed it at most males in her proximity. “Do you think you could kindly do that for me?”

Chloe gasped, laughed, and clapped her hands maniacally as a flurry of pages flipped of their own accord. Shortly, they came to a rest at a new entry. This was another chapter start.

The First Chapter of Power Over Men.

This chapter wasn't such explicit smut as the Third had been, at least visually. It had some old English text, and pictures. The pictures were mostly studies on small sections of a seductive woman: her eyes, lips, the ways she held her head and directed her attention; her hand and its manicured nails. And some more basic outline sketches of posture. And some marginal sketches of succubi with big tits, but they seemed like an afterthought.

Chloe leaned back from the book. She'd raised her eyebrows in rising alarm as the scary thought hit her in full: she had a fucking magic book! And it could listen to her!

Chloe lunged backwards away from the desk, grabbing the chair as she retreated.

You!”

The book turned position on the desk, facing her implacably.

You can!”

The book rustled its pages and flicked them at random.

You can listen to me!”

There a thudding sound as the book levered itself up on its covers and dropped back down like it was stomping.

Chloe's face turned from an expression of surprise and blonde confusion to one featuring no little fear, and then...

You, absolute, filthy... Horny Beast!” Chloe exclaimed, as her brain caught up with her situation.

The Booke of Darke stopped moving.

You pervy book-creature! You've been listening to me for days! You've been sat in my closet, and if I happened to say anything intimate or... In fact, you've been listening to me fuck Chase like a sex toy for three days! And, more! If I happened to – as you know full well I do – talk absolute filth when I'm alone in my room and I'm pleasuring myself with my massager before bedtime... You would have heard every, shocking, filthy, intimate word! And you didn't say anything! You're quite the horny book-monster!”

Chloe had stopped trying to hide herself behind the chair she was brandishing, and drew herself up to her full height, chair ready to swing if the thing lunged at her.

The Booke slumped. It flattened its pages as low to the desk as it could go. It shuffled back on the desk, towards the curtain, until it ran out of room to retreat.

Chloe felt a bit bad, and wondered if the book was sobbing. It's movement somehow reminded her of her friend, Katie Kane, who could start sobbing without much notice.

There, there, book. It's Okay!” Chloe offered. “I didn't mean to hurt you! I was just a little surprised, by, you know... There, there.”

Chloe put the chair down. She tried to look as non-threatening as she could manage. She tried to remember she was bigger than the book, and it was probably more scared of her than she was of it. She moved slowly.

I'm sorry, book. I was scared, because you can move and all, and I shouldn't have snapped at you...” She reached the desk, and carefully held out the back of her hand to brush front edge of the book's pages.

There, there. I'm really sorry! And I was so very happy to find you, and keep you in my sports bag, and – oh – is that something I shouldn't have done?”

The book shuffled a little forwards on the desk, and pushed the ends of its pages against Chloe's fingers. It was a bit like being licked by a dog.

So, this means you liked being found?” Chloe asked. The book continued nuzzling her fingers with the fore-edge of its pages. “Keep doing that if you mean yes... I'm assuming you don't speak English.” The book kept gently pressing against Chloe's hand, and she felt a huge sense of relief.

Oh, thank you, book. Can we be friends? I would like to be friends with a magic book, especially one with such nice pictur---”

Chloe hadn't particularly expected the book to be able to fly, but later blamed herself for not realising it was obvious. The massive tome jumped towards her from the desk, and landed on her chest. She grabbed it, to stop it falling on the floor, and found it was about as heavy and difficult to hold as an overweight St Bernard that had just jumped into her arms. A bit like a dog, though, it seemed to affectionately “lick” her face with the corners of its pages.

Oh!” Chloe stumbled back onto her bed, with the book on top of her.

Hey, careful! You don't want to crease your pages!”

The book slurped at Chloe's face.

Hey. I love you too, book! But I have a question...”

The Booke of Darke rolled onto the bed beside Chloe and opened to its index.

Ah. Do I have to look through that? I was going to ask you: why did you bite my thumb? Is it some kind of magic unlocking thing, or a way of telling who I am, and if I'm allowed to read you?”

The book thought for a moment, and opened straight to a particular page without any flipping, and indicated a subsection heading.

Blood lockes...” Chloe read. There was a chunk of olde English. She guessed she'd have to read it, as the book seemed otherwise to sit patiently. By the time she finished reading it, she had a vague intuition about her answer.

So, it was a method for you to see if I had sufficient unawakened sorcerous power and was on your list of allowed readers, and if so a drop of blood would power your unlocking spell, and if not then I would have been zapped with some sort of – ick, that sounds really nasty... Guess it's a good thing I have unawakened sorcerous powers and I'm on your friends list, then...”

Chloe lay back on the bed: she'd been hunched over the book in an uncomfortable position. She re-arranged herself, so she could lie right in front of the book.

Okay, book. I have about a million questions. Number one: how do I awaken my unawakened sorceress powers?”

At that question, the book rolled shut. Before Chloe could say anything, it flipped open at a very early page.

Oooo.” Chloe read.

After a while, Chloe peeled the band-aid from her thumb and squeezed until a drop of blood emerged which she smeared on her lips. Then she said a three syllable word that she was certain she'd deciphered correctly. Simultaneously, there was a flash of lighting through her window, followed a second later by a loud thunderclap. Which, on the whole, tended to suggest to her that she'd got it about right.

Okay. Our cute heroine deduced that all she needed to do to awaken her – apparently amazing – sorcerous powers, was to put a drop of her own blood on her lips and say the word: ekawa!”

At that point, Chloe was hit by an overwhelming wave of hunger.

Shit! I'm almost late for dinner!”

The book, seemingly not at all keen on keeping Chloe from her aunt's cooking, slammed shut, and the lock plate engaged solidly. As Chloe rushed to brush her hair out, the book floated stealthily off her bed, and over to her wardrobe. There, she noticed it used one of its corners to prise open a deep drawer, into which it settled and slid the drawer back in. Chloe grabbed her door key. On the way out, she realised something.

Er. Book? Are you hiding in my lingerie drawer? You know what: fine! Just don't – you know – get ink all over my white lace suspender belt!”


 

* * *


 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

So, if you have any good suggestions for spells which the book might like to offer to Chloe as helpful suggested reading, drop them in the comments below. I might not have time to add much more for a while, but we'll see! 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Well, let's see, beyond basics like fat swapping or extreme hunger or one pound per insult...

Instantly ready: burn a pound to instantly style hair/make up.

Fail diet: subject gains weight from low calorie food, salads or vegetables, as if they were calorie heavy food like pizza or fried chicken.

Imaginary exercise:  over the next three weeks, Target believes themselves to be vigorously exercising but is really lounging about and skipping practice.

Temporary fitness: lose X pounds of excess weight for a day and achieve weeks of training. Regain it after allotted time and immense hunger to boot. Once a week limit.

Fat to muscle: turn excess fat into muscle for an hour.

Fat fetish: create a potion, it's drinker is now attracted to fat girls

Never full: makes caster or Target constantly hungry, food is rapidly and efficiently digested and their stomach is near bottomless.

Instantly out of shape: time temporarily warps, causing the last three weeks of sustained exercise and athletic training done by Target to have instead been spent on the couch. Lasts for minutes at best.

Weight shift: transfer fat from one area of body to another.

Youth by the pound: burn fat to become younger, one hundred pounds per year.

Aspect of the need: for a day gain 60 iq points and extreme focus with expertise on chosen subject, but during that time vision rapidly falls to 100/20, hair becomes uncooperative and dull, height slowly decreases by six inches, weight slowly increases by sixty pounds, coordination and muscle tone fall, clothes become frumpy and unflattering and social skills decline. Reverses after a day.

Flight of the Valkyrie: fly at high speed, burning one pound per mile.

....

 

I'm assuming youll want tiers of spells? Maybe like DnD levels? Maybe tie them to weight:

Level one spells require you to be over 150 lbs, level 2 needs a minimum of 200, three is 250 etc.

And of course each would have a cost in burned fat.

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Others:

Easy exercise: short amounts of mundane physical activity gives the benefit of strenuous work outs.

Useless exercise: running and weight lifting give the same benefit as walking.

Gorging gorgeous: perform a ritual in front of a painting/photo of a person and eat a 5k calorie meal. At the end of the meal, you take on the physical appearance of the person for a day. Physical abilities of the pictures subject don't transfer, the witch is as in or out of shape as in her own body.

Vicarious exercise: one person's exercise benefits a different person.

Vicarious eating: a portion of the calories from one person's eating goes to another.

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

These spell suggestions are awesome! I'm certain one or more will feature in the story, if that's OK. Hope you don't mind if I copy your backwards-words spellcasting method. In fact, one of these spells - I won't say which yet - gives me a great idea for the penultimate chapter, which won't be for a while. 

For now, here's the first half of a chapter in which Chloe will get to try her hand at magic. It'll be followed by a more traditional chapter set back in the south coast, entitled "The Ladies Who Came To Dinner." 

 

 

Chapter 8: Ghost Story (part 1/2)


 

Chloe's mouth watered as she munched the last huge forkful of pumpkin pie she was able to find in her bowl, and followed it up with the few remaining spoonfuls of cream and crumbs. She licked her lips and expressed her admiration, once again, for her Aunt Flossie's cooking.

Phew! That was amazing, Aunt F! Erm, does anyone else want to finish off the last tray of sausage stuffing?”

Great Aunt Betty “The Feeder” cackled in delight at Chloe's inquiry, and gestured for the final tray of baked stuffing to be passed to the blonde swimmer. Something about the tone of the old woman's laugh made Chloe wonder whether she'd eaten too much and was being impolite... A quick survey of the dining room suggested she was OK. About fifteen of her relatives, all of whom were big eaters, were slumped back in their chairs. They were all belching and groaning from the consequences of over-consumption. All of them seemed to have admitted defeat by the evening's enormous meal, and none of them grumbled at Chloe asking for yet more food. Quite a few, including all three of the Hillocks, sighed in relief at the sight of Chloe hoovering up the last of the food on the table. They seemed relieved that the tall blonde was saving their overloaded bellies from the risk of being stuffed even further beyond capacity by the irresistible temptation of Aunt Flossie's food.

As Chloe munched, she realised she still felt a bit hungry, and certainly not full, and that this was very surprising. She checked the grandfather clock – ten pm – and realised she must have been gorging for three hours straight. She'd hardly needed to burp once during the vast roast dinner. Which was in stark contrast to Destiny and Felicity, who were both belching profusely even though they'd unbuttoned their jeans and leaned back in their chairs all the way.

My, my, Chloe! You certainly have a very good appetite this evening!” Uncle Chuck enthused followed by a burp. “I think you even left Destiny behind a couple of bowls ago. And I never thought I'd get to say that to anyone!”

Mmmph! Oh, it's soooo good, Uncle Chuck! Sorry if I'm making a pig of myself...”

Oh, certainly not, Chloe! Us simple farmers are always happy to see a good appetite on display. It's good for business! A word of warning, though: my wife is not a woman to let one of her nieces leave the table until she's eaten way too much...”

That's right, Chuck, I'm not!” Aunt Flossie called out from a distance, having heard her husband's comments as she returned from the cold room carrying several dishes.

The first dish contained two-thirds of a blueberry pie left over from the previous night. She put it in the microwave and set it in front of Chloe with a heavy serving of melting chocolate icecream on top, just as the blonde finished her big tray of sausage stuffing and started to realise she was actually full. In fact, really full.

Urp.” Chloe burped, then patted her stomach and noticed just how distended it was. “Oof. Thanks Aunt F. Honestly, I can barely manage another crumb...”

Hah! Urrrrp!” Felicity belched. “Oh, you're gonna face the consequences of trying to eat more than Destiny!”

Oh, she didn't just try! She's thrashed me tonight. I concede defeat to you, Sir Chloe!” Destiny said, before laying back to allow her belly room to digest.

Oh, thanks! Sorry, I think I was eating in a bit of a daze. I was just so hungry tonight! Getting pretty full now, though!”

Good!” Great Aunt Betty said, then cackled some more, her hooked nose and warty face looking splendidly amused.

In that case.” Uncle Chuck interjected. “Perhaps, as it's nearly Christmas eve, and it's dark outside, but we're warm by the fire...”

Chloe looked around. The “fire” was a stove with a glass door. It was huge, and did fill most of the width of the old fireplace, and the flames were pretty to look at, and you could hear the wood cracking within.

... Perhaps, if you're willing, Zachary, we could have one of your excellent ghost stories!”

The Maine relatives looked delighted at the suggestion. Chloe was feeling sleepy and struggling hard to finish her blueberry pie, but she was happy to go along with it. Honestly, she felt ready for bed. Her mind felt very cloudy, and she was sure there was something she wanted to do before bed – possibly reading a book, but she was sure she'd remember whatever it was later. It wasn't wrapping presents – she'd definitely finished doing all that.

Oooh! Yes.” Felicity approved.

The assembled relatives looked at Mr Zachary Hillock, their resident expert on ghost stories.

Oh, well. Since you ask so kindly, of course I'll oblige. But... I think I'll hold off on recounting a full-length story for tomorrow. For tonight, since I believe young Chloe Southern has never been to Maine in the dead of winter – the ghost story season – I think we should introduce her to the past-time with something a little shorter. Of course, while the story I propose to tell is briefer than some, it does have the distinct virtue of being absolutely true... Indeed, it's a true story that took place in our own little village of Fatucket, Maine, on this very day of the year, the day before Christmas Eve, over three-hundred years ago!”

Oh! Oh!” Felicity grinned and leaned forward in her chair. “I love this one!”

Do you now, young Felicity?” Asked Mr Hillock. Meanwhile, Aunt Flossie lit a pair of candles and turned off the electric lights.

Yes! It's the story of the Miller's wife, isn't it?”

The Miller's Wife.”

Zachary Hillock paused dramatically, and cleared his throat.

It is indeed.”


 

*


 

A long time ago in Fatucket, when the village was built from fresh-hewn lumber and farmers had just discovered the wonderfully fertile local soil, there lived a rich trader by the name of Aaron Anville. Being a shrewd trader, and knowing the strong demand for provisions in the trading ports of the east coast, Anville bought the creaky old Fatucket water mill and renovated its mechanisms so that it could grind corn for flour and then saw logs for more profit during the winter logging season. Anyway, Anville became wealthy and respected in the region, and had many other successful businesses besides, but he was always known as the owner of the fancy new mill: the Miller. He was also known to be quite the ladies man – it's lucky for him that Fatucket was a tolerant settlement of old south Englanders fleeing the civil war, and not a bunch of puritans like you hear of in other places, because he would have got into serious trouble with them...

Anyway, Aaron the Miller had quite an eye for the ladies, and rather eccentric tastes. You see, Aaron Anville had a preference for ladies with a very slender figure. It was quite peculiar, to the Fatucket farmers, who themselves vastly preferred a strong, voluptuous woman with plenty of curves to stay warm through the freezing winter nights.”

Quite right, Zachary!” Mrs Hillock interrupted the story.

Yes! They certainly were right about that! And still are! But I digress...” Said Zachary Hillock.

You see, the Miller was eccentric, but he was also rich. So rich, in fact, that all the young women of the area competed to catch his eye, squeezing themselves into ever tighter corsets, and even in some cases going on strict diets to starve themselves skinny.”

Mrs Hillock drew a disapproving breath.

The young woman who eventually charmed Anville the Miller into marriage was one of the slenderest of all, with very pretty dark curls, and she was named Aurelia. She was a wicked woman, and rumour had it she resorted to all sorts of tricks to ensure she won the prize of marrying the Miller who was believed to be, by then, the richest man in Maine. They say she baked extremely fattening cakes and pies, and placed a witch's charm on them so that any of her competitors who tasted so much as a crumb would be compelled to gorge herself until her corset burst clean off! The Miller quickly lost interest in those poor victims of Aurelia, even though they were still very pretty and just a little more rounded than before. They even say that Aurelia had her closest rival seduced by an accomplice and force fed pumpkin pie during their illicit lovemaking sessions – to spoil her figure! But whether or not that is true, what is known is that, as soon as the wedding was over, Aurelia's own figure went completely to ruin. All those months of slimming down by denying her natural urges rebounded on the wicked Aurelia Anville, and she became the most notorious glutton in New England. Now that she was the Millers' Wife, she was free to expend a fortune on barrels of lavish delicacies, and gorge herself silly, morning, noon, and night. Which she certainly did...”

Within a couple of years, the Millers' Wife had grown enormously fat! Even the Fatucket farmers, who very much appreciate a well-rounded bottom, a healthy appetite, and a capacious stomach – such as young Destiny has to offer – began to joke about the way Aurelia Anville's belly spilled into the distance on the floor in front of her whenever she sat down to guzzle gallons of beer and gorge on pounds of roast meat and potatoes at the Fatucket Inn. And, for the wicked woman, worse was to come.

The Miller's eye had been caught by another woman, a local milkmaid. This time, his love interest was a healthily well-rounded young lady of the type the local farmers approved of. But she was still far, far slimmer than the grossly obese Miller's Wife. Soon, the Miller and the milkmaid started an affair. And eventually, Aurelia Anville found out about it, and swore dark revenge!

There had always been suspicions that Aurelia Anville had the gift of witchcraft. It was not unknown in New England at the time, after all. This was only a few years after the disappearance of the legendary Miranda Southwick. But any doubts about Aurelia Anville's dark powers were laid to rest on the day before Christmas Eve, of the year she discovered the affair between her husband and the milkmaid.

On that day, a great spell of drowsiness afflicted every soul in the village of Fatucket. Afterwards, everyone recounted how they had paused in their business for hours, mindlessly repeating the same action like automatons. Now, if that happened to one person then it might be considered to be some sort of unusual turn, or perhaps a malady of the brain. But for such a thing to happen simultaneously to two hundred souls could be nothing but the work of magic. And every villager experienced the same thing – except for one, who suffered far worse: the milkmaid.

The next day, the villagers pieced together what had happened. Aurelia Anville had somehow placed a great spell of hypnotic influence over the whole of Fatucket. For the most part, that was to keep interfering visitors away from her lair in the Old Mill. But for the milkmaid, the spell summoned her to that dark building. There it was discovered Aurelia Anville had prepared her great cauldron of dark iron: the one that held a hundred gallons. The poor milkmaid had been drawn there by the hypnotic spell: there to gorge herself on gallon after gallon of the spicy pumpkin soup with which Aurelia had filled the cauldron to the brim. The poor milkmaid, the last victim of Aurelia Anville, had been forced to gorge herself until she burst, as the cackling Miller's Wife looked on with glee!”

The people of Fatucket pieced together the events, from their collective memories as well as from the grisly scene they found at the Old Mill. Of course, that might not have been enough for a court of law – but in the end there was more than enough evidence. They confronted Aurelia Anville with their conclusions and, in a gloating voice, she confirmed every word of it, and more! And then, with a final cackle, having confessed to evil witchcraft and many other crimes, the Miller's Wife announced that she would evade their justice too. For she had taken a sorcerous poison to transform herself into an eternal undead ghost that would endure forever. She gloated that she would haunt the village of Fatucket forever, escape being dragged to hell for her crimes, and outlast all the villagers she despised, and at that very moment her spirit departed her corpulent physical form...

And it is believed her restless spirit haunts the Old Mill to this day, and hungers to take further revenge again against the people of Fatucket, should it ever get the chance!”

 

*

 

Aunt Flossie turned on the room lights.

So, Chloe, what did you think of the tale of the Miller's – Oh, she's fallen asleep with her head on the table! Poor girl must be shattered from all that swimming.” Aunt Flossie said.

Well, huh! Chloe might have fallen asleep, but I think that story's always great, Mr Hillock!” Said Felicity. “And it's so cool to have a real life ghost story about your own village.”

Well.” Zachary Hillock replied. “Yes, it is in a way. But, I don't know if it's cool, young lady. What I do know is that the story of the Miller's Wife was passed down to me by my father, exactly like I just told it, and he got it from his, exactly the same, and every step of the way back three hundred years he said it was absolutely rock solid truth passed from father to son or grandson with nothing added or taken out. So, as far as I know, it really is the truth. At least as my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather knew it. Of course, he was the innkeeper.”

So it's really, actually true?” Felicity asked.

Yeah. As far as I know. At least, I'd trust it more than anything I read in the news, these days.”

Oh!”

Yeah, it's quite worrying, really.” Zachary Hillock concluded.

Aunt Flossie started shooing her relatives off to bed, and sent her husband to get the oil lantern to accompany Chloe back to her hotel.

Wake up, dear. It's probably best you didn't hear all of that. It might give you bad dreams.”


 

* *


 

An hour or so later...


 

Mmmh!”

Chloe Southern tried to make a loud noise of complaint while keeping her head firmly buried in her pillow with the thick duvet wrapped close around her.

Some kind of loud noise had woken her up. She really wanted sleep.

MMMmmmh. Nnn.”

It was a banging noise. Eventually, Chloe decided the noise wasn't the creaky Haunted House Hotel falling apart, but was in fact someone knocking on her door. She checked the time. It was midnight. She moved her head enough to hear better without the duvet wrapped over her.

Chloe! Chloe!”

It sounded like Chase. Chloe wasn't certain what he was doing outside her room in the dead of night without an invitation, but she had a damn good guess.

Oh, hey, Chase!”

Chloe! Open up!”

Ugh! Give me five minutes, you horny boy!” Chloe called back.

Chloe felt insatiably horny. She had bad pillow hair, and it was annoying to be woken up, but on the other hand she had a huge libido and about a million calories running through her bloodstream that she could really enjoy burning up with energetic, noisy sex, and this was all the motivation she needed to roll out of bed.

The banging at her door continued as Chloe hastily fixed herself up the washstand, and checked she looked Okay in her flimsy black negligee. The slightly-disarrayed nightwear actually looked so good it made her feel even hornier, and she was impressed by how well it covered up her tummy... In fact, despite having eaten so much she should look six months pregnant, she hardly had a visible tummy bulge at all. And – as a huge bonus considering she was about to have sex – she didn't feel excessively full. She just felt comfortably well-fuelled.

Ah hmm. Not looking bad... I'd do you!” Chloe told the mirror.

Chase's knocking at the door grew more insistent.

Chloe! This is urgent!”

I'll bet it is, you horny boy! Keep it warm in your pants while I slip into some stockings and suspenders!”

As a nineteen year old super-hottie athlete – albeit now a little too voluptuous to win competitions – Chloe didn't really need racy lingerie to turn on her partners. Her hot body was more than sufficient. However, she'd bought some anyway because she'd been curious about how it would feel, and she'd discovered to her delight that she could get boys to fuck her even harder and faster if she dressed in provocative and kinky underwear. She hadn't looked back, and hadn't even considered the possibility of not bringing a sexy suspender belt with her on vacation, even without any guarantee of a boy to impress with it.

Chloe! It's really urgent! I'm not here for sex...” Chase's voice softened to say the last part more discreetly.

Chloe paused as she was nudging open her lingerie draw with a toe – she realised it was stuck and much heavier than normal because of the weight of the massive Booke of Darke resting within. She then realised that was what she'd been trying to remember over dinner, and wondered how her brain could have become so hazy she'd forgotten about it. Possibly because she'd been super-hungry, and her relatives were good company... But still, it seemed odd.

Anyway, first things first.

Chase.” Chloe growled, walking towards the door. “If you've woken me up at midnight for anything less than hours of hot, steamy sex, you had better have a damn good reason, Mister!”

Chloe shifted her bin away from the door, and turned the latch to unlock it.

I do! Chloe: I'm so relieved you're Okay!” Said Chase, as she opened the door.

As the door opened, and Chloe saw Chase outlined in the dim corridor light, she realised something was very wrong. He was dressed in heavy winter clothes and solid walking boots – it hardly seemed the correct outfit for popping a couple of hundred yards down the road for sex with your temporary girlfriend, even if it was a New England winter night outside. And, more to the point, Chloe saw that he had a weapon clutched to his chest – even when outlined by the corridor lights it was impossible to mistake the stout bulk of a heavy wood axe!

Chase. What are you doing here?” Chloe asked.

The answer was too strange for Chloe to interrupt until Chase stopped talking.

Chloe! You've got to come with me! She's back! She's taken Destiny and Felicity! And literally no-one else in the whole village can do anything about it, except us! Everyone else is in some kind of trance. Uncle Chuck and the Hillocks are down in the games room, endlessly replaying the same hand of cards. And Great Aunt Betty keeps sipping from an empty cup of tea she finished ages ago!”

Uh? What are you talking about, Chase? That sounds weird!”

Yeah. You're telling me! It's the ghost, Chloe!”

What ghost, Chase?”

The ghost, Chloe! Returned to plague Fatucket on Christmas Eve eve.”

No, really. What ghost?”

It's the ghost of Aurelia Anville!”


 

* *

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

In time for Halloween, the second half of Ghost Story... The next chapter is more traditional.

 

Chapter 8: Ghost Story (part 2/2)

 

Chloe tapped a few times on her lingerie draw with the side of her bare foot.

It had taken Chloe a few minutes to absorb what Chase was saying. She hadn't really believed it wasn't a wind-up until he'd taken her to the hotel reception where they'd found Ben, in a trance and uncommunicative, repeatedly stacking boxes of fudge from the dining room – except he'd run out of boxes to move, and was carrying empty air and trying to add it on top of a high stack. At that point she'd conceded Chase might be telling the truth. She discovered she'd slept through the end of the story about the Miller's Wife, and had needed Chase to fill her in on the details about Aurelia Anville becoming a ghost and haunting the Old Mill.

It all seemed ludicrously weird. But Chloe was confident she could add one more weird element that even Chase hadn't yet learned about.

Book!” Chloe said. “Wake up! I need your help.”

The drawer burst open as a surge of force pushed it outwards from the inside.

The immense black bulk of the Booke of Darke surged upwards and flew onto Chloe's bed with enthusiasm. It bounced and settled itself on the warmest part where she'd been sleeping. Chloe laughed as she realised that – after three hundred years sat in an attic, as well as because it was a magic book that possibly didn't get tired – her book didn't look remotely sleepy. It seemed super-enthusiastic and much less angry at being woken up than she'd been. It fizzed, shifting its covers cheerfully.

What the fuck it that?” Chase cried in alarm, adjusting his grip on his axe and trying to step in front of Chloe.

Hey!” Chloe grabbed Chase's hand. “Watch it! That's my book. It's my friend!”

What?”

Chloe pushed Chase's hands back to a resting position. He didn't resist her, but looked seriously shaken.

It's my book. Now stand back and pay attention.”

Chloe stood solidly in front of Chase, and made sure he was obediently quiescent. Then she turned, while keeping a hand on him, and smiled smugly as she gave her magic book an instruction.

Okay. Book: please answer me a question. What do I need to deal with an evil poltergeist that has hypnotised almost everyone else in the village?”

The Booke of Darke thought very briefly before springing open at some early page. Then, seemingly after some further reflection, it shifted completely to a later page which it presumably felt gave a better answer. It seemed to positively crackle with energy as if it was enjoying the challenge of answering Chloe's query.

Chloe held onto Chase's wrist as he watched, for the first time in his life, the possibly-frightening scene of an animated, intelligent book. She felt him tremble.

Fuck me! You have a book that does what you tell it? Are you some kind of witch, Chloe?” Chase asked, with a hint of nervousness.

Chloe rolled her eyes theatrically and turned towards Chase with a glare so hard he stepped back in fear.

Chase! I'm a six-foot-one blonde from California, with a swimming scholarship, who has relatives in a creepy New England village. Of course I have a magic book that does what I ask. Every girl like me has a magic book!”

Uh?”

Yes, really!” Chloe teased him.

Okay.” Chase responded.

Okay? Good. Now, leave your axe over by the door, and go and choose some winter clothes for me while I read the book of spells.”

Chloe turned up the lights. She'd originally set up a couple of side lamps to give a dim, sexy light. But that wouldn't be any good for reading the densely-written pages of the Booke of Darke. It felt like an awesome challenge, having to hunt for spells to defeat an evil ghost, and it made Chloe almost completely forget about sex... At least until her search brought up another one of the pages decorated with succubi which made Chase gasp until Chloe shushed him. The Booke's first suggestion was a much tamer page, mainly text and with some stylised sketches of headgear.

Dnim Knalb.” Chloe said, after a while of deciphering a scrawled chunk of text with several marginal highlights and comments beside it. “I wonder what that does?”

The book promptly flipped to another page before Chloe could read the rest of the text which might have answered her question.

Drawhtaed.” Chloe deciphered, from a block of text which the book indicated by withdrawing one of its tasselled silk markers and brushing it over the page. “What does that- hey!”

The book paused in shifting to its next page, and flipped back. It then kept trying to move onwards to what it wanted to show Chloe, but reluctantly waited while she held down the page with one hand. “Negative energy protection... Okay, sounds useful.” The Booke of Darke tugged at Chloe's hand, and she released her grip on the page so it could show her its next suggestion. The next ones came in a flurry, and it seemed to just want Chloe to decipher a bit of handwriting – usually with marginal comments – read it out loud, and then move on.”

Egam Romra.” Didn't obviously do anything.

Nikskrab... Ouch!”

Chloe yelped as she felt a shockwave of muscle cramps run around her body just under her skin. It was painful, but the pain didn't last long, and indeed when she rubbed her the back of her arm which had been where the pain started, the sensation was curiously dull. Also, her skin felt rock hard.

Hey!”

The book rubbed Chloe's hand with a tassel. Then it flicked to another chapter, this one with some introduction written before the spell descriptions.

Chapter the First on Targeted Spells.” Chloe read.

This time, the book seemed to remain stolidly on the page until it was satisfied Chloe had read various dire warnings out loud, causing Chase to raise an eyebrow – but at least it seemed to convince him that Chloe was actually using their time well by reading from the book. Eventually, Chloe proved to the Booke of Darke's satisfaction that she could make various throwing and pointing gestures. Then it flipped forwards a bit.

Etar---” Chloe almost started reading out loud as she deciphered the word in her head, but stopped herself. “Okay, Chase, this one looks like it blows up shit.”

Great! Does that work on ghosts?”

That question seemed to remind the book of something.

Force Materialize?” Chloe transliterated the next suggestion into plain English. “Probably that's what you do to the ghost and then after that blow it up.”

Okay, book, any other suggestions?” Chloe asked.

The book paused for thought, as if it had now made its main recommendations, and was now into the realm of ideas that “might be useful.”

Fireball!” Chloe translated. “That sounds brilliant. Why didn't we start with that one?”

Chloe had only asked as a rhetorical question, but the book volunteered an answer anyway. It pointed one of its placeholders to a marginal comment about a section entitled “The Schoole of Evocation.” The comment was: “Evocation is a garbage school. Take conjuration instead.”

Show me more of this Evocation magic. I like the sound of fireball.” Chloe said.

The book reluctantly flipped through a few more pages, but it didn't seem very enthusiastic about them. Eventually it decided the best way to demonstrate its disdain for such apparently inferior magic as Cone of Cold, which in any case didn't work on the undead and was a sub-par fifth level spell, apparently, was to roll shut.

Chloe. We've really got to go!” Chase said. “I think it's been over an hour since everyone went under with hypnosis, and Destiny and Felicity headed out of the house... I think my mind only cleared up a bit later, but I just know we've got to get to the Old Mill to rescue them from – well, from the ghost of the Miller's Wife.”

Okay, Chase. I need to get dressed. Give me, like, two minutes.”

Chloe strapped herself into tights, a 40B sports bra, her favourite tight pink tank-top under a white cotton sweater, thick black leggings, her college hoodie, white trainers, and her borrowed black puff jacket. She grabbed gloves and a torch, and her room key, and was about to head out.

Okay, book. Stay locked up here, and we'll be back soon. Wish us luck... Any last spells to recommend?”

The Booke of Darke had slid towards Chloe as if it wanted to come with her, but it seemed willing to stay put. It did open up to make one more suggestion, though.

Chloe wondered, after she cast the spell and eventually recovered from the experience, if the Booke of Darke might have been feeling overzealously protective. There was, she reflected, really no need for her to have thirty-inch biceps with the general shape of overfed boa constrictors, twenty-eight inch calves, and proportionally bulging, grossly oversized muscles everywhere in between. Chloe's thigh muscles ended up even more swollen, and caused her problems walking straight.

Okay, book, I'll try it.” Chloe had said, followed by.

Tnaig Htgnerts.

Instantly, Chloe had been wracked with muscle pain and collapsed on the carpet. Despite Chase trying to help her into the recovery position, she'd lain writhing in agony for a clear minute as she felt all her muscle groups tense to breaking point, then spasm, and then, in an excruciating way, swell and grow and knit back together. Her skeleton had even hurt, which she hadn't known was possible. The pain cleared up, mostly, after a while. Then Chloe had collected herself.

Shit, Chloe! Are you alright?”

Ow! Still hurts a bit. What happened?” Chloe asked, trying to rub her sore arms, legs and body at the same time.

You. Er... Look in the mirror, maybe. I don't think I can describe it.”

Chloe complied, trying to shake off the pain. It did fade gradually.

Okay. Feel better now.” She said, and then looked at the mirror. “Shit!” She exclaimed.

Yeah, I know, Chloe. You've turned into the Hulk!”

Chloe's eyes narrowed and she glared at Chase. It was hard to argue that her grossly musclebound reflection wasn't Hulk-ish. She'd certainly burst a lot of seams in her clothes, and had muscle bulging out of everywhere – although her leggings and trainers had mostly survived intact, even if they felt tight.

Chase.”

Yeah, Chloe?”

Never tell a girl she looks like the Hulk.”

Sorry, Chloe.”

Especially not if she does. I know these muscles look big, but you have no idea how strong they feel. I think I could kick your ass into next Sunday right now, now they've stopped hurting... Or maybe eat you or something. I'm hungry now, by the way...”

Okay. Let's not try that, Chloe. Do you want me to bring the axe, or do you want it? I mean, if you don't think you'll snap it in half.”

Er. I don't know. Maybe you. I might need my hands free. Although... I'm definitely not going to use that spell again. It hurt like fuck. Hmm, and I really hope it wears off overnight or something – I absolutely cannot walk around like this in daylight. Plus – you know what – there's no such thing as a cute outfit in hulk-size...”

Chloe looked down at herself, and felt her heart sink as she realised she'd probably just torn her favourite pink tank top to shreds – she could even see tears in it through some of the other tears in her white sweater.

Oh really? I don't know, Chloe. I think you look sexy like this...”

Chloe felt very happy.

Oh really?” She asked suggestively.

Yeah, really. The She-Hulk look kind of suits you, Chloe. Goes with your height.”

Okay, you horny boy... But we don't have time now. We've got to go find Destiny and Felicity, right?”

Yeah. I know. That's what I've been saying! You don't have to take every compliment like I'm asking for sex right now.”

I know...”

I'm ready. You?” Chase asked.

Yes. Bring the torch.”

They headed out into the pitch black winter night. Chloe bumped into a lot of furniture on the way, and damaged most of it as she struggled to coordinate her sorcerously overdeveloped muscles. She and Chase wore expressions of steely determination as they strode through the stricken village, noticing at least a few people trapped in the same sort of endless repetitive tasks they'd seen with Ben the receptionist. One man was putting out phantom garbage by torchlight, and someone else was switching their house lights off – and then back on – in a perpetual cycle.

Okay, Chase. I can barely walk straight. But... Even though it hurt like hell... Assuming we get through this, and you're still interested, and assuming it wears off, let me just put on record that I'll totally use this spell one more time so I can fuck you like the She-Hulk...”

 

* *

 

The Old Mill lay inside the fenced grounds of Aunt Anville's Olde Pumpkine Spice Factory.

Chase flashed the torch along the snow-encrusted steel fence, to where it joined an icy wall. Neither of them looked like an inviting climb, and the steel fence itself would be viciously frozen and dangerous to touch.

Chase gave the padlocked gate a heavy kick, and it clanged but remained solidly shut.

I don't suppose you know some kind of witches' spell for opening locks, Chloe?”

It sounded like a pretty standard type of spell... Chloe wondered whether maybe she should have taken the book's hint and skimmed a spell list other than the one for the school of evocation.

Ah.. Nope. Sorry. I'm new at this.”

Don't worry about it. Let's check around the side. There's no way this crappy factory has a proper wall all the way around.”

Chloe followed Chase along the hard-frozen gravel of the road. After about twenty yards, she was struck by a thought.

Erm. Actually, Chase... I think I do know a spell for opening gates!”

Oh, really? Cool. You wanna try?”

Yeah, sure! You might want to stand out of the way. I don't think this one was really invented for when you forget your keys.”

Chloe pulled off her gloves, and pointed at the steel factory gate with one of the gestures from the book.

"Etargetnisid!"

In an instant, Chloe found Chase dragging her into cover on the ground with his arms over her head. She couldn't really fault him for being protective. A flimsy green ray of light that hadn't looked very dangerous had snaked out from her palm towards the gate, but when it had contacted solid metal it had transformed its point of impact into the epicentre of an almighty shockwave which had torn through the gate and half the fence on the near side and left nothing standing but a mangled maze of warped and twisted steel. The night echoed repeatedly with the sounds of the gate's destruction as if it had been wrought by the detonation of a thousand-pound bomb.

Shit!” Chase cried.

Fuck me! That's fucking awesome!” Chloe yelled.

I thought you said you knew a spell for opening gates?”

Well, it did, didn't it?”

Yeah, but you didn't say you were going to fucking nuke it!”

I didn't know. I said I was new to this.” Chloe replied defensively.

Chase had to admit that was true.

The two young adults stood back up, checked for a minute until it was obvious no-one was coming out to investigate the massive explosion, and then gingerly stepped around the smoking steel wreckage into the factory yard. The air stank of rotting pumpkin, although it became a bit fresher once they walked the short distance along the riverbank to the ancient wooden mill.

Chloe and Chase found the entrance by torchlight, and walked up to the wooden door. Its paint was badly peeled, and the only thing that looked maintained on the whole outside of the mill was the sign advertising tours for ten dollars. Chase tried the door handle and found it locked.

Chloe. I don't think you should try that spell on this door! You might blow up the whole mill.”

Yeah, I know! I wasn't going to.” Chloe said. “I know Destiny and Felicity are - probably - in there. So... You're a boy, Chase, why don't you make yourself useful and kick the door in?”

Sure, Chloe. If you're sure you don't want to try out your She-Hulk smash...” Chase answered.

Oh! No! Wait! I definitely do... Stand over!” Chloe gasped with excitement.

Chloe rubbed her hands, and then delivered a light kick to the lockplate of the door. She'd discovered that her sorcerously engorged muscles still retained her original flexibility, so high kicking was an option although in this case unneeded. Somewhat to Chloe's disappointment, the doorframe around the bolt gave way easily and the door collapsed inwards with minimal smashage and not even much noise – the door was soft and rotten and one decent impulse left it broken and suspended by one mangled hinge. She followed Chase into the mill.

That wasn't nearly as much fun. I want something else to blow up!”

How about a pumpkin?” Chase asked, peering into the storage bins in the lower room.

Why are there stacks of pumpkins in a water mill?”

I don't know. Grinding the seeds for pumpkin spice, maybe?”

Chloe didn't have any better suggestion. Suddenly, something caught her attention in the gloom. She directed Chase to point the flashlight towards it.

Chase! That's not me doing that!”

What the fuck?”

Over the storage bins, a pumpkin was hovering in the air. As they watched, more medium-sized pumpkins began joining it in the air, levitating.

Shit!”

Chase gripped his axe firmly. It was lucky that he did. He felt a spectral force try to pull it from his hands, and yelped a warning at Chloe.

At the same time, the first hovering pumpkin decided to fly across the room, like it had been hurled hard towards Chloe's head. She saw it coming and batted it away easily with her ludicrously empowered strength. It burst.

A split second later, a volley of several animated pumpkins hurled themselves across the mill's lower room. When Chloe and Chase managed to dodge or deflect that, a storm of the Halloween vegetables began to fly towards them, battering them back to a far wall.

I'm going to Fireball the fuckers!”

No, Chloe! You'll blow the place up.” Chase yelled back. “This way!”

Chase dragged Chloe, both of them covering their heads and taking repeated bodyblows from hurled pumpkins, through an open doorway into a stairwell. Chase slammed the door shut and leaned against it.

Where now?” Chloe asked.

Pumpkins continued to batter against the other side of the door, but showed no evidence of being able to use the handle.

Chase pointed up.

Okay. It's your town.”

Upstairs, there were sounds. Chloe recognised them. After all, she'd had several days of dining with her relatives, and Destiny and Felicity were the sort of girls to gorge themselves all day long, which meant Chloe was quite familiar with the way they sounded when they burped, belched, and groaned from being grossly overfed. And those were exactly the sounds which reached her before she crested the top of the stairs, close behind Chase.

Both Chloe and Chase were confident that they would find their cousins once they reached the top of the stairs. But the sight in the upper room of the water mill, with it's defunct mechanism in the background and a dining table set up by candlelight in the middle, was something for which nothing could have prepared them.

 

*

 

UUuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrP!”

Chloe's gaze was distracted from the true horror in the upper room of the old mill towards the less scary – but still alarming – bloated form of her cousin Destiny. Along with Felicity she was tied loosely to an old wooden chair, with their distended beachball guts spilling over both sides.

What was worse – but not the main horror of the room – were the translucent green ectoplasmic hands lifting a parade of bowls of aromatic spicy soup, and plates loaded with heavy pie, and spooning it into the already-fat sisters' mouths. Whenever one of them resisted, or groaned with the pain of acute overconsumption and tried to keep her mouth shut, one of the hands would pinch her nose until a second could prize open her mouth so that a third could force in a messy glut of stodgy food. They both looked close to bursting point – with Destiny in the worse state as her eyes bulged and she sweated profusely, trying to hold the tormenting torrent of food in her cheeks like a chipmunk.

Uuurp! No more! Please, have mercy!” Destiny screamed, in between forcefed mouthfuls.

Hey!” Chloe yelled.

The blonde swimming scholar – and now sorceress – was addressing the horrifying monstrosity whose behemothic bulk of ectoplasm hovered and cackled with its mountainous guts suspended a couple of feet above the flimsy wooden floor.

Felicity looked weakly in the direction of Chloe and Chase.

And so did the monstrosity. It was – from her grotesque corpulence, malevolent face with a cascade of wobbling chins surrounded by a mess of food-stained hair, and her voluminous seventeenth century outfit decorated with faux corsetry – the ectoplasmic ghost of the Miller's Wife!

Leave my friends alone!” Chloe shouted at the thing. She wished she could have thought of something more threatening. Then she realised that she could!

Ecrof Ezilairetam!”

The ghost of the Miller's Wife emitted an earsplitting scream – which transmuted into a grotesque gurgle of gastic distress as Chloe's powerful spell took hold and the Wife solidified in horrific stages into an opaque, greenish blob of a woman. Her roiling ectoplasmic guts clearly gave her a hellish pain as they became subject to the laws of normal matter, and their vast bulk – surely far in excess of a ton – suddenly had to release the gas produced by their churning contents through the physical means of severe flatulence and unstoppable belching!

As the solidification finished, the Miller's Wife crashed to the floor, and a few boards seemed to give way beneath her tonnage, leaving her semi-immobilised and painfull trapped – but still vastly too corpulent to ooze through the hole in the boards.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!” Screamed the Miller's Wife. “BBBBUUURRRRbbbbuuurrrrpppPP! What Have You – BBUuurp – Done?!”

Haha! Eat magic, bitch!” Chloe yelled back, much happier with her repartee this time.

Burrpp! Magic!!! Bbbbuurrrp! We'll see about – Urp – who has the more magic!”

The Miller's Wife strained to turn her blubbery head towards Chloe, burping mightily with the effort, and then her eyes began to glow bright green.

Face the full power of my almighty – burp – hypnotic charms!” The Wife gurgled. As she said so, her grotesquely distended belly began to swell up like a bouncy castle.

She'd gonna blow, Chloe!” Chase shouted in alarm.

Get Destiny and Felicity out of here!” Chloe shouted back, pointing at the fire escape.

Okay.”

The power of the Millers Wife's spell had built to maximum, and greenish rays burst outwards from the piggy eyes in her belching face – which was by now vomiting ectoplasm everywhere – towards Chloe's head.

But the seventeenth century sorceress had reckoned without the prudent preparatory spellcasting which Chloe had performed on the advice of the mighty Booke of Darke!

The hypnotic rays splashed harmlessly and dissipated against a suddenly-visible white halo of light which encircled Chloe's head at eye-level.

Whaaattt!” Screamed the Miller's Wife. “A Mind Blank!” She vomited a stream of ectoplasm. “Impossible!”

Meanwhile, Chloe saw Chase cutting through the ropes that bound her cousins. The Miller's Wife was too distracted to notice, and her now-solidified head was too grossly fat to turn in their direction. Chloe wondered how she could keep the monstrous ghost distracted, and was considering the risky but exciting option of throwing a Fireball, but there was no need...

Mighty Fatttox!” Screamed the Miller's Wife, trying to raise her vastly-obese arms in invocation. “Give me MORE POWER!”

MORE POWER!!! MOOOORORRRRRREE!! POWERRRR!!”

The ghost screeched repeatedly. As she did so, her vastly corpulent bulk inflated even fatter. Her stomach expanded like a bouncy castle, and as it did so she started to splurt leaking ectoplasm from holes that burst open as her stretch-marked belly tore through her billowing skirts. “

Whatever the Miller's Wife had been planning to do with the additional power, Chloe didn't wait to find out. Chase had heaved her cousins to their feet and they'd staggered out the fire escape. Chloe followed after them, pausing at the door and countering the Millers Wife's spellcasting gambit with something a bit simpler.

Chloe checked the steel fire escape had supports going all the way down to the ground, then pointed back into the room. She aimed at the floor just under the green bulk of the Miller's Wife.

Right! You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to trying this.”

MMMMMOOOOOOOORRRRRRREEEEEe POOOOWWWWWEEEEEEE------------”

Llaberif!”

Chloe – even aided with enhanced musculature – barely hurled herself clear before the entire scene was engulfed in the white-hot simplicity of the firing solution available to her as a spellcaster who had bothered to take the trouble of studying the School of Evocation, and the Old Fatucket Mill was utterly devoured by cleansing fire.

 

*

 

A few words suffice to tidy up the rest of the night.

Chloe's spell of giant strength wore off painlessly as she slept, and she awoke to the tragic discovery that her favourite, cute, pink tank top had been reduced to shreds which she had lovingly tried to take off without causing the fabric any more damage. She'd left it draped over the back of a chair in her room. The rest of her clothes, and her trainers, she'd thrown in the bin.

Chase had greeted her the next morning, as she arrived for breakfast, with the story that he'd had the weirdest dream the night before – and that he hoped Chloe hadn't been given bad dreams by Zachary Hillock's ghost story.

The rest of the villagers seemed to have no memory of anything unusual from the last night. Chloe and Chase had observed, while they were helping Destiny and Felicity walk home, a few of them drifting to bed in a fading haze of hypnotic confusion. And Chloe had struggled to think of a way to suggest, even to Chase, that their experience had been real. Eventually, she'd settled for not telling him. After all, Destiny and Felicity had been through a nasty ordeal, and if they had no recollection of being nearly forcefed until they burst then surely that was a good thing – they seemed to have forgotten the experience overnight, although they'd awoken with bad tummy aches and constipation which they thought was because they'd eaten way too much of Aunt Flossie's food. They assumed it was because they'd been trying to keep up with Chloe, who'd eaten like a beast.

And Chloe had been super-hungry. Her strength spell had worn off, but it seemed to have left behind a metric fuck-tonne of adrenaline and growth hormone – Chloe knew what her muscles felt like when they were recovering and growing after exercise, and for once she didn't feel bad about stuffing her face with stodgy proteins at another of Aunt F's amazing breakfasts.

Oh, and a neighbour dropped in to convey the news that the Old Mill had burned down overnight. But only Chloe seemed to have any clue what might have caused it, and she thought she'd better keep quiet and concentrate on eating her Aunt's delicious sausages.

Hey... Book!” Chloe asked, some time later.

The Booke of Darke hopped happily onto Chloe's lap as she lay back in bed.

What else have you got?”

 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Right! Here's a very short interlude which happened on the morning after Joshua T. Whale stormed out of the Gainesburg Brasserie, angry that the college had dropped Chloe from her swimming captaincy. Hopefully makes some hints linking the Fatucket Pumpkine Factory and the Florida plot. 


 

Interlude: A Whale of a Sale

 

Several days earlier...

 

The tinkle of a service bell echoed repeatedly throughout the charming little herbal medicine store situated off a back street in the town of Gainesburg.

In the back room, the proprietress, Ms Anneka Anville, peered through her thick, horn-rimmed spectacles at the notes she was painstakingly transcribing onto her computer screen.

I'll be with you in a minute!” She called. “I have to finish an important calculation. I'm right in the middle of it!”

Drat!” The herbalist grumbled.

Anneka Anville was convinced she was on the verge of a major breakthrough that would make her as wealthy as her rotten sister. Except that Anneka's success would be earned. Her spoiled older sister, Agatha, had inherited the family's business – a run-down pumpkin spice factory in New England – along with most of their grandparents' remaining wealth. There had been plenty of money – apparently – to send the tall, willowy Agatha to private school and build her a replacement for the crumbling family mansion, so she could live in style with her toyboy husband. But Anneka had not been so favoured – she'd had to struggle through the dreary local school and only went to university because she'd won an obscure scholarship in mycology at Arkham. She'd left Maine as soon as she could, setting herself up as a humble vendor of herbal medicines in the lovely, warm Florida town of Gainesburg. She loved reading and talking about herbs, and she'd been very successful at selling them to the local clientele: at the age of thirty-two she owned a decent house as well as the lease on her Herbal Medicine Shoppe.

Anneka Anville's success was due, in part, to one of the few things she had inherited from her grandparents: a few bits of furniture and old boxes. In the back of the writing desk from the old mansion attic, she'd discovered an ancient, yellowing laboratory work-book. It appeared to be filled with antique recipes for herbal remedies – a remarkably happy find for Anneka, with her lifelong passion for the study of natural herbal medicines and treatments.

The workbook had included the original recipe for her family's famous Pumpkine Spice! Now, her sister Agatha derived her income from selling a modern, but very bodged version of the product – the recipe had been handed down haphazardly, by word of mouth, usually while the relatives involved were cooking and/or drinking. These days, Agatha sold the factory's unreliable spice output to some big food company which marketed the stuff as a tasty slimming spice, and as an ingredient in their diet products. Anneka was a hundred percent certain they were mis-selling the Pumpkine Spice, which in her opinion was simply a very moreish appetite stimulant – still, that was just the sort of thing a global food company might want to include in its products, especially since it was a natural, plant-based ingredient.

Anneka, however, had eventually translated the original recipe into a workable, modern form. Anneka's Pumpkine Essence was a far more powerful ingredient than the cruddy spice sold by her sister's crumbling company. Anneka's version was a completely natural but enormously potent substance which worked both as an aphrodisiac and as a general stimulant. She'd incorporated it into her two most expensive herbal products: The Herbale Aphrodisiac and The Pep Potion. Those two products were in fact the same, except with different colouring and flavourings so that any customers who happened to try both wouldn't get suspicious. Anneka was, however, scrupulously fair and honest to her customers in one respect: she did always state clearly that no-one should take more than three teaspoons of either product in a month, and should not mix them. She also explained that this was because of the side-effect which Anneka had discovered – while testing out the Aphrodisiac on herself, on a series of steamy Tinder dates. The side-effect was responsible for much of Anneka's fat bottom and very plump tummy, which both formed large bulges under the black cotton stretch-fabric of her dress. It was that taking excessive amounts of the Pumpkine Essence caused extreme increases in appetite and almost uncontrollable gluttony. Anneka used more moderate language when outlining this to her customers, but she always made sure the warning was clear. After all, she didn't want to give her customers the experience that she'd had, of eating six chocolate puddings, and then going to the shop for another six, and then feeling sick for hours, and then getting hungry again for more chocolate, for about a week.

Despite its side-effects, which were completely controllable by exercising strict moderation and self-control, the Pumpkine Essence had become a top-selling item – and at the very satisfactory price-point of ninety-nine dollars per vial! Anneka even had a few customers – a plump university Professor and a couple of other older ladies who needed something to pep up their sex lives – who had especially asked to buy the Aphrodisiac in larger bottles for five-hundred dollars. Anneka had decided, whilst being careful to include a written cautionary instruction against over-use in the packaging, that her – increasingly plump – customers were always right. The cash was fairly rolling in, and her market was expanding.

Of course, the real money in the world of herbal remedies was in weight-loss products. It was this topic that was bamboozling Anneka, as she poured over her notes. According to the ancient writing, there was a way to use the Pumpkine Spice to achieve an astonishingly-slim figure in a short space of time. It was the sort of product that could make Anneka genuinely wealthy, and she'd been trying to produce it for ages. She'd – perhaps naively – excitedly discussed the product with several customers, many of whom were eager to buy it at the earliest opportunity. However, she couldn't sell it yet. She'd made some, and tested a spoonful herself. Unfortunately, while the effect had been almost magical – after an hour of noticing her clothes growing looser as her swollen belly deflated remarkably, Anneka had looked in the mirror and seen a girlish waist with visible abdominal muscles she hadn't had in ten years – the effect had also been very temporary. The heavy flab of her tummy and bottom had surged back outwards with a vengeance an hour later. And worse, it had come back with interest – another two pounds of wobbling blubber in return for an hour of slenderness and vigorous fitness. And, of course, even just taking one spoonful of the product had its usual side-effect of giving her a very big appetite for the next week.

Anneka hoped the problem would soon be solved. After all, she had pre-sold a vial of her Fitness Essence to one of her best customers – the university Professor – for a thousand dollars, and she was unable to deliver it while it still had such serious side effects. It was unfortunate that Professor Serviss kept badgering Anneka for updates on the expected delivery time.

The service bell tinkled again.

Sorry! Coming!” Anneka called out, and hastened to the front room.

Ah, there you are, my dear!” Smiled a wheezy old gentleman in a cowboy hat. Anneka didn't much care for the way he stared at her plump boobs and belly, but apart from that he seemed quite polite.

I do apologise, Sir, I was just in the middle of a very important calculation.”

Not at all! Glad you could join us. Your shop caught mah eye while Ah was strolling in your lovely town, and Ah was hoping you could advise me on a purchase...”

Anneka looked over the man. He wheezed in between sentences, and he walked with a stick. From his complexion, he fairly obviously had a bit of gout or a heart condition.

Certainly, Sir. I can recommend a number of products for general and circulatory health, which are of interest to many my more mature customers...”

Oh, come now!” Interrupted the old gent. “That's not at all what Ah had in mind.”

Oh, of course, Sir. What sort of thing are you looking for?”

Weeeeell! Ah was browsing the shelves with my nurse, Olga, and what caught my eye was the locked cabinet over there!”

Anneka looked back and forth between the locked, glass-doored cabinet, containing the Herbale Aphrodisiac alongside the Pep Potion, and the wheezing old octogenarian. She didn't think he was very suitable for either of the products... But, on the other hand, if he wanted to spend his money and she warned him to take an extra-low dose... After all, he did say he had a nurse who would probably check his medicine properly.

Anneka could practically feel the ninety-nine dollars in her pocket.

Of course, Sir. Which of the two vials would you like to know about?”

Know about! Don't need to know anymore! It's all clear from the label isn't it? Very good branding on your packaging, by the way – Ah was sold at once, by the silhouette of the lovely young lady!”

Oh. So, which can I sell you, Sir?”

Both, of course! I'll take six large bottles of each!”

Anneka gasped. The sheer price of six large bottles...

Of course, she'd have to explain the dosage to his nurse carefully, but, well, Anneka thought... Capitalism Ho!

Anneka beamed with delight. She was smiling so broadly that, when she laughed at the name on the gentleman's credit card, it was easy – and entirely true – to apologise and say she was just happy to make such a large sale.

The southern gentleman's platinum card bore the entirely ludicrous name: Joshua T. Whale, Jr.

 

* * *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Chapter 10: The Ladies Who Came To Dinner (part 1)


January 6th


A blustery sea breeze blew in from the gulf, scattering flocks of seabirds as its direction whirled, and messing up the salon-coiffured hair of the upper class New York girl who, much to her annoyance, had been obliged to walk two miles along a West Florida coastal trail to her destination.

Her host's boat, which had been supposed to provide transport from a car-park at the end of the coast road to his ocean-front house further along the white sandy promontory, where she would be having lunch, had broken down, and Tina Reilley was immensely frustrated that her hair was getting messed up because of it. Worse, it looked like rain, and if her micro-length red party dress with its gauzy material became wet then it would also become more than just scandalously flesh-baring, as it currently was. In fact, if the already-flimsy fabric even got a little damp it was wont to turn totally transparent. A third annoyance was that Tina Reilley was all the more likely to get rained on because she was having to slow down to allow her older, fat, and very out-of-shape companion to rest on boulders and take a breather every few hundred yards.

A little further up the sandy path, sweating profusely and her heart pounding from the exertion of the trek, Professor Francesca Serviss, PhD, Deputy Vice Chancellor for Endowments at Gainesburg College, puffed along in her own party dress. Her choice of outfit was a more restrained, opaque, shimmering yellow silk, and – of necessity in order to flatter her more mature figure – the brand-new, pleated, bell-shaped outfit had a deceptively generous cut around the bust and tum and reached almost down to the knees. She'd matched her expensive new dress with a pair of gold silk sleeves, which she felt were very complimentary to the slight fullness of her arms. She'd also been obliged to choose towering high heels, so she could match the height of her younger companion, the admirable captain of the ladies' swimming team, Tina Reilley.

Francesca paused to catch her breath and remove grit from her shoes, which were rather impractical on the sandy coastal path.

Still, Francesca considered, at least today's tribulations were in a good cause. After a ghastly few days of indigestion following her disastrous dinner with the ageing multi-millionaire, Fran and the Vice-Chancellor had made a series of grovelling phone calls to Joshua T. Whale Jr, and they had successfully talked the old codger around! He had invited Fran – together with Katie Kane – to dine with him at his west Floridian beach-front house, at the start of the new year. And he'd promised that the much-anticipated Big Donation to the college would be up for discussion. The Vice-Chancellor had immediately accepted on Fran and Katie's behalf.

Francesca had seethed at the prospect of another meal with the infuriating Katie Kane, whom she was certain would make snarky comments about Francesca's bulging tummy and recent weight-gain. Fortunately, Katie had been unavailable due to “family commitments” [i.e. a mob wedding or funeral, in Francesca's estimation] and Tina Reilley had taken her place.

The one problem with replacing the curvaceous and almost-chubby Katie Kane with the super-fit Tina Reilley was that any comparison between the two Gainesburg ladies' bodies would be even less flattering for Francesca – all the more-so because Fran had really piled on the pounds over Christmas. She couldn't ascribe the noticeably engorged bulge of her tummy to her attendance at fundraising dinners, since she hadn't been to any more since the Gainesburg Brasserie incident. Instead, she was now blaming it on her workload, which Fran often complained made it difficult to find time to exercise. At least the long coastal walk down the shallow steps and sandy causeway to Chez Whale's was giving her a workout... It was just a pity she was only just discovering how badly her aerobic fitness had slumped since her swimming championship days, so that the brisk walk along the beach required frequent stops for Fran to take several deep breaths and allow her heart rate to settle down. And the way her hamstrings and Achilles tendons were being strained by the exertion was not at all pleasant.

It started to drizzle, and Francesca drew her expensive, telescopic umbrella from her handbag, thanking heaven it would protect her glossy dark hair. She even let Tina, who had not come prepared for rain, take as much shelter as practical under the edge – of course, half of the red-head's complexly coiffured hair still got damp and frizzy. And the girl's dress would definitely need a little time to dry out.

They approached the large wooden house, built into the rising, grassy slope of the promontory with stilts on the front, and Francesca and Tina paused to check they looked presentable. Francesca Serviss' eyes bulged as she noticed how transparent Tina's outfit had become in a little drizzle. To add to the Professor's surprise, she saw very clearly that the perky young swimming captain had not felt it necessary to wear a bra – and to a meeting with an important benefactor! Francesca was outraged – partly because Tina's bust was so much perkier than her own 36G's which required an extremely supportive bra – but mostly because nothing could be allowed to disrupt the important fundraising lunch. The college's financial survival depended on it!

Francesca frowned with concern at her companion's inappropriate state of dress. Simultaneously, Fran felt her tummy rumble so hard that her dress quivered. She gasped a little at the extreme pang of hunger which suddenly struck her. Still, she shouldn't be too surprised: after all, she was expecting it... Fran patted her prominent tum, and told herself that lunch wouldn't be very long.

At least, Francesca Serviss hoped lunch would be served as soon as she and Tina arrived. It was 12:30, after a long drive from Gainesburg in the chauffeured limo. And... Knowing Joshua T. Whale Jr's penchant for feeding his lady companions with excessively large meals, Fran had resolved not to be caught out this time.

In addition to making sure she wouldn't be embarrassed by being unable to finish a big lunch with her would-be benefactor, Francesca also had no intention of having her appetite for fine dining surpassed again by one of her students. Therefore, Fran had taken precautions to ensure she had a very good appetite today. In doing so, Fran had slightly pushed her herbalist's advice to its limit – moreso because she'd got through five doses of the marvellous Herbale Aphrodisiac over the Christmas period, and its appetite-stimulant effect, on top of the sex which always gave Fran a hunger for icecream, had probably added to her seasonal weight fluctuation. But that had been last year, and the last dose of Aphrodisiac she'd taken had been two days ago, at an early-new-year staff party at college, to which she had taken her personal trainer since her husband was out of town. Therefore, Fran was sure there would be no problem in taking a little more today, and before she'd set out this morning she'd taken three large teaspoonfuls of the appetite-boosting Herbale Aphrodisiac.

 

* *

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

As a fellow fat fiction author, I do love multiple gains from different perspectives. It lets you have fun with types of weight gain, mental (willing, denied, horrified, oblivious) and physical (pear, apple, gut). 

You've done a great job here, where we see the out of shape yet still arrogant ghost of Christmas not far in the future for the current fit-ish hotties.

And I needs that cliff hanger resolved. Here's hoping Tina gets a taste of her own medicine.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue.